Waking up is rough, and not a natural event. His mother storms in at 11:20 to wake him up for therapy. She barely spares him a moment. Just shakes him into consciousness, and skirts her eyes over him as he blinks bleary at her face. She doesn't say anything, hides all that could be considered human emotion behind a grave eye-squint. Then walks away.
He rolls out of bed when she leaves, and groans pitifully. Every part of him is in pain, his muscles are sore, and his brain is throbbing, and all he really wants to do is fall back into bed, but he forces himself to keep going. He just barely manages to sway through the bathroom doors and stands there for a good couple of minutes, recuperating. Stares grudgingly into the mirror, finds his own cold glare a bit frighting. Everyone of his hairs is pulling in the opposite direction it should be, there are dark bags under his red rimed eyes. He leans his head to the side, and examines the bright finger shaped scratches stretching up the expanse of his neck. Closes his eyes for a moment, and fights the wave of dizziness that passes through him.
He takes another moment once the world stops moving, to stand with his eyes closed and not think about anything. Then, with a sigh, twists on the sink and tries to wash out the taste of the night before from his mouth. Doesn't bother showering, knows he doesn't have enough energy for that, and puts on his comfort clothes. Thankfully, his mother doesn't make him change to what she considers appropriate. Just watches him pensively from under her coffee cup as he slurps cereal from a spoon.
Basically, he's fucked.
..."Tell me something about yourself."
Doctor Tessa Harvey is eying him from across the room. Her head cocked the slightest bit to the left, a clip board rests on her crossed legs, and a pencil is bouncing up and down between her long manicured fingers.
Castiel chews his lips, and tries to contemplate the question without expressing every one of his thoughts on his face. As he usually did. He doesn't understand how doing something like that will achieve a substantial result, and he certainly doesn't want to talk right now. His head's still throbbing dully, subdued only slightly by the ibuprofen Rachel slid him at breakfast.
He exhaled a heavy breath. This may or may not be the session determining whether or not he'll be institutionalized again. He's treading lightly here, and he knows, that she knows, he knows.
"What do you want to know?" he finally asks. Can't go wrong with a bit of clarification.
Doctor Tessa Harvey smiles that knowing smile of hers, "Tell me something... You've never told anyone before."
She's asking a lot of him, and the look on her face suggests she's aware. He still doesn't know how to answer, though everything's riding on his answer. There's not much he can tell her because there aren't many secrets he keeps. He could talk about the time at Cloudy Falls, he, Crowley, and Meg traded medication, making Crowley stare stoically at a wall for two hours straight, and Meg cackle pitchily though her teeth before keeling over face first into the linoleum floor. After swallowing one of Crowley's sedatives Castiel found himself taking a twenty-eight hour nap that had nurses quite worried, or so he was told by Meg and Crowley.
Something inside tells him that a story like that one, wouldn't help his case at all. Eventually he decides to just start talking. Hopes what comes out is the right answer.
"In fifth grade, Ava Wilson was my best friend... Actually, now that I think about it she was probably the only friend I ever had as a kid. Anyway... At recess we would hide under the slide, and try to dig to China. And- We'd gotten so far in that goal, the hole was at least two feet deep..." Doctor Tessa Harvey stares at him silently as he speaks, "Then one day, half way through the year actually, we crawled under the slide, and the hole was completely full again. One of the custodians filled it because it was a safety hazard... a-and Ava started crying, and it made me feel like complete shit."
"Do you still have contact with Ava?" she asks when he finishes. She examines him and he plays shiftily with the fabric of the couch.
Castiel breaths a sigh, "No," then he answers the next question before she can even open her mouth, "She asked me to marry her, and I said no, because I wanted to marry Wolverine..." he chuckles heartily at the next bit, "Then she kicked me in the shins we never spoke again."
The doctor shifted in her chair, and her eyes sparked in a sudden something, "You wanted to marry Wolverine?"
He looks up tiredly, then rubs a hand over his face, "Yes. I did."
"Do you still have these feelings?"
"You mean... Do I still want to marry Wolverine?" his eyebrows raise dubiously, making the doctor laugh. It's the first time she's ever done so in front of him, and it's the least threatening she's ever looked.
"I mean, do you still have attractions to people of the same gender as you, Castiel."
He feels something churn in his stomach. Green eyes, freckles, and dimpled smiles flash through his mind for a moment. Doctor Tessa Harvey is watching him with that piercing gaze of hers, and he feels himself sinking in his seat. Bare, muscular arms, form fitting tank tops, and that sliver of exposed stomach that teases every time he stretches.
"I-I" he clears his throat, "I guess you could say that."
It's the first time he's ever admitted it out loud. He almost regrets it, because it makes him even more of a freak than he already is, but then he catches the pleased face Doctor Tessa Harvey is making. Suddenly things don't seems so bad.
...
He's leaning against the organically grown tomato bins in his mothers favorite grocery store. She's off near the more exotic produce. Whirling about amongst the other pretentious buyers, packing biodegradable grocery bags with purple cabbages and dragon fruit. Less people swarm around the common foods section, so Castiel busies himself there. It's an antisocial technique he'd developed when nine years old. The 'hide behind the normal food' strategy.
He's staying with his family. Doctor Tessa Harvey smiled at him when their time ran out, and assured him he was safe. For now. His mother's gonna be watching him closer now, as well as Anna, but he doesn't have to leave again. For that he's thankful.
Castiel picks a tomato from behind him, then tosses it to his other hand. He stares at it for a while, captivated by the shining, red center. Tosses it to the other hand again, then stares some more. Wonders whether or not it was upset by the fruit vs. vegetable debacle. He thinks that if he were a tomato he'd have been at least a bit disgruntled by the events. It's a bothersome experience, being one thing your whole life, only to have the public tell you, you're something else entirely.
He frowns at the tomato.
Wonders if maybe it's hiding from the public too. Maybe it likes being in the deeper ends of the produce isle just as much as Castiel does. Maybe it doesn't want to deal with the nonsensical populace either. He wonders for a moment if the tomato ever feels jealousy towards the dragon fruit, that's so sure of itself it has it's 'species' proclaimed right in its name... Wouldn't it be embarrassing for the dragon fruit if everyone suddenly decided it was a vegetable. Would it still be called 'The Dragon Fruit'? or would it have to change. He thinks 'The Dragon Vegetable' doesn't quite have the same ring to it.
"Cas!"
Castiel jumps, and stares wide eyed at the Dean Winchester approaching from behind one of the further isles. He fumbles with the tomato that's still in his hands, and slams it back down to it's box. With a bit too much force. Tomato guts leek out onto his fingers.
"Dean?" Castiel blinks, and wipes the juicy slime against his t-shirt, "W-what are you doing here?"
Dean never really striked him as the type to shop in over priced farmer stores, but he'd learned long ago that looks could be deceiving. Castiel looks him over quickly with skittery eyes. Tries to catch any differences in stance or expression. Who knows what Dean thinks of him now, after that degrading display from the night before. He looks the same as always though, smile already curling his lips, arms and shoulders hanging casual.
"Sam, refuses to eat meat from anywhere else. Something to do with factory farming or some stupid shit like that," Dean shrugs apologetically.
"Ah," Castiel nods solemnly, "Well my mother seems to have a similar opinions about vegetables."
Dean chortles through his nose, and they share a look. A those-fuckers-are-crazy look.
"So. Are you feeling alright? Last night got pretty intense," Dean says, and Castiel feels himself flush red.
He glances down to his feet, and rubs awkwardly at his neck, "Yeah, sorry about that. Just, those parties always make me weird."
"It's funny," Dean smiles stupidly, "I didn't know you could get any weirder."
Castiel purses his lips, and narrows his eyes. He looks back at Dean, and something about his expression must be funny because Dean's laughing, and placing an arm on Castiel's boney shoulder.
"Hey! Come with me for a second I want you to meet my mom," Dean says, nudging him gently in the direction he'd appeared from, but Castiel stalls. He glances over at his own mother, who moved on from Dragon Fruit to some weird Squash-Pumpkin hybrid. She'd be worried if he went somewhere, not to mention meeting people in general made him nervous, yet alone Dean Winchester's mother.
"I- I don't think that's a god idea," he grits out through the jaw he hadn't realized was clenching.
"Dude, calm down, it's just my mom. You'll be fine!" Dean insists with a hard pat to his back.
Next thing he knows he's being led away from the comfort of his tomato bins and into an isle full of boxed rice and pasta. Near the center of the isle stands a woman and an eco-green shopping cart. She's shorter than Dean, and middle aged, with long blond hair, and narrow hands turning over what looks to be a box of elbow macaroni.
"EH! MA!" Dean squalls, and the woman looks up from the box, veers to them with eyes so kind he can feel their warmth from where he's being dragged down the isle.
"Dean..." she says suspiciously, eying her son and the ruffled boy next to him.
When they stop Dean takes a readying breath then extends an arm over to Castiel, "Mom, this is my friend Cas."
Mary's face brightens, and her friendly smile is directed at Castiel who's voice and ability to speak are stuck halfway down his throat.
"Ah, Cas. I've heard much about you," her voice sounds mocking, but accommodating. It reminds him little of Dean, but softer.
"Yeah!" Dean beams, and claps his hand down between Cas' shoulder blades making him flinch, "He's the one who jumped out of our window!"
Castiel blushes again, and Mary's eyebrows raise. She doesn't look nearly as impressed as Dean sounds.
"Nice to meet you," Mary says with a shake of her head, and extends a hand towards Castiel.
He eyes it wearily, and bites his lip. Dean's staring at him with that usual goofy smile of his, and Mary is standing patient, waiting for him. He meets her grip and shakes as firmly as he can muster.
"Sorry. M-my hands are sweaty," is his first contribution to the conversation. He pulls his hand away, and wipes it against his baggy jeans.
"That's Cas for; it's nice to meet you too," Dean explains. Castiel shoves him in the side, and Dean barks a laugh as he wobbles on his feet, barely manages not to knock down the stacks of linguine behind him.
"It's nice to meet you too," Castiel finally mutters with averted eyes while Dean straightens himself. Mary smiles gently at him, "Sorry for disturbing you."
"Don't be silly, hon. I've been aching to meet you for days now, all the hype Dean makes of you," she says with a laugh. When Castiel glances over to Dean he doesn't look at all embarrassed. Just grins like a proud mother hen, an animal that Dean shares a surprising amount of qualities with.
"Oh," is all Castiel can manage in response. He doesn't know where to keep his eyes. Wants to stare at Dean, but thinks that would be awkward. Doesn't want to freak Mary out with the intense gaze that everyone's always telling him he has.
"Castiel!"
He can't help the rigid scowl that crosses his face as he hears his mother's voice calling out from behind him, and Dean looks like he just stepped into something slimy. Mary seems to notice, because her brows furrow in concern. Castiel turns around, movements slow with dread, in time to see his mother striding across the linoleum tile of the floor.
"There you are! I told you not to go anywhere by yourself!" She patronizes, talking to him like he's eight years old again. His embarrassment rises, and his fingers twitch at his sides. Her eyes skip to Mary, then lock on Dean, "...You were at my house."
"Uh, yes ma'am," Dean clears his throat, "I'm a friend of Cas'."
His mother's eyes widen the slightest bit at the word 'friend'.
"Dean Winchester," he clarifies, and bounces uncomfortably on his heals. Sneaks a nervous glance to Cas, who's looking anywhere, but at him.
"And I'm Dean's mom," Mary's smile is the only constant, she places a hand to her son's shoulder, "Mary."
Caught off guard as she is, his mother manages to maintain her manners, "Naomi Milton."
"They live in the Campbell house," Castiel mutters loud enough for everyone to hear, but he's staring at his shoes. Their caked with mud, and the tips are stained green from walking through grass.
His mother's back straightens at the mention of the house, her voice is tight when she speaks, "Oh. Well. It was very nice to meet you both, but we have to get going."
"Right, of course," Mary nods.
"Let's go Castiel," his mother says, pivoting around clinking away.
As he retreats after his mother, he sneaks one more look at the Winchester's, catching them exchanging aghast looks.
...
He's on his bedroom floor, laying stomach down, arms out stretched on either side of him, with his face buried in the stack of pillows he'd pulled from both his and Anna's beds. It's some time in the afternoon, and he's been trying to fall asleep for the at least an hour already. The ibuprofen had worn out several hours ago, plunging him into another head ache and day-after soreness. This resulted in a grumpier mood, and a bitter Anna sending him off to bed after he snapped at her for asking something about therapy. Castiel complied begrudgingly because he could use a nap, but stole away her pillows anyway in some form of retaliation.
The truth is however, no matter how much he tosses and turns, in any position, on every surface of his room (mostly including the bed and the floor), Castile can't make himself sleep. Insomnia happenes to him occasionally. In fact, it started years before the voices even surfaced. All the doctors he'd ever gone to assured it as a symptom to his illness. Sometimes he wonders why they'd never caught it before.
When he'd been a child it hadn't been that bad. Sure, it made him sleepier during the day, and he would sporadically feel an irrational fear of night that every child felt, but a lot of the time it could be a pleasant experience. More times than not, he would stumble from his bedroom, into the living room to find his father up as well. He'd be wearing his sleep clothes and reading glasses, and there would be bags under his eyes. He'd be sinking into a couch with a classical book cracked open on his lap. Castiel would climb up with him, then they would curl together, his father would start reading out loud, in a hushed low tone, to avoid waking the rest of the family.
But times were different now. Functioning without sleep became harder, nights awake became lonely, and the irrational fear of night got even stronger. Even during the day time, like now, insomnia was a nuisance. He sighs and flips to his back, folds his arms inward so that his hands lay over his chest.
He wonders what Dean is doing. He's always on his mind now. His eyes, his lips, his skin, peppered with those tiny freckles. How Castiel would love to kiss each one of them. He wonders about the noises Dean would make if it were to happen. How Dean's skin would taste on his tongue as it peaked out to trace the flesh of a shoulder or arm. Probably salty, still sweaty from a day in the sun playing baseball with Sam. Castiel feels a twitch in his underwear.
With eyes still closed, and a mind not quite thinking, one of his hands starts creeping down his stomach. Inching it's way down, shucking up his t-shirt, sending pulses through his skin. Fingers trace the waist band of his underwear, and he thinks about the way Dean would feel under his grip. Warm and solid, lean muscles taunt from anticipation. Course calloused fingers would play with strands of Castiel's hair. Another hand would reach down below, wrap tightly around his cock, and tug. Castiel's own hand imitated the thought, finally slipping below the elastic of his boxers.
Dean would kiss him as he worked. Let his tongue lead the way, and leave gentle nips across his face and neck. He would mutter in that deep voice of his, quiet, right into his ear, and say nothing of import. Tease him maybe, punctuating each word with a tight pull on his erection. Castiel let out a shuddery breath, and sped up the movement in underwear. He could almost feel Dean there with him, almost taste him, could imagine the exact way his eyes would glow as he stared at Castiel, taking pleasure in the way he came undone. He feels a tension in his stomach building, his breath coming out in gasps, and his fingers tighten.
The door to his room flies open, simultaneous to his eyes, and Anna wanders in, oblivious for the first couple of moments, "Hey, Cas someone- Oh god!"
Everything moves at lightning speed. Castiel shoots up right, and yanks his hand from his shorts with a loud snap, the band slapping against his stomach. His cheeks burn brightly as he meets the wide eyed gaze of his sister, and awkwardly pulls a pillow (thankfully one of his own) to his lap sparing them both from any further humiliation.
"I uh-" Castiel starts, looks away guilty, feeling so far past embarrassed he can barely think straight. Fingers curl into the pillow tightly as if it's a stress ball.
"Sorry!" Anna squeaks. Her cheeks are pink as well, and Castiel wants nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole.
"No, it's-"
"I should have knocked! Eh..." She fidgets, rubs her hands together awkwardly. Of course she didn't knock. She'd never had to knock before because he used to have more sense than that. Never used to masturbate in unlocked rooms, in the middle of the day, while people were around. Castiel doesn't know what else to say, just holds to the pillow even tighter, "Um... There's someone at the phone for you. I-I think it's Dean."
At the mention of Dean's name Castiel's cheeks turn even redder, and his throat goes dry.
"Right," he croaks, "I'll go talk to him. In a.. Moment."
"Yeah! Okay! Phone's- er- waiting for you... Down stairs.. I'm just gonna... Go now," with that she backs out of the room, and disappears down the hall.
He falls backward into his stack of pillows and shuts his eyes again. Rubs his face, and tries to get the heat in his skin away. Poor Anna. He'll never be able to look her in the eye again. He apprehends this new found recklessness. Something was happening to him and he didn't know what it was or how he could stop it. There was one thing he knew for certain, though. Dean Winchester was going to bring around his downfall.
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