Warnings: Language, bullying.
Rating: T/M
Dean gnawed over the tutoring plan all day. He didn't even know why he'd agreed to the stupid thing. He didn't have the time. Plain, and simple. There weren't enough hours in the day to fit the things he needed to do, and he couldn't afford to waste a few precious hours with Castiel, being taught the same stuff he couldn't pay attention to in class. He'd made up his mind. He would have to tell the teacher he couldn't do it.
Dean expertly maneuvered the crowded halls, thick with excited teens as the school day was coming to a close, dodging daggered glares from the football team as he passed them. His old team was leaned up against the lockers, red letterman jackets worn like badges of honour, making them exempt from consequences, detention and the continuous reports of bullying.
"Hey Winchester," Crowley spat as he pushed himself off the lockers to block Dean's path. Dean ignored the intrusion to his personal space, sidestepping his replacement on the football team. Crowley shoved his hand into Dean's chest, pushing him back. "I wanna talk to you."
"Wow, you finally learnt the art of civilised conversation, congrats Crowley, congrats." Dean chuckled confidently, his insides filling with unease, determined not to show it.
Crowley lent forward, still half a head shorter than Dean, glaring up at him. "Don't talk shit to me Winchester. I know all about you." He hissed.
"Right. Sure you do." Dean nodded. "Well I can't stay and chat, sorry boys." He stepped around Crowley, but Crowley caught him by the arm and shoved him hard into the lockers, face connecting with the thick metal. A loud crunching noise soon followed and Dean stumbled, still gripped by his attacker.
Students still milling the halls suddenly dispersed, no one wanted to get involved in the football team's extra-curricular activities.
Crowley pulled Dean into a choke-hold, lowering his face to Dean's. "Listen here, you faggot." He tightened his grip on Dean's neck. "The team went to the dumps when you left. What, weren't we good enough for you? Winchester." He spat. "Think you're royalty? Too good for everyone else? We're gonna make you pay."
Crowley was leaning over Dean, the two of them bent, hissing in his ear.
"Does this count as our first date?" Dean managed to choke out.
Although after Dean said this, he was shoved roughly back into the lockers, pushed to the ground and kicked so many times he lost count, it had been worth it, to see the look on Crowley's face.
As Crowley and his meat-head henchmen were leaving, he bent down next to Dean's crumpled form and whispered "Parting gift." He made a signal to one of the guys, Dean couldn't even remember his name, and then a sickening crunch followed, echoing off the metal lockers throughout the hall. They took off quickly after that, leaving Dean alone and in pain, silently gasping as he clasped his leg in agony.
Dean was just glad Sam had gone home with his friend that afternoon, so he didn't have to see Dean like this, or worse, that he didn't come looking for Dean when he was late. The same couldn't be said for Castiel Novak.
"Dean?" He heard his voice called from the end of the hallway and groaned. He'd managed to get himself standing, but walking was proving difficult as one his leg couldn't hold up his weight.
As Castiel came closer, his face fell, large blue eyes bulging. Dean hadn't seen his reflection, but he guessed he was a sight for sore eyes. "Dean, what happened?" He demanded his voice low and shockingly gravelly.
Dean racked his brain for an excuse, but stayed silent when he came up short.
"Huh. So that's how you're going to play it." Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Well I'm guessing the dented locker doors and blood on the floor just a meter away is the scene of the crime."
Dean breathed in, and winced at the bruises forming on his chest, trying to keep all weight off his damaged leg.
"Come on, let's get you to the hospital." Castiel wrapped his arm around Dean's waist, lifting him slightly to help him walk.
"No. No hospitals." Dean choked out, clutching at his chest, trying to stop the throbbing pain.
"Dean, you're hurt." Castiel argued.
"No hospitals. They ask too many questions, they'll want to talk to John. Please."
Castiel's breathing hitches. "Where is your father Dean?
"He left. It's just me and Sammy. Please." Dean begged, his eyes locking with Castiel's, reasoning. "Please." He says again.
Castiel swears to himself. "Fine. But I'm taking you home. You can't walk and you certainly can't drive like this. And you're going to have to let me assess your injuries." Castiel helps Dean into his car, buckling him in. Dean barely manages to give Castiel his address, breathing ragged, before he closes his eyes, giving in to the pain.
"Is this it?" Castiel asks, fifteen minutes later.
He's parked outside a small, two storied house, with dirty, peeling blue paint, a rusty fence and a broken gate. Dean nods, embarrassed.
The teacher helps him inside and strains his eyes. It's dim, the curtains still closed. He deposits Dean gently on the couch, opening a few, letting the natural light soak into the room.
Dean is silently thankful he and Sam cleaned the house a few nights ago, yet still cringing at Castiel seeing where he lives. It's a slum. And Castiel probably lives in a mansion.
Castiel looks around for a moment. "First aid kit?"
"Bathroom. It's upstairs." Dean tries to stand, Castiel rushing to his side. "No Dean, sit down." He says but Dean just hobbles forward. "I need to get upstairs anyway. Let's face it, I'm not gonna be able to move on my own any time soon and I really just need to sleep."
Once they've struggled up the flight of stairs, Castiel ducks into the bathroom while Dean stumbles into his room, sitting gingerly on his bed. When Castiel returns with the first aid kit, he looks around. It's small, with a double bed pushed to the side of the wall, washing littering the corner, a desk loaded with books, the walls covered in rock music posters.
Castiel sits beside him and raises a damp washcloth to Dean's face, gently scrubbing away the dried blood. He uses butterfly stitches on the gash on Dean's forehead, Dean wincing slightly at the pressure. "You're lucky you don't have a concussion." Castiel says in the awkward silence.
Dean just laughs. Lucky is right.
"Dean you're going to have to take off your shirt." The teacher says quietly.
Dean shrugs out of his Led Zeppelin tee, discarding it on the floor.
Castiel's eyes bulge at Dean's chest, so bruised it was almost purple, mouth gaping with a mixed expression. "Who did this to you?" He utters, eyes finding Dean's.
"Is anything broken?" Dean asks, ignoring Castiel's question.
Castiel presses his fingertips up and down Dean's chest, ribs and abdomen, apologising every time Dean winces in agony. "Nothings broken, just severely bruised, and extremely tender" He finally announces. "Your leg however, probably needs professional examination. I'm no doctor."
Dean lays down slowly, chest rising and falling with his slow breaths.
They are silent for a few minutes, until Castiel speaks. "Dean?" He asks. Dean cringes, knowing where this is going. "Yes?" He replies.
"You and your brother live alone?"
Dean nods, eyes closed.
"And your father is where?" The teacher asks hesitantly.
"I don't know." Dean says slowly, raising his arm to rub his bruised forehead.
"Here, take this pain medication. It should help." Castiel finally says, passing him two pills and a glass of water, watching as Dean lifts himself slightly, swallows them and lies back down. He doesn't ask any more questions about John, not wanting to push it.
"You know, I kind of expected a 'babes on bikes' calendar, maybe a few pages of the swimwear catalogue on your walls or something." Castiel says after a while, laughing to himself. "Not just AC/DC and Iron Maiden posters."
"I'm gay." Dean mumbles, feeling drowsy from the pills, his injuries already numbing.
"Oh." Castiel glances at Dean. "Is that why this happened?"
"No, not really. Just douchebags being douchebags"
"Why didn't you defend yourself?" Castiel asks, trying to understand what happened.
"I don't like to fight." Dean's words are almost incoherent. "You know? I don't… like violence. I've had… enough violence."
Castiel silently wonders whether John Winchester ever beat Dean. He doesn't want to ask. He doesn't want to scare Dean off. He turns to look at him, only to find the teenager half asleep.
He stands up to leave, and Dean reaches out to hold his hand. "Thanks Cas." He whispers slowly, squeezing Castiel's hand, before his grip slackens and he falls asleep, eyes closed, lips slightly parted.
Cas blinks several times, in surprise, before he covers him with the blanket on the end of his bed. "You're welcome Dean."
When Dean wakes up a few hours later, Sam's on the edge of his bed, staring intently at Dean.
Dean jumps slightly, pulling the blankets up to cover his chest. "Hey Sammy"
"Dean, why is Mr Novak in our kitchen?" Sam asks, eyeing the gash on Dean's forehead.
"Is he still here?" Dean asks shocked, sitting up, pulling the blankets with him, covering the fresh artwork on his chest.
"What do you mean still? Why was he here in the first place? Does he know about Dad?!" Sam's voice rises in panic. "Sammy it's okay." Dean puts his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Cas was just helping me out."
"Cas?" Sam blinks. "Oh. I see."
"You see what?" Dean asks, standing slowly with his back to Sam, pulling a tee shirt over his head, trying to hide his pain.
"You and Mr Novak" Sam says plainly.
"What? No. No Sammy." Dean says hastily. "We are not together."
"Okay." Sam gets up and leaves Dean's room, his comment leaving Dean to think over the memories of what he'd admitted a few hours ago.
"Shit." Dean let out a low whistle. That was the first time he'd come out to anyone besides Sam and Jo. He'd told Sam because he was his brother. And Jo because she'd developed a huge crush on Dean in junior high, and he'd had to spill the beans.
But this? Castiel was a teacher. Dean had just willingly offered up his sexual orientation to his literature teacher. He cringed in shame.
He managed to climb the stairs slowly and stiffly, pain radiating from his solar plexus, where he'd taken a particularly brutal hit. Castiel looked up when Dean limped into the room. "I was just making coffee. How do you take yours?" He asked. "Black" Dean said, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Me too" Castiel slid the coffee in front of Dean, taking a seat next to him.
"You stayed." Dean said after sipping his coffee.
"I didn't want you to be alone." Castiel admitted.
When Dean didn't say anything else, Castiel stood. "I should go. It's getting late." He said, glancing at the clock.
"You can stay for a while, if you want." Dean grabbed Castiel's arm as he passed him. "It's only seven." The teacher looked from Dean to the clock.
"Okay." He finally said.
Dean and Castiel sit on the worn-out couch together, each at one end, a considerable amount of space between them. Sam glances at them suspiciously from the doorway. "Dean?"
Dean jumps in surprise, wincing, flexing his muscles slowly, and trying to hide his injuries. Although he and Castiel aren't doing anything other watching television, he still feels the irrational need to make excuses, or put more distance between them. "Yeah?" He asks guiltily.
"Can we have pizza for dinner?" Sam asks, still in the doorway. "Sure Sammy, you know where the number is, get whatever you want." Dean smiles at his younger brother. Sam just looks pointedly between Dean and Castiel before leaving the room.
When Sam is safely upstairs, Castiel turns to Dean. "Please tell me more about your situation, I'm very curious." He says.
"What do you want to know?" Dean slowly turns his body towards Cas, lifting his legs up to rest on the couch.
"You work?" Cas says finally.
Dean nods. "Yeah, I work about forty hours a week."
Castiel's mouth pops open in shock. "Forty hours? Dean! How do you even manage to get a wink of sleep, you must be exhausted." He exclaims.
"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Dean rubs his neck, unsure of what to say. "I um, I can't do tutoring. I just don't have the time."
"Well, how's your schedule?" Castiel inquires.
"I work at Bobby's on Tuesday evenings, and Saturday and Sunday mornings. Then I have shifts at the Roadhouse on Thursday and Friday evenings, and I work from 1pm to 10pm at the Roadhouse on the weekends." Dean goes tense, voice picking up speed. "I have school every weekday, and I have Sammy to take care of, and I still gotta fit in time for a whole bunch of other things that I keep putting off because I just don't have the money for them and it's just-"
"Dean, just breathe." Cas leans over, his hand on Dean's arm, squeezing gently. Dean relaxes instantly. "What about Mondays and Wednesdays? What do you do after school?" Cas asks, his voice gentle.
"Mondays I normally just chill around the house, tidying and helping Sammy with his homework, hell; sometimes I even do my own." Dean manages a weak smile. "Wednesdays I do the groceries and go out for a while, even for just a drive, just to get myself out of the house. And I sleep."
Cas was visibly shocked. "Dean, you can't live like that! You're so young! You need to live! Get out there, be a teenager."
Dean stiffened, feeling uncomfortable, although Castiel couldn't figure out why. "I need to be there for Sammy. He needs a parent. He needs someone to look out for him."
"You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?" Cas' face softens.
"He's my brother." Dean answers.
When Cas is silent, Dean sneaks a glance at him. "Do you have any siblings?"
"Oh yes." Castiel chuckles, somewhat darkly. "I have four brothers, and a sister. Their names are Michael, Luke, Raphael, Gabriel, and Anna. I'm only on speaking terms with Gabriel and Anna." He smiles sideways at Dean. "Everybody has family problems Dean."
Dean fidgets his hands, rubbing at a bruise beginning to show on his wrist. "You're gonna report us, aren't you?" He says, face downcast.
"Dean," Castiel starts slowly, trying to word his thoughts. "I have a lot of respect for you, and what you are doing with Sam, I do. I really do. And I care about you. But I have an obligation, as a teacher, to report your situation." He watches as Dean's face crumples. "I'm sorry."
"Cas, please. I need Sammy. You can't let them take him from me."
"You know that's not my intention at all. I just-"
"I'll do your stupid tutoring, okay? I'll do it. I'll study, I'll pass. I promise. Just please, please don't do this." Dean's voice is low, green eyes begging as he tries to pull himself off the couch, grimacing at the tenderness of his muscles.
"Dean, please, stop. You're going to hurt yourself." Castiel leans forward, trying to stop him.
"No!" Dean yells, pushing him away. "I'm already hurt! My Dad left me. My Mom is dead. I have nobody but Sammy, and they're gonna take him away. I'm trying my hardest. My goddamned hardest, to keep it together. You don't get to come in here, and figure me out, and then use it against me, okay?"
He's shaking with anger, tears brimming, ready to spill.
Castiel inches closer, placing his hand lightly on Dean's shoulder, comforting him. "I will not report it Dean."
"Thank you." Dean chokes out, sobs erupting from his body as he falls into Castiel's chest. The teacher instinctively draws him closer, rubbing small circles between Dean's shoulder blades, trying to will away to teenager's pain.
A/N Thanks for reviewing guys. Anything constructive is appreciated. I love all the support you guys have given me.