Dean woke up the next morning and pretended he didn't remember. Castiel let him.
Castiel forgot about Dean's sex toy secrets because he was so concentrated on being pissed at Meg's attitude toward him. He remembered Dean's promise to show him randomly in bed one lazy Sunday morning.
"Am I accustomed enough to regular, non-kinky sex for you to show me your toys now?" Castiel asked, infinitely relaxed in the warmth of Dean's arms.
"Hmm?" Dean asked, sleepy in his post-coital state, despite the fact that it was nearing noon. "What are you talkin' about?"
"Remember Charlie and Kevin's birthday?"
"Oh." Dean's eyes widened in recognition. "Hey, look at the time. We should get up and fix Sammy some breakfast, right?"
"Dean." Castiel growled in warning. A faint blush glowed under Dean's freckles.
"Yeah, yeah."
Dean rolled off the bed and crouched down by the bed, digging around underneath for a few moments before emerging with a long cardboard box. He moved painfully slowly, prompting Castiel to clear his throat to hurry him along.
"Ok, but before you judge me," he sighed, clutching the box in his lap. "I know for a fact that it's not that weird for an alpha. It's just something about the whole, you know, dominance thing. It's like part of our instincts."
"Just open the box, Dean." Castiel insisted, propping his head up on the heel of his hand.
"Like a friggen' drill sergeant." Dean's blush intensified as he carefully opened the flaps and tilted the box so Castiel could see the contents.
"This is going to hurt." Metatron chuckled, trailing the whip along his thigh and up his quivering stomach.
Castiel spit out a mouthful of blood and drew in a ragged gasp as Metatron leaned in to whisper,
"A lot."
Castiel has to get out of this room, now. He stumbles to his feet, backing away from Dean and his box until he hits the door with a thud.
"Cas?"
His fingers fumble over the lock to the door until he manages to get it open. Dean is right behind him trying to coax him into calming down but there's no way. Not now.
He throws Dean off him just as he gets the door open.. Dean stumbles away and Castiel doesn't look back as he runs from the room. Sam's in the living room and Castiel is only wearing sweatpants, but he has to get outside, has to breathe. It's too small in this apartment with everything closing in on him, locking him in.
Dean's following him — Castiel can hear his footsteps thunder down the stairs in harmony with his own. Castiel gets to the lobby of the apartment complex and realizes that it's winter and he's not wearing shoes.
He can't breathe.
He needs to be outside.
Worth it.
He slams into the door and pads outside, his feet freezing. It's cold, and his chest immediately puckers with goosebumps, but it's open. He can breathe. Castiel stares up at the sky, gulping down air and holding himself together.
The sky. He can still see the sky. He can't see the sun though. It's smothered in clouds, white and foggy and cold. So cold.
"Cas." The whisper slides into his thoughts.
"No." He says, choked by the pain.
"Jacket." Castiel turns around slowly and sees Dean holding out his tan trench coat, his face completely white, his expression warring between fear and guilt and pain. It hurts him to know that he's hurt Dean again, but it hurts more to look at him.
Castiel is cold so he takes the coat from Dean. It's thin but it's better than nothing.
"How are those handcuffs? Too tight?"
"Yes."
"Let's see if we can't get them tighter."
It feels like his chest has been ripped open, and the cold is just seeping in. Numb. He's numb again. He's so cold that he's numb inside and out.
"Just let me explain." Dean says too quietly, clearly trying to be unobtrusive.
"I need some space." Castiel closes his eyes. He's never wanted to be away from Dean more than in that moment. He's never really wanted to be away from Dean until now.
"Cas." The sound of his name, so broken and pleading, in Dean's gruff, deep voice almost sends Castiel over the edge again. But he's calm now, he has it under control. He's free. He's outside. He can breathe.
"Just leave me alone."
Castiel stays outside, just standing there and breathing and looking up and feeling how free he is, for as long as he can. It's too cold, though, and he will have to go back into the building eventually. He hates how it's full of closed spaces and doors that lock. The sky is nothing but white clouds and emptiness anyway. He misses the sun. He misses his sun.
Dean's sitting on the stairs, hands clasped together and pressed to his lips. His knee is shaking with an anxious twitch that slows when Castiel approaches. Dean rises to meet him as he nears the stairs.
"I'm cold." Castiel says simply, moving past him without looking at him.
Sam's in his own room when Castiel gets back to the apartment. Dean's probably told him to let him handle it. Castiel silently thanks Sam for never asking questions, even though Castiel is always such an obvious mess. Dean follows behind Castiel at a safe distance, stopping in the living room. Castiel can feel the eyes on his back as he retreats into his room and shuts the door behind him.
He doesn't know how he knows that Dean is crying, but he can feel it in his heart. Maybe it's the mating bond, or maybe he can smell the faintest traces of Dean's tears from the room next door, too faint for him to consciously pick up on, but enough to make him uncomfortable. It's the first night he's chosen not to sleep in Dean's bed, instead using his dingy, second-hand mattress. He opens the window, even though the wind threatens to freeze him to the mattress, and watches the rolling white clouds fade to black until he falls into a fitful sleep.
Dean's pounding on his door when he wakes up.
"Cas, please. I know you're furious with me, but please."
Castiel doesn't realize the awful noise in his ears is the sound of his own screams until he closes his mouth in surprise and the cacophony stops.
"God, let me in, Cas." Dean cries, banging at the door again.
"I'm fine." Castiel gasps, clutching his blankets around him and trying to orient himself. Window, there's a window. It's beyond tolerably cold in the room so he wraps his blankets around himself and stumbles to the window, sticking his head out to breathe the fresh air.
"Cas?" Dean whimpers from the other side of the door. There's a soft thud followed by a slide. He can't hear anything but somehow he knows Dean is crying again.
"I'm fine." He says, trying to sound soothing. "Go back to bed, Dean."
"I didn't know, Cas! You never told me. I never would have shown you if I had known." He sounds so anguished Castiel squeezes his eyes shut to guard against the twinge of sympathy.
"Go back to bed, Dean. You don't want to wake up Sam."
"Please. Please, Cas."
"Go away."
Castiel had an open invitation to play video games with Gabriel. Castiel really hated video games, but he and Gabe had been friends since forever so he tried to make it over every few weeks at least. It was either that or put up with Gabriel whining about how Castiel had gotten all wrapped up with his new boyfriend and didn't have time for him anymore.
Castiel needed to get out of the house anyway. He didn't want to ignore Dean, but he couldn't look at him right now.
"Roommate gone again?" Castiel asked, looking around the deserted room. Castiel had never even met him.
"Just me and my good friend vodka" Gabe said, waving said bottle in Castiel's direction. "How's your new roommate? Having lots of hot sex?"
"Why are you always so interested in my sex life?" Castiel rolled his eyes and plopped down on Gabe's desk chair.
"What else should I ask you about? School? Boring. Family? I've known 'em my whole life and there is never anything new with them. So sex life it is."
Castiel held his hand out and Gabe passed him the bottle. Castiel tipped his head back and downed as much as possible before he had to stop to cough at the sting in his throat.
"Jeez. That's not how you usually drink. Something up, Cassie?"
Castiel stared at the liquid, tilting it from side to side to watch how it moved in the clear bottle.
"I haven't really told Dean about… about what happened to me." Gabe was silent, still.
"I don't want to tell him. I thought we had gotten through it and maybe I didn't need to. We were ok for a little while, but…" Castiel downs another couple of swallows and laughs bitterly at the burn in his throat. "God, I need to be drunk right now, Gabe. Think you can help with that?"
"Sure, Cassie." Gabe said softly. "Got some more in the mini-fridge. We'll make a night of it. You can even split the bed so you don't have to worry about catching the bus. Or I can roll out some blankets on the floor."
"Thanks Gabe." Castiel watched the liquid slosh again, already feeling a familiar buzz in the back of his head.
They talk and get drunk and eventually play the only game Castiel really knows how to play—Super Smash Bros— rocking the only character he knows how to be — Kirby.
"Stop sucking me in, you asshole." Gabe muttered, button smashing.
"Quit hitting me with that giant ball of light, then." Castiel snarled. He could barely even focus on the screen he was so wasted.
"Haha, I got you!" Gabe mocked, though it was really more of a slur than a sentence.
"I give up. You win." Castiel sighed, leaning back against the foot of the bed. The tiny pink blob on the screen fell off a cliff as Gabe's character shoved him. "Think I should call it."
"It's nine o'clock. God, you are such a grandpa."
"I'll agree to that characterization if you let me sleep."
"Alright, the bed's tiny, but if you take one side I'll keep to mine."
"Thanks for this, Gabe. I couldn't… couldn't just sit at home."
"No problem, Cassie. What am I good for if not getting you smashed?"
Castiel laughed and clambered onto the bed. He barely managed to get to the side flush against the wall before he fell to the mattress in a heap.
"Gabe, I'm not cool with this."
Castiel felt disoriented, and his head throbbed in the sudden light.
"You can't bring guys back with you when I have to sleep here. This is not cool." A black-haired, haze-eyed guy stood above them, arms crossed over his chest. Gabe was stirring beside him, throwing an arm over his eyes and moaning.
"Shhh... not the flamingo… never the flamingo…"
"Gabriel. Wake up." The boy shoved at Gabe's shoulder, hard. Castiel blinked at him through the throbbing in his head. He was pretty in a hulky, Sam-like way, but he had an air of arrogance in his posture that Castiel didn't care for.
"What? Jesus, Mike."
"You can't sleep with dudes with me here. I don't want to listen to that shit. Not cool, man."
"Ugh, no. I'm definitely, absolutely not gay. This is Cassie, he's drunk and hung over and we both need you to turn the fucking light off right now."
Michael seemed to assess him. Castiel felt his blood turn cold at the icy blue eyes skimming over his body
"He's an omega."
Gabe sat up slowly, putting himself between Michael and Castiel.
"Yeah? So? Got a problem with it?"
Michael scoffed and tore his shirt off, gazing at Castiel hungrily. His impressive muscles definitely intimidated Castiel and, against his better judgment, he shrunk into the wall, scared. Between them Gabriel tensed and moved to shield Castiel from Michael's view.
"Back off, Michael."
"Relax, I'm just getting ready for bed." He stepped out of his pants, eyes still on Castiel, and then he was down to nothing but his boxers. Castiel looked away pointedly, staring at the ceiling until he heard the rustle of bedding and the click of the light switch.
Castiel didn't sleep well that night.
Dean is in the living room when Castiel sneaks back into the apartment, red-eyed and stumbling. Castiel can't make eye contact; he just fills up a tall glass with water and shuffles off to his room.
Three weeks pass by.
Castiel works on chemistry and biology and physics at the library whenever he can and in the confines of his room whenever he can't. He doesn't talk with Dean beyond what needs to be said — toilet paper is gone, dinner is ready, Sammy will be gone for speech and debate — and things carry on in a stiff, sad sort of tension. Dean doesn't attempt to talk to him and Castiel doesn't let him, finding reasons to leave the room when he enters and never meeting his eye in invitation. He doesn't think about the contents of Dean's box because he doesn't think about Dean. He ignores his existence whenever possible.
Somewhere deep down, he knows he's hurting Dean every time he avoids his eyes. He's hurting too much on his own for that to matter right now, though.
One night, when Castiel returns from class, tired and irritable from a long day of studying and dealing with lab partners that didn't study at all, he hears a beautiful sound.
He follows it down the hallway to a crack in Dean's door. He hesitates at the door. Part of him is screaming for him to turn around and continue to ignore Dean, because he knows he's just asking to get stomped on again. Still, another part of him is intensely drawn to that sound by some powerful, magnetic curiosity.
Castiel pushes the door open slowly and the music drifts away as Dean's green eyes flick up from the strings of the guitar to meet his as he enters. Castiel waits in the doorway and Dean stills too, his hand frozen mid-strum.
It's the first time he's really looked at Dean in far too long. He looks healthy enough, except for the faint circles under his eyes. Both of them seemed to be waiting for the other to make the first move.
Dean's music softened something in Castiel he hadn't realize had hardened. He's emboldened as he steps decisively into the room. He softly closes the door behind him and sits down on the beanbag chair in the corner. Dean watches Castiel as he situates himself before he drops his eyes to the bed. Castiel waits expectantly as the tension between them seems to grow.
Then he opens his mouth and Castiel's heart begins to melt.
And you add up all the cards left to play to zero
And sign up with evil
Angeles
Don't start me trying now
'Cos I'm all over it
Angeles
I could make you satisfied in everything you do
All your secret wishes could right now be coming true
And be forever with my poison arms around you
No one's gonna fool around with us
No one's gonna fool around with us
So glad to meet you
Angeles
By the final chord, Castiel's completely thawed out, open and vulnerable and ready to be broken all over again. Dean's voice is rich and smooth and warms something in Castiel's chest.
"I didn't know you could play." His voice sounds wrecked and there's no way Dean doesn't notice.
"I've had some spare time recently to get back in practice." Dean caresses the neck of the guitar, gazing at the instrument .
"When did you learn?"
"Picked it up in high school. I was trying to impress some girl, but I liked it and stuck with it even after we broke up." Dean shrugs casually.
Castiel draws a shuddering, ragged breath. "I don't understand how you can like causing pain."
Dean takes his time setting the guitar down on his lap before he looks at him, so intense Castiel wants to get up and leave.
"I don't." He says quietly, relaxing his grip on the guitar.
"You like that— that stuff. Chains and handcuffs and whips—"
"That's not about pain, Cas, not for me. It's about control. It's about having someone trust you so much they let themself be totally vulnerable."
"So you can hurt them."
"No! I've never hurt anyone. Whatever was done to you… that was wrong, Cas. Violence is not what that stuff is supposed to be used for.
"You're saying you can whip someone without hurting them?" Castiel knows how bitter he sounds but he is bitter and he doesn't believe him.
"Look, I've never even used the whip, if you want the truth— it came with the restraints. But even if I had… it's not supposed to actually, truly hurt someone." Dean scrubs his hand over his neck and Castiel can see that he, at least, believes it. Castiel isn't convinced of his argument, but he can see Dean's intentions plain and clear.
"I feel like I thought I knew you and then…" Castiel's hands are unsteady so he grips his knees through his jeans.
Dean drops his head.
"Baby, I don't want to hurt you. I don't know what else I can do or say to prove that. Look, I like tying people up because I'm an alpha and I need to let my dominant side out every once in a while. I mean, you do know me… and how often do I let myself be aggressive and controlling? When I've got someone tied up, my goal isn't to hurt them. It's to know that they've chosen to accept what I give without argument. I'm not great at explaining it because I've never really had to, but…"
"Ok, Dean. Ok." Castiel's head feels heavy. He turned Dean into someone else in his mind, but he couldn't help it. Too many sights and smells and fucking feelings are crammed into his memories and they're so vivid, so bright and sharp and painful that Castiel can't separate them from the present. "I get it. You like the submission. Not the pain."
"Yeah." Dean says, soft.
"Ok." Castiel's worn out. He's been sleeping alone and the nightmares are back and starting to exhaust him. He doesn't want to fight anymore, he doesn't want to hold onto everything. He crosses the distance between them in three careful steps and moves the guitar off Dean's lap so he can climb up and straddle him. Dean's entire face lights up with surprise before it shifts into an intense stare, his hands coming up to hesitantly clutch at Castiel's lower back.
The light from his bedroom window hits him perfectly, highlighting his angular cheekbones and beautiful jawline. Castiel sighs, tracing that jaw he admired so frequently with one finger, mesmerized by the jade green of Dean's iris. He smells like mate, so refreshing to Castiel's raw nerves.
"I forgot who you were." Castiel whispers his apology as he leans his forehead against Dean's. "I confused you with him."
"Who?" Dean's voice trembles.
Castiel closes his eyes and sucks in an unsteady breath. He waits until his hands are still, gripping Dean's shoulders for stability.
"His name was Metatron." Dean's muscle is hard and knotted beneath his fingertips. His breath smells faintly like alcohol, but mostly like apple pie. "When I was sixteen, he kidnapped me from my mother's car while she was grocery shopping and held me in his basement for three days." Dean's green eyes pin him, horror and fury lighting them up with alpha red. The air smells bitter and tangy. "He liked pain, a lot. So did his mother. She threatened to kill my family if I reported him. She knew he could be charged since I was scent blocking at the time he took me. I was in the hospital for… two weeks, and in pain for a lot longer. Metatron liked to punish me so it would last."
Dean pulls him closer, gentle and undemanding, and Castiel gives his consent by scooting and moving with him so that they're chest-to-chest, groin-to-groin. Castiel loops his arms around Dean's sturdy shoulders and rests his head against him.
"He branded me, burned his ring into my forearm. I've heard they do it in the underground red-light districts in other countries to distinguish what house the omegas belong to." Castiel pauses, licks his lips. "I guess he didn't want me to forget that he owned me."
Dean draws back and Castiel knows he's seen the scar he's talking about because he's run his fingers over it curiously, yet never asked about it. He looks it over with new eyes, his lips trembling as he leans in to kiss it. It's shaped like a sword piercing a circle, the white skin puckered with the memory of tiny boils.
"How did you find your way back to me this time?" Dean asks, his eyes haunted as he lifts them to Castiel's face.
"Metatron could never play music the way you just did." Castiel swallows hard. His Dean was capable of being impossibly gentle, handling his instrument with reverence and respect. He'd forgotten about that side of him when he saw his box of toys.
