When you're stoned baby,
And I am drunk.
And we make love it seems,
A little desolate.
It's hard sometimes not to look away.
And think what's the point?
When I'm having to hold this fire down.
Alarm.
Puke.
Breakfast cereal.
Drive.
Work.
Dean scrubs new graffiti off of the lockers in the hallway before turning his attention to the trophy cases and polishing the glass with a rag and spray canister. He's not really focusing on the task at hand, mentally Dean is calculating the cost of replacing the clothes that Sam is rapidly growing out of. At least thirty dollars, if not more, and that money had been marked out for rent, or a deposit into the money he was saving for his Dad's rehab (whichever one this would be third? Fifth?) or his funeral, depending which came first.
The halls were deserted, so when he eventually sighed and stopped working to take a breath and swallow the familiar feeling of overwhelming weight that filled his chest when he had to think about money, there was no one around to see him pause. No one sees his brow crease with confusion and his mouth fall open in sudden realisation. If anyone had seen, they would perhaps wonder what about years old football trophies had cause such an intense reaction.
Under Dean's hands the glass had become smear free, and he could now focus on the glinting gold underneath, the silver plaques and coloured ribbons. A few photos were arranged at the bottom, and it was, oddly, one of these, and not the hoard of metal that had attracted his attention.
A picture of the chess club from three years ago, and in the centre stood a thin boy with clear blue eyes, neat dark hair and a pale face innocent of stubble, its lips (Dean was willing to bet) having taken nothing more polluted than red bull between them. Dean recognises the Cas that is beneath the face of his younger counterpart, though there are no names on the pictures.
He isn't sure why it catches him so, sharply beneath the breast bone. A solid punch of sadness, guilt and something else that he can't identify. It's the feeling he gets when he sees Sam trying to sew up a hole in his faded jeans, or when John goes missing and Dean has to find him and patch up the wounds from another drunken fight. The feeling that he should be doing better, doing something. That's he's failed.
He doesn't like the sensation, the implication that he's in any way responsible for Cas's welfare. Cas isn't his son, his family or his boyfriend. Dean has never had a boyfriend for this very reason, that, and the fact that no one ever stuck around, not with John and Sam to factor in.
It was still a mystery to him why he'd even picked Cas up from the side of the road on the way into town. The night itself had been a strain, trying to buy a week's worth of groceries on twenty bucks, the memory of John's utter failure to Sam still fresh in his mind. But seeing the small, familiar figure trudging at the side of the road had made him feel grimly responsible, and so he'd stopped, he'd let Cas into the car and he had lent him his jacket whilst turning down a clear offer of sex. Really he should have been proud of himself for sticking to his guns on that score, but Cas had acted strangely afterwards – as if he'd gone cold on him all of a sudden. Almost as if Dean was worse than the sonofabitch who'd left Cas out on the edge of town with barely a thought.
Fortunately, Dean got through the entire school day without seeing Cas in the flesh, and he went about his duties with little interruption.
Of course it couldn't last.
About an hour after the end of school, Sam, who was as usual waiting for him to finish his work, came running through the halls to find him. Sam's nose is running blood down over his mouth and Dean's first thought is that his brother is running from one of his tormentors, but when Sam reaches him he grabs Dean's arm and starts pulling back the way he's just come running from.
"Sam, what the..."
"Dean, he's going to kill him." Sam looks at him with pleading, wide eyes. "Come, on!"
The sense of urgency is catching and he runs after his younger brother, past the gym, down another corridor and into a long, dark hall, which leads to the shop rooms. Sam comes to a stop but Dean runs past him, because now he can see what his brother has gotten worked up over.
Brian Summers half lifts Cas from the floor, then punches him straight in the mouth, sending him sprawling on the tile. There's already blood on Cas's face, Brian looks more than a little bruised, a cut above his eye bleeding steadily even as he kicks Cas in the stomach.
Dean doesn't stop to think, running forwards, pushing Brian back and throwing him up against the lockers, knocking the wind out of the teenager. As Brian slides down to the floor, wheezing, Dean turns back to where Cas is trying to get up off of the floor, he offers his hand to the boy but Cas ignores it pointedly, struggling to his feet unaided. He winces but crosses to where Brian is sprawled, stepping on the boys wrist as he bends to snatch something thin and gold from Brian's hand.
Cas stalks off without a word.
"You...fucking...whore!" Brain half gasps, half yells after him.
"That is enough." Dean snaps. "Principles office, now." He growls, knowing full well that the head will still be there.
"Get bent." Brian grunts, lifting himself to his feet.
Dean snatches the collar of his shirt and propels the struggling boy along. He should have done this weeks ago. He's picked on Sam enough, beat him up twice and now...Dean has no idea why the boy's attack on Cas makes him feel so strongly, but it's the last straw for him.
"Sam, wait by the car." He calls over his shoulder. Dean steers Brian through the empty halls, his age and strength far superior to the boys angry scuffling. The teenager soon turns to a different tactic.
"He likes you, you know." Brian drawls.
Dean doesn't comment.
"You've fucked him, right?" The boy continues. "I mean, everyone has. Girls, guys...hell, I think a few of the teachers've gotten theirs."
Dean stays silent.
"Oh...you have." Brian grins.
"Shut the hell up." Dean growls warningly.
"He's good right? I mean, takes it like a fucking pro...least he did last night."
Dean feels a lick of cold bile up the back of his throat. So this is who Cas was with before he got tossed out on the road.
"Yeah, he does it for me sometimes." The teenager hisses conspiratorially. "Like a trained mutt you know? He comes when you call." He smirks nastily at his own joke and Dean shoves him onwards with perhaps more force than necessary. "Thought he couldn't get lower than screwing anything with a pulse...but you...wow, he really likes you." Brian laughs thickly. "I was winding him up, the idea of him fucking the janitor...some old, drop out, Piece. Of. Shit." Brian enunciates loudly. "It's hilarious...Cas took it kind of seriously."
There's nothing Dean can do to shut him up, nothing he can get away with anyhow, so he has to listen to the poison falling out of the boys mouth.
So that was why Cas had tried to tear into the other boy, some comment that had struck too close to home. Although, given the cold shoulder he'd given to Dean in the car the previous night, he hadn't thought Cas liked him at all. Apparently, he was wrong.
Dean knocks on the principles door when they arrive. Just before Brian goes inside he smiles nastily and mutters.
"White trash and the school slut. Talk about finding your level."
Dean goes outside to his car once he's lodged his complaint and gets into the front seat. Today is one of the few days he allows himself the drive to work, simply because he was so tired. Sam climbs in beside him, a tissue soaking up the blood from his nose.
"You ok now?" Dean asks worriedly.
"S'ok." Sam shrugs. "Castiel pulled him off before it got too bad."
Castiel.
Weird name, weird kid.
"He stepped in for you?"
"Yeah, he's not in any of my classes, I barely know him." Sam winces as he frowns. "He's a little...scary – but I think he used to be nice."
Dean makes a noncommittal sound, despite the fact that he's a little interested.
"Anyway, Brian broke his Mom's necklace and then Castiel went a little nuts on him."
"How'd you know it's his Mom's?" is perhaps not the most pertinent question, but it's the one Dean asks.
"I saw her wearing it when she came in with the preacher before she died last year – Michael Novak, he's Castiel's dad." Sam tells him.
Dean feels another blast of guilt – Castiel was not only like them, a boy with a deceased mother, but he was a preachers son. Dean feels a shiver run up his spine, wondering exactly what's going to come of the boy's apparent attraction to him above his other hook ups. Nothing good, that was for damn sure.
"Kinda sucks that he lost it though..." Sam continues lightly. "The cross fell down that old heating vent by the lockers, I think he only got the chain back off of Brian." Sam pauses. "Is he going to get back at me tomorrow?"
It takes Dean a second to get his thoughts back on track.
"Brian is having a talk with the principle, so he shouldn't cause you any more trouble, tomorrow at least."
Sam nods slowly, taking that in. They drive in silence.
Dean makes Sam his dinner and leaves him with his homework. John is already gone for the evening,
And Dean has something he needs to do.