Castiel Milton was Dean Winchester's best friend. He loved the guy. End of story. Their parents had known each other for years before the two were even conceived, and after that, well, it was only natural that Dean and Castiel would get along. It was Dean himself who'd come up with the nickname Cas. His psycho parents insisted upon Castiel and Castiel only. This didn't fly with Dean. Cas was his buddy, and so Cas is what he'd call him. These days in high school, not everything was peachy with the Miltons and the Winchesters. Luckily, Dean and Cas had already developed a profound bond by the time the shit went down, and so they were still life long friends. Literally. Which, of course, is why when Castiel showed up on Dean's doorstep (yet again) Tuesday night, Dean was happy to let him stay over as long as he wished. Basically, Castiel's parents were dicks.

At least in Dean's opinion, and Cas seemed to share his views on this as well. Cas's life wasn't all that easy. He had many mental issues. In fact, so many that Dean wondered how the guy was even still walking and talking. His parents began treating him like a dog when his problems increased in severity. One time at a Halloween party, some jerk friend from school surprised Castiel by sneaking up on him and wrapping him in an aggressive bear hug. The affect was probably meant to be something like this: Castiel jumped, laughed a little, the other dude made fun of him, and then it was over, most likely never to be mentioned again. But no. Castiel had been about twelve years old at the time, and during this stage in his early life his mental disorders were escalating as time went on.

The poor boy had a meltdown. It was his first real panic attack. Before when something stimulated a heightening of his emotions, he'd only start to shake and get dizzy, but Dean would always be there to comfort him and calm him back down. However, no one saw it coming that time. Dean suspected Cas himself was caught off guard. It only got worse from there, and that takes us to his parents.

Dean and his family supported Castiel as best they could, but obviously the final call rested with the Miltons. Helping their suffering child would have been the right thing to do. What else do you do when your kid has a meltdown right before your eyes? Well, that's not how it happened. Rachel, Castiel's mother, was reluctant to tell people about her son's mental state. Michael, her husband, was utterly impassive to Castiel's suffering, and none of his siblings got word of the breakdown. His parents tried to keep it under control as best they could, but what the hell are you going to do when your son starts hearing voices?

It started a couple months after the severe panic attack. Dean would notice how drained his friend looked, dark circles under his azure eyes like halos around the moon. When he asked about it, Cas said that weird whispers kept him up at night. Yeah, the kid had totally lost it. He made Dean promise not to tell anyone, because his parents told him to keep quiet about it. This angered Dean. His best pal in the whole world was descending into madness, and all his damn folks cared about was what others would think.

It was far too stupid to actually agree, but he had. Then Castiel became withdrawn. He stopped socializing with his peers, his grades dropped, he picked up bad habits like smoking and drinking, and worst of all, he became angry. Dean was never sure who or what he was angry at, exactly, but it was as plain as day. Anyone could see. The only thing that didn't change was them.

They had always been, and would always be each other's sacred ground. Castiel still treated Dean like a person, whereas around others he'd either ignore them or tell them to fuck off. Okay, enough was enough. Dean told his parents that Rachel and Michael refused to give Castiel the help he needed. Maybe it costed too much, or maybe they were embarrassed to have a whack job as a son. He'll never know for sure, but it didn't matter. Dean could see no reason logical enough to lead someone to watch a member of their own family wilt away into a broken and withering mess because... because what? Exactly.

So that's how the Winchesters and the Miltons broke apart, with the exception of Dean and Castiel. John, Dean's father, had tried to persuade Michael into doing something. From what he heard from Dean, Cas was a fucking wreck. He hardly slept, he lost a lot of weight, something about drugs, but none of it was his fault. Mary had been furious. Why didn't Dean tell them sooner?

Well, as unreasonable as it was, he wanted to keep his promise to Castiel, but he ended up having to choose what was best for his friend, or what his friend thought was best for him. He choose the former. The Winchesters and the Miltons went to court. The Miltons won. Wealthy, well established individuals with well paid, damn good lawyers had a tendency to be very persuasive if need be. Even then, Mary and John wouldn't give up on Cas. He was a bright kid, just so overloaded with problems that he turned stone cold.

He was pretty much catatonic, especially after any panic attacks. The only time he smiled was around Dean. It use to be a bright thing. Almost blinding, really. Now all anyone got was a small twitch of lips, or maybe a huff, only reserved for his best friend and no one else. It was one of the most painful things to experience. Sometimes Dean thought it hurt him more than it hurt the actual victim of the two. Cas had expressed less and less emotion as time carried on in that relentless way it did, and so Dean was left to feel all of his pain for him.

They were two halves made whole. Dean wondered on occasion what Cas would be like without him. Dean was the one person who could still get a spark of life out of the sixteen year old. It made him shudder just to think about where Cas would be if he'd never befriended the other man. He hated to admit it. Even if he was alone in a dark room by himself, it was a sin to even think it. But it was true. Cas would have killed himself years ago if not for the one glimmer of light in his otherwise dun world. Sure, Castiel's sister Anna took care of him in public when he could not, (or when Dean couldn't) but in the end she was as useless as Dean was. Kind words of encouragement or comfort weren't going to stop Cas from being angry. Nothing would calm down that anxiety that was always just swelling beneath the surface. No one could tell the voices in his head to go fuck themselves and actually expect them to listen.

This wasn't the flu. This was mental illness to a great extent. Dean researched all kinds of crap on it to see how to help the poor dude. He read up on stories of Schizophrenic people who heard voices and saw things. Honestly, he never asked Cas if he had any hallucinations other than auditory ones. He probably wouldn't tell him, considering how withdrawn he was these days. Dean could still get more out of him than anyone else, though.

One night a few weeks back, he'd read of a man who refused to get treatment for his psychological problems, and he ended up going completely fucking off the rails on a god damned crazy train. He drank himself to death in the end. Apparently, that was common among the moonstruck folk. They self abused in order to relief anxiety or self medicate. It didn't work.

Sometimes when Dean would let Cas sleep over if he got in another fight with his parents or some shit, he'd see the other boy wearing earplugs. He didn't ask. Something about voices. That's all he knew. Even still, Cas would seem so afraid, and he'd sleep with his ipod on or something instead. Dean asked if the earplugs worked one night, and he said they did not. Fucking great. There was nowhere for Castiel to run. The only haven available was Dean. This brings us back to that Tuesday night.

The weather outside was frothy as Dean opened his front door. He already knew who it was before he even touched the doorknob. Castiel stood on the dark front porch, eyes glistening with unshed tears. That was the only form of emotion he did express; sadness, though that was rare also. Without missing a beat, he all but shoved Dean out of the way as he entered the cozy entry way.

He didn't bitch. He never did. Then again, he never had to. Dean knew. He would always be right here, all ears if his friend wanted to talk. The only thing he did do was take off the leather jacket Dean had given him a few years ago and hang it on a rack by the front door. There was no foreplay necessary. His parents said he didn't even need permission to let Cas stay over any time. His parents may have been dicks, but Dean's were not, and since they'd all known each other since Castiel's birth, the saying, "family don't end with blood" might well suit this situation. Robert Singer. John's best friend and another unofficial Winchester.

There was the sofas in the adjoining living room which Castiel sometimes slept on, but other times when he was feeling really fucking heavy with depression he'd sleep with Dean in his big, comfy bed. Tonight was one of those nights. He didn't even bother to get undressed, really. He just threw himself onto one end of the mattress. Before Dean crawled in after him, the seventeen year old knelt down at the foot of the bed in front of Castiel's overhanging feet and undid his rather flat sneakers for him. After he removed them from his cold feet, he threw them aside somewhere in his room and worked to remove his own layers, not that he had many since he'd been hanging around the house for awhile now and not out there in the frigid cold.

He suspected Cas had been, though. He knew that when his friend was down he'd take a walk, often in bare feet, even when it was fucking freezing outside. Actually, especially when it was freezing. He read that sometimes victims of abuse or neglect will think that they've done something wrong to deserve such treatment. Again, Dean didn't ask. Maybe Cas cut himself because he thought that he should punish himself for whatever reason. Perhaps this was the same logic behind bare feet in November.

The thought made him fluster with rage. Dean wanted to fucking get his hands around the throats of Castiel's parents. Whenever he caught glimpse of that twitch of lips that signified a smile, he'd remember the easy going boyish grins he use to receive. His mouth would meet his blue eyes somewhere in the middle, and Dean would be rendered helpless as to do nothing but smile along. Those were the days he held onto. When he worked most of the time when he wasn't doing school, he let these memories play out in his brain like distant dreams you recalled years after you'd had them.

He and Cas had a plan. They both got jobs at the same place (because Castiel couldn't function alone) and they both worked as many hours as they could for many different reasons. One of which being that as soon as Castiel turned eighteen they would get him help. Right now, however, the younger boy refused. His parents wouldn't do it, and they'd already gone to court over the whole ordeal. Two more years, he reminded himself. Just two more years before his best friend was an adult by legal standards and could thus do whatever the fuck he wanted.

Still, it seemed unbearable from what Dean had been unfortunate enough to witness. Cas assured him that it was nothing.

"Sixteen years." He'd tell him. "Sixteen years of depression and suicidal thoughts, Dean. I think I can handle a simple two."

Then when shit like this happened, where Castiel showed up at his house a shaken mess, obviously trying his darn-est not to have a panic attack, he'd question their little agreement. Two years could save his ass from ending up like one of those insane people he'd read about. The thought of Cas, that sweet boy who use to make pretend cakes out of mud with him ending up like that, well, sorry, but that just didn't fly with Dean Winchester.

But then, after so long without treatment, Castiel would probably never be that boy again, but Dean couldn't help feeling like an unseen clock was ticking; an invisible hour glass was flipped. Nonetheless, he waited.

He crawled under the covers on the opposite side of the bed. The other occupant was still atop the oddly pattered quilts, and so he helped him underneath. Castiel squirmed a bit, clearly already half asleep, but Dean won the struggle in the end.

The next day, Castiel didn't come to school. Perhaps it was just a bit of average catatonia. Cas hadn't had a full on panic attack, but he was pretty close. Dean missed his presence through the halls of Lawrence High. He could almost picture his smell. The faint scent of cigarette smoke mixed with the laundry detergent he used. He use to be able to smell that weird fruity shampoo he used, too, but these days Castiel didn't take much time to work on personal hygiene, that is until Dean threatened to kick his ass if he didn't bathe every once in awhile.

After a terribly boring day of school he went back to his house to get Castiel to go to the Roadhouse they worked at. As he pulled up outside of his house in his Impala, he caught sight of Castiel seated on the front stoop. He strode up to him and took his hand to help him to his feet, even though he could get to his fucking feet on his own.

Once standing, Castiel huffed in mild amusement, his eyes not all there. Dean was still holding onto his friend's hand when he walked back to the car. As Cas slid into the passenger seat, Dean started up the engine. When the Impala roared to life, he took this as an opportunity to speak.

"I'll teach you."

"Huh?"

"To drive. I'll teach you."

The one birthday Castiel let be celebrated was his sixteenth. He wanted to drive, even if he often had trouble focusing on the environment around himself. He'd only turned sixteen about a month ago, and was currently taking online driver's tests and such. Dean was more than willing to help out in any way he could.

Cas put a tired hand on his shoulder.

"Dean... I would love that."

Dean nearly wanted to cry every time Cas had to struggle to express gratitude. He'd become so bitter and detached from reality.

"Let's go." He said gruffly. He then peeled away from the curb and started down the road. He glanced over at the passenger in his car every so often, contemplating his every move. Sometimes after a particularly violent panic attack, Cas would be left almost motionless. Fortunately this was not one of those times. Dean was so glad he was a bit better towards the evening time than he had been earlier, as he was unable to come to school. He and Cas often enjoyed walking to Lawrence High since it was right around the corner. When they arrived at Harvelle's Roadhouse, the first thing Ellen did was start shouting orders. Ellen Haevelle had given the boys a job together upon Dean's restless begging, and since Ellen and her daughter Jo knew of Bobby Singer, they excepted after a long while. Since then, things had been going smoothly for them all, as long as Castiel didn't break down too much. He never did since Dean was always there with him. Neither told the Harvelles of Castiel's many mental disorders, but sometimes Ellen would give the two a knowing look. Dean took it as a blessing that she never breached the subject.

It was a long day of work that ended around nine o' clock. Dean generally enjoyed work here. This bar had life to it. There was Ash something or other, and he was the only other teenager working there besides Jo. Dean liked the guy. He knew how to mind his own business, as everyone here did. It was like an unspoken rule. That night as Dean and Cas were heading out and back to the Impala, Ash caught up with them and put a hand on Dean's shoulder to halt him. He did, turning to face the other man.

"Hey, uh, Winchester, right?"

"That's me." Confirmed Dean, flashing a friendly smile.

"Yeah. Uh, listen, I think we actually go to the same school."

"That so?" Wondered Dean, glancing over at his best friend, who was glaring daggers at Ash.

"Yeah. Anyway, I was wondering if you all wanted to come to a party Friday?"

Parties. Hmmm. Cas hated parties. Dean wondered if it was natural to consider Castiel's feelings about, well, everything before he even stopped to think of his own. Oh, well.

"Uh, I'll think about it. Thanks."

Ash nodded, acting as if he'd been rejected by a potential date.

Dean huffed a laugh as he and Cas slid into the car. After awhile of quiet driving, Castiel said, "You can go."

"Huh?"

"I know you want to go."

He did. It had been like, months since he'd gotten laid, and he could really use a drink away from the prying eyes of adults.

"Uh..." he briefly looked at Castiel, who seemed so lost. Clearly the poor dude wanted to go, but any noise could provoke an episode of some kind. Noticing Dean's concern, he forced a broken smile.

"I'll be fine."

"Cas-"

"I'll have a little party of my own."

Dean didn't want to think about Castiel sitting alone somewhere drinking himself to sleep, most likely a lit cigarette forgotten in hand. Yeah, he was a bit overprotective, but fuck it if it was anyone's business. He sighed.

"No."

"Dean-"

"It'll be no fun without my best buddy." He insisted, resting a hand on Castiel's thigh. He could have sworn Cas's breath hitched. When they got home, Castiel decided to stay with Dean another night. Cas lived two blocks down from Dean's street. He slept on the couch, and Dean found himself missing his warmth in the bed.

Thursday morning, Dean and Castiel argued over breakfast about the party when Cas mentioned that he'd gotten a text from Ash with more details. Apparently, it was going to be a lot of fun. Castiel really wanted Dean to go, but he continued to refuse.

"Dean, honestly, this is getting ridiculous!" He exclaimed, waving his fork in a wide gesture.

Dean only shook his head, taking an ample bite of his eggs.

"Tell him, Mary." Said Castiel as Mary Winchester slid into the breakfast nook beside her seventeen year old son.

Dean rolled his eyes at that, and his mother grinned at the two of them.

"You boys get along so well."

Castiel smiled ever so slightly.

Soon after breakfast, Dean and Castiel were walking to school together. Castiel always walked with something undefinable in his eyes. His azure gems were fundamentally sad, but at times like these they seemed to be almost... peaceful. Dean knew this was just an illusion of course. Castiel grew up knowing no such thing. Just then, he turned to look at Dean as they walked beneath a row of dying tress on either side of the path. Dean kicked fallen leaves out of his way as he strode on, and Cas did the same.

"Dean, if you go to that party-"

"Cas-"

"I'll go with you."

They both stopped in their tracks, neither caring if they were late for school.

"What?" That was all Dean could manage.

"I'll go with you, and I'll do my best not to be too psychotic." He then smiled one of those rare genuine smiles only reserved for Dean, and Dean returned it gladly.

Though he felt unsure about bringing Cas to a party full of drunken teenagers, he was also a bit relived, because in truth, he did indeed want to go. He knew that it was selfish, but he figured he earned it.

School sucked, as it always did. Dean Winchester grew more and more worried about bringing Cas to some place (according to Ash) that harbored druggies and loose women. Honestly, what had he been thinking when he allowed him to come? Then he realized how stupid he was being right now. It wasn't up to him if his sixteen year old friend wanted to go to a party or not. He wasn't his parent, for fuck's sake. During each class, Dean looked back on the times when things were so much more simple. While listening to Mr. McLeod drone on in History, a particular memory came to him. It was a Summer long ago when he and his best friend were sitting on Castiel's screened in back porch. Dean was cross legged on the wooden floor, and he could barely hear the other boy over the sound of so many bugs. Cas was smiling while he strummed his mother's ukulele. He always smiled back then.

He saw clear in his mind's eye Castiel's laughter as he strummed the chords on the small instrument. Dean laughed along, singing terribly with the tune. They had been writing a song together. It was called The story of a profound bond. Of course neither boy knew what profound or bond meant, but Mary told them that they had a 'profound bond', so they went with that. After looking up the words in the dictionary, Dean and Cas loved the definitions. Soon Dean was snapped out of the memory by the bell ringing.

Castiel Milton stuffed his hands in the pockets of his baggy black hoodie, trying to calm himself down. He paced to and fro outside of his own house, rubbing his chin in frustration. He felt so weak. His father had been yelling at Anna again, obviously for no good reason, but Cas just up and left. It's all he could do when he was constantly on the verge of a panic attack like this. He felt his hands shake as he lit a cigarette. It was Thursday night. Tomorrow was the stupid party. Maybe he could hide out at Dean's? No. He was too sick of hiding right now to even consider it. He smoked one fag after the other, stopping only to cough here and there. He wasn't exactly a chain smoker. He only smoked to relive anxiety on some diminutive level.

Even though he had a whack load of other problems to worry about, anxiety was the most prominent at the worst of times. It always stepped up to the plate before the others had a chance to object. Of course his ever growing depression never let up, either. He felt tears run down his cheeks with no prior warning, and soon he was dropping his smoke on the wet asphalt of the street and gasping for air. He dropped to his hands and knees, heaving. The next thing he knew, he couldn't focus on anything, as his eyes were rolling up into his head. It felt like a seizure, as it commonly does. His desperate breaths sounded so fucking far away, and he could hardly feel his body at all. That was the worst part for Castiel. He despised not being able to feel grounded while this was going on. He tried to think of his favorite song, but he realized he didn't have one.

So much for those tricks he learned on the internet. The panic attack didn't cease anytime soon, and his fingers begin to cramp up, and he was unable to move them at all. From somewhere far away, he heard his father calling his name. He wanted to die right then. To just let the panic eat away at the core of his being and take him all the way. Maybe a heart attack would be nice. Same thing. When Michael stopped in the street, standing above the boy on the ground, he said warily, "Don't do this, Castiel."

"Fuck... off..." managed the sixteen year old between rasps.

The severity of the panic attack was beginning to frighten Cas a bit. He started gagging as though he were going to vomit, but nothing came out. He couldn't stop himself, and vaguely he felt tears and snot run down his neck and onto the cold, wet ground he was leaning over. His father dropped a tissue beside him, but Castiel couldn't move his hands to reach for it. His fingers were visibly curled in on themselves like he had arthritis or something. Michael didn't seem to notice, but instead shouted, "You wanna do this in front of the whole god damned neighborhood?"

Castiel cried out as he trembled. The cry was meant to be an angry one, but it ended up sounding desperate and weak. Just like him. He realized that his parents really didn't care at all. He was alone. To think otherwise would be a delusion. It would be ironic if he became delusional on top of everything else, wouldn't it? He shifted to try and get up, but he was shaking so bad that he up and fell right over. Michael sighed, bending down to help his son to his feet, but Castiel pushed him away with the little strength he possessed at the moment.

"Fine." Said his father coldly, turning his back on Cas as he walked toward the house.

After what seemed like hours of excruciating panic, Cas was able to calm down, but he did not go back inside. He slept on the porch swing on their back deck. It got really cold as the hours of darkness continued, but he didn't care. He deserved it. He understood why his parents chose to ignore him. He was nothing. He was a piece of shit. When morning came, his body was sore and his hands and feet felt like they were covered in ice. He rose from the swing, not even bothering to go inside and eat and what not. He just headed straight for Dean's.

Dean wondered why he didn't see Castiel around school that day, but he found out the reason when he came home. Castiel and Mary were seated on the sofa in the living room, both cupping warm mugs of tea as they watched Dr. Sexy M.D. Dean took off his shoes and threw them in no place particular, and then he made his way over to them.

"Cas?" He asked in concern.

Castiel craned his neck back to see Dean approaching.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, sweetie." Mary piped in, scooting over and gesturing to the space between her and Cas on the couch.

Dean gladly took it, putting his arm loosely around the back of the sofa where Cas sat. Cas looked at him, something soft there. He needed Dean right now. He really did. Everyone in the room knew why Cas was here, so no one brought it up. They all just sat happily watching Dr. Sexy, Dean's homework forgotten. As afternoon gave way to evening, Castiel started to worry. What else was new? He sat on the toilet lid of the downstairs bathroom, contemplating. He honestly didn't think he could go to any public place right now, much less a friggin' party.

He bit his nails down to the quick, humming Marching On by One Republic under his breath. The song always gave him hope, as subtle as it was. He felt like crying, but refused to do so. He swallowed thickly and told himself he would go to that damn party if it was the last thing he did. Dean needed to have some fun, right? After everything he'd done for Cas, the least he could do was return the favor. He rose from the john and exited the bathroom.

The party was worse than Cas thought it would be. The noise ate away at his head, and he found himself drowning his sorrows alcohol. Castiel could really hold his liquor, so consequently he had to drink an ass load just to get even remotely smashed. When Dean found him passed out on the sofa in Ash's living room, he chuckled and tried to shake him awake.

"Come on, Cas. Don't make me dump this coffee on you." He said, holding his Mocha over Castiel's head.

Cas cracked one eye open. "Dean?" He said drowsily as he sat up.

"Who else?" Chuckled the seventeen year old, sitting down beside his friend.

Cas leaned on Dean's shoulder, humming Alcohol by the Barenaked ladies. Dean laughed again, taking an easy sip from his cup of coffee.

"You sure had fun tonight, huh?"

Cas hesitated, his azure eyes falling shut as he breathed in the scent of his oldest friend.

"Yeah." He lied. "Loads of fun."

Apparently he wasn't very convincing, because Dean looked down at him with a frown and said, "Cas?"

"What?" He whined grumpily, sitting up straighter and away from Dean.

"You okay?"

Cas scoffed. "I'm fine."

Dean sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Dude, don't lie to me, okay?"

Cas pulled his knees up from the floor and against his chest as he curl up on the sofa, angry yet resigned tears spilling out of his eyes. He stuffed his head in between his legs and wept rather loudly.

"Hey." Said Dean gently, putting down his cup on the coffee table in front of them. He then reached out and put a tender hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Come on." He said, moving closer and wrapping his arms around Cas. "I got you. Come on."

Castiel burrowed his face into Dean's shoulder and continued to cry. Soon the older boy's jacket was soaked, but he patted Cas's back nonetheless.

"Want me to take you home buddy?" Asked Dean quietly, his breath brushing against Castiel's ear.

"No. I don't ever want to go back to that place."

"Cas." Said Dean firmly, pulling the two apart to look Castiel in the eye. "I said home."

Cas smiled a little, which Dean doubted he would have done if he wasn't intoxicated.

"Home..." he repeated. If what they said was true, that home is where the heart is, then Castiel supposed that yes, Dean's home was his home as well. It was as close as he'd ever get. That was for sure.