A/N: Get ready for an angst fest. There are many triggers, so please read with caution. Co-written with AO3's Daisuki Rose (who writes Dean's POV).

~storywriter713

Chapter 1

Castiel's POV

Castiel stared down at his Algebra 1 test, his heart beating quickly. With each beat of his heart, the ticking of the clock on the wall got louder. He held a no. 2 pencil in his left hand, tapping it against the side of his desk. Tap tap tap tap. Tick tick tick tick. He started sweating under his many layers of clothing; a white tank top, a white button-up shirt, a blue tie, a black suit jacket, and a tan trench coat on his upper body, black pants, boxers, a belt, knee-high black socks, and black, sturdy shoes on his lower. He didn't like to wear so many layers, but he needed to. He also wore trace amounts of makeup on his face, neck, and hands. Otherwise his whole school would know what happened when he was at home.

An old brown clock hung to the right of him. It had seen many years and many students, but none of them as broken as Castiel. From years of watching teachers teach lessons, the clock was smart. It could tell when a student was happy, sad, angry, in love, tired, hurt, paying attention, and so much more. It could tell that the trench coat wearing freshman had physical ailments that caused him constant pain. It could tell from the way he held himself, as if he had a pole strapped to his back; from the way that he walked, his arms always protecting his chest, a slight limp in his gait; from the way that he sat on the edge of his chair, as if he felt the need for a quick escape. The clock knew that Castiel Novak was beaten by his family. It grieved about not being able to let others know so the poor boy wouldn't have to endure any more abuse. It ticked in frustration. Tick tick tick tick.

Splat!

A wet, squishy object bounced off of Castiel's dark brown hair. He stiffened. Tick tick tick tick. He could hear quiet coming from sniggers from behind him. Anticipating more spitballs, he started to tremble slightly. He shared Algebra 1 and most of his other classes with the two biggest freshman bullies. Crowley, the squat, British jerk who nicknamed himself the King of Hell, and Alastair, Crowley's accomplice who had a very annoying nasally voice. Everyone called them the Hell Hounds. The Hell Hounds' favorite person to pick on was the shy and quiet Castiel – something he had grown accustomed to. Tick tick tick tick.

Splat!

His left hand clenched around his pencil, threatening to break it. He closed his blue eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth. The Hell Hounds were being generous that day by using their saliva to dampen the paper balls instead of something less civilized. Castiel opened his eyes and looked at question eight of his test. It was a multi-step inequality. –(7c – 18) – 2c 0. Lucky for him, he had actually payed attention in class. He smirked. That was the only advantage he had over Crowley and Alastair: his brains. He told himself what to do in his head.

First, you have to write down the equation. –(7c – 18) – 2c 0. Okay, Castiel. You know that when there is a negative sign outside of the parentheses, subtracting a negative number from another negative number makes the second number positive. –7c + 18 – 2c 0. Negative seven c and negative two c are like terms, so you add them together. -9c + 18 0. Now you have to use inverse operations to isolate the variable. Subtract eighteen from both sides to keep the inequality balanced. -9c + 18 – 18 0 – 18, which makes -9c -18. Now to isolate the variable. -9c / -9 -18 / -9. That cancels the negative nine. But since you divided by a negative number, you have to switch the greater than symbol to less than, and you'll have your answer. Dividing two negatives makes a positive. c 2. Yes! You got it. Good, you showed your work, you know you got it right. On to the next question.

Tick tick tick tick.

Splat!

Castiel scowled at his test paper. He glanced at the clock from the corner of his eye. He almost groaned when he saw how much time was left in the class. Twenty more minutes. Twenty more minutes of spitballs hitting him. Twenty more minutes of pretending that it didn't bother him. No, he was not going to do that. He looked up at the teacher, hoping that she noticed the spitballs. His shoulders sagged when he saw that Mrs. Harvelle-Singer was too busy grading papers. He looked back at his test, and saw that he only had ten more questions. He could do them in five minutes, maximum. Then he'd be able to get up, hand in his paper, ask for a hall pass, and hide out in his special spot in the library for fifteen minutes until Algebra 1 was almost over. Once he got back, Mrs. Harvelle-Singer would have his paper graded. Yes, that's what he would do.

Tick tick tick tick.

Castiel's pencil flew across the paper as he hastily solved all of the inequalities. His hand smeared his work a bit, but that was to be expected; he was left-hand dominant.

Tick tick tick tick.

Only five more problems left...

Tick tick tick tick.

Two more…

Tick tick tick tick.

Done!

Castiel launched to his feet, wincing as the sudden movement pulled at an old injury. The envious eyes of his classmates watched him as he dodged around the first row of desks to Mrs. Harvelle-Singer. He was the first person done with his test, as always. Everybody called him teacher's pet and shoved him inside a locker at least once a week. Although he was standing right in front of his teacher, she was too concentrated on her work. He cleared his throat quietly, causing her to startle and look up at him. The teacher smiled at him, her eyes proud. She took his test and handed him a hall pass. She knew the routine by then. Everyone did. Whenever Castiel finished a test, quiz, or project, he'd ask for a hall pass. He'd always get one, too, and didn't come back until a few seconds before the bell signifying the end of that period rang.

As soon as his fingertips touched the cold plastic of the hall pass, he darted out of the classroom. He navigated the halls easily. He had learned all of the shortcuts and hiding spots by his tenth day at Lawrence High School. He ran at full speed down the halls, his shoes scuffling against the floor. Running rattled his injuries but he didn't care. He rounded a corner and slammed right into something bigger than him. The jolt caused him to cry out in pain, his bruises screaming at his brain to put out the fire. Castiel fell backwards, striking the hard tile floor tailbone first. The jolt rattled up his spine, the ache distracting him from all his other injuries. His vision of the ceiling blurred for a few moments before slowly refocusing. He groaned, his eyes watering.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" a voice asked him. The voice was deep, but still had a boyish tone to it. A head popped into his line of sight. The owner of the voice was a teenager, a little older than Castiel. He had dark blond hair, the color of wet sand. Freckles speckled his cheeks and nose, bringing out his incredibly green eyes. He was pretty good-looking. When the freshman didn't respond, the stranger asked, "Do you have a concussion?"

"I'm fine," Castiel growled. His voice was slightly deeper than the older-looking stranger's.

"No you're not." The stranger's light brown eyebrows furrowed. "Want some help up?"

Castiel sat up slowly but it was still enough to make his head spin. He glared at the teenager. "You seem to know how I am feeling, so why did you even ask me if I'm fine? And no thank you, I'm able to stand up on my own," he said gruffly, not even trying to sound polite.

He used the floor to push himself to his knees. From there he put his hands on a yellow wall and used it to help him balance. He cautiously stood up. His tailbone didn't allow it. His knees buckled from the aching pain that took over. He pitched forward, the off-white tiles rushing toward him in an attempt to break his nose. He was wrenched back into a standing position by what felt like steel bars digging into the bruises on his ribs. He couldn't hold back the cry of fear that ripped through him. The strange teenager was going to hurt him like everybody else did. The steel arms around him quickly went away and Castiel took a breath in, holding it, expecting the blow that was about to come, his eyes closed.

"Let me take you to the school nurse, man. You don't look that good."

Castiel cracked open his left eye. The boy was about a foot away from him, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Once the injured freshman was positive he was not going to get beaten up, he opened his eyes all the way and nodded. He flinched at the headache that ensued. The blond boy opened his mouth to offer to help, but Castiel just waved him off. He took a tentative step forward and yelped at the pain in his tailbone. The next thing he was aware of was his nose buried in a leather jacket that smelled really nice. He looked up and saw green eyes filled with worry looking down at him.

"Sorry," Castiel mumbled, his face red.

He tried to move away from the stranger, to no relent; the teenager wouldn't let him move. The boy was only a couple inches taller than the freshman, so he wrapped Castiel's left arm over his shoulders.

"My name's Dean, by the way. Dean Winchester. I'm a sophomore. How 'bout you?" the blond boy said.

"Castiel Novak, freshman," Castiel replied.

Castiel blushed when the sophomore wrapped his leather-clad right arm around his trench-coat covered waist. They started walking, Dean half carrying, half dragging him through a few hallways and to the nurse's office. When the freshman wasn't groaning in pain, he was enjoying the body heat he felt from the teenager. Since he wasn't stressing about spitballs hitting his head, he could relax and not overheat. He was a bit chilly in fact. The school didn't have a well-functioning heating system and it was almost winter.

"So, you got a girlfriend who's gonna fuss over you and give you a sponge bath?" Dean asked with a smirk.

Castiel hesitated a bit too long. "No."

Dean looked at him and his smirk grew larger. "Boyfriend?"

"No."

"That sucks, man, but I feel ya. My ex girlfriend, Lisa, dumped me right before school started. Granted, I didn't actually like her that much, but my point still stands," Dean said.

Castiel frowned slightly. Why was Dean sharing that information? He couldn't possibly think that they were friends, could he? He didn't have any friends. He never had. Not even his many siblings could be considered friends. Not even his parents. His mother, Naomi, had always warned him that to trust someone enough to be their friend was to be stabbed in the back. She illustrated her point with a slap, leaving a hand-shaped red mark on his left cheek for fifteen minutes. He secretly always yearned to have someone to trust, to talk to, to call a friend. Castiel decided that he would play along with the friend thing, and accept all the consequences that would occur because of it.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said, his voice deeper than usual with his sincere apology.

Dean smiled at him, perfectly white and straight teeth gleaming. "Thanks, Cas, but it wasn't your fault."

"Cas?"

Dean's cheeks reddened slightly. No, Castiel must have been mistaken. The sophomore didn't seem the type to blush. "It's a nickname. Castiel's kinda a mouthful, so I shortened it to Cas. Is that okay?" he seemed to really care about the freshman's response.

Castiel had never had a nickname before. Wait, that wasn't true. His family called him Cassie right before punching him. He smiled as he mulled the nickname over in his head. Cas. It sounded good, and it marked the beginning of a friendship. His first nickname from his first friend.

"It's fine, I like it. Nobody's ever given me a nickname before," he said.

Dean frowned. "Seriously? Not even your friends?"

"I don't have friends," Castiel responded. He wasn't sure when it was socially acceptable to call someone a friend. He guessed that the process was similar to dating; one person asked the other to be their friend, and was either accepted or rejected.

"I'm your friend," Dean said. He seemed mildly hurt.

He pondered that for a moment. Even though his family didn't want him to have friends, he decided to accept the request for friendship. "You're my only friend," Castiel corrected himself.

"On that note, we're at the nurse's office," Dean announced. He checked his watch. "The bell's gonna ring any seco-"

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

The bell blared loudly. Voices filled the entire school as students poured out of every classroom. The hallways became like rivers, the students the fish swimming up and down stream. Dean quickly pulled them both into the nurse's office before they were trampled by thundering human feet. Once safe inside the office with the door closed, Castiel hobbled over to the tiny cot at the back of the room. He hissed at every step and groaned loudly when his injured tailbone touched the paper sheet covering the mattress and pillow. He lay back, his spine making odd popping noises that were accompanied by pain. The jaded mattress offered no comfort.

"Son of an assbutt!" Castiel yelped when his head touched the pillow. The ache pulsated up and down his spine, in his ribs, in his skull, in his fingers and toes, everywhere.

"I'm really sorry about knocking you over," Dean apologized. He seemed sincere, his voice filled with guilt.

"There's no need to apologize. I was the one who ran into you," Castiel said, his eyes watching Dean… his friend.

"You're the one who got hurt. But assbutt? Seriously?" Dean asked, smirking.

A clock hung on the wall across from the freshman. It ticked and tocked all day long, no one appreciating its telling of time. It endured the harsh smells of blood, puke, drugs, rubbing alcohol, antiseptic wipes, cleaning supplies, hand sanitizer, and so much more every single day. A loud buzzing announced the start of a new period, the vibrations rattling the circular time telling device on the wall. Tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. On the nest tick, Castiel's nose started to tickle from all the fumes. It was subtle at first, but gradually grew until he knew he was about to sneeze – something that would jolt his injury.

"Crud," he muttered. His eyes closed, he involuntarily took a large breath in, and sneezed violently. Once, twice, three times he sneezed, with no time in between each one to cry out in pain. After his brief sneezing fit was over, he looked as if he was screaming, but no sounds could be heard other than the ticking andtocking of the clock.

Dean didn't realize that his friend was in pain at first. "Bless you," he said.

When he got no response, his green eyes looked closer. Castiel's hair covered his eyes, but the sophomore was able to see a sliver of pain filled blue. He rushed over to help in any way that he could. Seeing nothing he could do to help ease the pain, he brushed the dark brown hair out of the blue eyes.

"I'd ask if you were okay, but I think we both know the answer to that."

Castiel groaned to acknowledge that he had heard Dean.

"Is your injury but a flesh wound?" Dean asked, quoting Monte Python and the Holy Grail in a British accent.

"No, Dean, the wound is very much not in my flesh," Castiel mumble-groaned, frowning slightly and looking at his friend in a confused manner.

Dean sighed heavily. "It's a reference, Cas."

"I don't understand that reference."

Dean face-palmed. "Of course you don't." He sighed, then his green eyes lit up suddenly. "Tomorrow, you are coming to my house and we are watching all of the Monte Python movies."

Castiel thought about that. His parents would never let him out of the house to hang out with a friend, let alone to go to that friend's house and watch movies all day instead of studying. They didn't even want him to have a friend. However, they were more than happy to let him out of the house to go to the library and study. That would be the only way he and his friend could watch movies at Dean's house. He'd have to lie to his parents about going to the library for most of the day to study. Yes, that's what he would do.

"Okay," he said, winning a grin from Dean.

"It's a date!"

Castiel frowned. "A date? I thought we were only friends. Don't romantic partners go on dates?"

Dean's face reddened a bit. "It's a saying, Cas. It's a friend date. I mean, if you want it to be a romantic date after only knowing me for not even an hour, okay, but that wasn't what I had in mind."

"A 'friend date' it is, then," Castiel said.

They waited for three more minutes before the school's nurse, Ms. Mills, finally arrived. She examined the injured freshman the best she could without causing him much pain. Ms. Mills eventually had to ask him to remove the clothing on his upper body so she could check for any possibly spine injuries. Castiel hastily assured her and Dean that he was fine and attempted to leave, but was stopped by his legs buckling from the pain he felt. He was in too much pain to remove his own clothes. The nurse wasn't allowed to as it was against school policy, so Dean had to. The sophomore was as gentle as he could be, cracking jokes while he un-tucked the freshman's shirt. He peeled Castiel's white tank top off, dropping it when he saw his injured friend's torso.

Castiel was covered in bruises and lacerations, each one having a unique shape. Some were shaped like hands, others boots and high heels. The lacerations looked oddly like his own belt had caused them. Some of the bruises were old and fading, smaller, green and sickly yellow. Some of the bruises were a few days old, dark purple, deep blue, and brown, almost glowing from under his pale flesh. Others still were newer, not even a day old. Those were the worst. They were still red and swollen, bright purple, neon green, and light blue marking where he had been hit, kicked, pushed, or punched. Cuts decorated the bruises. There were scars, deep cuts, shallow cuts, healing cuts, and cuts that were still oozing blood. Ms. Mills gagged at the sight.

"No," Dean whispered, his eyes refusing to look away from Castiel's beaten and bloody torso.

Castiel felt ashamed. He had betrayed his family, who had made him promise not to spill the secret. He was an accident baby, the child given to his parents against their wishes. He was the youngest of the Novaks, the runt of the family. Worst of all, he was a rare triplet who had killed the other two; he had an identical twin and a fraternal sister, whom he murdered while still in the womb. He survived. He was responsible. His parents hadn't meant to get pregnant again. It wasn't their fault they were incredibly fertile. His parents and brothers made it very clear that they wished his sister had survived and not him. They would've had the first girl out of ten children, if Castiel hadn't killed her, and his identical twin.

"Domestic abuse. I have to report this. Oh my Lord, I've never seen anything this bad!" Ms. Mills muttered to herself, gazing sadly at Castiel as she reached for a phone.

"That's why you're in so much pain… It's not just your tailbone," Dean mused, his eyes wide as the nurse reported Castiel's condition, having connected the dots.

Castiel grabbed his trench coat, put it on, and ran out of the nurse's office before Dean or Ms. Mills could stop him. He relished in the pain he felt with each step. I deserve this, he thought, for existing, for being a nuisance to my family, for murdering James and Anael. He ran out of the school and to his house, tripping several times and hurting himself even more. He didn't care. It would be much worse when he confronted his parents. He had to ask them for forgiveness, and they would punish him for his betrayal. That's how it had always worked.

He burst into his house, tears streaming down his face, crying: "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! They found out! I'm sorry! It wasn't my fault!"

His parents, Naomi and Metatron, calmly walked into the room.

"What did you say?" Naomi snarled through clenched teeth.

Castiel fell to his knees in front of his father. "They found out – the school – I'm so sorry. Let me redeem myself to y-"

A coffee pot shaped clock hung to the right of the doorway to the kitchen. It tocked away quietly. It had witnessed all the beatings Castiel had received over the years. It didn't want the same fate, so it remained quiet. Tock tock tock tock. The clock was a bystander and the only witness to what occurred after the injured freshman's apology. Tock tock tock tock.

Bam!

Castiel's neck snapped back; he had been forcefully kicked in the nose. Blood poured over his lips, down his chin and neck, staining his trench coat and dripping onto the carpeted floor. His body curled around the fist in his gut, flopping onto his back when the fist moved to his jaw. Two sets of hands and feet kicked him, punched him, ripped at his flesh, and held him down. Tock tock tock tock. He was on his back on the ground, his arms and legs splayed, warm blood pooling around him. A foot wearing a high heel was placed on his groin, pressing deeper and deeper. Tears diluted the blood dripping off of his face. Tock tock tock tock.

"It should have been Anael who was saved! Not you! You have betrayed this family, even after all that we have done for you. We raised a murderer. You are a murderer, Castiel," Metatron sneered at his bloody son. "Time for a taste of your own medicine," he roared, launching himself at his son.

Tock tock tock tock.

His father's hands wrapped tightly around his throat, choking him. Castiel struggled against them, but his mother held down his arms and legs. He tried to breathe but he couldn't get air into his famished lungs. Metatron's grip tightened, crushing his son's windpipes. Only a few more seconds until he was dead.

Tock.

Castiel's chest screamed at him, telling him to do whatever it took to breathe.

Tock.

He broke his hands free from his mother's grasp.

Tock.

His fingers scrabbled against his father's hands, trying to peel them from his throat.

Tock.

His vision blurred and darkened; white flashes of light and Metatron's contorted face were all that he could see.

Tock.

With one last burst of energy, he managed to throw Naomi off his legs and he kicked his father off of him. Air rushed into him in choking gasps. He coughed hard, rolling onto his side and curling up into a ball to protect his chest.

Tock.

He was alive.

The front door burst open. Police officers filed in, guns at the ready. They found the family in the living room. Metatron and Naomi were handcuffed and lead away. An ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the house. Paramedics rushed to Castiel and took his vitals. He had passed out from the lack of air and his heart was failing. They tried to stabilize, but his heart stopped. The paramedics tried to resuscitate him by using CPR. After thirty seconds of no response, they decided to use electric paddles to shock his heart into beating. Tock tock tock tock.

Three electric shocks later, there was a weak pulse. Tock tock tock tock. The pulse was gone. They started to sweat; they thought that he was going to stay dead. They had one more trick but after that, they would have to give up. Two injections of pure adrenaline entered Castiel's heart. Tock tock tock tock. A paramedic performed chest compressions to help the adrenaline restart the freshman's heart.

Tock tock tock tock.

Nothing.

"I'm calling it," a pretty paramedic with curly blond hair announced. She glanced at the coffee pot shaped clock. Tock tock tock tock. "Time of death -"

"Cas!" Dean burst into the house, fighting off the police officers who tried to restrain him. His green eyes saw his friend – no, his friend's body – and filled with tears.

With a gasping breath, Castiel shot forward, his blue eyes snapping open. "Dean!"