Hello!
For the first time ever, I need to admit that I don't own any of these characters mentioned, as they're all the creation of Eric Kripke! I hope you enjoy my first published fanfiction on this site, please leave comments to tell me what I need to do for you guys! I'm hoping for this to be a long fanfiction, and will be updating whenever I'm free! Enjoy! WARNINGS - Bullying/abuse/smut in later chapters.
Dean stumbled backwards, his consciousness fading. He cursed himself as he continued to grip onto the metal bar stool, his vision furring.
As a senior, it was his job to 'set an example' as many of his teachers put it - so he was. As a group of freshman stared at him in some back ally bar, he decided it was in their best interest to see how much alcohol one senior could chug - to show them how it's done. This plan however, started to go, as Dean would put it, 'tits up' as the 7 shots and a hell of a lot of tequila sent him, well, tits up.
'Dean, Dean, Dean... I knew you couldn't handle your booze' Crowley, a senior (who's repeated 12th grade so many times Dean really thought he shouldn't be called a senior in that respect anymore) mocked, as he gripped the underside of Dean's armpits, dragging him to his feet. Dean struggled against the man's hands, however the state Dean was in, he wasn't even sure he could keep himself standing, let alone start a fight.
'What you...hear Crowley?' Dean asked, failing to make his mouth say the words that were forming just as fluently in his head. He tried to make himself seem as big as he could, however the only thing he had succeeded in doing was falling, as he lurched forwards, grabbing hold of the wooden bar table infront of him.
'I thought me and my buddies deserved a little show with our meal, and heard a couple of freshman talking about how the 'amazing Dean Winchester' was drinking himself under the table.' and sure enough, as Dean looked past the three Crowleys standing above him, he saw 2? no, 3 more seniors standing behind him, the ones that usually spent their free periods terrorising the younger grades in the school toilets - harrasing them for possesions and on the odd occasion - just for fun. Dean recognised one of them to be Alastair, who had a strange smile plastered on his face that worried Dean.
'G'way Crowley' Dean spoke, again trying to make himself seem intimidating as he stood up straight, but inevitably fell forward, leaving Dean bent rather ungracefully on yet another wooden bar table. He would've stayed there too, if it hadn't been for 2 of Crowley's 'buddies' hoisting him up and beginning to lead him to christ knows where. Dean pulled against the force of the two men, his eyes darting to find the freshmen that were once stood there, cheering him on as he drank himself into a happy abyss. Nada. They must've left the bar soon after Crowley entered, as an attempt to save themselves from more harrasment. Dean swore as he kicked against the two men who were leading him forward, out of the bar.
And then he was flying.
Well...flying being the graceful term for someone being thrown face first out of a bar and onto a cold, urine soaked pavement of the alley behind it. Dean struggled to his feet as the alcohol travelled round his system, his head buzzing from the impact.
'What - What y'want?' Dean angered at his childish words, the way his sentences disobeyed his mind. He took a protective stance, his fists raised above his face, trying not to show the way his legs were shaking from the strain of holding up his half - limp body and the fear he denied exsisted inside of him. He knew showing up to that sleazy bar was a bad idea, but hey, he was Dean Winchester, the founder of bad ideas.
'It's not me that wants anything Dean' Crowley hissed, his friends staring holes into Dean as Crowley sauntered forwards towards him. Dean tried to throw a punch. It was intended to be a warning sign, a sort of 'back off' phrase in fist talk, however his reaction times slowed him, and Crowley easily managed to dodge the punch thrown at him, his own fist shooting up into Deans stomach. Dean wimpered and fell to his knees, biting his tongue to try and stop the shout of pain that wanted to escape his lips. Bile rose in his throat from a mixture of alcohol, a hard punch to the centre of his stomach and the fact that he had not eaten a proper meal in around 2 days. Dean looked up at Crowley, with hatred seemingly pouring out of his eyes, however, he decided it best to listen to whatever Crowley had to say and be done with it, he could really use a shower and some well earened rest.
'You see Dean' Crowley spat, as he walked towards Dean, grabbing his chin an arching it to face him. Dean had to stop himself from trying to hit the guy again, knowing himself that the end result would not be in his favour. 'You walk around like , trying to show everyone that you're something special' He dropped his chin, replacing the upwards force he put on it with a sidewards one as he struck Dean across the face, knocking him onto his side. Dean hissed in pain, his face evidently going to show a bruise in the morning. 'Well my buddies have a little news flash for you ladies' man, and it's going to be severe.'
Dean tried to force himself back onto his feet again, his muscles aching with every move.
'Crowley - don't' Dean tried to cover up his plead to make it sound like a warning, but only succeeded in stiffling a laugh out of Crowley as two of his friends walked towards Dean, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him to the hard floor. Alastair, wearing the same sickening grin as before sauntered over to Dean, wasting no time in bending down and releasng a cascade of anger fueled punches into Dean's stomach. He tried to bite his tongue to stop the shouts and wimpers trying to force their way out of his mouth, but with little success. Alastair was quick to pick up on what made Dean give the best reactions, and used that to his advantage.
Soon Dean was a bloody mess lying on the wet alley floor, each breath becoming harder to make as his nose was broken and mouth filled with his own congealed blood. Alastair stood up and looked at his finished work, smiling still.
Dean didn't notice when they had left, his thoughts lingering on his fading conciousness, muffling the intense, throbbing pain localising around his entire body.
Castiel walked around the back entrance of the bar, cursing his boss as he drags yesterdays trash to the dumpster outside. One day, Castiel thought, he'll get a place like this of his own. Not a bar - no, a tea shop, like the ones he saw when he travelled to England for one of the only holdays he's ever had. He'll hire his own staff, make MUCH more than minimum wage and - the best part - not have drunk customers drooling over him everytime he moved. He smiled, the idea soothing his once angry thoughts to ones of his future plans.
As Castiel rounded the corner he sighed - another drunk sleeping outside, blocking his path to the dumpster.
'Excuse me sir, I need you to wake up' he said as he started decreasing the disance between them. Advancing forwards, Castiel started to see more of the man. Faded jeans, a loose fitting plaid shirt with some band he's never heard of plastered on the front of the sleeping man's T-shirt.
Then he noticed his face.
Horrible bruises plastered every inch of skin he could see, the man's nose looked like someone hit him square in the face with a bat.
'Oh my...' He couldn't get the words out as he ran over to the man, dropping the heavy bag of garbage near the entance of the alley. The closer he got to the man he the more he could make out - one fact being that this wasn't a man as he first assumed, but a teenager, couldn't of been more than 18.
'hold on, I'm calling an ambulance' Castiel reassured, as he knelt next to the boy, tipping his head to the side to aid his breathing. He could hear small rasping breaths as his shaking fingers dialed the numbers, hoping he wasn't too late to save the boy beaten to a bloody pulp infront of him.
Thank you so much for reading the first chapter! Please tell me your thoughts!
