Dean drives Castiel to the junk yard where he works, Singer Salvage Yard. Cas knows it's run by Bobby Singer, who, aside from being Dean's boss and landlord, is also an honorary uncle to Dean and his younger brother. Dean's dad, John, is probably out of town at the moment, meaning that Dean has simply packed Sam up and brought him round to Uncle Bobby's so Dean can keep an eye on him while their dad is away. A wistful smile makes Cas wince as the split in his lower lip throbs; he'd give anything to have a brother who looks after him like Dean looks after Sam.
Dean parks the Impala beside the ramshackle house, gets out, and waits until Castiel joins him. "C'mon," he says gruffly, opening the door. "You'll need ice." Cas shuffles his feet, but the unyielding expression on Dean's face makes him square his shoulders and mount the steps. He follows Dean's example of wiping his feet and hanging his coat on the wall pegs. Something smells great, and there's a radio playing somewhere as they move from the hallway to the kitchen. A boy with tousled hair and the same hazel eyes as Dean is setting the table; he looks up in surprise and starts to smile, which quickly turns to a frown. Cas watches Sam fight with his curiosity, before he swallows and the smile comes back, this time a little sad.
"Hey, Castiel. How... How are you?"
"I'm fine, Sam. How's school?" That's all it takes to send Sam off, rhapsodising about this and that that he's learned over the past week, talking a mile a minute while Dean moves to the refrigerator and rummages in the freezer. Even though he's fourteen, Sam always seems younger – and he acts like it most of the time. Somehow, Cas finds himself seated at the table as Sam fills a plate with spaghetti and sauce and places it in front of him, while Dean is pressing a small plastic bag with a few ice cubes in it into his hand. Castiel lifts it to his mouth as he fights down the absurd urge to cry. In the space of a few minutes, he feels more at home, more a part of a family, that he ever does in the house he lives in.
"Hey, where's mine?" The voice of Bobby Singer interrupts Sam's dissertation on the properties of electrons, and Cas looks across to see the older man standing in the doorway to the living room, cap on head as always. "Well, if it ain't my favourite stray. Cas, how you been?" Cas lowers the ice bag.
"Fine, sir," he replies, shyly. Ever since he first met Mr. Singer, he's been in awe of the man, and his ability to put anyone in their place with a single look. Bobby Singer had opened his home to Cas from the minute Dean had first brought him through the door, had made sure Castiel knew he always had a place to go. Within these walls he feels safe. Bobby looks at his face, and his eyes narrow.
"That lip don't look fine, boy."
"I... Uh... It was an accident." Bobby snorts as he crosses the kitchen and gets a beer from the fridge.
"Like the black eye last week? And the sprained wrist the week before that? You're one unlucky son of a bitch, Castiel." Bobby sits down at the table and pops open his drink. "I've a mind to go have a word with your Daddy. Or the cops."
"No!" For a moment Cas is drowning in panic. "No, no, I... It's okay. I'm fine, really." Bobby Singer takes a long drink, and pins Cas with an even longer look. That gaze slides to Dean, who shrugs as he takes his own seat. Sam is looking around the table, confusion all over his face. "I'm fine," Castiel repeats, weakly. Bobby shakes his head, his eyes sad.
"If you say so, boy. Pass the bread, Sam." Dinner is filled with easy conversation, and Cas even manages to finish his food. He comes to a realisation when Sam is pulling a pie from the oven for dessert. He has to stop coming to Bobby's when he's hurt – the old man would make good on his threat to go to the police, and then where would Anna be? She'd never say a word against Michael, and when the cops were gone... Castiel hides a shudder, but obviously not well enough, as Dean covers his hand with one of his own and speaks under Sam and Bobby's conversation.
"You okay?" Cas squeezes Dean's hand and manages a smile.
"Yeah. I am now."
"You gonna bunk over tonight?" Bobby asks Cas. "You'll have to make up the bed."
"Thank you, sir, but no. I've got church in the morning." Sam muffles a laugh as he cuts into the pie, and when the older man turns his head Cas is grateful Bobby Singer has never looked at him like that.
"You got something to say?"
"Well, uh..." Sam swallows, then his shoulders go straight. "Why do you go to church, Cas? Aren't you going to hell anyways?" He gestures to Dean. "You know, for doing Dean." Dean's mouth drops open, but before he can say anything, Bobby speaks up.
"Samuel Winchester." Sam cringes. "Cas' relationship with God is his own damn affair. God ain't the sex police." Cas could swear that Bobby just winked at him. Bobby gets up and grabs a plate of pie and a spoon before slouching towards the living room. "I don't want to ever hear anything like that come out of your mouth again. You hearin' me?"
"Yes, sir," Sam whispers, head hanging low.
"Good. Now I know you got homework. Get to it."
"Yes, sir." Sam stops halfway out of the kitchen. "I'm sorry, Cas, it was just a joke," he says, before vanishing up the stairs.
"My brother's an idiot," Dean growls as he fetches dessert and places plate and spoon in front of Castiel. "Here, eat." Cas smiles, a genuine smile this time.
"That's okay, you've met mine."
"Yeah, I have," Dean says before he scoops up a mouthful of pie. "What are we going to do about him, Cas?" Cas flushes and toys with his spoon.
"What do you mean?" Dean pins him with a gaze that's almost as intense as Bobby's.
"You know what I mean." Dean runs his free hand through his hair, an expression of frustration on his face. "He beats on you, man. You should go to the cops." Cas shakes his head. "Why not?" Dean demands.
"It'd be my word against his," Cas argues. "And when the cops are gone, what'll happen then? He'll kill me, Dean." Dean grabs his hand again and holds it, almost too tightly.
"Come and live here, with me. I'll make sure you're safe."
"I'm seventeen. I can't leave home yet. And Anna... I don't know what he'd do to her if I wasn't there." Dean's hazel eyes narrow.
"What?" When Cas hangs his head again, Dean releases his hand and cups his chin instead, lifting his face. "Has he hurt her, too?"
"No. I make sure he never touches her."
"You mean, you take the beatings so she won't have to."
"Yeah," Cas replies, looking away, and prays silently, don't let him see, please, God, don't let him find out...
"Oh, Cas," Dean sighs, and those calloused fingers are gentle as they trace across his cheek. "This is one seriously fucked up situation, you know that?" That earns him a slightly watery laugh.
"Yeah," Cas repeats. He looks down at his plate, then shakes his head. "Suddenly I'm not very hungry. Can you take me home, Dean?" Dean smiles that familiar, wry smile.
"No. But I can take you back to where you live." Castiel lips quiver, but he manages to smile in return.
"That'll have to do, then." Cas makes his goodbyes to Bobby, who repeats the familiar command that Castiel is to come back, and soon. He calls a farewell to Sam, who appears at the top of the stairs to wave. Then he and Dean are back in the Impala, cruising nearly deserted streets. They stop where they always stop, and Dean reaches out to put a hand on Castiel's arm.
"I just wish I knew what to do, what to say, to make this better for you." Cas covers Dean's hand with his own.
"That's just about the best thing you could say," he replies, smiling. Dean leans forward, and Cas matches the movement until their lips meet in a gentle, soft, chaste kiss. When they pull apart, Cas sighs. "I'd better go."
"Yeah. When will I see you again?" Cas shrugs in the darkness as he opens the door.
"As soon as I can manage."
"Is that a promise?"
"Yeah. Yeah, it's a promise. Night, Dean."
"See ya, Cas." Castiel steps out into the night at watches as the Impala pulls away. Slowly, he retraces his steps from hours ago, his legs feeling leaden, like they do every time he has to go back. It feels like it gets more difficult every time to climb the trellis and pull himself up onto the roof, but he manages it, just like he does every time. Cas climbs back in his window, being as quiet as he can as he fixes the screen back in place. He turns back to the room and almost jumps out of his skin as the light over his desk clicks on. Sitting in his chair is Michael, and across his thighs is a thick leather belt.
"Hello, Castiel. I think it's time we had another little talk."