Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4627524.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Charlie_Bradbury/Gilda, Castiel/Uriel_(past),
      Castiel/Alfie_(past), Jessica_Moore/Sam_Winchester, Lilith/John
      Winchester
  Character:
      Castiel_(Supernatural), Dean_Winchester, Charlie_Bradbury, Gilda_
      (Supernatural), Dorothy_Baum, Jessica_Moore, Sam_Winchester, Naomi_
      (Supernatural), Ellen_Harvelle, Jo_Harvelle, Bobby_Singer, April_Kelly,
      Lucifer_(minor)
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt_Dean_Winchester, Crazy_Castiel, Brainwashed_Castiel, Human_Castiel,
      Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Abusive_John
      Winchester, Drunk_John_Winchester, sober_john_winchester?, Jessica_Moore
      Lives, Religious_Content, Religious_Castiel, Bottom_Dean, Gay_Sex,
      Castiel_and_Dean_in_Love, Confused_Castiel, Castiel's_Terrible_Family,
      Bisexual_Dean, april_kelly_is_a_rapist, Rape, Charlie_Ships_It, Awesome
      Charlie, Asexual_Character, Canon_Lesbian_Character, Castiel_&_Charlie
      Bradbury_Friendship, Big_Brother_Dean, Depressed_Sam, castiel's_mom_is_an
      asshole, Jessica_Moore_Is_a_Ray_of_Sunshine, Awesome_Ellen, Protective
      Dean_Winchester, Protective_Ellen, Awesome_Bobby, Bobby's_House, Bobby
      Knows, Flashbacks, Minor_Bela_Talbot/Dean_Winchester, Cheater_Dean, Anna
      Can't_Help, Lilith_and_John_Winchester, Bet_You_Weren't_Expecting_Those
      Two, yeah_neither_was_i
  Series:
      Part 2 of Cas,_the_Righteous_Man
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-17 Completed: 2015-11-12 Chapters: 9/9 Words: 39566
****** What the Righteous Man Ruined ******
by rea_of_sunshine
Summary
          What we had was clinging hands. It was fervent lips and seeking
     tongues. It was a million degrees in the dead of winter and equally
     as cold in the swelter of summer. It was the greatest thing I’ve ever
     experienced. It was also the worst. It was making love to my best
     friend and waking up desperate to talk to someone about the
     confusion, the darkness that came with the sex and being unable to
     because He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to. It was
     seeing my sister and her boyfriend, His brother and his girl, and
     wanting to be normal for once in my life.
          Cas’ cheeks burn. He knows what he wrote, and he knows that the
     truth in the words is terrifying. He loves Dean, God, does he ever,
     but they were a supernova. Supernovas are meant to burn bright, not
     forever, and if Dean gets to be that supernova, then Cas can live
     with being the endless black hole he leaves in his wake. As long as
     Dean still burns bright somewhere in this universe…
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
     So here it is, the long awaited start of Part Two. As you can see by
     the summary, there will be some serious doubts and turmoils and
     overall angst...I know...I suck. However, there will be fluff (good
     God, Dean is a goober and Samica--i.e. Sam and Jess, I don't know...-
     -are tooth-rottingly sweet) to balance out the sadness. As long as
     you don't think about it too much, there's really no angst at all in
     the beginning! Anyways, I hope you all enjoy!
     Cas’ first day in the clinic is hell.
     The instant he gets there, they force a set of 'vitamins' down his throat
and shove him into a too-hot shower that will ‘wash the sin off him'. All that
their generic soaps do is strip him of any remains of Dean’s smell and leave
him raw. After the scalding shower, they push him into a borrowed shirt and
borrowed pants because his deal with his mom did not allow for clothes in her
hurried escape. Then, they sit him in a circle with at least a dozen wide eyes
staring at him. There are men and women of all ages, shapes, sizes, and colors,
each of them staring at Cas like he's the fresh meat.
     “Okay,” a woman says, stealing his attention away from his fascinated
group. He looks at her, her reddish hair pulled back in a tight and
professional up-do, and thinks that she is too cold to be in a line of service
that requires any people interaction at all. “I’ll begin then. My name is
Naomi. I am your sexuality councilor. I have never been attracted to someone of
the same sex, because that is wrong." She looks around the circle, pausing to
stare into each pair of eyes with contempt before moving on to the next person.
"However," she continues when she reaches the end of the group. "I do care
about each and every one of you and hope to guide and support you on your road
to recovery from this disease. Now, this is the first stage of your recovery,
so you are all probably feeling a little adamant and angry. Our goal in this
stage is to help you acknowledge that homosexuality is wrong. It will be an
uphill battle, but we can beat this as a group." She looks around the circle as
though she were expecting a round of applause for her wonderful speed. Silence
is her standing ovation, and she sighs upon its receipt. "Who would like to
share first?” she asks after a moment, and a young red-head with fiery green
eyes pops her hand up, bringing Naomi’s lips to a purse.
     “Yes, Charlie?”
     “Yeah, hi, I’m Charlie, born and bred lesbian. So, I’ve been in stage one
of your ‘recovery clinic’ for weeks. Shouldn’t I be moved on to stage two?”
     “Well, Charlie, have you acknowledged that homosexuality is a sin?” Naomi
sits higher in her chair, hands folded over her knees. She looks as though she
is awaiting an epic battle.
     “Well, since we spoke yesterday in our private, I have mentally undressed
Scarlett Johansson at least twelve times. Oh, also, I masturbated this morning
to a lesbian porno that I’ve had committed to memory since I was fifteen years
old.” Charlie shrugs, dropping her bottom lip open in a way that clearly says
oops, sorry. Naomi’s eyes darken, and Cas decides right there that he rather
likes this Charlie girl.
     “We’ll talk about this later, Charlie,” Naomi grits out, but Charlie only
sits back in her seat, smug smile on her lips.
     “Can we be naked?” she asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows, and Cas chokes
back a laugh.
     “Enough,” Naomi deems, holding Charlie’s eyes before turning her attention
around the rest of the circle. Her eyes land on Cas, and he immediately squirms
under the weight of her gaze. “Hi,” she drawls, obviously speaking to Cas.
“You’re new. Tell us your name, what your problem is, and what is on your
mind.” Cas blinks, and looks around the room to the people sitting on metal
folding chairs. Some look broken. Some look rebellious. Some look interested,
but Cas can't look at any of them.
     “Uh, my name is Castiel. My problem, I guess…? Is that I like men. I’m
gay, and really, the only thing on my mind right now is my boyfriend.” Cas
shrugs, and when he looks up, he sees Charlie’s intrigued green eyes locked on
him.
     “Ah, so you have an accomplice,” Naomi says, tsking quietly. “Well, group,
what do we say about accomplices?”
     “Accomplices are part of the problem,” a few members of the group chorus
in monotone. “They tempt and encourage our sinful nature to act vilely.” Naomi
beams at her group of victims, then pulls her eyes back to Cas.
     “He isn’t vile. I love him,” Cas defends, sparked by her hateful
implications and Charlie's rebellious words to raise as much hell about the
situation as he can. He will not go down this road without a fight.
     “Okay,” Naomi says patronizingly. “Castiel, do you believe homosexuality
is wrong?” she asks, voice chipper and head cocked to the side. Cas brings his
eyes up from the floor.
     “What?” he asks, incredulous at the question. No, he doesn’t think
homosexuality is wrong. It’s a part of who he is. It’s not something that can
be changed, despite the efforts of this damn clinic.
     “Homosexuality is wrong. Do you agree?” she asks again, slower as if he
were dumb, and if Cas weren’t so busy reeling, he’d tell her to fuck off just
on principle. Lucky for him though, the girl named Charlie speaks up, arm slung
over the back of the chair next to her.
     “I don’t know, Doc,” Charlie says, glancing to the girl whose chair she
uses as a prop. She takes her in from the sole of her shoes to the crown of her
head, very obviously tossing every stitch of clothing she comes across to the
side. The look is enough to have even Cas blushing.
     “I’m not a doctor,” Naomi says, eyes narrowed as she draws the attention
away from Charlie's hungry stare, but Charlie starts up again as though Naomi
never spoke.
     “You shouldn’t knock homosexuality until you’ve tried it. Have you ever
tasted a girl? I don’t know about you guys—well, I do, sort of—but having my
face deep between a girls legs is seriously,” she pauses and looks to her
neighbor, mentally tearing her apart again before continuing, “The hottest
thing ever.”
     “Charlie, that is enough,” Naomi says, but Charlie’s eyes are already
glittering. Cas can't help but grin.
     “I start with broad licks, you know. Spread her legs wide and dive right
in, licking her open until it’s more than spit slicking the way. I may suck a
little here and there, just to—”
     “Enough,” Naomi spits, interrupting Charlie's verbal porno. Cas watches at
least half the girls in the room shift, crossing their legs a bit tighter than
necessary. “You are dismissed from group.” Charlie whoops and stands.
     “Always a pleasure, Doc,” she says exiting the circle and heading for the
door. “Peace out, bitches.” As soon as the door shuts behind her, Naomi visibly
relaxes, fists unclenching in her lap.
     “That was Charlie, and as she said, she has been in phase one for quite
some time. Please excuse her foul mouth. She will be punished for that later.”
Naomi shakes her head and dives back into the group session. It lasts for
nearly another half hour, and all Cas can think about is the fact that he never
got to say goodbye to Dean. When group is dismissed, Cas heads to his assigned
room to escape these people, but Naomi stops him.
     “Castiel, hi, I’d love to have a private session with you. Normally, we
save the first day for getting settled, but this accomplice of yours has me
very concerned. I want to pick your brain about him for a moment if you’ll
allow me.” Naomi smiles a smile that, while she surely thinks is disarming,
makes every hackle Cas has rise.
     “Okay,” Cas says anyway, because it’s Dean, and Cas loves talking about
Dean.
     “Great,” she says, and leads him to a small room with two big chairs and a
desk. She immediately sinks into one, pulling a clipboard into her lap and
filling out a few blanks before turning to Cas, motioning for him to sit in the
chair facing her. “So, Castiel, why don’t you start by telling me a little
about your home life. Parents, siblings, friends. Anything.”
     “Okay...I have a mom, a sister, a brother, and a best friend who I’m in
love with,” Cas says dryly, but Naomi doesn’t seem to mind. She simply jots
down a word or two before looking back up to Cas.
     “Do you and your mother get along?”
     “No. She’s a controlling and manipulative bitch who couldn’t accept that
her son was gay. Hence why I’m here.”
     “I’m just here to help you, Castiel. There is no need to be hostile with
me.” Naomi takes a deep breath, and Cas wants nothing more than Dean here with
him. “It says here," she says, motioning to her clipboard. Cas cranes his neck,
and before she shifts, he swears he sees his mother's handwriting. Naomi
continues, regardless. "That you willingly agreed to seek out help. That is a
big step, one that I was hoping meant you were already past the first stage,
but..." She lets out a breath as though she were extremely disappointed in him,
as though Cas gives a damn if she is. "As I can see from our group session
today, you aren’t ready for stage two.”
     “What is stage two?” Cas asks, curiosity getting the better of his
irritation.
     “Well, we here at the clinic work by a twelve step system. The first being
admitting that you have a problem, that homosexuality is wrong. The second step
is believing that God can fix you.” Naomi’s face is a beacon of tranquility,
resonating truth and light. Cas wants to deck her for it.
     “Your ‘cure’ to homosexuality is an AA program?” Cas sneers and nearly
laughs at the irony. “Jesus Christ, what is going on?” he asks, more to himself
than Jesus Christ and even less to Naomi.
     “What’s 'going on here,' is that you have enrolled yourself in a sexual
orientation change effort, and we are going to help cure you. And for your
information, the twelve-step program is a guide to conquering any addiction,
not just alcoholism.” Naomi looks offended, and Cas doesn’t have the time to
care. Instead, he is hanging his head in his hand, trying to rub the headache
away.
     “Fine. I’d just like to go home, so the sooner I make it through all
twelve steps, the sooner I can. What was step one again? Admit I have a
problem. Okay. I like dick. I like dick in my hand. I like dick in my mouth. I
like dick in my ass. I like dick. There. Problem admitted. On to step two.”
Naomi sets her jaw before speaking, eyes narrowed at Cas.
     “Do you agree that homosexuality is wrong?” she asks, and Cas knows that
this is his chance. If he tells her yes, he’ll move on to step two, and be only
eleven steps away from Dean.
     “Yes,” Cas says with a solemn nod of his head, the lie bitter on the back
of his tongue. Naomi’s eyes narrow as they look at him.
     “Okay. Good. Now, why don’t you tell me about this best friend of yours?”
     “What about him?” Cas asks, shifting in his seat. He feels as though the
yielding leather could swallow him whole.
     “What’s his name for starters?” She holds out her hands, palms up in a
shrug. It’s Cas’ turn to narrow his eyes.
     “Ken,” Cas grits out after a moment, not wanting to tell her anything. Cas
knows Dean would hate the Ken Doll reference, but he’s in a corner here, and
Naomi nods as she jots down the false name.
     “And you’re in love with him?” she asks, and Cas prepares himself for the
lie, swallowing the bile that the thought of not loving him brings.
     “No,” he says stiffly, looking away from her.
     “You just said,” she starts, but he cuts her off.
     “Yes, I know. You’ve made me see the error of my ways. He’s bad. I’m bad
for wanting him.”
     “Castiel, what color are his eyes?” she asks, and the question throws him.
     “Green,” he answers hesitantly, unsure of what the question has to do with
anything.
     “And what is his favorite type of music?”
     “1980’s rock,” Cas answers easily. He knows Dean like the back of his
hand, has read him again and again like his favorite book. He's still unsure of
why any of this is relevant.
     “You know an awful lot about him not to have feelings for him.”
     “He’s my best friend,” Cas says with a shrug, his face hot with the
accusation. “Of course I know this stuff about him.”
     “Of course,” she says with an agreeable shrug. “I just wonder...could he
tell me what your favorite music is?” And Cas is left speechless. He’s not sure
if Dean could tell her. They’ve only ever listened to his music when they were
together. “That’s all for today, Castiel. Go by the front desk to get your
vitamins and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow for stage one group at nine
o’clock.” She looks down to her clipboard without sparing another glance at
Castiel. Cas makes his way out of her office feeling dazed.
     When Cas makes it back to his assigned room, he meets his roommate for the
first time.
     “Hello,” he says when he enters, but the guy never looks up from his bed.
Cas wonders idly if it’s ever counterproductive to put two gay males into a
room together. “I’m Castiel,” he says, walking over and reaching out a hand.
His roommate glances up.
     “I’m Lucifer,” he says disinterestedly, not offering a hand to shake.
     “Wow…and I thought I got the short end of the stick being named after an
angel,” Cas tries to joke, his heart heavy. Lucifer looks at Cas with disdain.
     “I’m not here to make friends,” he says, so Cas drops his hand.
     “Alrighty then,” he says with a sigh, and turns away from his roommate.
“Lovely.”
     His wake up call sounds bright and early the next morning.
     “Castiel, Lucifer, get up,” someone calls, banging on the door until
Lucifer crawls out of bed and throws it open.
     “We’re up, you tremendous nitwits,” Lucifer growls, slamming it shut once
the message has been delivered. Cas sits up in his twin size bed, paper sheets
rough against the plastic mattress. “Assholes,” Lucifer grumbles, turning back
to his bed. He groans when he sees Cas. “Damn, I was hoping it was just a
nightmare.” Cas grunts and lays back down. He crawls out of bed a while later,
checks in at the front desk where, surprise, pills, and makes his way into his
group session.
     “So, Castiel,” Naomi says when it is his turn to share in group. “Do you
feel like sharing?” Cas looks up from his hands. He had been listening for the
entirety of the group session as Naomi called on someone only to bash their
hopes in. He hates this woman.
     “Sure,” he says, blinking and rising from his chair. “My name is Castiel.”
     “What is your problem?” Naomi prompts, just as Castiel hoped she would.
     “I’m gay as shit, but it isn’t a problem. I love cock. Cock is the best
thing that ever happened to me. Do you evenknowhow many orgasms I’ve been given
because of a fat cock up my ass?”
     “Castiel,” Naomi spits, reeling back in her chair as though someone had
slapped her. Cas offers her a shit eating grin and sits back down. She doesn’t
call on him for the rest of group, and when their private comes, she says
nothing for the entirety of the first half hour. Cas says nothing either,
perfectly content to sit and stare at her being disgusted by him. “You said
yesterday you wanted to progress." She says finally, her voice somewhat
desperate. It gives him great joy to think he's breaking her. "What happened?”
I decided that I hate you, Cas thinks venomously, but says nothing. Naomi
eventually sighs. “Fine. You should know though, that we are only here to
help.” Cas looks away, and after a while, he is dismissed into the hallway
where he comes face to face with the girl from group. Charlie, Cas recalls,
slightly dazed.
     “Hi,” she starts, falling into step beside him. “I’m Charlie. You’re
Castiel, right?”
     “Yeah,” he says, glancing down to her. “You can call me Cas.” She offers a
small smile, one completely unlike the predatory grin she held in the group
meeting.
     “So listen, that was really cool what you said today in group,” she
starts, brushing her short red hair back behind her ear. “This place sucks, but
people like you make it better.”
     “Yes, I noticed you seem a bit obstinate about the whole endeavor,” Cas
says, deadpan.
     “True. I have been working my ass off to remain extremely gay in the face
of all this anti-gay and negativity,” she says with a grin.
     “Sounds challenging.”
     “It is,” Charlie says, her voice suddenly very serious. “These people
suck, but they are hella good at their jobs. They shove those damned pills down
your throat and wear you down and break your spirit and make you think that you
are nothing just because you like the same sex. There have even been a few
times when they’ve made me wonder if loving girls is wrong.”
     “How do you manage to stay strong?” Cas asks, teasing banter gone from his
words with the very real warning Charlie is offering. She smiles a bit and
motions her head over her shoulder.
     “Come with me,” she says, turning their walk and leading them down one of
the residential hallways. She turns into a room near the end and holds the door
open to Cas. “This is my room, and my witch of a roommate, Dorothy.”
     “Homophile,” sneers the girl sitting on the bed, dark hair tied back
behind her, eyes never leaving the book she’s leaned over.
     “Hypocrite,” Charlie tosses back, moving towards her own bed, not once
glancing at Dorothy.
     “Stage one,” Dorothy retorts, flipping the page slowly.
     “Traitor,” Charlie snaps, pulling open her bedside drawer and taking a
picture out.
     “I’m not a traitor just because I’ve found sex appeal in people of the
opposite sex,” Dorothy says, looking up from her book over to Charlie.
     “You’re not supposed to be finding sex appeal at all, you beautiful
asexual flamingo!” Charlie shouts, but Dorothy only rolls her eyes, marks her
place in her book, and leaves. Charlie huffs when she’s gone. “Me and Dorothy
were best friends in high school. She was ace, and I was lesbian, and everyone
thought we were weird. Then she said she’d had enough of people treating her
like shit because she wasn’t interested in sex. We came here together because
she wanted to be ‘cured,’ and I wanted to keep an eye on her. She was fine
until she got to stage seven, humbly ask God to remove our shortcomings. Then
she disappeared for a few hours, and when she came back, she was tear stained
and laughing. She was laughing. She said they showed her that ‘sexual
attractions are good for the body and soul.’” Charlie falls silent, lost in
some memory. “They raped her, Cas,” she says eventually, voice soft and scared.
“She stopped talking to me after I confronted her about the rape. She said it
was consensual and that it meant a lot to her, but she couldn’t even tell me
his name.”
     “Jesus,” Cas murmurs, stunned and scared.
     “She’s on step ten now, which is the continued assessment of our sexual
attractions and admittance to any failures. Do you know how fucked up that is,
Cas? They didn’t even recognize that there are orientations in which people
experience little to no sexual attraction.” Charlie sighs, looking down to the
faded photograph in her hands. Cas glances down to it as well, seeing a smiling
Charlie, arm wrapped around a laughing brunette whose waving hair is twisted
back from her face with what looks to be a crown of flowers. Charlie sees him
looking at the couple and smiles. “This is Gilda,” she says, eyes soft and
tender. “She’sthe reason I’ve managed to stay strong.”
     “You don’t really seem like the settling down type,” Cas says with a soft
smile.
     “Because of group? Yeah...a lot of what I do and say is just to piss Naomi
off. I definitely like girls, but I’m not as…well, promiscuous as I make myself
seem to be in group. Hell, I would be in the exact same boat as Dorothy,
brainwashed, that is, if I didn’t have Gilda...if she didn’t love me.” Charlie
pauses to look down to the photo in her hands before continuing. “I learned
that if I want to walk out of this place the same as I walked into it, I needed
to put every ounce of my faith in my love for her. As soon as Dorothy is out of
here, so am I, on to see my girl again.”
     “But I thought you hated Dorothy,” Cas presses softly.
     “Hate her?” Charlie asks with a scoff. “God, no. I love Dorothy. She’s
been like a sister to me my whole life. I’m not going to let her go through
this alone, even if we come out on opposite ends of the tunnel.” They sit in
silence for a long while, Charlie staring down at Gilda and Cas wishing Dean
were there next to him. “Don't take the pills," Charlie says suddenly, her
brows pulled low over her eyes. "If you can help it, don't take them. Push them
to your cheek or under your tongue or some shit but don't take them."
     "What are they?" he asks, his stomach rolling in fear because this is the
second day in a row hehas swallowed the pills.
     "They're experimental drugs...something akin to sodium thiopental, which
sounds scary as hell, even if you didn't know that it was once used as a
component of lethal injection. I would assume that the effect they're going for
here is a mild desensitizing or compliance." Charlie shrugs, and Cas has to
scoff to hide the broke swallow of fear.
     "Been a while since you've taken your meds?" he asks, and she offers him a
slippery grin that soon fades to a soft smile.
     "If you have someone you love," she begins gently, fiddling with the photo
in her hands. "Hold on to him, make sure he knows you need him now more than
ever, and go through the steps, Cas. Just do it. Hold on to him, and make your
way through the steps as quickly as possible. Put a wall up around all the
bullshit they’ll tell you, because they’re going to tell you some bullshit, and
go home to him.” Cas stares at her for a long while, but she is looking at
Gilda.
     “His name is Dean,” he says finally, a smile ghosting across his lips. “He
has green eyes and freckles all over his body.” Charlie looks up, a smile
touching her cheeks.
     “Gilda has this little mole on her right shoulder blade. She keeps saying
she wants to cut it off, but I adore it. I make it a point to kiss it every
chance I get.” Charlie’s eyes are soft, her smile gooey.
     “Dean’s really insecure about himself,” he starts, crossing his legs on
her bed and staring up to the ceiling. “He tries to hide it, but I know. He’s
especially insecure about his stomach because he’s got this soft, squishy
little tummy. Don’t get me wrong, he’s built like a linebacker, broad
shoulders, biceps the size of my neck, thighs like steel, but for some reason,
he just can’t get rid of that little tummy.” Cas grins, thinking of all the
hickeys he’s left on that glorious little tummy. Charlie is smiling.
     “Cas, can I ask you a favor?”
     “Sure,” he says, glancing over at her.
     “Can we be partners in this? Like, if I start to lose the fact that I love
her, can you just, I don’t know, snap me out of it. I just, I really love her,
and I’m scared that this, these people, are stronger than I am. I’m scared that
they’re going to convince me it isn’t real.”
     “Of course,” Cas says softly.
     “Thanks, Cas,” Charlie says, leaning close and resting her head on Cas’
shoulder. Cas stiffens but allows it, staying under her weight until Naomi
appears in the doorway.
     “Poor choice of company, Castiel,” she says, shoulders back and hands
clasped before her. She looks like a royal bitch.
     “Oh no, it’s not what it looks like. We’re actually having a secret affair
and this is has all been one big, elaborate ruse. Can we go home now?” Charlie
asks, pulling her head off Cas’ shoulder and putting a sharpness in her voice
that Cas hasn’t heard since the group session.
     “Will you please excuse us, Castiel?” Naomi asks, ignoring Charlie's
comment completely. “It’s time for Ms. Bradbury’s punishment.”
     “Ooh, kinky,” Charlie says, bringing a hand up in a claw-like manner and
rolling her tongue.
     “Um, I’ll see you later, Charlie,” Cas says, standing and moving past
Naomi.
     “Hey, Cas,” Charlie calls before he is gone down the hallway. “Do the
freckles make shapes?” she asks, her eyes glowing. Cas smiles at her.
     “Yeah,” he says, flashing back to fingers trailing over spotted shoulders,
lips pressing against each and every freckle. “Millions and billions of
shapes.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
     Fifteen days without Dean, and Cas has Naomi convinced that he truly
believes being gay is wrong. Fifteen days without Dean, and Cas has her
convinced that he believes God can "fix him", that he has given his life over
to Him, effectively conquering step two and three. He is well on his way to
completing his "searching and fearless moral inventory of himself," step four.
He hates every goddamn minute of it for the doubt it plants in him, but he
spends the night unloading it onto Charlie, and Charlie groans right back,
telling him about how angry Naomi got in group that day, or about how gray
Gilda’s eyes look when it rains.
     Cas writes Dean letters. Long ones, short ones, ones about Charlie, ones
about Lucifer. He writes to Dean how much he misses him. He begs him not to
give up. He never gets a response, and by week two, he is becoming slightly
discouraged.
     “Maybe they’re stealing your mail,” Charlie offers after seeing Cas' face
fall with another week of an empty mail hole. “I’m still convinced they took
the first few letters I wrote to Gilda. When I started addressing them to
Gladys Bradbury, my ‘sister’, her replies magically started coming.”
     “Yeah,” Cas murmurs. “You’re probably right." Cas feels weak. He is not
strong without Dean. He's forgetting the pull of Dean Winchester, forgetting
what it felt like to be loved by him. "I think I’m gonna go call my sister," he
says, pushing himself off his bed, away from Charlie because he does not want
to talk about it. "Maybe she’s seen him.” He gives her a small wave before
heading to the front. The walk seems to take an eternity. Each step is weighted
with, something is wrong, and Dean should be answering, and he doesn't love me
anymore. “Hi,” he says to the man behind the front desk, voice a little too
loud from the effort it takes to silence his doubts. “I’d like to make a phone
call.”
     “Number,” the man asks, and Cas tells him, reaching for the receiver when
it is offered out to him. It rings a few times before her voice comes through
the line.
     “Hello?” Anna asks, noise bustling up around her. She is probably at a
party. It is Friday night after all, and school is back in full swing.
     “Anna,” Cas breathes, a smile in his voice. He has missed his little
sister. “How are you?”
     “Cas,” she gasps, and he smiles. “How am I? How are you? I haven’t heard
your voice in weeks.”
     “Have you gotten my letters?”
     “My reply is in the mailbox waiting to be sent,” she says with a laugh. “I
miss you, Cas,” she says quietly, gently.
     “Miss you too, baby sister." Cas fiddles with the hem of his shirt. He
knows what he wants to ask her, but he's not sure if he wants to know the
answer. "Hey," he says finally, feigning nonchalance even thought his voice is
shaking. "Will you ask Deana if she got my letters? I haven’t heard anything
from her since I got here.”
     “Deana?” she asks, then it clicks. “Oh, gender-bend for the patrols. I got
you.” A beat of silence passes and Cas' heartbeat soars in terror. “Listen,
Cas…I haven’t seen Dean in weeks. Not since you left. He called the next night
asking about you, and I told him you were in the clinic, told him what you
said.”
     “What else did you say?” Cas chokes out, glancing at the worker who is
watching him intensely.
     “I told him that you were being a stubborn ass about leaving.”
     “Did you say why?”
     “I don’t know why, Cas,” she says softly, and it occurs to Cas that no,
she doesn’t know.
     “Mom and I made a deal,” he says slowly. He wants Dean to know that he did
this to protect him, that he did not leave of his own accord.
     "Cas...you didn't," Anna says, and Cas closes his eyes. "Dean would be so
fucking pissed at you if he knew. God damn, Cas, what the fuck were you
thinking?!"
     "I was thinking that I'd come here and get better while Deana slept safely
in her own house with Sam," Cas spits, because it doesn't matter if Dean's
pissed, only that he's safe. "You know if John knew Deana would never see Sam
again. You know what would happen."
     “Better," she mimics, stealing his words from moments ago and ignoring the
main point of his words. Dean must be safe. "Cas, you’re not broken. You know
that right?”
     “Yeah, Anna…” Another beat of silence. “Did she make good on our deal?”
     “As far as I know,” Anna says, and Cas can practically hear the helpless
shrug in her voice.
     “Okay,” Cas murmurs, a small relief washing over him. Dean is safe. Dean
is ignoring him, and as much as that hurts, Dean is safe. “So how have you
been?” he asks, all hostilities gone as they continue to talk until the man at
the desk tells him lights out is in a matter of minutes and he is forced to
tell his sister goodbye. Cas goes back to Charlie, alone and heart heavy.
     “You okay?” she asks, pushing her hair back in concern.
     “Yeah,” he answers, pulling her to her feet so they can walk to their
respective rooms together. “I just miss him.”
     Needing Dean is not a new feeling for Cas. Cas has always needed him, and
Dean has always needed Cas. Dean needed Cas at six, crying under that tree
because he thought there was no one left in the world who could love him. Cas
needed Dean at seven, having gotten glasses and bullies for his trouble. He
needed Dean to sit by him on the playground and remind him that not everyone is
mean and cruel. Dean needed Cas at eight, the week Sammy got pneumonia and
stayed in the hospital for five days with lips the color of Dean's favorite
light blue crayon. Cas needed Dean at nine, ten, twelve, seventeen, day one,
day two, day three, so on into infinity, and Dean has reciprocated every single
moment of his need. He has always been there, whether Cas needed him to help
hang fliers for the GSA or to kiss away the shit day he'd been having...
     God, Cas misses kissing Dean. He misses the laughing teases before class,
the heavy tongues during sex, the sleepy brushes of midday, the hot, the cold,
the angry, the gentle. He misses Dean's incessant, scratchy-ass stubble. Cas
sighs as he falls into bed, the ghost of those kisses teasing his skin, and
when he sleeps, he dreams in memories.
     They are eleven...the first time Casconsidered boys. He is looking at
Dean, and the thought, when it presents itself in his mind, startles him. It
isn't anything sexual; he is still too innocent for sex and desire, but it is
shocking none the less. Dean is sitting next to him on the couch, eyes alight
as he takes in every frame of his favorite action movie. Cas has been made to
watch this movie at least a dozen times, and each time, he finds himself
watching Dean more than the last and definitely more than the movie, because
the movie has gotten old, and Dean makes these faces every time without fail as
though he were watching the Creation.I think I'd like to marry him,Cas thinks,
and as soon as the thought appears, his face contorts into confusion. He is not
shocked that he thought that about Dean. From the very first moment, Cas knew
that Dean would be in his life forever. He's shocked because he never thought
he would want to be Dean's husband, he's terrified because Dean likes Robin and
Cas doesn't like boys.
     Of course, Cas doesn't do anything about the thought, tells himself he
never will. He does not want to be gay. Dean is a boy and Cas is a boy and they
won't talk about marrying each other. Cas doesn't want to talk about it anyway.
He wants to pass it off as a moment of intense platoniclove for Dean and file
the thought away. Cas does just that as he turns back to the movie he's seen a
hundred times.
     Time flashes forward in Cas' dream, and he is staring down to a drunken
Dean. He looks fifteen, maybe sixteen, and they are in the tree house. Cas
wonders how Dean got up there as drunk as he is.
     "You here to tell me that I'm worthless too?" Dean asks, staring up to Cas
with eyes that are bloodshot, be it from the tears or the alcohol, Cas doesn't
know.
     "Have I ever made you feel worthless, Dean Winchester?" Cas asks, sitting
beside Dean on the hard, wooden floor and staring at him. Cas has finally come
to terms with the fact that he's gay. He doesn't mind anymore, but that thought
of marrying Dean has stayed labled asintense platonic lovein his mind. He's too
scared he'll ruin their friendship to think otherwise. Cas blinks and tears
well up in Dean's eyes.
     "No," Dean whispers, and Cas smiles softly. "No, you've always been the
one to pick me up." Dean's voice is slurred, and Cas wants to reach out and
smooth the tears from his face. It breaks his heart to see Dean like this.
     "What happened?" Cas asks, and Dean snorts, his laughter turning to sobs
soon enough.
     "I should never have been born," he wails, tears and spitle flying over
them. His body is wrecked with sobs, and Cas flinches away from the
horribleness of Dean's words. He could not imagine his life had Dean never been
born... It would be silent and dark and cold.Cas would be silent and dark and
cold.
     "Don't say that," Cas says quietly, but Dean does not stop crying.
"Please, Dean," Cas whispers, but it is not enough. Cas, helpless, reaches out,
and Dean practically crumbles into him. He stops crying after a while but never
moves from Cas' arms. They fall asleep there, Dean gulping down the affection
Cas gives him and Cas breathing in Dean and his closeness. After they awake in
the morning, backs stiff, limbs numb, and hearts heavy, they don't talk about
the episode again.
     When the reality of harsh lights and antiseptics snaps Cas away from his
dreams, from freckled cheeks and bowed legs, he lets out a groan that is nearly
a sob. Even so, he rolls away from the warmth of his bed, knowing the sooner he
gets moving, the sooner he’ll see Dean again. Naomi is waiting for him when he
gets out of the shower, lips pressed together tightly. She leads him to her
office without a word.
     “Have you completed your inventory?” she asks when Cas is seated across
from her.
     “Yes,” he answers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his
‘inventory.’ The mock one he’d given Charlie read simply, I was born. I learned
I love cock. Now I’m here, and they’d both gotten a laugh out of it. What he
hands to Naomi though, is pages upon pages of anxiously scribbled assessments,
becoming truer and truer as the pages wear on. It began much like the one he
gave to Charlie, covering the basics with a few more adjectives, but when he
got to Dean, his short, choppy sentences became sprawling symphonies, singing
his praises with a melancholic voice. The last lie he’d told…I don’t miss him,
and six paragraphs later, he’d ended it with a burst of truth that he wishes he
could pretend was a lie.
     What we had was clinging hands. It was fervent lips and seeking tongues.
It was a million degrees in the dead of winter and equally as cold in the
swelter of summer. It was the greatest thing I’ve ever experienced. It was also
the worst. It was making love to my best friend and waking up desperate to talk
to someone about the confusion, the darkness that came with the sex and being
unable to because He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to. It was
seeing my sister and her boyfriend, His brother and his girl, and wanting to be
normal for once in my life.
     I never wanted to be gay. Neither did He. We wanted to be the best men at
the other’s wedding. We never wanted to be the groom to a groom. Then there was
Uriel in the woods behind Rachel’s party and Alfie in the employee bathroom
ofWiener Hut, and it became apparent that my thinking of boys would become
actively wanting them, settling for nothing else.
     And then there was Dean Ken, whom I’ve loved from the start, and He kissed
me for that dumb play I never meant to write myself into, and we were like a
snowball rolling down Mount Everest. Everything kept getting bigger and bigger,
faster and faster, harder and harder to control. Now, we are nearing the bottom
of our mountain, and the bodies of our loved ones lie in the wake of our
descent. Here we are nearing the bottom of the mountain, and we’ve got this
momentum and speed but nowhere to go, nothing to do but burst apart, settle
back into the snow we were first pulled from, and pray to God that there is
still hope for recovery.
     Cas’ cheeks burn. He knows what he wrote, and he knows that the truth in
his words is terrifying. There was a darkness around him when he was with Dean,
an ache of anxiety in his gut because he knew it was wrong. Coming to terms
with these feelings was hard for Cas. When they were together, Cas was content
to live in the delusion that love is good no matter what it's form, and there
was no reason to dwell on the problems when Dean was right there, his simple
existence more good than Cas could ever deserve.
     Retrospection on the relationship killed Cas, tore apart every single
thing he knew about himself, his life, his love, but eventually, he came to
this conclusion. He loves Dean, God, does he ever, but they were a supernova.
Supernovas were meant to burn bright, not forever, and if Dean gets to be that
supernova, then Cas can live with being the endless black hole he leaves in his
wake. As long as Dean still burns bright somewhere in this universe…
     “Wow,” Naomi concludes, startling Cas away from the darkness of his
thoughts as she straightens the last page of his inventory before folding it
into his file. Cas looks down. “You felt pretty strongly about Ken, huh?”
     “I know it’s wrong for me to love another man,” Cas begins softly, hanging
his head a bit because he never wanted to be wrong. It occurs to Cas that he
forgot to reject his meds this morning in his dazed Dean-drunk state. He feels
clearer because of it...
     “Castiel,” Naomi starts, tilting her head at Cas, eyes gleaming. “Have you
ever considered the possibility that what you felt for this boy wasn’t love,
but mere lust driven by Satan’s temptations?” Cas’ eyes narrow.
     “I love him,” Cas insists, a bit too forcefully to be an honest completer
of stage four.
     “It was merely a suggestion,” she says, putting her hands up, palms facing
Cas. “Speaking of your beloved,” she says, practically a sneer as she twirls
her pen around her fingers. “How is he doing?” Cas’ eyes narrow in frustration.
     “I wouldn’t know,” Cas mutters, knowing it is what Naomi wants to hear.
     “Oh?” she asks, barely hiding a smile. Cas is too distraught to notice.
“Have you not spoken to him?”
     “No,” Cas snarls, eyes shining dangerously.
     “But he’s the reason you’re here right? To keep him from being outed.”
     “I never told,” Cas starts, but Naomi keeps right on.
     “It was all about saving one man in the end, right, Cas?” Cas says
nothing. His mom probably warned Naomi of Dean, of their situation. She has
been playing him all along, and he hates them all in this moment. “If someone
did that for me," Naomi continues with a small shrug. "I’d do everything in my
power to thank that person.”
     “He doesn’t know. And even if he did, he doesn’t have to thank me. He’d do
the same for me,” Cas says, because Dean may be a lot of things, but he isn’t
disloyal.
     “Are you sure? Because it sure seems to me, and now I know I’m just an
outsider, that Dean spends an awful lot of time using you to get what he wants.
And when you can’t give it to him, he lets you rot in a clinic that you hate.”
     “He loves me,” Cas defends, but his voice isn’t as sure as it once was. He
doesn't know how she learned his name.
     “Are you sure?” Naomi asks, and Cas doesn’t answer because the answer is
no. Cas has always found Dean’s love for him improbable, incredible,
unbelievable, but Dean has always been there to kiss him to his senses. Now Cas
is alone, surrounded by people telling him that he is wrong, that he is an
abomination, that he is unworthy of love. He is finding it harder and harder to
keep his faith in Dean…
===============================================================================
     Naomi smiles down to the clipboard in her lap. Castiel Milton, self-
proclaimed homosexual. Stage four, completed, stage five, pending. Shows
promising doubt in same-sex relationship. With a bit more influence, he will be
ready for recovery completion. She clicks her pen, satisfied with her progress
on Castiel. She feels as though she is close to cutting the last tie between
him and his accomplice. She leaves her office again, looking around contentedly
at all the people she’s helped.
     “Excuse me, Mrs. Naomi,” A soft voice says, and Naomi turns. The young man
before her can hardly meet her eyes. “I’ve got another letter for Castiel
Milton from that Dean Winchester fellow. Do you want it with the rest of them?”
     “I don’t care what you do with the letter just as long as Castiel doesn’t
know it ever existed. You can read it and live vicariously through what I’m
sure are pitiful pleas for Castiel’s response.” Naomi laughs in delight,
turning away as the man puts the unopened letter onto a stack of letters, each
addressed to Cas in Dean’s lazy scrawl.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
     Dean has his head in his hands. It is day seventeen without so much as a
whisper of Cas. It is day seventeen of Mario Kart with Sam, Game of Thrones
alone, and 1,468,835 seconds without Cas. Dean has his head in his hands, and
all around him there is movement and laughter, and he is drowning. 1,468,839
seconds without Cas.
     “Dean,” Ellen says, laying a hand over his shoulder. “You’ve been sitting
here for hours, honey. Are you alright?” Dean looks up.
     “Yeah,” he says, forcing a smile that he’s sure looks tired and broken.
1,468,845 seconds without Cas. “I’m just tired.”
     “Well, let me get you something to eat,” Ellen offers, a smile on her lips
before she turns away and leaves Dean alone once again with the fact that Cas
is gone. 1,468,855 seconds without Cas. He puts his head back in his hands.
===============================================================================
      Dean is sitting on Bobby’s couch. It is day seventeen, and Sam has been
pestering him since he returned from Ellen’s over an hour ago. An average of
20,000 breaths pass through Sam’s lips every day, and today, Dean swears that
at least 78% of them have been used to annoy the fuck out of him. He has thrown
shit, mimicked, whined, bitched, been the neediest fucker Dean's ever met from
dawn to dusk, and Dean has had enough.
      “What?” Dean shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “What could you
possibly want now? Do you want me to cut your food for you? Chew it? Swallow
it? Jesus Christ, Sam, do something for yourself.” Dean huffs in exasperation,
then freezes as he sees the hurt flit across his brother’s face.
      “I just wanted you to hang out with me,” Sam says quietly before turning
away.
      “Aw, shit,” Dean groans to himself, and pushes up off the couch to follow
Sam. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he says when he finally catches up with him. “I’m
sorry. I know that I’ve been spaced out lately. What do you want to do? I am at
your disposal.” Dean offers a small bow to his baby brother in hopes of making
him smile, but he sees no amusement in Sam’s face.
      “I know you miss Cas,” he starts quietly, and suddenly, Dean is not so
sorry for yelling at him. As of late, Cas has become a taboo, something to
avoid talking about at all costs.
      “This isn’t about Cas,” Dean spits, spine rigid as he stares at his
little brother.
      “You love him, and he willingly went to that SOCE clinic, and now, he’s
ignoring you,” Sam starts again, his voice louder this time, more sure of
himself.
      “Me and Cas are fine,” Dean snarls, but Sam keeps on talking, voice
getting louder and louder until he is screaming at Dean.
      “And it’s okay to miss your boyfriend, but don’t take it out on me when
I’m just trying to help.”
      “It’s not about Cas!”
      “Then stop pouting like a little bitch!” Dean pauses, mouth hanging open
before he's able to snap it shut.
      “I’m not pouting,” he says...well, he pouts. Sam rolls his eyes.
      “I just wanted you to go to a movie with me,” he huffs, reaching up and
running a hand through his shaggy hair.
      “Let’s go,” Dean says in lieu of a better answer. Sam offers a half smile
before heading for the door. They have to borrow Bobby’s truck for the movies
because the Impala is still John’s POW. Sam sits in silence through the ride,
and Dean knows that even though he agreed to take the twerp to the movies, Sam
is still irritated with him.
      Once the tickets are bought, they sit shoulder to shoulder in silence
through the previews and when the movie starts, Dean manages to turn the
thoughts of Cas into a mere nagging in the back of his mind. The movie Sam
picked actually turns out to be pretty funny, so naturally, he glances to his
little brother, hoping to share in the joy. What isn’t natural is looking over
to where his little brother just sat and seeing bright blue eyes staring
forward in wonder, lips busted and parted. Dean reels, the memory washing over
him.
      They are thirteen. They are awkward kids. Cas is chubby and wide eyed.
His hair has already completed the transition from light to dark, but Dean is
holding onto the fair pigments for as long as possible. Cas’ voice is beginning
to crack too, and at the moment, he has a good inch and a half over his best
friend who has always been bigger than him. It’s unnerving for both of them.
Cas glances over to see his best friend already staring.
      “What?” he asks, an unknowing and trusting smile on his face. Dean
catches sight of the dark bruises under his eyes.
     “Why is your lip split?” Dean whispers, not because he doesn’t want to
disturb those around him, but because the thought of Cas hurting makes him
hurt. The amused grin slips off Cas’ face.
     “You don’t want to know,” Cas replies seriously, and Dean looks away. Yes,
he thinks. I probably don’t want to know, and they return to their movie.
     Dean blinks, and Sam reappears before him, laughing at a punchline Dean
missed. When he finishes laughing, Sam looks over at Dean, mouth opened like he
wants to speak, so Dean tries to smile like he just finished laughing too, but
Sam doesn’t look convinced. Still, they turn away from each other to allow Dean
a break from the scrutiny of watching eyes. The rest of the movie fails to hold
his attention. He keeps seeing the bruises on either side of Cas’ nose, the
split in his lip. It was years after that night when Dean finally found the
courage to ask again.
      “Cas,” Dean asks, looking to his best friend over their shared dinner.
Cas lost the majority of his baby fat as puberty finished taking its toll on
him, but just as Cas began nearing the finish line, Dean was pushed to the
start with hard and fast hands. His shoulders are broadening and his muscles
are hardening and he has finally reclaimed status as the superior best friend,
towering a full two inches over the 5’11 Cas. Cas looks up, eyes alight once
again with unsuspecting joy. They are talking about sports. They are talking
about movies. Cas has no idea. “Why were your eyes black that night?” Dean
asks, his voice, though an octave lower, is still the scared voice of that
thirteen year old. He's scared because he knows Cas knows what he’s talking
about. Cas blinks, obviously trying to rid his eyes of the recognition and
plaster on a believable smile.
     “I ran into a door,” Cas says with a shrug, his smile never reaching his
eyes before he’s diving back into his food.
     “Don’t lie to me, Cas,” Dean murmurs, freezing Cas with his fork halfway
to his mouth. “Please don’t lie to me.” Cas watches his food a moment longer
before bringing his eyes slowly up to Dean.
     “Let’s go to the tree house,” Cas suggests finally, and Dean’s heart
drops. If they can’t talk about it here, with little Sammy curled up next to
momentarily sober John on the couch, then it’s serious. Cas pushes his plate
away and stands, knowing Dean will follow.
     The walk to their haven has never taken longer. Dean doesn’t know what,
but he knows something important is hanging, precarious above them. He can feel
it in Cas’ breaths, in his own heartbeat. Once they break through the trees,
the climb to the top devours every ounce of strength Dean has. He must take a
moment to breathe before he is able to look back at Cas. When he does though,
Cas is staring out of the glassless window.
     “Did you know I’ve only ever kissed two people?” he starts, eyes
stretching out over the creek. “One was my mother,” Cas says with a laugh. Dean
smiles, because he knows that’s what Cas wants from him. Then he asks, because
he knows that is what Cas is really trying to tell him.
     “Who was the other, Cas?” Dean asks gently, the laughter gone from his
voice.
      “You’re going to hate me,” he whispers, eyes frantically tearing over
their stream.
      “I could never hate you. Come on, it can’t be that bad,” Dean ribs with a
smile, trying to catch his best friend’s panicked eyes. “Cas, you can tell me.
It can’t be worse than that night with Amanda Heckling. She wouldn’t make out
with me anywhere but in a closet.” Cas snorts.
     “That was your idea, asshole. You were roleplaying like you were a janitor
and she was a dirty student.”
      “See, I tell you shit like the fact that I have a minor janitor kink, and
you feel like you can’t tell me who you kissed.” The amused smile on Cas' lips
slips away was quickly as it appeared. “You don’t have to tell me. I just want
you to know that youcantell me, anything, ever, without any judgement or
ridicule. Me and you don’t do that shit to each other, right?” Cas breathes
deeply, hands clasped together in his lap to keep them from shaking. He nods
shakily because Dean is right, breathes deeply because he's gotta, and opens
his mouth because Dean deserves to know.
      “What would you do…if you were kissing a boy and one of your friends
walked up?” Cas tears his eyes away from the water, struggling to look Dean in
the face. “Uriel hit me,” he finishes with a sheepish shrug, dropping his eyes
to Dean’s shoulder.
      “Uriel?” Dean mimics, watching with uncomprehending concern as Cas
flinches away from the volume of his words. He didn’t realize he'd been loud.
“I didn’t even know you guys were friends.”
      “We aren’t,” Cas says quietly, as though he were ashamed. Dean doesn’t
understand.
      “But then why—” but then Cas’ eyes flick up to Dean’s, and he realizes.
“You weren’t the friend who walked up on him kissing the boy,” he says slowly,
holding Cas’ eyes until the blues drop to the ground, heavy with tears. “You
were the boy,” he finishes softly, watching numbly as Cas nods.
      “He hit me until my nose broke, and I fell. They were screaming, calling
me a faggot.” Cas laughs a humorless laugh. “It wasn’t like I just attacked
him. We had talked about it, planned it even. I reminded him of the messages to
keep him and his friend from saying anything.” Dean knows Cas will babble for
hours now if Dean allows him to.
      “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks quietly, cutting Cas off mid-breath
into his next rant.
      “I didn’t want you to hate me. I wanted to find the right way to tell you
that I’m interested in men.”
      “No, not about that. If you want to keep your sexuality to yourself,
fine, that’s your business.” Dean doesn’t manage not to sound completely
bitter.
      “Dean,” Cas interrupts, with a sigh, but Dean keeps right on talking.
      "You know what? I am kinda mad that you didn't tell me. I'm kinda mad
that you didn't tell me about you being gay, and I'm mad that you didn't tell
me about Uriel." Dean is being irrational. He knows that, but the thought of
Cas kissing Uriel and Dean not knowing makes him incredibly angry. "I thought I
was your best friend. You don't treat your best friend like this, Cas. Best
friends are supposed to trust each other."
      "I didn't want you to be mad."
      "Yeah? Well, I am," Dean snarls, standing and storming towards the door.
      "Dean, where are you going?" Cas calls after Dean.
      "I don't want to tell you. I'm scared you'll be mad," Dean snarls and
makes his way down the ladder.
      Dean blinks, the movie ends, and he drives Sam home without a word. Sam,
however, is happy to fill the silence, chattering away easily about school and
Jess and his happy life. Dean tries to pay attention.
      “How was the movie?” Bobby asks when they return. Dean shrugs. He doesn’t
really know. He only saw bits and pieces of it; the rest of the time, he'd been
seeing Cas.
      “It was good,” Sam jumps in eagerly, and Dean lets the kid have the
conversation, already pulling his boots off as he heads towards the stairs.
      “Don’t you leave those boots on my stairs, boy,” Bobby calls after Dean,
leaning around the still jabbering Sam to get his message across. Dean
backtracks to pick them up, but Bobby’s voice stops him again. “Ellen and Jo
are coming over for dinner, so you’d better clean up before they get here.”
Dean drops his head and drags up the stairs to his room. He is too drained for
dinner with anyone, let alone dinner with people he knows he’ll be forced to
socialize with.
      When he comes down a few moments later, now washed and groomed, he sees
Ellen swirling around in the kitchen and Jo pestering Sam as they set the
table. He takes a breath because that’s what it’s all about, going through the
motions, saving face until Cas comes back and jerks him from this limbo where
he’s awake but dreaming of anywhere else.
      Ellen smiles when he makes it down the stairs, big and open, and Dean
loves her for it. It reminds him of his mom, which hurts as much as it helps,
but still. Seeing that smiles reminds him of warm pies baked just for him on a
fourth birthday, fresh-washed blankets thrown over the sun-warmed grass for a
family picnic, pages in a book turned slowly at nap-time.
      “Dean,” she calls, opening her arms wide to him. He smiles and steps to
her, hugging her tight and remembering what it was like to hug her at two, at
four, at the funeral. After that, John stopped going to see Ellen, and really,
Dean can’t blame him. Ellen was the living reminder that Mary was dead. They
all were. “How have you been?” she asks when they pull apart, and if Dean
didn’t know better, he’d think she was just making small talk, being polite.
However, she has a glint of concern in her eyes, and when he shifts his eyes to
the others, he sees them watching him.
      “I’m fine,” he tells her, he tells them. He offers them all a smile
before backing away and sitting at the table. Her smile stays in place, but so
does the glint in her eyes. “Really,” he assures, but no one looks any more
convinced. He sighs and looks away. He misses Cas.
      It has been three days since Dean has seen Cas. Not that he’d ever admit
that he minds. No, he is Dean Fucking Winchester. He doesn’t care if Cas
doesn’t want to talk to him ever again. Nope, not at all.
      Guess again. It has been three days since Dean has seen Cas, and he
leaves his window open every night hoping Cas will crawl through and refuse to
be ignored. Dean knows he could just call him, but he'd been an asshole to Cas
and made it very clear that he doesn’t want to be anywhere near him. Dean and
his pride are too heavy now to go crawling back. It makes Dean sick with
anxiety. He just wants his best friend back.
      “Sam, give it back!” Jo shouts, startling Dean out of his thoughts. He
looks around, a bit confused. He’s been losing himself to these memories more
and more, even so, he doesn’t mind. They’re all he has of Cas at the moment.
      “It’s mine!” Sam shouts, and Dean can tell by the twerp’s face that he is
merely teasing little Jo. The pen he is holding over her head probably is hers,
but Sam likes having someone only a few years younger here to play with and
bother.
      “Sam, give Jo back her pen,” Dean says, watching in amusement as Sam
sticks his tongue out and Jo blushes ten shades of red at her crush standing up
for her.
      “Thanks, Dean,” she murmurs as Sam hands her the pen back.
      “Sure thing, kiddo,” he replies with an easy smile. They fall into the
seats around him, and soon enough, they are being joined by Ellen and Bobby,
bowls of steaming vegetables and plates of perfectly charred meats. Dean isn't
there though. He's once again in his head with Cas.
      It has been three days, and four, and five and six and seven and a never
ending scream that only Dean can hear. They’ve never been away from each other
for this long, never been without contact for more than an hour or so. Dean is
fine. He’s got friends other than Cas. He’s got Benny and Kevin and Garth, and
it doesn’t make him even a little sad to see Cas sitting alone at the table
that used to be theirs.
      It doesn’t make him even a little sad when he makes a joke and looks over
to get validation from Cas and sees nothing but air. It doesn’t make him sad.
Nope, not at all. It’s Cas’ fault anyway. If he had just told Dean that he was
gay and that Uriel had beaten him up for it, they wouldn’t be sitting at
separate tables, angry with each other.
      Dean sighs, eyes still on Cas sitting alone, book open in his hands.
Kevin and Garth are arguing over the latest Marvel movie and Benny puts his two
cents in when they ask, but they leave Dean to stare at Cas until he can take
it no longer. He stands abruptly, unknowing whether he’s going to run to Cas or
run home. Dean, as he ends up standing over his best friend, thinks it’s really
the same thing.
      “Hey, Cas,” he whispers, and he’s lucky to even get that much out. Cas
looks up from his book, clearly startled, clearly not expecting to see Dean
standing over him.
     “Dean,” he breathes, obvious relief in his voice as he puts a marker in
his book and stands, even though Dean had been moving to sit. When Cas stands,
they are eye to eye and the only people in the world. “I thought you were never
going to talk to me again,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face.
     “No. We need to talk,” Dean says, still staring at Cas over the table. The
smiles slips off Cas’ face.
     “Are you sure we can’t just pretend I never said anything?” Cas asks,
sitting down slowly and letting his eyes slip away from Dean.
     “Yes, I’m sure.” Dean sits and clasps his hands before him. Cas stares at
his fingers while Dean stares at Cas, and all in all, they are both all the
happier for it.
      “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Cas says finally, and Dean sighs.
     “Cas, I don’t care that you like dudes, okay? I really, really don’t. I
just wish you had told me sooner. Maybe I could have helped. I don’t like the
idea of you getting hurt when I could have stopped it.”
      “You didn’t know, Dean. It’s not your fault.”
      “That’s my point, Cas. I didn’t know, and that hurts.”
      “I didn’t mean,” Cas starts, finally bringing his eyes up to Dean, but
Dean cuts him off gently.
      “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, it’s just…you’re my best friend in
the whole world. I tell you everything, and the fact that you feel like you
can’t trust me…it sucks. And more than the fact that you felt you couldn’t tell
me, you felt if you did, I would stop talking to you.”
     “Well, in all fairness, you did stop talking to me,” Cas points out, but
his eyes are downcast because he knows Dean is right.
      “I didn’t stop talking to you because you like guys though. I needed
space to figure out what it means that you don’t trust me.”
     “You have to understand, Dean. The first thing I ever heard your father
say was for you to stop holding hands with me because that was ‘fucking queer.’
I just didn’t want you to react the same way.”
     “I’m not my dad, Cas,” Dean says softly, dropping his eyes to his hands.
      “I know, and I’m sorry…I just got scared.”
      “God, don’t ever be so stupid again,” Dean says, but there’s no malice in
his words.
      “It’s not stupid to be afraid of your best friend hating you,” Cas
defends softly, and Dean rolls his eyes.
     “It is stupid because it’s us, you and me, Dean and Cas, because you
should know you’re someone I could never, ever hate.” Cas finally brings his
eyes up to Dean, all wide and blue and shocked, like he expected Dean to one
day up and run.
      “Really?” he asks, and Dean nods.
      “You’re my best friend,” Dean says, and that is explanation enough.
      Dean blinks and finds himself staring into Ellen’s eyes, her lips quirked
up in a confused grin. He realizes she has probably been speaking to him for
quite a while. He clears his throat and looks around the table. The rest of the
dinner party has eyes on him also.
      “You okay, Dean?” Ellen asks, and Dean can only nod. He takes a bite of
the food he must have served himself on autopilot and forces a smile. He’s sure
it looks sarcastic and biting, but there isn’t much he can do about that fact.
He eats the rest of his dinner in silence, listening as Sam tells Ellen about
his amazing grades, his amazing girlfriend, his amazing life. He’s proud of his
little brother, proud that he’s been able to find the happiness that life found
it hysterical to rip away from him…
      Dean needs to hear from Cas. He needs to hear that voice and see those
eyes and know that this silence is not by choice. It’s driving him crazy. It’s
making that terrible little voice in the back of his head laugh that Cas
doesn’t want him anymore, laugh that the best relationship of his life is over.
He eats slower after that, sure that any sudden movement will send his already
rolling stomach protesting into sickness.
      When dinner is over, small talk and conversation has passed, Dean
silently begins taking plates to the kitchen, ignoring the stares of those
around him because, fuck them, and he cleans. In all reality, he needs
something to do, something to keep his hands and mind busy from this hell. He
just wishes he had chosen vacuuming or some shit because dishes always remind
him of Cas.
     They are seventeen, and they are In Love.
      “It’s raining diamonds,” Dean whispers, sitting in the windowsill and
watching the rain fall down outside. Cas sits behind him, arms wrapped low
around Dean's waist and chin resting on his shoulder.
      “That’s hail, you idiot,” he whispers, squeezing Dean tighter to him.
Dean smiles.
      “Must be your eyes I’m thinking about,” Dean says softly, turning his
head so that his cheek brushes Cas’ nose. He can feel the smile against his
neck.
      “You’re a poet,” Cas says, leaning forward and kissing Dean’s cheek.
      “I’m a hungry poet,” Dean agrees, leaning back into his boyfriend’s
laughter.
      “I’ll make you some pancakes,” Cas says, beginning to move away, but Dean
groans and leans back into him, holding Cas’ arms tight around his waist.
      “Don’t go,” Dean moans, and Cas laughs.
      “I’ll come back,” he promises, but Dean only holds him tighter.
      “Promise?” he asks, and Cas hums in Dean’s ear.
      “Always,” Cas whispers, so Dean lets him go. He turns away from the
falling skies to watch his vision in boxer briefs make his way into the
kitchen, humming under his breath some song that Dean has been singing for
days. His hair is a mess and his neck is covered in hickeys and he has never
looked better to Dean. He’s dancing around in the kitchen with one sock missing
and a bowl of pancake batter in hand and Dean’s whole world is moving in slow
motion. He sees this instant, and he sees the next. He sees Cas’ swaying hips
and his opened mouth and he sees eternity laid out before him.
      “Hey, Cas,” Dean calls, a smile on his face. Cas turns, shoulders still
shifting through the batter he makes. Cas’ mouth is open a bit, eyes alight
because he’s looking at Dean. “I love you,” Dean says with a smile. Cas’ grin
doubles as he puts the pancake batter to the side. He steps closer to Dean,
hands outstretched and reaching.
      “I love you too, Dean,” Cas murmurs, running his fingers through Dean’s
hair, brushing his hands over his lips. “And I hope you know you’re going to do
dishes when I’m done,” he teases, kissing Dean softly. So Cas cooks the
pancakes and Dean eats them and then they do the dishes together, laughing and
splashing and kissing.
      Now, Dean does the dishes in silence, trying not to remember that
afternoon, because Cas isn’t here and it hurts. Eventually, a presence behind
him makes herself known. Ellen doesn’t say anything, merely starts picking up
the dishes Dean sets down and rinses them. They work in silence for a long
while, the quiet pressing down around Dean until he can’t stand it.
      “Just say it, Ellen,” Dean mutters finally, unable to look at her.
      “Say what?” Ellen says, rinsing her hands and drying them on a limp dish
towel.
      “Whatever you’ve been wanting to say to me. I can practically hear your
thoughts yelling at me.”
      “I’m not yelling at you,” she says in a voice that is very admittedly not
a yell.
      “Then what’s the problem?” Dean asks, tossing the sponge in the water,
splashing them both with the dirty, soapy water.
      “You stop your temper tantrum,” she says sternly, brushing the water off
of her arms before she speaks again but softer. “Sam’s been telling me that you
aren’t doing so great without Cas.”
      “There it is,” Dean groans, bracing his arms against the sink and hanging
his head. Dean jumps at the hand Ellen presses between his shoulders.
      “It’s okay to miss him, sweetheart. He was your best friend.”
      “No one told you?” Dean asks, looking back at her over his shoulder. “I
love him,” he says, scoffing and hanging his head lower.
      “Of course you love him,” she says, rubbing small circles into his back.
“You always have.”
      “No, I’m in love with him,” he clarifies, because it’s important that she
know.
      “I know that too. I’ve known since you were ten and Jo tried to kiss Cas.
You freaked out, screaming that he wasn’t hers to kiss.” Dean smiles softly. He
had been mad that day, that’s for sure.
      “Then why did you say he was my best friend?”
      “He is, isn’t he? First and foremost.”
      “Yes,” Dean agrees, peeking up at her from the corner of his eye.
      “Listen, Dean,” Ellen says, brushing her fingers back through his hair.
“I know you love him, and I know he’s your best friend, but son, your family
needs you. Your Uncle Bobby needs you to get your head back on your schoolwork.
Sam needs you to see him when you look at him.”
      “I see him,” Dean mutters defensively, but he knows she’s right.
      “I’m just saying, kid. Cas loves you too, and he’ll still love you when
he comes back. I’ve never seen anything like it, what you two have. Some stupid
clinic isn’t going to change who he is, how he feels.” She offers Dean a smile,
and when he looks up from his reflection in the dirty water, he smiles back at
her.
      “Thanks, Ellen,” he whispers, straightening up and kissing her cheek.
She’d gotten it right, too. Dean’s scared that when Cas comes back, he won’t be
the same. He’s scared that, despite loving Cas with every ounce of his being,
it won’t be enough because it never has been before.
      “I always did like Cas,” Ellen says absently, turning back to the dishes
and drying them slowly. “I always knew you would realize eventually that the
girls you were dating were nothing compared to him.”
      “Is that why you never liked any of my girlfriends?” Dean asks, turning
his head to her curiously. The thought had never occurred to him.
      “Yup,” she says, putting a bowl away and turning to Dean with a wink.
      “Huh…I just always thought it was because of Jo’s crush on me,” he says
thoughtfully, passing her another dish to be dried and put away.
      “Are you kidding? You touch my daughter, and I’ll saw your jewels off
with a butter knife,” she says, picking one up and pointing its blunt end at
his testicles. He gulps.
      “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says holding his dripping hands up in
surrender. Ellen smiles and puts the butter knife away, patting his chest
sweetly.
      “Good. Now, how about we finish these dishes and start a pie for
dessert?”
Chapter End Notes
     Hi, everyone! First, thanks for reading!
     Second, I felt compelled to mention that I have never been to a
     clinic even remotely similar to the one Cas is in. I wanted to
     mention that because, while I absolutely in no way agree with trying
     to forcibly change someone's sexuality, I'm like 85% certain that the
     way they treat their patients is not halfas bad as how Naomi is
     treating hers. This is a purely fictional scenario that I am bending
     endlessly to my will.
     Okay. Anyways. I'd love to know what you guys thought of hearing old
     Deany's perspective on all this. Lots of love!
***** Chapter 4 *****
     The morning wakes Dean by Sam tugging on his blankets. Dean sits up
groggily, pulls his headphones off slowly, glares at the sleep-dulled speaker
before him, and grunts. Sam rolls his eyes and repeats himself.
     “Dean, it’s nearly noon. You said you’d take me and Jess to the park.”
Dean groans, and rolls over, tossing his headphones to the side.
     “Five more minutes,” Dean mumbles, pressing his face back into the pillow.
He was dreaming of Cas, as he often is. He was dreaming of a beach and Cas laid
out next to him, skin shining in the sun. He was dreaming of sand and waves and
the smell of salt in the air. He was dreaming of lazy kisses and no one to tell
him he’s wrong for loving Cas.
     “Come on, Dean,” Sam whines, so Dean throws a pillow at him.
     “I said five more minutes, bitch,” Dean growls, but there’s no real malice
in his voice. Sam’s not the one he’s angry with. It’s God. Even so, Sam calls
him a jerk and lets him lie there in bed for five more minutes before he comes
back in and wakes him. “Fine,” Dean moans and sits up in bed, rubbing the sleep
from his eyes before standing and getting dressed. He meets Sam downstairs a
few moments later with his boots tied and his veins in desperate need of the
song of coffee. “Let me get some caffeine and we’ll go,” Dean promises,
reaching for the pot and a mug.
     “Fine,” Sam mutters, plonking down at the table and crossing his arms.
     “What’s up your butt?” Dean asks, pausing in filling his mug to turn and
look at Sam. Sam shrugs sullenly, shaggy hair falling into his face. “Come on,
Sam. I’m your big brother. Talk to me,” Dean says, pushing Sam’s shoulder
lightly. Sam moves away from the touch, but Dean’s big brother instincts are
telling him that he’s not just being a sullen ass. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam
says nothing for a long while, so Dean sits just as stubbornly, his arms
crossed and coffee forgotten.
     “It’s just…” Sam starts finally, tossing his hands up in exasperation. “I
don’t fit in here, with my friends, with Jess. They’re all so cool and funny
and they know what they’re going to do with their lives…and I’m just
here…taking up space.”
     “Sammy, what,” Dean starts, but Sam cuts him off.
     “And you, you’re so smart and everyone loves you, and I don’t even know if
I’m going to be able to finish high school.” Sam hangs his head, clearly
defeated, but if he’s not willing to fight, God knows Dean will fight for him.
     “Sam, you are the smartest kid I know,” Dean starts again, and again, Sam
cuts him off.
     “Book smart, maybe,” he mutters, so Dean claps a hand over Sam’s mouth.
     “Shut up. You’re book smart and street smart and every other fucking kind
of smart there is. And who the hell cares if you don’t know what you’re going
to do with your life? You’re thirteen! You’ve got the rest of your life to
figure out what you want to do with it. Iknow what you’re going to do with it.
You’re going to finish high school, and go to college and be whatever the fuck
you want to be.” Sam opens his mouth beneath Dean’s hand, but Dean only presses
tighter against his lips. “What do you mean you don’t fit in with your friends?
They love you. They fall all over themselves to hang out with you. And Jess?
That girl is head over heels for you! How do you not see that?” Sam pushes
Dean’s hand away and this time, Dean lets him.
     “I’m not like them, Dean! My family is so fucked up, I don’t know how I’ll
ever be like them!” Sam screams, tears filling his eyes.
     “Hey, you’ve got a family that loves you. I love you. Bobby loves you.
Ellen loves you.”
     “Not you guys. Dad.”
     “You’re gonna let himdecide who you are?Dad?He’s not here to control you
anymore, Sammy. And even if you arenever like the rest, who cares? They’re
probably all would-you-like-tea-with-your-crumpets, lame asses anyway!
     “Icare, Dean! That’s the whole point! I’m tired of going to school and not
being able to stay awake in class because of the nightmares! I’m tired of the
bruises and of the questions and of people asking why I never have friends
over! Do you know why I don’t? Because I’m scared that one day Dad will come
barreling back in here and snatch us away and the nightmares will become
reality again! I’m tired of people asking why I never go to sleep overs, and do
you know why I don’t? Because I can’t sleep through the night without waking up
seeing you and everyone I love, dead on the floor because Dad took it a step
too far! I’m sick of this, Dean! I’m not like them, and I don’t want to do it
anymore!” Sudden silence, the only sound being Sam's heaving breaths.
     “Do what?” Dean asks quietly after an eternity has passed, but he knows
the answer. He’s known the answer since he was ten and felt it himself.
     “Live,” Sam murmurs, and with that single word, Dean’s whole world cracks
at the edges, crumbling to dust in the light of his baby brother, the last
thing he’s got left in the world, wishing he were dead.
     “Sam,” Dean starts, tears in his eyes as he reaches out for his brother.
Sam jerks away, and the ache in Dean’s chest deepens.
     “It’s fine…It’s not like I’m going to kill myself or anything. I just…I’m
so tired, Dean.” Sam finally looks up at Dean, his eyes full of hurt and the
weariness he was just speaking of.
     “I know you are, Sammy,” Dean says softly, chewing on his lip before
continuing. “But listen, you’re my kid brother, and I’ll do whatever you need
to help. I’ll stand guard by your door at night if you want. I’ll go to all
your parties and act super lame so no one even notices how lame youare.” Sam
snorts, a smile barely appearing on his face that Dean counts as a small
victory before he’s continuing seriously. “I can promise you, Sammy, that, as
long as me and Bobby are around, Dad will never lay a finger on you again. You
don’t ever even have to see him again if you don’t want.”
     “I do want to see him again,” Sam says sadly, dropping his eyes yet again.
“He’s still my dad. I just wish he didn’t suck so much…”
     “Me too, kid,” Dean says honestly. They sit in silence for a long while
staring at each other and the walls before the phone rings between them. Dean
reaches out for it, Sam mumbling over the ringing.
     “It’s probably Jess wondering where we are,” he says, and sure enough,
when he flips the phone over, Jessica Moore is on the caller ID.
     “You want to talk to her?” Dean asks, holding the phone out, but Sam
shakes his head softly. “Hey, Jessica,” Dean answers, forcing his voice to
sound bright.
     “Hey, Dean. Is Sam there?” she asks, and Dean, eyes on his little brother,
keeps his voice light as he responds.
     “Yeah, I’ve got a major hangover, so he went find me some Tylenol, the
sweetheart,” he says, winking at Sam when the blush rises on his cheeks.
     “You really should slow down on the alcohol, Dean,” Jess says teasingly.
“You only have one liver, you know.”
     “Yeah, but it regenerates, so maybe I’ll survive,” Dean says with a grin,
and Jessica laughs. “We’ll head your way in just a few minutes,” he tells her,
so they say their goodbyes, and Dean tosses the phone back to Sam. “You up for
seeing her?” he asks softly, the light tone in his voice gone now that it is
just he and his brother again.
     “She makes it better,” Sam says, eyes on his hands. “I’ll be ready to talk
to her by the time we get there,” and sure enough, by the time Dean has filled
his mug with coffee, borrowed the keys to Bobby’s truck, and driven the long
and snowy roads through their hometown to Jessica’s, Sam’s mood-o-meter has
almost refilled, even going so far as to pull a bitchface when Dean cranks the
music to max volume.
     When they pull up beside the quaint little house fit for a white picket
fence, Sam jumps out of the car and bounds up the steps. Dean turns the volume
down so they don’t get a noise complaint called on them, and watches as Sammy
raps against the door with his knuckles. Jessica comes out a few minutes later
in a thick, white sweater, hair twisted back but falling into her face. She
grins at Sam like he hung the moon, and Dean quietly loves her for that. It
reminds him of the way he’d seen Cas look at him so many times, even as kids.
      They are in that short stretch of time when Dean is ten and Cas is nine,
and Bobby has just helped them put down the last slab of wood to complete their
treehouse. They usher him out immediately, and Bobby knows when he’s not
wanted. Even so, they scream their thanks as he gathers up his tools and leaves
them to their new play fort. The two were determined to build it themselves,
but when he had to drive Dean to the emergency room after falling through the
poorly made floor, Bobby deemed that their treehouse would be adult supervised
or not at all. So they had begrudgingly accepted his help, and really, it made
the place better.
      Dean stands on their little balcony, hands on his hips and surveying all
the land he and Cas have conquered. They have a stream just deep enough to wade
in and a stretch of trees with branches low enough to climb on. He thinks they
have done well. Cas is inside admiring the softness of the sanded boards and
the smell of fresh cut pine.
     “I love our little treehouse,” Cas says quietly, so Dean turns away from
the world at his fingertips to look at Cas. Cas is sitting cross-legged in the
middle of the floor, running his fingers over the seams in the wood with a
smile on his face. Dean sits beside him and looks around. It’s not much. An
eight-by-eight room with a window, a door, and a hole in the floor to crawl
down. It’s bare, but in Dean’s mind, there will be beanbag chairs and Christmas
light illumination. There will be a rug and a TV and the coolest video game
system ever invented. He doesn’t know that years later, he will get his
beanbags, ditch the Christmas lights, buy a rug, and realize that a lone
extension cord cannot power a TV, the coolest video game system ever
invented,andthe fan that they desperately need to keep cool in the summer. Even
so, Dean loves their little treehouse too.
      “It’s gonna be the coolest place ever,” Dean agrees, a gap toothed grin
on his face. Cas looks up from the floor to smile at his best friend, eyes soft
and mushy because Dean is his best friend in the whole world. “And it’s just
ours. We don’t have to share it with anyone! Except maybe Sammy when he gets
bigger. Well, we don’t have to share it with anyone we don’t want to. It can be
our secret place.” Dean grins again, and Cas’ eyes sparkle.
      “Our secret place. I like it,” Cas says with a smile. Dean grins and
looks around their treehouse. “I’m glad you’re my best friend,” Cas says
softly, looking at Dean with wide blue eyes.
      “Me too, Cas,” Dean says, flashing that gap toothed smile again.
     “Hey, Dean,” a chipper voice says. Dean looks up from his memory to see
Sam holding the door open for Jess, her eyes sparkling.
     “Hey Jessie,” Dean says with a grin, savoring the eye roll Jess gives at
the nickname. The couple crawls into the truck together, Jess worrying her
scarf before settling. Dean watches the blush creep across Sam’s cheeks as he
takes her hand. He wonders how long he’ll blush when he touches her, and he
hopes it’s a long time. He wants his little brother to keep this wonderment.
God knows he always felt the heat when Cas touched him, be it the brush of
their hands or something more…fun.
      They are seventeen in the light of the morning, sun barely peeking
through curtains Cas has drawn tight. It is one of many in a string of lazy
mornings spent in each other’s bed. Anna is staying at Rachel’s, Gabe is at
school, and Ms. Milton is, ironically enough, on a church mission trip to “save
the gays”. They are alone, and the sun is barely peeking through the curtains.
When Dean wakes up, Cas is brushing his fingers over Dean’s face, connecting
the galaxies between his freckles with the touch of his hand.
      “Good morning,” Cas whispers, leaning forward to kiss Dean’s nose. Dean
moves into the touch and smiles, his cheeks heating at the attention.
      “Morning, Cas,” Dean murmurs, closing his eyes back against the night.
      “Did you sleep well?” Cas asks quietly, his lips brushing Dean’s nose
with every movement.
      “I had you here, didn’t I?” Dean says, smiling with his eyes shut.
      “Mmm,” Cas agrees, moving closer to Dean and tucking himself under Dean’s
chin. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders and holds him close, sleep
threatening to drape over him again. He would too, if Cas didn’t start kissing
him slowly, brushing his lips across Dean’s jaw, lips parted and leaving a hot
trail against Dean’s neck. He groans softly, holding Cas tightly to him despite
the half-hearted dissentions. “You love it,” Cas murmurs, sucking into Dean’s
collarbone. Dean groans and pulls Cas’ mouth away from his neck and attaches it
to his own.
      They lie there kissing for a while until Dean decides that, while kissing
is nice, he was so rudely awoken by adorable caressing and then teased away
from sleep by incessant neck fondling. He deserves at least a little hand job.
So he brushes his fingers down and down and down until he’s brushing against
Cas’ bare hipbones.
“Mmm, Dean, you just woke up,” Cas groans softly, grinning into Dean’s mouth.
Dean moves to nip at Cas’ jaw, licking against the stubble he finds there.
     “Yeah, what’s your point?” Dean asks playfully, rolling them so Cas is
rightfully pinned beneath the hard line of Dean’s body.
      “So, you have morning breath,” Cas says with a grin, leaning up to kiss
Dean.
      “Ouch, watch where you’re aiming, baby, that was my pride,” Dean teases,
bringing a hand up to cover his heart.
     “Whoare you?” Cas asks, leaning up to kiss Dean again.
      “I’m Dean Friggin Winchester,” Dean says, bouncing atop Cas with every
word.
      “You’re a dork is what you are,” Cas corrects, grinning up to Dean.
      “Shower sex?” Dean asks with a smile, and Cas rolls his eyes.
      “I don’t know, Dean. Shower sex is pretty complicated,” he says
teasingly, so Dean runs the flat of his hand from Cas’ sternum straight down
beneath his sweatpants to his half-hard dick.
      “You seem interested,” Dean murmurs, leaning close and licking across
Cas’ neck. In the meantime, his hand closes around the base of Cas’ cock,
drawing a gasp out of Cas as he tugs him slow and tight. “I’ll let you top,”
Dean murmurs, leaning down and flicking his tongue against Cas’ nipples,
tightening his grip around Cas’ rapidly hardening dick.
      “Fuck,” Cas hisses, arching up beneath Dean’s hand. Dean grins and licks
into his opened mouth, swallowing the gasp with delight.
      “I’m so much tighter than this,” Dean mutters into Cas’ opened mouth.
“And hot, Cas, I’m so fucking hot for you.”
      “On second thought,” Cas gasps, tearing away from Dean’s mouth with his
pupils blown wide and lips turning delightfully pink. “Shower sex sounds
fantastic.”
      “That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” Dean growls, tugging on Cas for
another moment before planting a softer kiss against his lips and letting go,
reveling in the way Cas practically falls back into the bed. Dean scoots to the
edge and pulls his bag from underneath, grappling blindly in the mess of
clothes to find the thick lube he had the foresight to bring. Dean watches from
the corner of his eye as Cas crawls out of bed and heads towards the bathroom.
He watches the sway of his ass with a hungry delight.
      When Dean finds the lube and condom, he joins Cas in the bathroom,
watching him from behind the cloudy glass of the shower door for just a moment.
Cas really is beautiful, from every dimple in his perfectly sculpted back to
every ripple of his perfectly made muscles. Dean has spent many nights kissing
his way down those dimples, licking into them and sucking them inside out,
especially favoring the ones right at the base of Cas’ spine.
      Dean watches the arch of Cas’ back as he rubs his hair into a lather,
then he pushes the shower door aside and steps in, setting the lube and condom
on the soap rack. His hands are stretching for Cas before he can think twice,
landing on his hips that are slick with the soap running down from his hair.
Dean pulls him to his chest, running his hands down the very dimples he had
been worshiping just moments before. Cas hums contentedly, hands still twined
in his hair and eyes closed calmly.
      “Let me help,” Dean offers, running his palms around front and up Cas’
chest until they are joining the sudsy mess that is Cas’ hands. “Turn around,”
Dean orders softly, and Cas obeys immediately, hands falling empty to his
sides. Dean rubs the shampoo in, massaging lower and lower into Cas’ skull
until he is rubbing the tight knots out of Cas’ neck. “You’re tense, babe,”
Dean murmurs, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the knob at the top of
Cas’ spine.
      “I’m trying not to come untouched here, Dean,” Cas hisses tersely,
earning himself a snort from Dean. He just works his fingers harder, pressing
into the muscle with slow circles that get ever wider until he’s rubbing the
knots from Cas’ broad and wonderful shoulders. When he feels Cas is
appropriately relaxed, he slides his hands down his spine once again, fingers
coming to rest again on the sharp cut of Cas’ hips.
      “Rinse,” Dean commands softly, dropping silently to his knees as Cas
turns back around, eyes landing immediately on Dean kneeling before him. Dean
grins wickedly up at him, eyes shining as he blinks away the stray drops of
water. “Go on,” Dean commands, gripping Cas’ dick, bringing his mouth closer
and closer until his lips brush Cas’ head with his next word. “Rinse.” Cas lets
out something between a scoff and a whine as he throws his head back into the
spray and Dean’s lips close around his cock. He sucks the water-slicked cock
into his mouth slowly at first, drawing a pained groan from Cas for every
millimeter he adds to his mouth. Cas slaps a hand away from his hair into
Dean’s, so Dean pulls off with a pop.
      “No,” Dean chastises, trying to hide his grin at Cas’ whimper. “Rinse,”
he says again, firmer, and this time, Cas obeys. He begins running his hands
rapidly through his hair as if it will push the suds out faster, and Dean puts
his mouth back on Cas’ dick, lapping gently at his already leaking head. Cas
whines but, as far as Dean can tell, continues to rinse his hair.
      “I’m done,” he gasps finally, both hands threading through Dean’s wet
hair as he bring his hips closer to the heat of Dean’s mouth. Dean, however,
pulls off slowly. He’s got a better idea to send Cas over the edge. Even so,
Cas whines as Dean pulls off, trying to push his hips back into Dean’s mouth.
      “Calm down, Cas,” Dean says with a grin, turning around and standing,
brushing his ass against Cas’ cock on the way up. “Wash my back, will you,
babe?” Dean asks, looking over his shoulder with feigned innocence. Cas groans
but takes a cloth and lathers it with soap, rubbing it in slow circles over
Dean’s shoulders, down his chest, around to the back, and dropping it lower and
lower with every swipe. Eventually, the cloth gets dropped to the shower floor
with a splash, and Cas’ fingers are sliding down the cleft of Dean’s ass. Dean
presses down a hard swallow and braces his hands against the shower wall.
      “You’re so beautiful, Dean,” Cas murmurs, bringing his lips close to
Dean’s neck and brushing gently across it. Dean smiles softly, mouth falling
open as Cas pressing the first finger in, just to the second knuckle. It’s not
enough, so Dean spreads his legs wider and pushes back, but Cas is ready,
pulling away two for every inch Dean pushes back. “No, no, you conned me into
this shower sex, so we’re gonna do this my way, nice and slow.”
     Dean groans, and Cas makes damn good on his promise of slow, (Dean doesn’t
see how he has the will for it, especially not with the fucking filth he’s
drawing from between Dean’s lips) pushing into him slowly, stretching Dean
against the burn and the heat and the ecstasy. Dean is a whimpering mess,
pressing back against the single—single! It’s been aneternity, the teasing
bastard—finger Cas has inside him and begging for more. Cas presses the one
finger in further, hooking it slightly to the side so that it brushes against
the bundle of nerves inside Dean.
      “Fuck, Cas,” Dean gasps, his head falling forward to the cool tile in
hopes of calming down enough to make it to the actual sex part before blowing
his load all over the shower floor. “Please, Cas, I need more,” he begs, so Cas
complies, pressing another finger into the hole he is slowly working open. He
exhales slowly, relaxing so Cas can get further in.
      Then the fun really begins, fuck all that slow nonsense. Cas presses
those two fingers deep inside Dean until he is nothing but the brush of his
prostate and the stretch of his ass. Cas scissors him open viciously, twisting
and pushing and insisting that Dean opens then. Dean recognizes with delight
that the will of steel he was just cursing has finally snapped. Then Cas is
adding another finger, and he forgets everything, his own name included. The
third finger makes it almost possible to imagine that it’s Cas inside of him,
especially when Cas is stretching out against him, lips panting heavily at
Dean’s neck. Another brush of his prostate has him twitching and trying
desperately not to come.
     “Fuck, Cas, I’m good. I’m good, Cas,” Dean insists, fumbling blindly for
the lube and condom so he can get Cas inside of him right now. Cas slides his
fingers out of Dean slowly, so Dean takes the moment of Cas sliding on the
condom and lubing up to breathe, willing the heat in his stomach to unfurl so
he can enjoy the sex with his boyfriend andnotcome before he’s ready.
      “Ready?” Cas asks finally, his fingers sliding down between Dean’s cheeks
again to slick him up for Cas’ dick. Dean nods furiously, opening his eyes and
reaching behind him. He hooks his hand on Cas’ neck and hauls him closer. Their
mouths meet in a puff of steam and seeking tongues, and Cas swallows the gasp
Dean lets out as his head passes the first ring of muscle.
      Cas continues pushing in slowly, his tongue claiming Dean’s mouth until
every inch of him is inside Dean. He moans at the fullness. Cas feels so
fucking huge inside of him. Granted, he’s no slob outside of him; really, Cas
has the perfect cock, thick and long but manageable. But inside of Dean…he
feels like Cas is perfectly filling every absence he’s ever had in his life. He
lets out a shaky breath, turning away from Cas’ mouth to brace his hands back
against the wall. Cas takes that as his invitation to continue, and continue he
does.
      He pumps in and out of Dean, slowly at first but rapidly gaining speed
until he is slamming into Dean, every thrust of his hips meeting the arch of
Dean’s back. Cas has an arm slung low around Dean’s waist, keeping him close
even on the pull of the push and pull they are doing. Dean leans forward, his
head pressing back against the wall and changing the angle of Cas’ hips. He
gasps as every thrust forward comes in contact with his prostate, sliding
against it again and again until he’s crying out.
      “Cas,” he moans, one hand coming from the wall to wrap around Cas’
fingers. “I’m gonna come,” he moans, but Cas merely presses an open mouthed
kiss to his neck.
      “Come for me, Dean,” Cas croons somewhat breathlessly, his hips slapping
against Dean erratically, and who is Dean to disobey an order? He comes with a
small cry, his orgasm splattering against the shower wall and sending his body
into spasms. Cas follows close behind, slamming into Dean one final time before
he feels the heat of Cas’ come even through the condom. “Shit,” Cas hisses as
the orgasm washes over him. Dean huffs out a laugh, spent from his own orgasm.
When the last of the waves wash over Cas, he pulls out of Dean gingerly,
kissing him softly to make up for the emptiness inside of him. They finish
their shower in easy kisses and soft words.
      Dean is cold when he opens his eyes.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is the reason for the rape/non-con warning... Just
     thought I'd give you a bit of a heads up.
     Cas stares at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head and roommate
otherwise occupied. Cas has been thinking of Dean, as he often is, but the
nature of the thoughts are somewhat different than he’s used to. What if
they’re right?he’s thinking instead, watching the blades of the fan spin above
him. What if he never loved me? The thoughts are ringing and ominous in Cas'
head.
     “Hey, Cas,” Charlie says, poking her head into the doorway. Cas looks from
his spinning fan over to her, expecting to see the wide smile and bright eyes
he’s used to. Instead, he sees a small frown and sadness.
     “What’s up, Charlie?” Cas asks, sitting up and watching her with concerned
eyes. She shifts slightly, moving so Cas can see her whole body in the frame of
the door, from her double-knotted shoes to the bag slung over her shoulder.
     “It’s time for me to blow this popsicle stand,” she says softly with a
shrug. Cas watches her with wide eyes, watching as she hikes her bag higher on
her shoulder and steps inside. “Dorothy’s done here, and I gotta get back to my
girl.”
     “Charlie, I can’t…”
     “Cas,” she starts with a sigh, sliding her bag off her shoulder and
sitting next to Cas on the bed. “You love Dean, don’t you?” she asks softly
reaching out and taking his hands in hers.
     “Yes,” he murmurs, because he does. He loves Dean more than ever…he’s just
not sure if Dean still loves him.
     “So hold on to that. You’re going to be fine without me, and if not, just
give me a call." She smiles at him, all teeth and crinkled eyes before she
pulls him close and buries herself in his neck. “Thanks for being awesome,” she
whispers, and when she pulls away, he swears he sees tears in her smiling eyes.
     “Charlie,” a voice says from the door, and Cas looks up to see the lady
from the picture staring at Charlie with a smile. She is every bit as beautiful
in person as she was in the photograph, her long, brown hair curling down to
her waist and twisting back in a look he’s beginning to suspect is a habit of
hers.
     “Gilda, this is Cas,” Charlie says gently, standing and crossing the room
to stand by Gilda. “He kept me sane.” Charlie looks between Gilda and Cas
fondly, and something unfurls from his gut that feels like envy and disgust and
darkness.
     “Thank you,” Gilda says gently, reaching down and threading her fingers
through Charlie’s. Cas forces a smile, that sick feeling in his gut never
leaving.
     “I guess I’d better go,” Charlie says finally, leaning down to pick her
bag back up. “I just wanted to tell you goodbye…and thank you.” Cas keeps that
forced smile until Charlie has disappeared down the hall, one hand threaded
through Gilda’s and the other raising the bird up for all the disgusted workers
to behold and get the fuck over. He wants to be proud of her, wants to cheer
her on and shout her praises...but he can’t, not when all the while he's
feeling that she is making a irreparable mistake by leaving. Cas sits on his
bed for a long while, attempting to sort through the mess that is his feelings,
and when he comes out on the other side, he has five things clear and straight
in his mind.
     1. He loves Dean.
     2. It is wrong that he loves Dean.
     3. Dean is forgetting about him, loving him less and less with each
passing day.
     4. When he returns, his old life will be over.
     5. This clinic is the way to rebuild a new life.
     And when he raises his eyes from his list, his heart beats in a steady and
lilted cadence. His hands shake, but it does not matter. Charlie gone, Dean is
gone, and the fight is over for him...
     Over the next week, he flies through the next two steps, confessing to his
sins and a change of heart. He gets on his knees for someone other than Dean,
folds his hands before him, and confesses to his every sin, to loving Dean. He
confesses to the sex and the gentleness of it all, confesses to how much he
loved loving Dean, and kneeling there in that make-shift chapel in the middle
of that God-forsaken clinic, something in Cas snaps. He thinks of his every
moment with Dean, the sloppy kisses and the boisterous laughter, the soft words
and the rough touches. He thinks of Dean with those smiling green eyes and
freckles that outline the world; he thinks that maybe Naomi was right. Maybe
all that there ever was between them was lust and desire. Maybe he never loved
Dean at all.
     Kneeling there in that chapel, he becomes the mold of who these people
have been trying to make him. Everything he’s worked for, everyone he’s ever
wanted to be, slips away and he is left with Lucifier. He is left with Dorothy.
He is left with Dick and Tessa and Hannah and Lilith and Demian and Barnes and
every other patient who has been in and out of this clinic. Cas is gone. He
isn’t the gay playwright in love with his best friend. Instead, he is left with
Castiel, man on the mend from homosexuality, Christian, good.
     He leaves that chapel a freed man. He goes to his room and throws away the
letter to Dean he’d been working on before stalking back into the hallway, eyes
set for Naomi. When he finds her flipping through notes she’d taken during her
last session, she notices the change in him immediately.
     “Accomplished step six, I see,” she says, closing the folders and
threading her hands over the top of them. She offers him a smile that, to an
outsider, would look sinister and scheming. To him, it just looks supportive.
     “Yes. I’ve had a change of heart,” he says, smiling earnestly back at her.
“I want to be better. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get better.” He
smiles to her, Charlie’s warning about stage seven lying forgotten in the part
of his mind that he has roped off, the part of his mind that still, and will
always, love Dean.
     “Wonderful. There’s someone I want you to meet, in that case.” Naomi
smiles at Castiel again before picking up her phone and pressing a button,
bringing it to her mouth. “April,” she says into the phone, her eyes never
leaving Castiel's. "Can you come in here?” Naomi puts the phone down and keeps
that smile trained on Castiel. A moment later, a knock on the door has them
both turning, eyes landing on a soft smile and strawberry blonde hair.
     “Hi,” she says, smiling at Castiel.
     “Castiel, this is April Kelly, one of our stage seven operatives. April,
can you please take Castiel to your office and explain what happens next?” So
April offers Castiel a hand, the smile on her face when he takes it growing
larger when she refuses to let it go. They make their way down the sterile
hallways, Castiel’s anxiety rising higher and higher for every second she
refuses to let go of his hand. When they stop at a door reading A. Kelly,
Castiel’s panic shoots through the roof as he remembers Charlie’s words.She
said that they showed her that ‘sexual attractions were good for the body and
the soul.’ They raped her, Cas.
     “What are you going to do?” Castiel asks, dread rising in him as he tries
to back away, but April’s hand still holds tight to his wrist. She smiles back
at him as she gets her ‘office’ open, all but shoving him inside when his knees
lock in place. She locks the door behind them, and all Castiel can do is take
in the cinderblock, windowless walls, the small desk and queen size bed filling
the majority of the room. Castiel grapples with the door when he is given the
chance, but it locks with a key, and April has it shashed away. She glides
smoothly around the room, flicking off the lights and setting a flame to the
many candles she has throughout the room. When she finishes, she approaches
Castiel again, eyes hooded and lips parted slightly.
     “Just relax,” she croons, reaching up her hands to shrug him out of his
coat. It lands on the floor in a heap, and all at once, he is seeing Dean
standing before him, those loving eyes never leaving his as he undresses him.
Tears spring to Castiel’s eyes as April works the buttons down his chest. He
can’t even fight back. She has his shirt on the floor and belt undone, fingers
wiggling his zipper down before Castiel is able to connect his hands to his
brain and get her the hell off him. Her hands are pinned to her sides before
Castiel ever realizes he has reached out. Castiel’s eyes are stone; tears still
line the dark lashes but they are stone nonetheless.
     “Don’t touch me,” he growls, but April merely titters at him.
     “Now, Cas, don’t be like that. If you won’t do it compliantly, I’ll have
to bring in force,” she says, but Cas only clenches his jaw, refusing to let
her do this to him. So she doesn't. Instead, she sighs and leans away, her arms
still pinned to her sides by Castiel’s hands. “Alright,” she says, tossing her
head slightly to clear the hair. Then she’s opening her mouth and screaming
like she’sthe one being sexually assaulted.
     In seconds, fresh keys are jiggling open the lock while April continues to
scream. When the door is open, two huge men step through, easily six foot five
and three hundred pounds. They look to Castiel, see his incriminating position
with April, and jerk him away from her, literally holding him off the ground as
he flails and screams. Its useless though. With a mere, “make him cooperate,”
from April, he is being stripped naked through his thrashing and thrown to the
bed. When there, one of the goons holds his thrashing limbs while the other
straps him down, one across the chest, one across the hips, one on each wrist
and one around each ankle. By the time they leave the room, Castiel is naked
and sobbing on the bed, his head thrashing wildly in his last ditch effort to
fight.
      “Oh, calm down,” April says dismissively, reaching down and pulling her
shirt over her head before unhooking her bra and tossing it to the side.
Through his teary and panicked haze, Castiel sees big and pink nipples that are
nothing like Dean’s sweet brown stumps. Castiel cries harder, fists clenching
and unclenching rapidly in the sheets.
     “Please,” he begs, tossing his head this way and that. “Don’t do this.”
     “You're on step seven, Cassie,” she says, dropping her jeans and panties
to the floor before crawling towards him. “This is what step seven is. You’ve
humbly asked Him to remove your shortcomings, and here, that means you’ve asked
Naomi to fix you. That’s why I’m here, to show you that straight sex is better,
andright, when compared with…well, sodomy.” She kneels over Castiel now, eyes
hooded as tears stream down his face.
     I'm so sorry, Dean, he thinks, his heart slamming against his rib cage. He
sees Dean watching him, heartbroken at what is being done to him, disgusted by
what he is. I'm so sorry. Then her hand wraps around the base of his cock,
squeezing it partially to life before she sucks it into her mouth, hitting the
soft of her throat again and again until he’s fully hard.
     Castiel hates himself. He hates his body for reacting to her; he hates his
penis for thinking the pussy she sinks onto his dick is wet and tight and
wonderful. He hates himself for the string of come he shoots into the condom
she forced on him after a long while of her bumping and grinding. He lies there
when she’s finished, arms stretched wide and sobs racking his body. April lays
contentedly by his side, brushing soft fingers against his heaving chest until
she decides she wants to speak.
     “Cas,” she starts, rolling forward to look him in the eye. The sobbing has
slowed to silent tears streaming down his face. He wants to wipe them away, but
instead, he is forced to wallow in them. They hadn’t even given him the ability
to wipe away his own tears. April reaches out and runs a palm through the
shining trails before continuing her sentence. “Step seven is about helping you
see that the natural way, man and woman, is flawless. It is how God intended
sex go, and He made it so that it was fulfilling and enjoyable. Did that not
feelgood, Castiel? In all senses of the word?”
     Castiel says nothing…what is there to be said to that? It did feel good…
It felt as good as sex with Dean, if not better. It felt honest. It felt like
he wasn’t forced to hide because he was with another man. It also felt wrong.
It felt like, despite everything, he still wants the big hands, the broad
shoulders and the dick. It also felt dirty, and he, unlike Dorothy, comprehends
enough to know that he was just raped.
     “Do you want to do it again?” she asks, eyes bright and open. Castiel
swallows thickly, his throat clenching shut. He hates himself for wanting to be
better, for wanting to like women and pussy and not Dean, but he does. He wants
to be better, so he nods. April’s eyes light up, a grin covering the bottom of
her face, and Castiel’s chest lurches.
     “Please untie me,” Castiel says, tugging at his restraints in vain.
April’s bright eyes narrow, her smile slipping slightly.
     “You’re going to fight,” she says suspiciously, but Castiel shakes his
head, hair flopping around in his efforts.
     “No, no, please. I won’t.” The tears start back, and all at once, he
remembers his panic attack at ten over cops and robbers with Dean. Dean had
been the hero, as always, but Cas had been the bad guy he’d tied up instead of
the partner who usually helped him. Cas had panicked and stopped breathing, and
Dean had hugged him after he’d freed him, apologizing profusely again and
again, refusing to relinquish his hold on Cas. Castiel swears Dean never really
forgave himself for that. “Please, I won’t fight.” Castiel hiccups, tears
falling as he tries to breathe around the restraints. The one around his
breasts is the most problematic. It is constricting his lungs, confining his
airways, closing his throat against the oxygen. His mind is attacking him,
telling him that the straps are tighter than they are, that they are harming
him more than containing him. “Please,” he gasps, tears falling down his face.
April’s eyes narrow, but he is too focused on the air barely moving through his
lungs to plead more.
     “Fine,” she says, reaching up and unhooking his hand, moving to the next
before peeling away the restraint on his chest. He sits up immediately,
pinching his stomach on the hip restraint as he sucks in deep, full breaths.
She watches him confusedly before undoing the rest of his restraints, ignoring
the gulping, gasping breaths. Even so, he has to stave off the remainder of his
panic attack before he can turn back to her.
     She is watching him expectantly.
     His hands shake when he reaches out to touch her, but she still kisses him
slowly, languidly even, compared to the insistent push of the first time.
Castiel closes his eyes to her gray eyes because they are not candy apple
green. He closes his eyes to her flower blossom scent, her small fingers, her
smooth face. He just kisses her, bringing his hands to rest against the small
of her back because it is the least offensive place he can find.
     April still leads the show, but this time, Castiel finds that he is an
active participant. She guides his hands where she wants them, namely, pulling
against her nipples or slipping between her legs. Castiel can’t say that it
doesn’t feel just as good as the first time when he reaches his orgasm, and
this time, he feels cleaner because he asked for this. Castiel decides that he
rather likes straight sex.
     “So, that was okay?” April asks, holding the covers they are under close
to her chest.
     “Very much so,” Castiel says, and really, it was. He enjoyed her velvet
skin and supple breasts. He enjoyed himself, and he feels good that he was able
to. He didn’t want to be broken. He sees the shadow of Dean's hurt eyes in his
mind. “Um…what I did…that was, uh, correct?” April laughs next to him.
     “Very much so,” she mimics softly, and Castiel believes that. She made
faces and noises this time that she didn’t make last time, and Castiel, gay as
he may have been, knows what an orgasm looks like.
     “Good,” he says with a smile. April gives Castiel another smile before
pushing herself away from him, leaving him lying there naked and alone. He
stares after her for a long moment, watching the curve and sway of her walk as
she makes her way to her desk. She dresses smoothly, never sparing Castiel
another glance before she unlocks the door and leaves. Her smell is all over
him, clinging to his skin in the way Dean always did.
     He can’t say he does not sometimes miss the smell of Dean. He cannot say
he doesn’t miss the smell of the grass and the smell of the sun, the smell of
cheap detergent because it’s all Dean could afford, the smell of grease and pie
after a long shift at Ellen’s. He cannot say he doesn’t miss the smell of
dreams and hope that Dean held around him like an aura. Even so, Castiel wants
to be better, and the smell of April against his chest, his cheek, his palm…
well, it’s pretty damn great.
     He shakes himself slightly, then moves for is clothes. He picks them up
from their hastily discarded piles and begins putting them on, his limbs still
buzzing from his time with April. When he is dressed, he leaves her ‘office’
and steps out into the hall. He smiles, because for once in his life, he feels
good. He feels free. He feels like he isn’t broken or wrong or a disgrace to
his family.
     “Castiel,” he hears Naomi call as he passes her office. He pokes his head
inside her door, only to see her smiling at him. “Step seven has been
completed,” she says. “Are you ready to begin step eight?” Castiel nods, so she
waves him forward to sit at her desk. “Step eight is to make a list of your
trespasses, in other words, make a list of those you’ve harmed because of your
sickness. Write them apologies. This step will take as much courage as your
moral inventory, so be proactive about it.” Castiel nods, eyes wide as though
he is taking in directions for making the perfect cheesy garlic biscuits. Naomi
passes Castiel several sheets of paper and a pen to match. Castiel takes that
as his cue to leave.
     When he gets back to his room, he finds Lucifer in their room, folded in
his bed, dead to the world. Castiel rolls his eyes and sits at the little desk
built into the wall, desk light turned on and pen in hand. He spends a long
while staring at the paper, sifting through his emotions until he feels like he
has words. He starts with his mother.
     Mom, he writes. This is my apology to you. It is my apology for the GSA,
for the play, for Uriel, and for Alfie. For Dean.
     I’m sorry for lying to you. You asked why my nose was broken, why my lip
was split, and I told you that I had fallen off my bike, that my face had
smashed into the handlebars. Really, I got beaten up for kissing Uriel. Perhaps
that should have been my warning. I’m sorry for stealing from you. Granted, it
was five dollars for lunch and you willingly gave it, but I wasn’t going to
Wiener Hut for the hot dogs. I was going for Alfie. I kissed him too. Actually,
I defiled him. I striped him bare and took him in my mouth, and I’m sorry for
the five dollar that it cost you.
     I’m sorry for hurting you, disappointing you, betraying you, and breaking
your heart. This was for Dean. All of it was for Dean. He was bad from the
start, and you always tried to make me see that. “That Winchester boy will rip
everything from you,” you’d say. “He’ll make you lost,” and he did. When I
first laid a hand on him in kindergarten, I was lost. He was just so addictive.
I felt I needed him like a drug addict needs his next hit, like a smoker needs
that cigarette. I felt I needed him as much as I needed the air in my lungs,
and I would have done anything to have him. I hurt you to have him, mom, and
I’m so sorry.
     I know it hurt to see me with him. You raised me to be a good person, to
act how God would want me to, and I let you down when I decided I’d have Dean
over those values. There were a million times, a kiss and a touch and a whole
life you never knew existed, whose very existence was a betrayal to you. I’m so
sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for the pain and the stress and the worry it
caused you. When you found us together, I could see your heart breaking in your
eyes. I’m sorry for that. I saw in your eyes you holding me as a baby and
wanting nothing but the best for me. I saw you love me through childhood and
into adulthood and then I saw your heart break because you thought you failed.
You didn’t fail. I did. I failed by loving Dean, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I
don’t know how many times I can say it. I am so unbelievably sorry.
     I love you, Mom, and I want to thank you for doing this for me. I know it
was a hard choice to make, but I thank you. I hope someday you’ll be able to
forgive me for putting you through this. I’d take all the pain away if I knew
how. If I could, I would turn back time and not kiss Uriel. I would not go to
Wiener Hut. I would stay the hell away from Dean Winchester. I’m sorry, Mom.
     Castiel sits back and stares at his words. His hand is cramped and his
head is aching, but he still has a few letters to write. He goes next to Anna
to apologize for staining her with his and Dean's relationship. Castiel writes
a short apology for Gabe, much like the one he wrote for Anna despite the fact
that Gabe likely does not know the extent of his and Dean’s relationship. He
writes a short apology for Charlie, for enabling her, and one for Meg, for
denying her. Then he stares down at the stack of letters in his hand, and he
swallows down the feeling that he’s not yet done with his apologies. He dreads
his last to write.
     Dean, he writes. This is my last apology to write. I have apologized to my
mother, my sister, my brother, my new friend, and my old girlfriend, all for
things that are your fault. I should be able to move on to the next step, but I
know that I am not done. I owe you an apology as well, despite all the hell
that lusting after you has put me through. That being said, this is my apology
to you, and I’ll start at the beginning.
     I’m sorry for saying you didn’t have a mom. I didn’t know what her memory
meant to you. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for getting you in trouble with
your father. It was innocent at the time. We were innocent. What happened to
us, Dean? I’m so sorry for pulling you into this mess. You were good before I
got to you. I ruined_your_life, Dean, and I’m so unbelievably sorry.
     Castiel's vision blurs with tears, but his hand keeps moving of its own
accord.
     I’m sorry for putting you through the hell that comes with having a gay
best friend. I’m sorry for writing that damn play in the first place. I’m sorry
for kissing you, God, am I ever. If had put the date two days later so Benny
could get better, the kiss would have stayed just a stage kiss. If I’d never
written that play to begin with, you would never have kissed me, a boy, and you
would still be the clean and amazing person you were before you liked boys. I’m
so sorry that I did that to you. You cannot imagine the guilt I feel for
forcing this sickness on you. I’m sorry for the strain I put on your life. I’m
sorry for ruining your relationship with Lisa. I’m sorry for everything. I’m
sorry for defiling you and robbing you and loving you. It ruined you.
     I’m sorry for the first kiss and I’m sorry for the last, the one that
landed us here. I’m sorry for every single kiss in between too, but especially
the last. I don’t know what happened to you, but if my mother kept her end of
the deal, you’re safe. I hope you’re safe. But, God forbid you aren’t, I want
to apologize for that too. I don’t even want to think about what would become
of you. I'm sorry for risking your well-being, Sam's, all for this.
     I want to apologize for everything that has happened between us. I need
you to understand that I never loved you. Cas blinks, startled. Tears line
trails down his cheeks, but his eyes are wide. He...never loved Dean? Suddenly,
everything clicks into place with a horrendous and crippling ache pulsing
through his chest. He keeps writing, words ruthless and cold.
     I’m not apologizing for that. I will never apologize for how I feel, but I
will apologize for how my feelings affected you. I firmly believe that what you
felt for me was just lust, but I knew you. I knew your habits and your quirks
and I knew you were just as affected by me as I was by you. Looking back, it
was all mindless sex, but I’m sorry for affecting you.
     I never loved you, and I’m sorry. That’s all I was trying to say.
     Goodbye, Dean. This is goodbye.
***** Chapter 6 *****
     The sun is cutting through the trees, lighting the world and the snow with
the hues of the sun. Dean sits on a park bench, admittedly freezing his ass
off. Even so, he won’t complain. Sam is out there rolling around with Jess,
laughing like Dean hasn’t seen in weeks, and some part of him hurts at the
sight. If he’d just paid a little more attention to Sam, watched how his smile
never met his eyes, pulled his head out of his ass, he might have seen that Sam
is hurting. Be that as it may, he hadn’t. He had been too busy moping about Cas
to notice his little brother slipping into depression, and it hurts.
     “Hey,” Jess squeals, jerking him out of his thoughts as Sam comes up
behind her and catches her around her waist. He is holding her with one arm
while the other comes up and dumps a snowball into her hair. Jessica laughs as
she shakes the snow of her.
     “You love me,” Sam mutters as he presses a kiss against her cheek. Jessica
blushes and pushes him away, grinning all the while.
     “Shut up,” she says, but presses a return kiss against his cheek. He
blushes just as profusely as Jess had, if not more, and she uses the
distraction to smash a snowball into his face and run away. Dean smiles
watching them. He misses Cas watching them.
     They stay in the park for another hour or so. The kids even manage to draw
Dean into the snowball fight, Sam and Jess teaming up and pelting the spaced-
out Dean into the war. He wins, judging by the soggy messes he returns to Jess’
house that are Jessica and Sam, and don’t you know he rubs it in, even as he
tells Sam he’ll be back later to pick him up.
     Oddly enough, he is in high spirits as he makes his way back across town,
radio blasting AC/DC at top volume. Needless to say, his spirits drop the
instant he comes to that old familiar street. It is still missing its sign. It
is an unnamed street so far as the world is concerned, a nonexistent road is
nowhere, but to Dean, it’s the background for his whole life. Who can blame him
for turning down into it?
     He comes to Cas’ house first, a perfect little house made of brick,
mortar, and Saturday morning cartoons. The world moves in slow motion as he
passes. He sees Cas hanging upside down from that tree in the front yard, going
on excitedly about his aquarium. He sees them laying in Cas’ bed, hands tracing
lazily across every inch of skin. He sees them laughing on the couch, kissing
in the kitchen, fighting in the hallway. He sees Cas dribbling a soccer ball in
the front yard, himself fielding ground balls in the back, and both of them
heading to the others’ games before they both became too consumed with their
lives for sports. He sees a smile and a laugh and a hug and a kiss and a bad
memory to balance every good.
     Then he turns to the other side of the street, and he sees his own house.
He sees a thousand afternoons hiding Sam from his father’s wrath, a billion
moments pretending he was happy in this hell. He sees the liquor-stained
carpets and the anger-cracked walls. He sees the bruises and the nights coming
home only because Ellen refused to let him work after midnight. He sees tossing
his own barely passing report cards, hanging Sam’s excelling grades, not that
John cared either way. He sees himself getting lost in the mix and never taking
his eyes off Sam long enough to notice.
     He sees Baby in the drive, and he has half a mind to keep driving, to mark
this whole excursion down as a big mistake and get the hell outta dodge. Then
he sees that little window, the one that is still unlocked for Cas, and he
knows that if he doesn’t go now and face that house, he never will. His
father’s truck isn’t there, meaning heisn’t there…what could it hurt?
     He parks next to Baby, and the first thing he does is run his hands over
her glossy black paint. He sees the army men in the ashtray, the Lego’s in the
vents. He sees S.W., he sees D.W., and he sees every moment in between. He sees
the drive from Double Springs to Sceadan, cramped in the back between hastily-
packed boxes and a car seat. He sees his father’s tear-stricken face, and he
sees baby Sammy oblivious and asleep. He sees his whole life in a rear-view
mirror and the house before him.
     Dean doesn’t have a key anymore—his copy is still wrapped up in Baby's key
ring—so he climbs in through the window he didn’t have the time or inclination
to lock before he left. It doesn’t seem as high at seventeen as it did as
seven, but he still lands on the other side with a hard thud. When he
straightens, he sees his desk, covered and dusty, his bed, ruffled and empty.
The room smells like him, and along side him, Cas.
     There is a mile of flesh pressed against him, Cas snoring slightly, head
pressed straight over Dean’s heart. Dean is awake, running his hands gently
across Cas' back, rubbing his cheek against the mop of hair, and loving every
second of it. This is what I live for, he thinks happily. Lazy mornings in bed
with Him. Cas grunts slightly, having obviously been awoken by the touch of
Dean's hands against his back.
     “Good morning,” Dean murmurs, nosing into Cas’ hair. Cas grunts again, his
arms tightening around Dean’s middle.
     “You smell good,” Cas grumbles, burrowing closer to Dean despite the
irritation in his voice.
     “Thanks,” Dean laughs, still rubbing those circles in Cas’ back.
     “You’re also warm,” Cas grunts, squeezing Dean even tighter, and Dean
squeezes back.
     “I don’t know why. You stole all the covers last night,” Dean quips
softly, pinching the layer of skin over Cas’ ribs playfully. Cas jerks, his
head flying from beneath Dean’s chin to glare at him. His lips are trembling in
the effort it takes not to smile.
     “Maybe I wouldn’t have if you would have stayed on your side,” Cas
retorts, and he is right. The bed beneath them is a queen, and they are both
curled clearly on Cas’ side.
     “Maybe I would have if you hadn’t stolen the covers,” Dean replies, giving
them a jerk just for the fun of it. Cas sticks his tongue out, and Dean leans
forward and kisses him, morning breath and all. Cas’ rigid posture melts away,
and they fall back into the bed to start their morning the way they ended the
night before.
     Forty minutes and mutual blow jobs later, they leave Dean’s room to brave
the world. John is gone, probably off to the job he can barely hold down or
passed out somewhere along the way. Sam, however, Sam is already up, bouncing
around in the kitchen with pancakes half-burning on the stove while he
scrambles eggs.
     “Wow, I thought I went to bed at home, not a bed and breakfast,” he says,
voice directed at his little brother. Sam jumps a bit but doesn’t turn around.
He has his hands full.
     “Shut up, Dean,” he grumbles, and Dean laughs, pressing a quick kiss to
Cas’ cheek before going to rescue the ungrateful little twerp and the pancakes
that are just a bit too cooked. Dean bumps Sam away from the stove and to the
bar, taking over his place easily as he flips the bacon, turns the heat down on
the eggs, and starts in on a new batch of pancakes.
     “What’s all this for?” Dean asks after a while, glancing to look at Sam
between flipping and scrambling.
     “Jess is on her way over,” Sam says shyly, and Dean smiles.
     “Well, you can take credit for my perfectpancakes,” Dean says, dropping
the soft smile for a superior grin as he slides a stack of pretty damn amazing
pancakes onto a plate at the bar for the world to marvel at. Sam rolls his
eyes, and Cas takes a piece of bacon from the plate. Dean doesn’t know what he
was expecting really, but he still turns back to get the rest of breakfast with
a huff and a grumble.
     “Oh, Dean, sugar plum, light of my life, your pancakes are beautiful,” Cas
says dramatically, standing and crossing the small kitchen to wrap his arms
around Dean. Cas presses a bacon-greased kiss against Dean’s cheek, and Dean
grumbles to cover his blush. A knock sounds at the door, and Cas pulls away
from Dean with a soft smile.
     “I bet that’s Jess,” Sam says excitedly and runs for the door. Both Cas
and Dean watch as Sam stutters his run to a halt, smooths his shirt down, and
takes a deep breath before pulling open the door and leaning against it.
“‘Sup,” they hear, and they both burst into laughter, especially when Sam shuts
the door behind her with ears red as a tomato. Jess though, Jess just looks
tickled pink just to be here with Sam.
     “Hello, Jessica,” Cas says, smiling at her and taking his seat back at the
bar.
     “Hey, Castiel,” Jess says with a grin. Her eyes then flick to Dean. “Hey,
Dean,” she says, and Dean turns away from his breakfast masterpiece to wink at
her.
     “‘Sup,” he says, leaning against the refrigerator like Sam had done to the
front door. Sam turns ten shades of red, but Jessica just grins at him. “Hey,
your boyfriend made you breakfast,” Dean says to Jess as a peace offering for
Sam, smiling as he slides the last of the bacon onto a plate and puts it with
the rest of the food.
     “That’s so sweet,” Jess says, looking to Sam with a soft smile, one that
Sam returns with a blushing shrug.
     “It was nothing,” Sam says, pulling out a stool for her to sit on. Dean
passes the smiling couple plates and snags a pancake for himself before pulling
Cas from his seat and leading him towards the door.
     “Hey,” he grunts when he is pulled away from his stool. “I was hungry.”
     “You’re hungry? Already? You just had sausage,” Dean says, to which Cas
slaps his arm, a shocked and amused expression on his face. Dean cackles out a
laugh, doubly so when he hears Sam whine at them from the kitchen about ruining
his appetite.
     “Cocktail wieners don’t count,” Cas snipes back, leaning forward with his
forefinger and thumb showing the size of the small wiener.
     “I don’t know whether to applaud you for the pun or be hurt that you think
my penis is small,” Dean says, bringing a hand to his chest. Cas grins. “We’re
going out. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Dean calls to Sam from the living
room, slipping into his shoes and passing Castiel his.
     “What wouldn’t you do?” Sam retorts sharply, and he sees Cas give a he’s
got a point shrug beside him.
     “Jesus Christ, what is this? Pick on Dean day? Fine, Samantha, don’t do
anything Caswouldn’t do,” he amends, opening the door and guiding Cas out by
the small of his back. “We’ll be back in a little while.”
     Dean blinks, and the room before him comes back into focus. There are his
old posters on the walls, his old books on the shelf. He sees all the blood
stains, food stains, and tears stains on his carpet. He sees his life in a
million moments in this room, and he wants nothing more than to lie down on the
bed and crash. He knows he can’t do that though, not with John liable to come
back at any moment. So instead, he heads to the living room, his eyes trailing
over the pictures hung in the hallway. He sees himself smiling with Sam, a
snapshot Bobby took. He sees Sam working on the Impala with Bobby, a snapshot
Dean took. He sees one of Dean and Cas dressed in their respective soccer and
baseball attire, a snapshot Sam took. He doesn’t see any of his father, and he
knows why. He knows because he hung all these, taking care to choose only the
happy ones, the ones that didn’t remind him that his father was a drunken dead-
beat.
     Dean trails his hands over them all with a sigh, straightening the ones
that need it and the ones that don’t. Then he is in the living room, surrounded
by dirty dishes and limp clothes and the stench of stale alcohol. Dean sighs
again.
     “Would it kill you to clean a bit?” Dean mutters, kicking aside a pair of
dirty boxers with a grunt. There’s nothing left for me here, Dean thinks
mournfully. He takes one last look around at the empty pizza boxes, the empty
beer cans, the endless piles of dirty clothes and dirty pasts before leaving,
not bothering to lock the door behind him.
     Dean trails his hands over Baby one last time before climbing back into
Bobby’s rusty truck and starting the engine. He was only entirely hoping to
hear that deep, rich roar and open his eyes to see leather beneath him, the
road stretching out over Baby’s hood, Cas right next to him, and Sam laughing
in the back. He was only entirely hoping that this whole disaster has been just
one long, hellaciously vivid nightmare.
     However, only the bad comes for the Winchesters, so when the engine
cranks, he hears the sputter of corroded carburetors and opens his eyes to
ratty cloth, his shattered home folding over the hood, and emptiness all around
him. It’s everywhere, that emptiness.
     Dean finds himself driving the roads before he even knows where he’s
going. He parks in a little turn off that is definitely not meant for him but
will do the trick anyway. He’s back to that hill, the one with the little pond
at the bottom that swallowed him all those winters ago. Dean pulls a pair of
gloves from the glove compartment and looks around at the trees and the hills
and the snow just the same as it was back then. Cas isn’t here. That much is
different. He has no sled as he makes his way down the hill, that much is
different too. Something that’s the same? Dean crashing down to the ice as soon
as he hits it. Something that’s different? Dean bringing his knees to his chest
and crying, his tears leaving hot trails down his face as they roll. He doesn’t
cry for the fall. He cries forhis fall, the one for Cas.
     “And just where are we going, my beautiful and talented boyfriend?” Cas
asks with a grin as they get outside.
     “Oh, no, no, no, you don’t get to do that. You insulted the size of my
penis.” Dean pulls the door open for Cas and walks around to his own. “Besides,
you didn’t seem to think it was so small when you were choking on it this
morning.” Dean pulls out of the drive slowly, clearly pleased with himself.
     “Well, what can I say? Small things area choking hazard,” Cas replies with
a shrug, scooting closer across the bench with a teasing grin.
     “Alright, that’s it. No sex for you for a week.”
     “You know I love your cock, Dean,” Cas says, leaning close in Dean’s
personal space and licking against his ear. “All thick and hot in my hand, my
mouth…inside me.” Cas nips gently at his earlobe, pulling it and reveling in
the blush he has creeping up Dean’s neck. Cas lets his hand creep down and down
until he is palming against Dean’s crotch. Dean doesn’t tell his eyes to drift
shut, but he does tell them to snap the fuck open when he hears a horn honking
at him. He jerks back into his lane and slaps the palm away from his pants.
     “You stay over there, you horndog,” Dean says, pointing to the other side
of the car and hoping Cas knows he’s only teasing. Cas grins and kisses Dean’s
cheek before scooting away a bit, linking his fingers between Dean’s.
     “So where are we going?” Cas asks again, and this time, Dean smiles.
     “You remember when we were little, we went sledding? There was that little
pond that had frozen over…we slid right into the middle of it.” Cas nods,
turning his head and looking out the window.
     “Yes, I remember that. We had colds for weeks from being in the water.”
Cas is still looking out the window, but Dean is looking at him confused.
     “You didn’t go in the water,” Dean says, drawing Cas’ eyes to his.
     “Who do you think pulled you out?” Cas asks softly, squeezing Dean’s
fingers gently.
     “You did?” Dean asks finally, and Cas nods. “I never knew…I just always
assumed it was Dad or someone.” Cas shakes his head softly, still staring at
Dean across the small space between them.
     “Your dad was at the top of the hill with Sam.”
     “You pulled me out,” Dean murmurs, his eyes incredibly soft as he looks at
Cas.
     “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when my hydrophobic best friend falls
into a frozen pond,” Cas says with a smile, but Dean is serious.
     “You saved my live, Cas,” Dean says, drawing Cas’ eyes to him.
     “You’d have done it for me,” Cas murmurs with a shrug.
     “We were just kids…how did you know you wouldn’t drown?”
     “I didn’t,” Cas admits softly, and Dean leans across to kiss him softly.
     “Thank you,” he whispers, and Cas smiles.
     “It was just me loving you. You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”
     “Thank you for loving me,” Dean replies anyway, and Cas grins.
     Dean pulls it together eventually. He stands from that damn slick pond and
starts the trek back up the hill to Bobby’s truck. He doesn't know why he went
there anyway, only that he wanted a place where memories of no one but Cas
permeated. He sees he was wrong; he pushes away all thoughts of Cas. He thinks
of Sam instead. He thinks of Bobby. He thinks of Ellen and Jo and Jess and
Benny and anyone else who can make him forget.
     The road back to Bobby’s seems endless, but in no time at all, Dean is
back in that rickety, old house with his feet dragging over every step. He
can’t remember the last time he felt so low.
     “Dean?” Bobby calls from the back, concern etched into his voice.
     “Yeah, it’s me,” Dean replies, pulling the toboggan off his head and
tossing it to the side for someone else to deal with.
     “Can you come here for a second?” Bobby asks, so Dean hangs his head,
grumbles to himself about just sitting the fuck down, and stands. He finds
Bobby at his desk in the library, curled over a pile of papers written with a
graceful hand.
     “Whoa, that doesn’t look like calculus,” Dean says, leaning around Bobby
to get a better look at the papers. Bobby jumps at the sound of Dean’s voice
before spinning in his desk chair, arms landing on the pile behind him.
     “What? This? Yeah, I gave the class a little extra credit since so many of
them are falling behind,” Bobby says, widening his eyes pointedly at Dean. Dean
ignores the sentiment.
     “Jesus, what did you make them do? Write a math dissertation?” Dean asks,
picking up one of several pages written in the same familiar script. His eyes
narrow at it. He flips around for the cover page, one that hopefully has a name
on it.
     “No, it’s just an essay,” Bobby says, reaching for the papers, but it’s
too late. Dean has found the cover page, and he has found the name scrawled
across the top. Castiel Milton, grade 12.
     “Cas?” Dean asks, running his fingers over the indents in the page.
     “Dean…” Bobby starts softly, leaning back in his chair to assess the
damage.
     “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean asks finally, and Bobby sighs.
     “Why didn’t I tell you that your boyfriend has the time to send in all of
his school work, but not the time to send you a single letter?” Bobby asks, and
to see it all laid out like that…Dean sees why Bobby didn’t tell him. It’s
because it hurts like a son of a bitch. Dean hands the papers back numbly. “I
didn’t mean for you to see, Dean,” Bobby says finally, softly, but Dean is
already shutting down, shielding himself from the hurt that Cas just keeps
doling out.
     “Did you need something?” Dean mutters finally, eyes looking at Bobby but
far from seeing him. Bobby sighs.
     “I just wanted to know your plans for your birthday,” Bobby says, and the
world around Dean becomes a little clearer.
     “Birthday?” Dean mimics softly, eye brows pulling together.
     “Yes, son. Your birthday. It’s next week.”
     “Oh,” Dean murmurs. “I forgot I guess.”
     “It’s a big one. Eighteen, voting, buying tobacco products, getting into
adult movie stores, ordering crap from late night infomercials, aren’t you
excited?” Dean shrugs. “Dean,” Bobby starts with a sigh. He puts Cas’ papers to
the side and stands from his chair, crossing the room to Dean in a heartbeat.
“Son, you have got to pull yourself out of this.”
     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean says petulantly.
     “Cas,” Bobby hisses, and Dean flinches at His name. “I’m talking about
Cas, Dean."
     “Isn’t everyone,” Dean murmurs, eyes falling to the floor. Bobby reaches
out and grasps Dean’s arms, squeezing him a bit to get his message across.
     “Because we’re worried about you, son. We’re worried that this, Cas, is
going to break you into a million pieces.” Bobby takes in a deep breath, hands
still gripping tight to Dean’s arms. Dean’s eyes stay glued to the ground.
“Dean,” Bobby sighs, releasing Dean and stepping backwards. “I know you love
him,” he starts, trying desperately to catch Dean’s eye. “I know you do, and I
know it hurts that he’s not talking to you, even more so now that you know he’s
talking to other people. It hurts me for you. It makes me want to fail him just
on principle.”
     “No,” Dean murmurs, finally looking up and shaking his head mournfully. “I
don’t want you to do that.” Bobby sighs.
     “Look, Dean, all I’m saying is that I know it hurts. I knowit does. You
love him, and this is your first heartbreak, but this is also the first love of
the dozens, hundreds that you’ll have.” Dean stares at Bobby for a long
moment.I don't want anybody else, he thinks. Just him. Always him. I want him.
     “That doesn’t make it hurt less,” Dean whispers instead, and Bobby nods,
pain and empathy in his eyes.
     “I know that,” Bobby says, reaching out and clasping Dean’s shoulder
again. “But, son, you gotta have faith that you’ll pull through this.”
     “Faith,” Dean snorts, backing away from Bobby and turning to stare out of
the window. The world around him is so bare…so empty without the green of the
grass and the blue of the sky. “Dad and Cas are the only things I’ve ever had
faith in. Look how those have turned out.”
     “Maybe you should put your faith in me, then. Put your faith in Sam or in
Ellen or in yourself for a change…” Dean watches the snow fall from the gray
sky.
     “He’s all I’ve ever known, Bobby,” Dean admits quietly, and Bobby pushes
back a sigh. “He’s been my best friend for all my life…I’ve never had to live
without him.”
     “Well, you’ll just have to learn, now won’t you?” Bobby smiles, but Dean
is still facing the window.
     “Guess so,” Dean mutters.
     “You can start by telling me what you want to do for your birthday?” Bobby
suggests, a smile clearly overlain in his voice.
     I want to see Cas,but Dean doesn’t say that... There would be no point.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     More non-con ahead...
See the end of the chapter for more notes
     Dean doesn't ask for much for his birthday. He asks to sit down around
Bobby’s rickety little table and eat food Ellen cooked just for them and blow
out the eighteen candles atop a pie Sam helped bake and top it all off by going
the fuck to bed. However, as unassuming and humble as the wishes might be, no
one seems to want to comply with them, from start to finish.
     He starts his day off on the wrong foot...to say the least. He's probably
at least a little at fault, but come on, do they really expect him not to start
swinging fists on instinct alone when they jerk his headphones off his head to
wake him up? Lucky for them, Sam ducked and Dean woke up enough to realize that
it was Bobby he was swinging for, not some burglar or monster. Even so, Bobby
drops the plate he's holding in order to block the punch flying towards the
side of his head, landing Dean's special birthday waffles syrup-side-down on
the old, shaggy carpet.
     “Happy birthday,” Bobby comments dryly, his hands still wrapped around
Dean’s wrist where he stopped it mid-swing.
     “I’m sorry, Bobby,” Dean says meekly, pulling his hand away and kneeling
to begin the cleanup of his mess. Bobby pulls him up by his shoulder before he
can plunge his hands in.
     “It’s okay. It’s your birthday. I’ll clean it up. You go take a shower.”
Bobby smiles reassuringly at Dean and stoops to start picking up the breakfast.
“Go on,” he says when Dean stands there a minute longer, debating whether he
should help. Even so, he steps guiltily around the mess and heads for the
shower. His wash is quick, perfunctory even, and when he is done, he dresses in
the same mechanical manner. Sam is waiting at the kitchen table when Dean comes
down the stairs, a candle-topped slice of pie awaiting him at the table.
     “Happy birthday,” Sam says with a smile as Dean plonks down at the table
beside him. He blows out the candle, wishes for—what else—Cas, and digs in,
groaning around the taste of pecan and sugar and butter.
     “Thanks. Ellen make this?” Dean asks around the food, and Sam nods. “‘S
good,” Dean says through his mouthful of pie. They sit in silence through the
remainder of his pie, then they load up and head to school, Sam continuously
palming a small gift that had been painstakingly wrapped. “That for me?” Dean
asks teasingly, but the glance Sam cuts him tells him that it is not the time
to be teasing.
     “Today is Jessica’s birthday too. This is hers,” Sam says, fingering the
wrapping paper gently. Now that Dean looks, it is definitely a more feminine
style paper than he would expect Sam to use for him, paisley or some shit. And
pink. Very, very pink.
     “What’d you get her?” Dean asks, glancing at Sam before looking back to
the road.
     “I…it’s personal,” Sam says finally, and Dean snorts.
     “Personal? Kid, I raised you. You can tell me what you got your
girlfriend.” Dean lets out a snort of teasing laughter, and again, the look on
Sam’s face tells him it’s not a joking matter. “You okay?” he asks, and Sam
nods.
     “Yeah,” he says, then falling silent. Miles pass, and Dean is ready to let
it go. If Sam’s not joking, he’s not going to push it, raised him or no. Then
all at once, words erupt from Sam like a dam were breaking. “Itsapromisering,”
he half-shouts, and if he didn’t look so terrified, Dean might laugh.
     “What?" Dean says, allowing Sam to pull in a big breath before he's
speaking again, louder this time and more frantic.
     "ItsapromiseringandIllbegivingBobbymyallowancefortwoyearstopayhimbackforitandImscaredshewontlikeitwellnotsomuchthatshewontliketheringbutthatshewontlikewhatImtryingtosaywhichisthatIloveher!”
He pulls in a breath, a gasp that leaves his chest heaving before he starts
right back in, that panic still hiding in his voice. “I love her, Dean, and I
know I’m only thirteen, but I do, and I want to marry her one day, and I’m
scared that isn’t what she wants. What if that isn’t what she wants…?”
     “Sam,” Dean starts finally, softly, warily. Sam looks over, eyes wide like
Dean just told him he ran over his puppy. “You don’t see the way she looks at
you.” Sam’s eyes grow even wider, and it might be comical if he didn’t look so
terrified. “Give it to her, and let me be the best man at your wedding,” Dean
says with a smile, and the terror slowly seeps out of Sam’s eyes.
     “Really?” he asks quietly, and Dean nods, his eyes on the road ahead of
them but smiling. “Thank you, Dean,” Sam says, and Dean smiles, if only to
cover it by rolling his eyes. “Can I be the best man at yours and Cas’
wedding?” he asks excitedly, and all at once, the laughter and softness drains
from Dean.
     “I don’t know if there’s going to be a Cas and Dean wedding…” he says
after a long moment, and the thought alone hurts him. He always thought they
would be together forever, even at five.
     “And you’ll be my best friend forever?” Dean asks, laying face to face in
that tiny twin sized bed with Cas’ big, blue eyes staring earnestly at him.
     “I’d like to be your best friend forever,” Cas replies, staring at Dean
with his eyebrows knit close and low through the darkness.
     He always thought they would be best friends through everything. Now…now,
he’s not so sure. He just needs to talk to Cas. He needs to hear that his
doubts are completely invalid and that Cas still loves him with every ounce of
his being. He needs to hear that he’s been worrying for nothing, that Cas would
have called if he could, written if he could. He needs to hear that his
love—and God, does he love Cas—isn’t unrequited, isn’t unwanted.
     “What?” Sam asks, “Why?” and Dean sighs.
     “I don’t know, Sam. He’s not here. I haven’t heard from him in amonth.Not
a single word, and now he’s got time and the means and the inclination to send
in his homework, and I just.... I don’t even know if he still loves me…” Dean
shakes his head as though he could make the bad thoughts go away. He doesn’t
want them.
     “Dean,” Sam starts, looking at Dean earnestly. Dean can’t look at him. He
might cry if he does, seeing his emotions reflected back in Sam like that. “You
don’t see the way he looks at you,” Sam says, throwing his words back at him,
and Dean scoffs, eyes burning.
     “Shut up,” Dean says without hostility. Sam smiles, but his eyes are soft.
     “Seriously, Dean. It’s kinda gross,” he teases, bringing a smile out of
Dean.
     “Shut up, bitch,” Dean says, to which Sam really grins.
     “Jerk,” he replies without hesitation. They fall silent, the last few
miles to the school turning beneath the wheels. As they pull into the parking
lot, Sam looks back to Dean, a soft smile on his face. Dean holds his breath at
what’s sure to come. “Really, Dean,” he starts earnestly. “The way he looks at
you…it’s like you filled the whole damn sky.” Dean feels his cheeks heat. He
feels his eyes burn. His whole body aches for Cas. “Don’t be dumb and give that
up, especially not when you’ve never seen the wayyoulook at him.”
     “How do I look at him?” Dean asks after a long moment. He isn’t sure if he
really wants to hear the answer. Sam replies anyway, speaking through the
hesitation in Dean’s eyes.
     “It’s like,” he starts pausing to consider. “It’s like you’re grateful to
him for sitting and telling you about the bees.” Sam takes a long moment to
watch Dean’s reaction, and upon seeing the way he picks at his cuticles and
refuses to meet Sam’s eye, he continues, double the verve. “You hate bees,
Dean. It’s like you had a crush, like he’s some movie star instead ofliterally
the boy next door.” Sam is on a roll now, damn how miserable Dean looks. “It’s
like every time he asks something, anything, ‘How important is lipstick to you,
Dean?’ you look at him and think ‘I have no fucking idea why he loves me, but
I’m damn sure glad he does.’” Sam’s chest is heaving when he finishes, and
Dean’s chest is so tight he can barely breathe through the words Sam just
slammed against him. It takes him far too long to respond.
     “You’d think by now I’d feel like I deserved at least a little love,” he
mutters finally before shouldering his way out of the truck and heading for the
school.
     “Dean,” Sam calls after him, but he doesn’t stop. He refuses. If he stops,
he cries. “Dean, please,” Sam calls, and so he does. He always will for Sam.
Sam opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. “Happy birthday,” he says
finally; it’s obvious that is not what had been resting on his tongue. Even so,
Dean smiles. He’s almost certain he does not want to hear the intended words.
     “Thanks, Sammy. Tell Jess the same.” Then he’s off to first period to
stare at the empty desk with Cas’ name on it, the silence at the “Castiel
Milton” portion of roll call. Happy fucking birthday, he thinks viciously.
===============================================================================
     First period sucks. Cas isn’t there. Second period sucks. Cas isn’t there.
Third period sucks, but not as much because Cas isn’t supposed to be there in
that class. Then he has math with Bobby, and Cas isn’t supposed to be there
either, so it’s about as okay as math can get, especially because Bobby leaves
him the hell alone through the period as a gift to him.
     Then there’s fifth period. Dean hates fifth period now almost as much as
he loved it then. It was the time of day when both he and Cas were free, and
there was always the promise of food, the allure of a blow job, and that
goddamn laugh to top it all. Dean spent a lifetime of school lunches watching
that laugh, even before they were together. Now he sits at their lunch table
alone, waiting like a loser for his baby brother to get out of class and join
him. He puts his head down.
     “Happy birthday, Dean,” a voice says from behind, a hand dragging across
his shoulder and up to his hair. Dean, upon the touch, tries to pretend that
the voice isn’t female, and the hand is Cas’.
     “Thanks, Bela,” he says, and when he looks up, he sees a predatory smile
on her lips as she sinks onto the bench beside him, her fingers still rubbing
through his hair. Bela Talbot, British foreign exchange student, two-time ex of
Dean’s, promiscuous extraordinaire. There have been times when Bela was a very
appealing prospect to Dean. He liked her hair. He liked her accent. He liked
her boobs. So he’d dated her, but it was less dating and more unattached sex.
Apparently that was Dean’s thing before Cas.
     “You know,” she starts, leaning forward so that her breath brushes against
Dean’s ear with every word. “On your last birthday, we never even left the
bed,” she whispers, and presses a kiss to the corner of Dean’s jaw. He pulls
away slowly.
     “Bela,” he starts, but she follows him, attaching her lips to his earlobe
and tugging slightly. “Bela, stop. You know…I’m seeing someone…”
     “They aren’t here, Dean,” she says, bringing her hand down and down and
down until she’s palming at his crotch. He tries to move away. “Let me do this
for you, Dean,” she says, licking into his ear and pushing harder.
     “Bela, stop,” he says again, firmer this time, pulling away quickly as not
to get caught up in the tightening of his jeans. “Stop.”
     “Dean, you want me,” she says, pressing against his pants. “I can feel you
want me.” Her eyes gleam darker as she leans close. “You’re so hot for me,
Dean. All hard and horny.”
     “Bela,” he says, but his voice cracks. If he moves any further away, he
will fall off the bench. “Physical response isn’t consent,” he says weakly, and
despite the fact that he knows he’s right, he can’t help but remember little
Bela Talbot. He remembers his hands in her hair…that tight, hot pussy…those
sweet, perfect tits. His pants tighten just a little bit more.
     “Come on, Dean,” she says, sliding closer until she is practically in his
lap. Dean has nowhere to go. He’s not sure if he wants to anyway. “Just for old
time’s sake.”
     “I’m seeing someone,” he stutters weakly, but he isn’t sure about that
either. He hasn’t heard from Cas in a month. Who’s to say that Cas isn’t
banging someone else this very moment? He’s not, and you know it,a harsh voice
from the back of his mind says, but Dean swallows it away, lost in Bela’s
nostalgia and pull.
     “I’m seeing someone too,” Bela counters, licking her way down his throat.
People are starting to stare.
     “I’m not a cheater,” Dean reminds breathlessly. Bela nips against his
pulse. It is beating loud and hard and fast.
     “You cheated on me,” she supplies, and he had. The end of Bela was the
beginning of Lisa, but she doesn’t sound angry. She’s merely persuading. “Come
on, Dean,” she croons, right against his ear. “Just one little kiss,” she
whispers, and Dean’s head turns without his permission. His lips barely brush
hers, a ghost of a kiss, really, but then she’s gripping his hair and kissing
him, really kissing him. Then that one kiss becomes two, and the two become
five, and the five become them rising and making their way to somewhere,
anywhere private, all the while Dean’s mind tumbling back and forth betweenI’m
not a cheater,and Cas doesn’t have to know.When they get to that private place,
i.e., whaddya know, a bathroom, Dean is stuck on I’m not a cheater.
     “Bela, please,” he gasps, leaning away from her seeking hands and teeth
and tongue. “I don’t want to do this.” Bela laughs, her hands demanding of
their conquest.
     “Baby,” Bela croons. “Your girlfriend isn’t here,” and that is it. End of
discussion.
     She takes him from behind, hard and rough and silent. Dean does not touch
her tits. He does not touch her hair. He stretches her ass, neglects her pussy,
and pumps into her again and again. From the back, her dark head hanging
limply, Dean can almost squint and believe she’s Him. He comes hard inside her,
sobbing Cas’ name instead of hers, but he can’t be understood.
     "Wow," she says when he is finished. She straightens her clothes, smooths
down her hair, and looks back at Dean with a grin. “Are you quite sure it
isn’tmybirthday?” She asks with a small laugh, stepping forward to kiss Dean.
He kisses her back mechanically with tears welling in his eyes. She leaves
after she kisses him, hips swaying like always, like she hadn’t just been
pounded up the ass. He locks the door back behind her, slides down to his
knees, and cries. Dean Winchester, macho man, ladies’ man, king of not giving a
fuck, falls to his knees and sobs like a goddamned baby.
     He doesn’t even know why. All he knows is that it hurts. All he knows is
that everything hurts like a bitch and that if he doesn’t fall to the floor and
cry like a goddamned baby, he might just burst into a million pieces. So he
does. He sits in the middle of that nasty boys’ bathroom, hands shaking and
knees refusing to hold him every time he tries to stand. He sits there, covered
in shame and herand Him,God…Him.
     Eventually, he thinks of Sam, and Sam, like he always does, helps Dean to
remember that he has fucking responsibilities, people to smile to and assure
he’s okay even though he’s dying on the inside. So he stands. He scrubs his
face with cold water to get rid of the sex and the tears and the general Dean-
like mess that is his whole goddamn life, and when he looks up at himself in
the mirror, he can almost pretend he’s okay. Almost. But he’s not. And everyone
knows it. He leaves that bathroom anyway, head held high and wielding his I
just got laidwalk even though every step hurts.
     “Hey,” Sam calls when he sees Dean. “I’ve been looking for you,” he says,
then pauses after watching him for a second. “You okay?” he asks, his face
contorting as he watches Dean close the gap between them.
     “Yeah?” Dean says, sitting at the table and giving his brother an
incredulous look. “Why?”
     “Dunno. You look weird, like you have an itch somewhere you can’t
scratch.” Sam looks to his own zipper meaningfully, and Dean turns ten shades
of red.
     “No!” he half-shrieks. “Sam,” he then sighs, irritated and embarrassed.
“Did you give Jess her present yet?” he asks, anything to change the subject,
and Sam grins widely.
     “Yeah. She kissed me full on the mouth right in front of everyone,” Sam
says, that dopey grin still in place, his eyes wide and starry.
     “Speak of the devil,” Dean says, spotting Jess walking over, a huge smile
plastered on her face, ring on her finger sparkling in the sun. Sam turns, and
if Dean thought his eyes were gooey before, they are practically liquid now.
     “Hey,” he says when she sits, ever the one with words.
     “Hi,” she replies, grinning at him in that same soft manner.
     “Happy birthday, Jessica,” Dean says when she looks over at him, Sam’s
residual smile in her eyes.
     “Same for you,” she says, a grin on her face, and Dean smiles.
     “Thanks.” Then Dean is excluded from their conversation, not
intentionally, of course, but that’s just how couples are. When they get
together, the rest of the world ceases to exist. It’s not Sam’s fault if Dean
just becomes part of the rest of the world when he’s with Jessica. It’s not
Sam’s fault that every time he thinks of Cas, the rest of the world ceases to
exist, but he’s entirely alone. It’s not Sam’s fault, but Dean doesn’t want to
spend his birthday as the third wheel. “I’m just going to catch up with you
guys later,” Dean says, rising to leave and being pushed back down by a large
and rowdy hand.
     “Happy birthday, brotha’,” Benny says, sitting across from Dean after a
one-armed hug.
     “Yeah, happy birthday, Dean,” Kevin says with a smile as he sits beside
Benny.
     “Thanks guys,” Dean says with a soft smile. They mean well…he knows that,
but he doesn’t want to have to put on a front for them too. He wants to go to
the library, or maybe Bobby’s room, anywhere quiet will do, and beat himself up
over what happened with Bela because he’s an asshole, and he deserves that
shit. He wants to sit in silence until the silence devours him, swallows him
whole like he was never there in the first place.
     “Hey, Kev,” Benny says, elbowing Kevin in the ribs and startling Dean away
from his thoughts. “Check out Andrea,” Benny says, following her with his eyes.
Some part of Dean tells him this is the same dark-haired girl that had Benny
pinned up against a wall at that party a million years ago.
     “Dude, when are you gonna ask her out already?” Kevin asks, looking at
Benny instead of Andrea.
     “I,” Benny starts, mouth fluttering. “I don’t know.”
     “Didn’t you already make out with her?” Dean asks helpfully, and Benny
narrows his eyes at him.
     “Yeah, but it don’t mean nothin’, not to a girl like her.”
     “Benny, Andrea isnota slut,” Kevin says loudly, laughter hiding in the
edge of his voice and Dean can’t help but laugh too, especially at the
comically wide eyes Benny offers up to make sure Andrea didn’t hear.
     “What? No! I just meant,” he starts, but Kevin and Dean are already
starting in, picking him apart like guys do.
     “Benny, I didn’t know you were that kind of a guy,” Dean says, grinning
with Kevin.
     “I’m not!”
     “Yeah, and I’ll bet Dean didn’t think he was either until he dated Bela,
but now look at him!” Kevin laughs loudly, and all at once, it slams back into
Dean. He fucked Bela. Again. He fucked Bela while he’s waiting on Cas to come
back. Holy shit. Dean feels a rush of nausea, and he has to hold entirely still
so that he doesn’t toss his stomach the wrong way and blow chunks all over his
friends.
     “You okay there, brotha’?” Benny asks, watching Dean concernedly. Dean
nods slowly.
     “Stomach cramp,” he mutters, but they all know he’s lying. No one pushes
it though. Instead, they sit and laugh rambunctiously with Sam and Jess and
each other and Dean doesn’t mind being put out of the conversation again. It
just means less people to fake a smile to.
     Lunch ends, and he walks to sixth period alone, smiling for no one. He
sits through the lecture, doodling Cas’ name, his eyes, his smile again and
again in his notes. Then of course, last period. It comes and goes as quickly
as can be expected with that damn empty seat taunting Dean, but before he can
make it out and get the hell away, his name is called over the P.A.
     “Dean Winchester to the office, please,” the lady says, and the whole
class—dumbassed children that they are—let out a simultaneous chorus of
ooooohhh’s that varies in tone. His teacher looks unamused through it all, but
she still hands him a hall pass and dismisses him.
     He’s not worried. It’s high school. What are they gonna do? Kick him out?
Dean scoffs. Even so, his steps take longer than they should to dominate that
seemingly endless hallway, and when he does, he wishes he had not left the
class. He wishes he had not gotten out of bed.
     “Happy birthday, son,” John says, eyes gleaming and a smile on his face.
Dean thinks he looks sadistic as hell. Dean looks to the bored receptionist for
help, for concern, for anything that says ‘if this man lays a hand on you, I’ll
do more than pretend I never saw.’ He’s not scared of his father. He’s never
been. Or at least…that’s what he keeps telling himself.
     “What do you want?” Dean asks finally, and he’s proud to say his voice
doesn’t shake. Standing there in his father’s old leather jacket, dick still
limp from his romp with Bela, heart still shattered from his affair with Cas,
hall pass in hand, Dean’s voice does not shake in the slightest.
     “What do I want?” John asks, stepping closer and raising his arms. Dean
flinches involuntarily, but if John sees, he doesn’t comment. “I want to tell
my son happy birthday. It’s been too long, Dean.” John moves forward again and
wraps his arms around Dean, squeezing harder and harder to the point of pain
until Dean hugs him back. “I’m proud of you, boy,” John says, and Dean does not
know what to do. His entire existence warms at the words of praise coming from
between his father’s lips. I’m proud of you.
     “Thanks, Dad,” he says finally, and this time, his voice shakes. John
smiles at Dean, and Dean can’t help but think this time, it looks a bit more
genuine.
     “Oh, I have a gift for you,” John says before reaching into his jacket
pocket and pulling something out, something that catches the light and jingles.
“I know you love this car,” John says, dropping the keys into Dean’s palm. “I
changed the deed and everything to your name. Take good care of her, son.” Dean
stares at the keys for a long time, too stunned to do anythingbut stare.
     “Are you serious?” Dean asks finally, and John nods. “Oh my god. Thank
you, sir. Thank you so much.” Dean pulls his father to him in a tight hug,
those keys still clenched in his hands.
     “You’re welcome. Listen, you and Sam should come by after school. I want
you to meet my new fiancé.” John smiles, but Dean’s smile slips to nearly
nothing.
     “Your…fiancé…” Dean repeats, and John smiles again.
     “Yes. Her name is Lilith. I think you’ll really like her. She’s the one
who suggested giving you the car,” John says, and laughs a bit, his hands
sinking deep into his jacket’s pockets. Dean, again, is too stunned to respond.
He doesn’t know how he’s managing to get air through his lungs honestly. “So,
I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you after school.” John says, claps Dean on the
shoulder, and walks away without waiting for a reply from Dean. “Oh, and happy
birthday.”
     Dean stands there in the lobby for a long time, staring unblinkingly even
after the sleek, white sports car with the tag reading “L1L1TH” drove out of
sight. He stands there until the receptionist clears her throat very pointedly
at Dean, and even then, he has to take a moment to gather himself before
returning to class for the rest of the period.
     He meets Sam at his door after school, and from the look on Dean’s face,
Sam can tell immediately that something is wrong. He tells Jess happy birthday
one last time, kisses her on the cheek, and dismisses her to stare down his
brother.
     “What’s wrong?” he asks, crossing his arms and staring Dean straight in
the eye. If he gets any taller, he’ll have outgrown Dean. Dean focuses on this
to keep himself from bursting. Instead, he holds the keys up for Sam to see.
“Are those to the Impala?” Sam asks, reaching out and taking them in his hands
to examine them. Dean nods. “What, did you steal them or something?” Sam asks
lightly, attempting to ease some of Dean’s tension.
     “No,” Dean says finally, taking the keys back from Sam. “Dad gave them to
me for my birthday right before he said he wants us to come over and meet his
new fiancé.” Sam reacts much in the same way Dean did. His eyes get extremely
excited about the car, then his whole world shatters at the word fiancé.
     “Dad’s getting remarried?” Sam asks quietly, but Dean has nothing to say.
“But…Mom.” Dean nods. He knows. His mother has been dead for over thirteen
years, but it is still too soon to move on from her. Dean isn’t sure if it will
ever stop being too soon. “Are we going?” Sam asks, looking to Dean with wide
eyes, desperate for his big brother’s guidance.
     “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dean allows, but Sam shrinks
smaller.
     “I do miss him,” Sam murmurs, and that decides it. They’re going back
home.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm sure you all hate me a little...That's okay. I hate me a little
     too, what with Lilith and Bela and Dean being a fucking idiot. Even
     so, I hoped you all enjoyed and as per usual, I'd love to know what
     everyone thought, good or bad!
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
     They stop by Bobby’s room to relay the story—surprise, surprise, Bobby
doesn’t think it’s a great idea to go see John—and then head out with Dean once
again behind the wheel of his Baby. He just sits in her for a while, listening
to her purr as he revs her. Then he drives he like he’s never driven anything
so superb in his life, and to him, he hasn’t. Baby is his, and he is Baby’s,
and that is a bond that should never have been broken.
     When they get back to that old house, those old memories flood him again.
He sees Cas upside down in a tree, running down the street with a cape on, but
then he blinks them away, and gets out of the car. Sam’s eyes widen at the car
that obviously belongs to Lilith, but Dean is looking at the house. Would Mom
have liked this house? He asks himself.I would have liked this house more if
Mom had been here.
     Sam follows Dean to the door, staying slightly behind him because he knows
Dean would push him there anyway. They knock, and the world stands still for a
moment. The birds stop singing and the wind stops breathing and the oceans stop
churning. Then the door is being hefted open and they are face to face with a
round visage, blonde curls, and a huge smile.
     “Hi,” she says, stretching her hand out to Dean. “I’m Lilith. It’s so
lovely finally be meeting you! Your dad has told me all about you.” She all but
jerks Dean through the door with the hand she has trapped between her own, and
with her motion, there is nothing between her and Sammy. She takes full
advantage of that, pulling Sam flush against her in a bone-crushing hug and
cooing. “You must be sweet little Sammy,” she croons, and over her shoulder,
Sam is giving Deanhelp-meeyes. He would laugh if he weren’t so unsettled. But
then John is appearing from the back, and Dean forgets all about ‘unsettled.’
     “Boys,” he says loudly, opening his arms as though he expected them to run
to him and fall into his arms. Needless to say, they don’t. John pulls Dean
firmly to his chest as though he hadn't just seen him an hour ago, before
turning to Sam. “Hey, Sam,” he says softly, and Dean watches as Sam’s defenses
fall one by one. He starts angry, moves to scared, back to angry, and on to
hurt before he’s rushing to his father, wrapping those long and lanky arms
around the bastard of a man who raised them. Dean feels his own hardness
towards the man soften, and before long, they are all hugging, and John is
crying, weeping like neither boy has ever seen.
     “I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, squeezing them tighter and tighter. “I’m so
sorry. Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose you boys. I’m sorry.” The two
boys let their father cry on them, letting those heavy tears take away the
weight of every neglect John ever put them through. After a while, Sam and
Dean’s shirts are soaked and they can only partly breathe, so John pulls away
with a broken laugh. He rubs his hands down his face, before looking to Lilith
who had been happily watching the whole affair.
     “Sam, Dean, this is my fiancé, Lilith.” John smiles softly, and the sight,
despite everything, makes Dean’s stomach roll. “She’s helping me get my life
back together.” Dean’s eyes narrow.
     “How?” he asks, and Lilith smiles, stepping forward and wrapping an arm
low around John’s waist, her other hand coming up to cup the top of his
stomach.
     “I’ve helped him stop drinking, and I’ve helped him see that what matters
is you boys, not that you’re,” she leans forward a bit, her voice low and
conspiratorial. “Gay,” she finishes, and Dean reels back like she slapped him.
     “I’m—I’m not,” he stutters finally, and he doesn’t mean that he doesn’t
like boys, he just means he likes girls too.
     “It’s okay son,” John says, a small smile on his face. “I’m okay with it.”
     “You’re okay with it?” Dean asks, disbelieving, but John nods. “You’re
okay with me liking dudes?” John nods. “You’re okay with me hugging them,
holding hands with them,kissing them?” John stops him by shaking his head, his
eyes crinkled.
     “I said I was okay with it, not that I wanted to hear all about it.” John
stops shaking his head, but his eyes stay screwed shut. Then he opens them, and
Dean is shocked to find that he really doesn’t look mad. He really looks okay.
“Boys,” he says finally, stepping away from Lilith and bringing a hand up to
each of his boys’ faces. “I’d like for you to come home.”
     “What?” Dean asks, leaning away from the hand John has against Dean’s face
like it is on fire.
     “I know,” John says, closing his eyes as though the memory hurt him. Yeah,
well, Sam still can’t breathe without the memory hurting him,Dean thinks
bitterly. “I know I did you boys wrong…but I’ve changed. Really. And I’d like
for you to come home so I can prove it to you.” Dean stares at John for a long
while, measuring the truth in his eyes, then he slides his eyes to Lilith, only
to see her wearing that same calm and distant smile. Then his eyes land on Sam.
Sam who’s looking over to Dean with eyes wide, mouth hanging open slightly as
he waits for Dean to say something, something to give him a cue on how to act.
     “Can I take the car for a drive?” Dean asks finally, and the smile slips
off John’s face.
     “She’s yours now, son. You can do whatever you want with her,” John says
soberly, dropping the hand he still had resting on Sam’s face. Dean nods at
John, and turns away.
     “Come on, Sam,” he says, but when he looks over his shoulder, Sam was
already following. “We’ll be back,” Dean promises, but he doesn’t really know.
They may get in that car and never go back anywhere, follow the roads until
they end then turn around and follow them to the other end, cross the country
again and again. Even so, they start by going into town, to Ellen’s. They don’t
say a single word along the way.
     “Happy birthday, Dean,” Jo says as soon as they walk through the door. She
is behind the counter, pot of coffee in hand.
     “Dean?” Ellen calls upon hearing the name.
     “Thanks, Jo; hi, Ellen,” he says, smiling at them before attempting to
head to a private booth in the back.
     “Just where do you think you’re going?” Ellen calls with a grin when she
sees him. Dean suppresses a sigh as he stops.
     “Dean,” Sam says pointedly, but Dean just cuts him a glare. Ellen
approaches and wraps them each in a big hug.
     “Happy birthday,” she says when she hugs Dean, pressing a kiss against his
cheek and pulling back to wipe the lipstick away.
     “Thanks,” he says softly, and he must have done something to signal that
he’s less than okay. Even so, she only gives him a questioning look before
nodding to the back tables.
     “I’ll bring you boys the regular,” she says softly, and Dean thanks her,
hoping she knows he means for more than the birthday wishes and food. She
merely nods, and Sam and Dean make their way to the back table, Dean’s bones
aching with every step. Sam sits across from Dean with his eyes cast down, and
they exist in that silence for what feels like am eternity.
     “Dean,” Sam says finally, and the careful deceit and calm Dean filled his
world with crashes to the ground with the sound of Sam's voice. Reality is not
calm and easy. Reality is being alone in a world that hates you... "I will be
the first to admit that Dad is an ass, the first to admit that he’s a sorry
bastard who doesn’t deserve any goodness. I’m the first to admit we don't get
along and the first to admit me and dad butt heads constantly.” Sam stops and
looks at Dean with big, wide eyes. “But I wanna gohome.” And so it’s decided.
Dean kisses Ellen's cheek on the way out, loads Sammy back into the car,hiscar,
and heads for Bobby’s to deliver the news.
     When they pull up, Bobby comes to the door with a shotgun in hand, cocked
and ready to roll. Dean jumps from the car with his hands up, though getting
shot would probably be an improvement on his day so far.
     “Damn it, boy,” Bobby says, pointing the gun away from them. “I almost
shot you! What’re you thinking riding up in your daddy’s car like that? Did 'ja
steal that or somethin’?” Dean leans heavily on the door. He feels he might
fall otherwise.
     “We need to talk, Bobby,” he says, and in the back of his mind, he hears
Sam getting out of the car and heading for the house. Bobby’s eyes darken, but
he nods inside anyway. They climb the steps in silence, that gun still hanging
heavy between the three. Bobby leads them into the kitchen and sits them down
at the table before turning to get sodas for Dean and Sam and a beer for
himself.
     “What’s this about, Dean?” Bobby asks when he sits down with the drinks.
He looks to Sam first, but Sam is looking down, fingers fiddling with the tab
of his soda. Seeing that he isn’t going to get a response out of Sam, Bobby
turns to Dean, eyes expectant, and really, Dean doesn’t mind answering. He’s
too numb to feel bad about it.
     “Dad wants us to go home,” Dean says bluntly, and Bobby’s eyes widen. They
stare at each other for a long moment, Dean dead on the inside and Bobby’s
mouth flapping open and shut.
     “No!” Bobby shouts finally, and Dean sees Sam flinch. Dean doesn’t react.
“No,” Bobby says, softer this time with a small shake of his head. “Boys, it’s
just gonna be the same old song and dance. He’s not gonna treat ya’ any better
than when you left.”
     “He’s changed, Bobby,” Dean says, but who is he to say? He spent an hour
with the man at the most. “He’s engaged. He’s stopped drinking…he’s changed.”
     “No,” Bobby says again, but this time, it’s broken.
     “He said he was sorry, Bobby,” Dean says, staring at his Uncle Bobby, the
man who’s been more like a father to them than an uncle or the non-relative he
really is.
     “Yeah? Well he ain’t! He ain’t nothing but a lyin’ sack of shit!” Bobby
huffs for a long while, breathing slowly in and out. “Why do you wanna go back
anyway?” he asks finally, looking to Sam expectantly because he knows it isn’t
Dean wanting to leave. He knows Dean is only making happen what Sam wants and
needs, regardless of what it means for him. Sam says nothing, never even looks
up from his soda with his eyes full of shame.
     “He’s still our dad, Bobby,” Dean supplies finally, drawing Bobby’s eyes
back to his, only to find them burning.
     “And just what the hell have I been to you all these years, huh? All those
t-ball games? All those spelling bees? All those scraped knees and Sunday
dinners and bedtime stories? Who have I been to you, if not your father?” Dean
watches him carefully. Bobby's not angry. That much is obvious.
     “I’m sorry, Bobby,” Dean says finally, because if he isn’t angry, he’s
hurt. “It’s just not the same.” And if going home was the knife to Bobby’s
back, those words were the twist of the wrist, for every emotion falls off
Bobby’s face. Instead, they are left with a half-smile entirely out of place
coupled with the desolate eyes.
     “I’m not gonna make you stay,” Bobby says softly, that smile still on his
face. “But, boys, he was so damnbadto you. Dean, you couldn’t see out of your
left eye for two weeks. Sam, your rib is still broke! Don’t forget what he’s
done to you boys.”
     “I wish I could hate him, Bobby,” Dean says softly, finally letting his
eyes fall from Bobby’s. “I wish I could…I’ve tried so hard. I know he’s a
sorry, drunk, abusive bastard. I know he is, but I just can’t hate him.” Bobby
stares at him a long moment before dropping that smile and answering honestly.
     “That’s cause you aren’t capable of hating anyone, Dean. You’re too good.
Lucky for you, I am capable. Don’t do it, Dean. Don’t go back there. Don’t put
yourself through that. Don’t put Sam through that.”I’m doing this for Sam, Dean
thinks viciously, but he’s too tired to show that on his face, to incite the
argument that will invariably lead to.
     “My mind is made up,” Dean says firmly, staring back at Bobby until the
old man looks away, sadness on his face.
     “Then I guess that’s that,” Bobby says finally.
     “I guess so,” Dean says, but no one moves. They stay sitting at that
kitchen table, the table that held the only real family meals Dean has ever
seen, staring at nothing, each trapped in their own personal bubble of sadness.
There was no trigger to end it. No phone call to snap them awake, no fire to
scare them to life. Sam merely stands and heads for his room, and Dean follows
just as quietly. They return down the stairs a few moments later, packed with
what little they had brought and what lot Bobby had bought them, ready to leave
their great adventure for the home front. Bobby is still at that table, but he
has switched his beer for whiskey.
     “Thank you, Bobby,” Dean says, stopping behind his chair and laying a hand
on his shoulder. “I know it seems like we’re ungrateful little prats now, but
we really do appreciate what you’ve done for us. If there’s anything we can
ever do to return the favor…” Dean trails off. Bobby doesn’t seem like he’s
hearing them anyway. Dean knows the feeling.
     Sam hugs Bobby from behind, his scrawny arms wrapping tight around Bobby’s
scruffy neck and his face pressing into Bobby’s shoulder. Bobby blinks and hugs
Sam back a little, but Dean doesn’t think he can stand hugging Bobby right now.
He might break.
     They leave Bobby’s little home in the dust and rear-view, armed only with
each other and the bags of their lives. Sam is pretty quiet, still holding that
can of soda like it is the last gift he’ll ever receive, and Dean is too
overstimulated to notice much of anything. He keeps seeing the same three
people again and again in his mind. He sees Cas the best friend, Cas the lover,
Cas the fighter, Cas the invincible. He misses Cas. He’d sell his soul for a
ten minute phone call.
     Of course, thinking of Cas means thinking of what he did to Cas. So he
thinks of Bela, cringing all the while. He thinks of the way he used her, the
way he was thinking of Cas the whole time. He thinks of how Cas deserves
better. Then he thinks of going to John’s, how that is exactly the fate Dean
deserves.
     Dean thinks of his father, of his angry fists, angry words. He thinks of
every missed game, every missed birthday. John was never there except to yell
at them and beat them. John was never there except to remind them that they
were nothing. Cas made him feel like he was worth the whole damn world, and the
cycle begins again.
     By the time they make it back to John’s—their—house, Dean has remembered
seventy-three reasons why he loves Cas, seventy-nine reasons why he shouldn’t
have fucked Bela, and one hundred and fifteen reasons why he’s angry at his
father. But Sammy wants to come home, so Dean parks that Impala in the driveway
just like old times and helps Sam pull his bags from the trunk. When they pull
up, John immediately comes outside, a smile on his face that is so out of place
that all Dean can do is gawk.
     “Boys,” John croons when Dean pushes open the door. “You decided to come
home.”
     Dean finds himself being dragged inside, bombarded on all sides with
questions about what he’s done since John last saw him. Dean thinks it’s a
little ironic. He feels as though John should be asking Dean to start from the
beginning, seeing as John missed all of that too. Sam however, Sam jumps right
in about school and Jess.
     “Now who is Jessica?” Dean hears John ask from Sam’s room as they unload
his bags. “You have a little crush on her?” John teases, and if they hadn’t
been together for more than six months, Dean might think the gesture sweet.
     “No, Dad,” Sam says patiently. Dean isn’t sure if that says more about his
forgiveness towards his father or more about his desire to talk about Jess.
“Jessica is my girlfriend. You’ve met her.”
     “I have?”
     “Yeah, Dad. Jessica? Blonde hair, blue eyes, yea big?”
     “Oh,” John says exaggeratedly. “Yes, Jessica. I’m sorry,” John says, but
even from his room, Dean can tell John doesn’t know. Sam continues to tell John
everything, be it things about Jessica to his latest victory with his academic
team, and when there is nothing left to say, there is a beat of silence,
rolling footsteps in the hall, and John’s face in Dean’s door. Dean sees his
reflection in the dark window, a smile plastered on his face. Dean doesn’t
turn. “And what about you?” John says finally, but Dean does not respond. “What
have I missed in your life?” Dean does not respond, simply continues putting
away his clothes. “Come on, son. I’m trying here. Tell me what I’ve missed,”
and Dean responds.
     “Do you want to know what you missed, Dad? You missed my sixth birthday.
You were passed out in your truck somewhere. I spent all afternoon at the
school because you promised to pick me up, and by the time I realized you
weren’t coming, the buses had already left. You missed my second grade science
fair. That was the first time I ever put effort into a project, and when you
didn’t care, I decided I wouldn’t either. You missed my fifth grade dance. You
said you would pick my date up and take us but you were too busy at the bar.
You missed me deciding to stop trusting you with things.
     “I started putting me and Sammy on the bus, regardless of whether you’d
said you’d pick us up or not because it was always a roll of the dice with you.
I started staying away from school functions. I started falling behind in
class. I bet you missed that too. I bet you missed the straight A’s I had in
kindergarten, the straight A’s I had in first grade. I bet you missed the
report card that said I was failing. You can’t just come back here after
fourteen years of absence and ask me to fill you in. That doesn’t make it okay.
I just want you to know that I’m here for one reason, and one reason alone,
that being Sam. The minute he decides he’s done, we’re gone.” Dean fumes,
staring his father dead in the eye.
     “I’m glad you’ve finally started standing up for yourself,” John says
finally, but Dean’s breath only heaves further. “I just hate that it’s when I’m
actually sorry.” John leaves the room, and Dean falls on his bed, breathing in
the scent of a million early mornings, a million sleepless nights. Cas is under
that smell too.
     Dean lays staring up at the ceiling for a long while, breathing in that
almost-Cas smell before it all becomes too familiar and indistinguishable. A
knock sounds, but before he can answer, his door is being pushed open and
slitted, tawny eyes are staring at him.
     “Dinner in ten,” she says shortly, and before Dean can open his mouth to
say anything, she is starting back in, her hands on her hips and her eyes
narrowed. “Do you want to know what my problem is? I’ll tell you what my
problem is. My problem is that your father has worked so hard to stay clean for
you boys, and do you know what he’s in there doing? He’s in there drinking a
beer! I don’t know what you said to him, but I want you to go apologize right
now.” Dean leans back, eyes wide as he stares at her, taking in her gall and
her nerve.
     “Kind of dumb to keep alcohol in the house of a recovering alcoholic,
don't you think?" Dean retorts, locking eyes with her before laying down on his
bed and staring up at the ceiling.
     "Apologize," she growls, and Dean snorts, a fire growing in his stomach.
     "Look, lady," Dean starts, sitting up and cocking his head at her. "You
don’t know anything about my life or what he’s put Sam and me through."
     “I know enough,” she says, narrowing her eyes until they are nothing but
little slits.
     “You know nothing.”
     “Young man, you had better go apologize to him.”
     “Or what?”
     “I can make your life a living hell,” she threatens, and honest to God,
Dean laughs.
     “My life is already a living hell. I’m a queer kid in the Bible Belt with
an abusive, drunk father and no friends. You can’t make my life worse.”
     “I can do a lot worse,” she promises, stepping farther into Dean’s room.
     “Try me,” Dean challenges, and at the words, a sadistic smile twists its
way onto her perfectly made lips.
     “Dinner in eight,” she says, leaving and pulling the door shut behind her.
Dean finds himself in the dining room with a smiling and oblivious Sam eight
minutes later. “Sam, sweetheart,” Lilith calls from the kitchen over her
shoulder, an apron tied pristinely around her waist. “Could you set the table
for me?”
     “Yes, ma’am,” Sam says before moving for the cabinets.
     “Thank you, dear,” Lilith says, turning to look at Sam, and when her eyes
drag across Dean, that sadistic smile comes back. Dean turns away, leaving the
dining room to find John, and it doesn’t take long in that small house. When
Dean finds him, he is reclined in his favorite drinking chair, beer in hand
just as Lilith said. Not only that, but a handful of empty cans that Lilith
probably didn’t know about litter the floor by his feet. When Dean catches
John’s eye, he sees nothing there but the nasty gleam he gets at the start of a
long and drunk night.
     “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Dean asks without thinking. If he had
been thinking, he would have remembered to leave his dad the hell alone at the
start of his downward spirals.
     “The fuck’s it to you?” John spits, and Dean scoffs, walking away from his
father. Nothing has changed, Dean thinks viciously, storming into the dining
room to haul Sam the hell out of there, his wants be damned. Being the kid’s
parent sometimes means taking away what he wants most because it will destroy
him.
     “Sam,” Dean hisses, grabbing Sam’s arm and noticing the firm muscle under
his palm instead of the fact that he wants to beat the shit out of something.
“Nothing’s changed. We’re leaving.”
     “Dean,” Sam says, pulling away and opening his mouth.
     “Now, now, boys. You aren’t going anywhere. It’s dinner time. Sit down.”
Sam turns to Lilith, and if it had been an outsider, her words would have
sounded perfectly respectable. Dean supposes they sound that way to Sam seeing
as he sits with a small smile her way. Dean though…Dean can see straight
through it. He can see the demon behind her dental hygienist’s cover. Even so,
Sam is sitting, so Dean will sit too. “Johnny,” Lilith calls, sauntering to the
door to get their father. “Come eat, dear,” she calls and Dean snorts when John
replies exactly the way Dean expects him to.
     “I’m not fucking hungry,” he screams, and Lilith turns red in the face
before excusing herself to go talk to him.
     “Good luck,” Dean mutters, scooping a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate
and ignoring the look Sam gives him. Lilith returns a few moments later, and
Dean is just about to snipe at her about her stellar job convincing John when
said parent walks through the door, albeit sullen looking but there
nonetheless. John sits at the head of the table with Lilith next to him, and
for a long while, they eat their meals in silence, that sadistic smile still
plastered on Lilith’s face.
     Maybe she’s poisoning me,Dean thinks suddenly, noticing that she hasn’t
touched her mashed potatoes. Just as he thinks that, she takes a slow bite of
them, eyes locked with Dean as though she were reading his mind.
     “So,” Sam says finally, clearly uncomfortable with the silence Dean and
Lilith were refusing to allow to die. “How did you and Dad meet?” Lilith tears
her eyes away from Dean to smile at Sam.
     “It was love at first sight,” she says with a smile that, aside from the
devil horns under her hair, looks perfectly normal. She cuts Dean a very
pointed glance, one that says,this is hell. “I don’t know how I went my whole
life without him. We were made for each other.” Dean grits his teeth, hand
clenching around his fork. Dad was made for my mom, he thinks, violently
stabbing a set of stray English peas.
     “That’s nice,” Sam says, but Dean can tell he’s thinking of their mom too.
     “And I’m so excited to be your new mom,” she says, and Dean’s hands are
slamming against the table before he realizes.
     “You will neverbe our mom,” Dean hisses, and he sees the flash of that
sadistic smile for getting a rise out of him an instant before her eyes fill
with tears.
     “Dean!” John shouts, startling them all with his sudden outburst.
“Apologize.”
     “What?” Dean screeches. “The bitch is faking.”
     “Dean Winchester, you will not talk to Lilith like that,” John says, more
power in his voice than he’s ever heard before. “Apologize,” he says again, but
Dean is done taking their bullshit. He is an adult. Today is his birthday.
     “No,” he says, jutting his jaw out stubbornly.
     “Dean, so help me,” John growls, and Lilith sniffles next to him.
     “No, no don’t fight,” she says, positively pitiful in her show. “It’s
okay. He didn’t mean anything by it.” She wipes away a mascara stained tear and
cuts Dean that damn look. John doesn’t see. Of course he doesn’t.
     “No, damn it. He’s not going to talk to you like that! Dean, apologize.”
Dean clenches his jaw, too stubborn to relent. “Don’t make me knock some sense
into you,” John threatens, and Dean can’t help the laugh that escapes from his
lips.
     “Please do. Show me how sorry you really are.” John’s fingers twitch
around his fork, and with food in his stomach, he looks more sober, more like
if he were to take a swing at Dean, he would be perfectly accountable. Just
like the last night Dean was home. Isn’t it strange how we always wind up here?
Dean thinks, mildly amused. Call him crazy, but he’s itching for a fight. Too
much is built up inside of him, and he needs something, anything to make it all
shut the hell up.
     “Go to your room, Dean,” John says finally, his voice low and deadly calm.
     “You’re gonna send me to bed without supper?” Dean asks mockingly. Please
take a swing, he begs silently. Give me a reason, I’m begging you.
     “You’re pushing it, Dean,” John warns, but Dean only laughs.
     “Dean,” Sam warns quietly, and looking over to the wide eyes and floppy
hair sends all the eagerness to fight straight back down. Fighting John means
risking Sam, so Dean rises and goes to his room. It isn’t long before a timid
hand is knocking that can only belong to Sam.
     “Come in,” Dean calls, and sure enough, that mop of hair pokes its way
through Dean’s door.
     “You okay?” he asks, and Dean smiles.
     “Sure,” he says, laying back and staring at the ceiling again. He still
has glow in the dark stars stuck to it from when he was seven and afraid of the
things in the dark.
     “Happy birthday, Dean,” Sam says quietly, a sadness on his face as he
backs away from the door.
     “Thanks, Sammy,” Dean mutters, but the door is soon shut between and a
million miles separate them. Dean is all alone.
     He drifts in and out of sleep for a while, always coming back to those
stars, those nights spent looking to them for comfort. They offer him nothing
now. After a while, his phone rings, and he answers without looking to see who
it is.
     “Hello,” he asks, but he isn’t sure if he’s really hearing.
     “Hey, Dean,” a girl says, and for a moment, he thinks it’s Bela calling to
gloat some more about getting him to cheat on Cas. The thought sends a pulse of
pain, of unimaginable guilt to his gut, but when he pulls the phone away, the
caller ID reads “Anna Milton.” His heart skips a beat, and when he’s ready to
answer, his playful banter comes out hard and scratchy.
     “You know, I prefer birthday sex to birthday calls, but I guess this will
do,” he teases, flinching when he realizes that he did in fact get birthday sex
today. He chokes a bit on the pain of that reminder. I'm so sorry, Cas, he
thinks softly.
     “Oh,” Anna says dumbly, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief for the fact
that she did not retort back with, “Yeah, I know you do, you asshole.” Instead,
she takes a beat and answers with, “Um, I didn’t know it was your birthday, but
happy birthday.”
     “Thanks,” he replies numbly, counting those stars once again. There are
eighteen up there. One for each year he has been alive. One for each year he
wishes he hadn’t been.
     “Sure,” she says, and something about her sentence strikes him.
     “Wait, you didn’t know it was my birthday?” he asks, stuttering over the
thirteenth star.
     “No.” Dean sits straight up in bed.
     “Well, then why did you call? Is it…Cas?”
     An eternity of silence passes.
     “Yeah, Dean,” Anna says with a sigh. “It’s Cas…he’s home.”
Chapter End Notes
     I know, I know. I build up a 5000 word chapter for a cliffhanger like
     that. Sorry, loves <3
      
      
     Not really. I'm a sadist. Next up is the last chapter of part two,
     i.e. really fucking painful... Brace yourselves...
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     Slight self-harm in this chapter. Not cutting or anything, but Dean
     being a dumbass and hitting shit until his knuckles split, also
     homophobia, raging assholery, verbal degrading, mention of a panic
     attack, depression, belittling, telling him he's a fuck up (not sure
     of the verb for that), and just general making to feel like he's
     worthless. I'm sorry...
See the end of the chapter for more notes
     “What?” Dean says, sitting straight up in bed with the word alone. “Cas?
He’s home? He’shere?" He doesn't wait for her response. "I’m coming over.” Dean
stands abruptly, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he
jumps around the room, frantic, trying to get his pants on. Anna is speaking,
but Dean doesn’t hear what she’s saying. All he can hear is Cas, Cas, Cas.
     “Dean, listen to me!” Anna shouts finally, and he stops, one foot through
his leg hole and the other standing counter-productively on the knee so he
can’t pull them up.
     “What?” Dean asks, because what could be more important than going to see
Cas right this very minute?
     “Dean, Cas is…he’s different.”
     “Different…” Dean mulls, but it doesn’t matter, and he tells her as much.
“It doesn’t matter, Anna. He’s still, Cas.”
     “No,” she sighs in exasperation, and Dean takes the moment to pull his
pants on the right way. “Dean, you don’t understand. He’s not—”
     “Anna, it doesn’t matter. He’s still Cas. I still love him.” Anna lets out
a long exhale, and when she speaks, her voice is next to nothing.
     “…okay, Dean,” she says softly, and Dean smiles. He hangs up and finishes
dressing in short order. Cas is home.
     He goes out the window, and the motion is so familiar that he doesn’t
trip, doesn’t fall, doesn’t hesitate before he is on the grass and running.
Outside, it is dark, but Dean does not notice the cold whipping against his
face. He is too warm from the fact thatCas is home. It takes no time. Nothing.
Not a single heartbeat, not a fraction of a second, and then he is there. He is
at that window, peering in with more light in his eyes than he’s seen in
years.Cas is home. He knocks rapidly, but the shades are drawn from Cas’ long
stay away. He doesn’t even know if Cas is in his room; even so, he knocks, some
jubilant part of his brain telling him that this is the best birthday present
anyone could have ever given him. Cas is home. The window blinds part, and for
the first time in a month, an eternity, Dean sees those eyes, that mouth. Dean
sees Him.
     “Cas,” Dean breathes, his entire being relaxing as they stare at each
other through the glass. It begins to snow, but Dean can’t move from where he
stands. He is frozen solid, not by the cold but by Cas’ eyes. Finally, he snaps
out of it, a grin covering his face. “Can I come in?” he asks, and even though
the window is shut, he’s sure Cas can read his lips. God knows he’s spent
enough time watching them. Even so, a look of confusion covers Cas’ face. He
pulls the window open slowly, and Dean slides right through, landing right
before Cas with a huge, dopey grin. “Hey, Cas,” he breathes, and an instant
later, he is dragging Cas in roughly, holding him against his chest with the
force propelled by 2,678,449 seconds apart.
     All at once, he is overwhelmed by Cas. He is breathing in that scent,
nosing against his skull. He is laughing as he cries, shaking so hard that he
doesn’t notice Cas isn’t holding him back. He only notices that something is
wrong when he pulls apart, sliding his hands around to Cas’ face. Dean starts
to lean in, thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks, but Cas shies away
from the motion straightaway. Dean pulls back concernedly, lets Cas go, and Cas
immediately takes two steps back.
     “So,” Dean says, clearing his throat and shoving his hands into his
pockets. He’s probably just tired, Dean thinks, anything to pretend the cold on
him now is just from the snow trapped in his hair. “How long have you been
home, man?” Dean asks in hopes of making small talk. Cas blinks owlishly at
Dean before opening those lips and speaking.
     “Since yesterday afternoon,” Cas says, and Dean can’t pretend it doesn’t
hurt.
     “Oh…” Dean clears his throat again, eyes falling to the floor. “Why, uh,
why didn’t you call me?” Cas says nothing. “It’s okay,” Dean says finally, a
pained smile making its way onto his face. “I’m sure you were busy getting
settled.” Again, Cas says nothing. Dean feels a panic rising in his chest,
feels it pushing away the joy and the elation of seeing Him again. “So uh…”
Dean starts, his hands beginning to shake by his sides. “Did you get my
letters?”
     “I read them, yes,” Cas says, and he had. Naomi handed him the whole stack
of stored up letters as a final test on his way out. He read them all, word for
word, and then he threw the whole stack away.
     “Why didn’t you answer?”
     “I didn’t have the time,” Cas says simply, and it hits Dean like a bag of
bricks. Guilt creeps into his veins, swallowing him in its heat.
     “Someone told you,” Dean deems finally, and Cas’ face falls to confusion.
     “What?” he asks, but Dean is not ready for Cas to play dumb. He is ready
for the screaming and the fighting and things returning to normal.
     “Bela, Cas. Someone told you about Bela,” Dean says, bringing a hand up to
his face as though he could wipe away the panic attack beginning beneath his
skin.
     “Bela Talbot? What about her?” Cas asks, brow drawing low across his eyes.
     “Jesus, Cas. You’re really gonna make me say it?” Dean pulls in a deep
breath and lets it out in a rush, voice shaking with the terror of losing him.
“I fucked her, okay. She came rubbing up on me cause it’s my birthday, and I
guess I was feeling nostalgic and vulnerable because I missed you, and she
seduced me, and I fucked her. I’m so sorry, Cas. I never meant to. Please.
Please, forgive me. I’m so fucking sorry, I—” but Cas cuts him off.
     “What?” Cas asks, and Dean prepares for the screaming, the fighting, the
hot of their hot and cold relationship. “No, Dean, calm down. It’s okay. I’m
happy for you.” Dean blinks. It’s okay. I’m happy for you… Dean’s breath
catches in his throat. What? “I’m glad you found a woman to love. You deserve a
nice girl.” Cas offers Dean a smile and begins to turn away.
     “Love?” Dean repeats, watching Cas turn on his heels away from him. Dean
grabs him by the shoulder to turn him around, letting his hand linger as he
speaks. “It was a dumb mistake, Cas. I don’t love her. I love you.” Cas smiles
a sad smile.
     “You don’t love me, Dean. You never did.” Cas says the words quietly, but
he looks sure, like they didn’t burn like fire on the way out.
     “What?” Dean asks, incredulous, taking in Cas with wide eyes. “Of course I
did! I do!”
     “No, Dean,” Cas says, backing away from the hand Dean still has resting on
his shoulder. “You loved the sex and the idea of a safe relationship where you
thought you wouldn’t get hurt, but you never loved me.” And it is that moment
that Dean sees where he went wrong, where he screwed their whole relationship
up.
     He loves Cas more than anything in the whole world, but he is Dean.
Instead, he says “I need you,” “Don’t ever change,” “I’d rather have you,” “I’m
not leaving here without you.” Dean kisses knuckles, laughs at jokes, doesn’t
move when Cas is asleep on Dean’s shoulder and making his arm fall asleep. He
does these things instead of “I love you,” and Cas is human.
     Cas has doubts and insecurities and those bastards at the clinic found the
fact that Dean is a loser boyfriend and pressed and pressed and pressed until
Cas shattered. Dean uses “I love you” like the good china, bringing it out for
anniversaries and holidays, and he loses the only person who’s ever made him
happy to be alive because of it.
     “Cas,” he starts, choking on the lump forming in his throat. “Please…I
love you. How could you not…” but the tears in his eyes are too hot to keep
talking.
     “Dean, it’s over,” Cas says bluntly, stabbing knife deep into Dean’s
chest. “It wasn’t real anyway. I was just confused, curious.” A long moment
passes, and a darkness that Dean has never before known gathers in Cas’ eyes.
“It was wrong,” he says, and the first tear makes its way down Dean’s face. He
turns away from Cas slightly, unable to look at him, but Cas’ voice is still
going strong, gaining more and more conviction the longer he talks. “It was
wrong and repulsive, and we should be ashamed. I am ashamed. I wish I’d never
kissed you, wish I’d never dragged you into this big, filthy mess, and I’m
sorry for that Dean.”
     “Don’t,” Dean hisses, the tears falling free now. “Don’t you dare
apologize for us, not ever. Your love was the best thing that ever happened to
me.”
     “I never loved you,” Cas says flatly, and an instant passes before all the
air is pushed from Dean’s lungs.
     “You…” Dean says, but he can’t get the words out. He can’t move. He can’t
think. He can’t breathe.
     “I don’t love you, Dean.”
     “Yes, you do,” Dean says finally, speaking louder and louder as though it
could drown out the shaking in his voice, the shaking of Cas’ head. “You love
me. You’ve always loved me! Please, Cas, you have to love me!” Dean is crying,
hot and heavy tears roll down his face, dirtying his face with the streaks.
“I’m sorry, okay! I’m sorry I fucked Bela! I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved
you often enough! I’m sorry, Cas! Please. Please. You have to love me!”
     “I don’t, Dean!” Cas shouts, his voice echoing off his empty walls. “I
don’t love you! I never did! I should have never let you touch me the way you
did! You sodomized me, ruined me!”
     “I loved you, Cas!” They are screaming, gravitating, forever trapped in
the pull of the other.
     “You destroyed me! I will never be good again, never be clean! Do you
understand how that feels?! You’re a disgrace, a goddamn felon against
goodness!” Dean drops silent, tears still watering in his eyes.
     “Don’t you say that to me,” he grits out, spittle flying as he speaks.
“Not you, Cas.” Cas has tears in his eyes too, and they are standing nose to
nose. “Not you…”
     “You are filth, Dean." Cas’ voice is low and deadly. Dean flinches at its
magnitude. "What you do is filthy. Everything you touch, you ruin. It will take
an eternity to wipe your stain off me.”
     “Please, Cas,” Dean whimpers. It is all Dean can say, all that he has left
in him. He stares into those eyes for a long moment, the same blue eyes that
stared at him under that big tree, the same blue eyes that he’s loved since he
was five, the same blue eyes that have taken him apart piece by piece, again
and again. They are home. They are every good and warm memory, and nothing will
change that.
     “I hope you’re happy,” Cas says finally, stepping back slightly so that
they aren’t sharing every breath. His voice is low and soft and gentle,
completely unlike the roughness of his shouts. “I hope you find a nice woman,
get married, have three kids. I hope you have a pet fish named Rococo. I hope
you love someone, something as fiercely as you thought you loved me.” Cas
smiles a smile devoid of warmth, and Dean knows if he stares at it a moment
longer, it will be the end of him.
     "Please, Cas," he whispers, one last time, one last shouted plea to stay,
stay, stay. He wants that gummy grin, the one that lights up the whole damn
room. He wants barely showing eyes and lines even though he’s only seventeen.
     “Happy birthday, Dean,” Cas whispers, and so with tears in his eyes, on
his face, embedded in his shirt, Dean turns away from the only thing he’s ever
let himself love.
     The walk back to his own house is excruciating. If Dean thought every step
hurt after Bela, then this is torture. It is snowing. Dean guesses this is the
cold of their relationship, and God, does Dean feel it. It eats him alive until
he can’t tell if his fingers or his soul is colder. He is so distracted that
instead of climbing back into the window, he walks right through the front
door.
     “Where have you been?” Lilith asks coolly. She is sitting in John’s
drinking chair with the light turned off like the parent trying to catch their
child sneaking in after curfew in every cheesy movie ever. Dean is far too
tired to fight with her. He is far too tired to exist. He is ruined.
     “We’re leaving,” Dean says, and it isn’t an invitation to argue. It is
simply a fact. He tries to step past her, but she rises and stands before him.
She is a small woman, several inches shorter, rather petite, and really much
too young for John now that Dean sees her up close.
     “Where are you going to go, Dean?” She asks, stepping closer and closer,
obviously trying to get a rise out of Dean, but he has nothing left to offer
her but a small exhale.
     “Bobby’s…Lebanon…Vermont. I don’t know.” He doesn’t know anything anymore.
He just knows he can’t stay here with her, with his father, with Cas.
     “Dean,” Lilith says sweetly, smiling her way closer. “I’m not going to
make you stay. You’re obviously very distressed.” She smiles again, her smile
turning to that old familiar sadism. “But I am going to make Sam stay. He’s
really the only one we want. He is John’s favorite, after all.” Dean would
scoff if it didn’t hurt so much.
     “You say that like I don’t know,” Dean counters easily, but it hurts. Dean
has always worked so goddamn hard to make his father happy… “I’m not leaving
without Sam, and even if I wanted to, Sam wouldn’t let me. Where ever I go, he
goes.”
     “Are you sure, Dean?” Lilith asks, her smile slipping away to fake
concern. “Sam is getting pretty grown. Big brother constantly trying to swoop
in and save the day probably gets a little tiring for him, don’t you think?”
Dean closes his eyes against her. “He doesn’t need you, Dean. He’s better off
without you.”
     “He does need me,” Dean argues, because he needs Sam to need him. He can’t
do this if he doesn’t. It’s all so goddamn much. He needs Sam to need him.
     “No, Dean,” Lilith assures, and something inside Dean breaks. “He’s better
off here. I can help him in school like you never could. I can be the mother
you never could be. I can give his father back to him. Don’t you want that for
your brother? Think of sweet little Sammy, Dean. He wants to be a lawyer, you
know. Do you know how much law school costs? Even with scholarships, you'll
never have enough. I can give him that. All you have to do is go.” Dean stares
at her.
     “You’re lying,” he says, but Lilith only smiles.
     “I’m not,” she says. “I’m a Stanford Alumnus. I can get him a full ride
like that.” She snaps, and the sound startles Dean. “Even if I can’t get him a
scholarship, I’ve got money, plenty to send him to college…to buy him a car…to
start a house mortgage. Don’t you want that for your brother?” Dean squeezes
his eyes shut because he does want that for Sam. He wants Sam to go to college,
to drive, to thrive.
     “Why?” Dean asks, his eyes still shut. “What’s in it for you?”
     “I get to see Sam and John happy while I never have to see you,” she says
quickly, a smile on her lips. “You’re very problematic, see?”
     “How do I know that if I leave, you won’t go back on our deal?” Dean is
weak. Dean wants Sam to have the world, and he’s not dumb enough to think he
can give it to him, try as he might.
     “I never go back on a deal,” Lilith promises, her eyes gleaming. Dean
stares at her. He doesn’t want to leave Sam. His beaten heart aches at the mere
thought of not waking up to that floppy headed mess, those big eyes begging for
Jessica to come over. His heart aches at the idea that they will grow apart,
that Sam really doesn’t need Dean anymore.
     But he’s got nothing left. He is being held together now by nothing but
skin and Sam, and it is all too much. Everything is too much. He just wants Sam
to be happy…if he can have nothing else he cares about in this God forsaken
world, give him that.
     “Okay,” Dean whispers, and the smile Lilith gives him is all teeth.
     “Good,” she says, and the finality in her voice is apparent. Dean is
leaving. He’s packing up again, taking what’s left of his life, and getting the
hell out of dodge. He is alone. Really and truly…entirely alone. He packs
slowly, pulling only what he needs from the drawers and leaving the rest. He
takes the picture of his mom, choking back the memory of the day Cas gave it to
him. It seems like a lifetime ago, an eternity since they were together and
happy… When he’s packed, Dean sits at his desk and begins writing a letter to
Sam.
     Sam, it reads. You’re probably gonna be pissed at me when you read this.
You have every right to be. You’re probably gonna feel abandoned, betrayed, and
hurt. You have every right to feel those things too, but please know that this
goodbye is not permanent. I’m gonna call you every day, come home and see your
punk ass whenever I can, and never stop thinking about you.
     You’re my baby brother, no matter how tall and gangly you get. I’ll always
protect you, always look out for your best interests, and by leaving, I’m doing
just that. I know you probably don’t understand, and that’s okay. Maybe one day
I can explain. I hope one day I’ll be able to.
     You know I love you. You know I’d give anything for you. Now I need you to
trust me when I say that us separating is the best thing for you, and that I
would never do it if it weren’t what I thought was best for you. I can’t look
out for you the way you need to be looked out for, and for that, know that I am
forever sorry. You deserve the world, and I wish I could stay to see you get
it, but I can’t. Please know that I love you. Please know that mom loved you.
      I don’t want you to ever doubt that. There is nothing that I would put
before you, past or present. Please call me. Please forgive me.
     Dean is crying again by the time he finishes. He opens Sam’s door slowly
because he’s a coward. He doesn’t want to say goodbye face to face. He won’t be
able. So instead, he leaves the letter next to Sam’s sleeping head. He is
breathing slowly, eyes barely touching shut, mouth hanging open slightly. He’s
got drool on his chin. Dean leans down and kisses his forehead, tears filling
in his eyes as he presses his lips to his baby brother’s forehead. The gesture
is not unfamiliar. They could never keep up with a thermometer, so Dean used
his lips to check for fever, just like his mom had always done for him. Even
then, it was always used as a promise of a better tomorrow, never as a goodbye.
     “Take care, Sammy,” Dean whispers, and walking away from that sleeping
boy, the one he raised from diapers, the one he’s loved for his whole life,
that is the hardest thing he’s ever done. But he does it. He has to do it. He
has to make sure Sam has college and a home and a car and everything he ever
needs. So he walks away.
     He shoulders his baggage, walks past the smirking bitch, and gets in his
dad’s old car. The engine roars to life beneath him, but he is too numb to be
excited, too numb to be glad. He’s lost everything. He’s lost Bobby…He’s lost
John…He’s lost Cas…He’s lost Sam…He’s got nothing left.
     The road beneath Dean’s wheels is hard. It is unyielding, unforgiving, and
Dean likes that. He likes that the road will never change, never decide it no
longer loves being navigated. Roads are rock. They do not care one way or the
other. Dean wishes he didn’t. He wishes he couldn’t feel a damn thing.
     He doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s too proud to go to Bobby’s, Ellen’s
is closed, Benny’s asleep, and the exits keep passing beneath his wheels. He
takes none of them, heading west, running from the slowly rising sun as though
he can escape the truth the morning will bring. Somewhere between the fifth of
whiskey he found in the console and Colorado, Dean loses it. He loses his whole
goddamn mind.
     By the time he is realizing he’s lost, he is slamming on his brakes in the
middle of the interstate, tears rushing down his face and blurring his vision
so quickly that he can’t tell if the cars violently honking at him are going to
hit him or not. He doesn’t care.
     Dean spins once, twice, and a third time before his beloved Impala comes
to rest, crooked, on the shoulder in the stench of burnt rubber and echo of
screeching tires. A few cars pull over to check on him, phones out and ready to
call 9-1-1, but when they see Dean sobbing in the front seat, their curiosity
gets the better of them.
     “Are you okay?” they ask, and of course, they mean physically.
     “No,” Dean wails, and the phones fly back out. “Please don’t call,” he
begs, hysterical tears falling down his face. “Please don’t.” The phones slide
hesitantly back into pockets, their eye brows pulled low over their eyes.
     “What’s wrong?” they ask him.
     “I hate my life,” Dean spits, slamming his fists against the steering
wheel again and again, surprising himself with the release that comes with an
exterior pain such as a split knuckle. He keeps slamming his fists again and
again against the steering wheel, tearing the gashes in his knuckles wider and
wider until a man stops his arm.
     “Have you been drinking?” he asks, eyes narrowing at the very obvious
scent of liquor on Dean’s breath. He’s wasted out of his mind.
     “I hate my life,” Dean sobs, head falling onto the now bloodied steering
wheel.
     “Is there someone we can call for you?” someone asks. Dean thinks it’s a
lady’s voice, soft and sweet like his mother’s used to be.
     “No,” Dean says, sitting up and looking to the voice. She’s very pretty.
Looks kinda like Lisa, Dean thinks lazily. She has dark hair, dark skin, and
dark eyes. She is wearing a nurse’s badge that reads Carmen. “They’re all
gone,” he says, but his voice breaks on gone, pushing him back to racking sobs.
“They’re all gone.”
===============================================================================
     Castiel looks around his room. It’s a nice enough room, he supposes. He’s
definitely glad to have his queen-sized bed back, despite all the ungodliness
that happened in it. Perhaps he should buy new sheets... Anyway, Castiel has
always enjoyed having his own room, his own privacy. It leaves him free to
decorate however he wanted. When he was six, it was bumble bees. When he was
ten, it was Superman. When he was fifteen, it was simple, dark colors on the
bed, light colors on the wall, maps and papers and everything else tacked to
the paint and scattered over his desk. It’s stayed that way ever since, gaining
a new poster here, a new book there. His most recent addition is a sign he
never got the chance to hang…you know the one, and it sends him back.
     "Sceadan Street" Cas reads, a grin coming onto his face. Dean is standing
before him, but it’s a dream. Cas is at the clinic. Dean is at home. The sign
is somewhere between, stuck between Cas’ room and Cas’ thoughts. If that’s the
case, Dean is stuck somewhere between too.
     “Hey, Cas,” Charlie says, poking her head into the room and frowning upon
seeing Cas, red hair falling into her face. “What are you grinning about?”
     “What is my sole reason for grinning in this hellhole?” he asks, his smile
slipping a bit as reality comes back to him.
     “Dean,” Charlie says, and His name is sacred, spoken with reverence and
softness because Cas loves Dean. Cas says nothing, just chases those fading
green eyes. “What was it?”
      “He gave me a street sign for my Christmas present,” Cas says, his grin
returning a bit. Charlie’s brow furrows like she is working out a particularly
complicated puzzle.
      “That’s…nice,” she says, raising it like a question, and Cas laughs.
      “It was. It meant a lot. We’ve lived together on that street for almost
thirteen years, and to top that off, the street name was an anagram of our
names.” Cas smiles, remembering the light, the hope, in Dean’s eyes as he
handed Cas the present.
      “That’s nice,” Charlie says, but this time, it is confident, sincere.
      “Yeah…it’s just something I like to remember when I start to doubt.”
     Castiel picks the sign up now, holding it gingerly as he remembers the day
again. He remembers the laughter, the tears, the kisses, the sex. He wants to
remember, but not for the same reason he did in the clinic. He wants to
remember now to avoid those mistakes in the future. Castiel puts the sign in
his bottom drawer, out of sight, out of mind. When he straightens back up, he
already feels lighter, cleaner, as if Dean’s influence were washing away from
him with every passing second.
     Castiel won’t lie and say he was unaffected seeing Dean after all this
time. He’s still Dean. He’s still Castiel’s best friend. Castiel’s first
instinct was to run to Dean, to jump into those arms and squeeze him with
everything in him. But then he thought of Naomi and April, of himself, of
everyone who worked to get him where he is today.Homosexuality is wrong. He’s
glad he treated Dean the way he did, harsh as that might have been.
     It was in Dean’s best interest. Dean’s never been someone who would listen
unless the message was being slammed into him. Castiel’s message was that they
were over, that Dean needs to get his act together. He’s still Dean. He’s still
Castiel’s best friend. Castiel doesn’t want to see Dean live his life in the
wrong way, live his life on a road headed for hell.
     Castiel tells himself again and again, what I did was right.My harsh words
were in Dean’s best interest. He tells himself, I may be hurting Dean now, but
in the long run, I will have done nothing but help him. I just had to make sure
my message was received, and judging by the completely destroyed look on Dean’s
face, it was received loud and clear. It was for the best, and Castiel really
believes it.
Chapter End Notes
     CURTAINS FALL WITH A SWOOSH. Okay, so... What are you guys thinking?
     Love me? Hate me? Secretly planning to murder me? Not so secretly
     planning to murder me? Any of the above, I would not blame you for.
     (Except maybe loving me, cause like, did you read that chapter? I am
     a terrible human being.)
     Other than that, I suppose all that is left are my endless, endless
     thanks to you guys for all that you do: forgiving me for putting the
     boys through this, reading my little fic despite it all, commenting
     your impassioned and ecstatic thoughts about a chapter, kudosing when
     there's nothing left to say, and inspiring me, always. Oh my god, you
     cannot possibly understand the extent to which your comments always
     inspire me. You all are the reason this fic is still alive, so pat
     yourselves on the back. I love you all endlessly, from the bottom of
     my heart. You guys rock. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
     Onward to part three.
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