Nightmares
John wasn't jolted awake by screaming, he wasn't stirred from his sleep by muffled sobs, nor was he woken up by someone climbing into his bed. His eyes snapped open whenever he heard the bathroom door slam shut, followed by the sound of a child retching into the toilet.
John sat up quickly, his first thoughts jumping to his two children, but seeing them curled up together on the other bed, he quickly relaxed. A glance to the slightly rumpled pull-out couch that was void of a ten year old's body let John know that the source of vomiting was coming from Castiel. John stood slowly, running a hand over tired eyes and pressing his feet to the cool carpeting of the motel floor. He stood, padding over to the bathroom and testing the knob, scowling when it didn't budge - locked.
He contemplated knocking softly, but given that doing things 'gentle' really wasn't his style, John rapped on the door. "Castiel, you okay?"
"I'm f-fine, s-sir!" Castiel squeaked, the last work ending up at more of a heaved sob than anything. John frowned. Castiel had been staying with them for only a few weeks, but he had hoped the kid would have gotten past the formalities already - especially when he was in the midst of upchucking his entire dinner at two seventeen in the morning. John sighed, resting his elbow on the door frame.
"Castiel, I'm gonna ask you to unlock this door, all right? Either that or I'll unlock it myself." John allowed the warning to hang in the air, listening to the sounds of a few more dry heaves and a pained groan. There was shuffling and then the doorknob clicked. John grasped the handle, pushing the door open and almost regretting it in an instant.
Castiel stood awkwardly in the bathroom, large bags under his eyes, which were wide and somewhat frightened. His oversized shirt had vomit stains on it, and Castiel rose a hand to wipe his arm along his mouth, thin body shaking. John stepped forward and Castiel took three steps back, his lower lip trembling dangerously.
"I w-was going to clean the mess up, sir!" Castiel blurted, stumbling and having to sit heavily on the edge of the tub. His face was pale, eyes skittish - probably still reliving the last dredges of whatever nightmare had forced the kid out of bed and into a bout of violent nausea.
John grunted, taking another look at Castiel before he went to grab one of the small hand towels from the sink. He turned the faucet on, dipping the towel beneath the flow of water.
"Its fine, kid." John gruffed, turning off the faucet and approaching the thin boy. Castiel's eyes became panicked for a moment, until John's hand clasped his shoulder the other one rising to wipe the towel along his face. The action in itself seemed to throw Castiel for a loop and he went frozen in John's grasp, letting the man wipe at his face and neck, cleaning it of all traces of vomit. Castiel's breathing was shallow as his body began shaking even more, small tremors that John could feel in the very bones of his fingers.
He ignored it.
"Your shirt's filthy." John muttered, placing the soiled towel to the side and taking his hand off Castiel's shoulder. "Go ahead and take it off so we can wash it in the morning."
John's words seemed affect the kid more than he'd anticipated. Castiel shook his head feverishly. "It's all right, sir. I'll just wash this one in the sink. I wouldn't want to be any more of a hassle an-" Castiel cut himself off when John's hand cuffed him in the head.
"Shut your damn mouth and take your shirt off. You're not sleeping anywhere smelling like that."
Castiel scrambled to comply, the small use of force from John being enough to jar him into responding. His gawky, shaking hands pulled at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up slowly. The last thing John saw on Castiel's face was a look of pleading before the oversized t-shirt was pulled over his head.
John didn't notice at first - he didn't notice a lot of things. He simply took the shirt and tossed it over with the hand towel before going to retrieve a replacement. The hunter was halfway out of the bathroom door when his mind finally caught up and he stopped dead.
John whirled around and Castiel froze like a deer in the headlights - halfway to putting a towel around his shoulders. The man narrowed his eyes. "Castiel. Turn around."
"But- I- I'm sorry for waking you up, sir! I p-promise if it happens again I'll go outside!" Castiel blurted out, clutching the towel to his shoulders. John stepped back into the bathroom and Castiel jumped to his feet. "Please, Mr. Winchester!"
John froze with his arm out, fingers nearly brushing Castiel's shoulder before he wrenched his hand back. A few moments of silence stretched between them, only broken by the occasional rustle of Castiel's towel when a particularly strong shudder tore through him.
"What exactly are you expecting me to do?" John finally asked, his voice low. Castiel snapped his eyes back up to the older man's, brows furrowing just the slightest bit.
"I..." His eyebrows shot up, as if suddenly coming to a realization. "I don't know. I just thought..." He trailed off, looking at the ground in a sheepish manner. John grunted out a sigh, running his hand over his face.
"Look, kid. I just want to see your back. I already saw part of it so there's no use in hiding." He reasoned, pressing a hand against the back of his neck and scratching at the short hairs there.
Castiel watched John for another second before he slowly turned around, letting the towel slide from his shoulders. John held back a curse, hissing softly through his teeth and suddenly feeling at a loss for words. Thick, long scars ran along the expanse of his small back, obvious signs of multiple whippings that littered his skin. Some of the marks still showed signs of healing - bright red welts with scabs running through the center, probably only a few weeks old.
"...What the hell?" He finally croaked out.
"Dad?" Dean's sleepy voice called from the bathroom doorway. John looked over his shoulder just as Dean seemed to take in the situation, instantly awake. "Dad! Geeze!" He breathed out, shoving his way past John and grabbing onto Castiel. The older boy stiffened for a moment, but his posture relaxed as Dean forced him to turn around. Dean looked over his shoulder at John, levelling his father with a glare before he ushered Castiel out of the motel bathroom.
John was dumbfounded. Not only had his son just /glared/ at him, but he had kept such a monumental secret about Castiel from him for WEEKS. He couldn't help the weak smile that came to his lips, turning out the bathroom light as he walked back into the room. Dean had clambered onto the pull-out couch with Castiel - who was now wearing another shirt - and they were talking in hushed whispers. (Okay, so Dean was doing most of the talking while Castiel stared blankly back, but John figured that was just part of their psuedo-frienship)
John shook his head, walking over to the bed that little Sammy was sleeping in, and slipped under the covers.
"Dean." He grunted, brushing a few strands of hair out of Sammy's eyes. The whispers stopped, followed by the creaking of springs.
"Yeah, Dad?"
"You boys take the other bed, I'll share with Sammy tonight." As he spoke, John lifted the covers up closer to Sammy's shoulders, gently kissing the top of his youngest son's head. He listened to Dean coax Castiel off of the pull-out couch, and then the sounds of their feet shuffling to the second bed.
"Dean."
Rustling. "Yessir?"
John looked over his shoulder, seeing Castiel laying on his stomach on the far end of the bed and Dean curled up next to him. "I want the full story in the morning, you boys hear me? No secrets in this family."
Castiel peeked at John over Dean's head as Dean snuggled into his pillow. "Yessir." Dean called back in a muffled voice. John nodded once at Castiel before he turned back over and closed his eyes.
Sorry chaps, updating might be a little slow. Problems on the home-front here.
One of my classmates told me that I have the most fucked up family she's ever heard of that wasn't on TV. That wasn't very nice, was it? :/
