BTW 'Me and Mine' the novel is now available on amazon, under ebooks (the one with clasped hands on a blue cover) so I'd be ecstatic if you guys went to check it out As always you can follow me at JollySnidge on twitter.
http:/ .com/Me-and-Mine-ebook /dp/B005FBTYHO/ref=sr_1_5?s=digital-text&ie=UTF 8&qid=1312214501&sr=1-5
(-*-)
Dean cleans the apartment as he does every morning, swabbing up whisky soured vomit and spritzing air freshener that does little to nothing in the way of covering up the stench. He toasts cheap bread for Sam's breakfast and shakes his brother awake, turning down the bedcovers and listening to Sam bitch sleepily as he drags himself to the bathroom. It's only when Sam returns that Dean sees his face.
"Where did that come from?" he says, glaring at Sam's split lip and puffy cheek.
Sam winces, his eyes evasive as he looks anywhere but at his brother. "Where were you last night?"
"I asked first." Dean glowers. Sam crumples like a fistful of crackers.
"John was mad at me." He says in a small voice. "He wanted the rent money..."
"You didn't give it to him?" Dean feels panic lance his heart in a hundred volt dash.
"'Course not." Sam says. "But I moved it from the back of the toilet to the box of condoms in your nightstand."
Dean's a little too pissed off to be uncomfortable about that.
"So he hit you?" He growls. "Just that once?"
"Once in the face, twice in the stomach." Sam reports, like it happened to someone else – hell, this wasn't the first time John had smacked one of them out of sheer frustration or blind rage, but it had been so quiet for a while that Dean had allowed himself to hope.
"Jesus." Dean mutters, seizing the coffee pot, he stalks to his father's bedroom door, throws it open and walks in, heaving the drunken weight of his father out of bed and over onto the floor one handed. John groans and cracks swollen eyelids to glare up at him, muttering incoherent threats and curses.
Dean pours yesterdays cold, greying brew over John's face, listening to the older man sputter and swear, scraping pungent grounds from his nose and squinting eyes.
"Touch Sam again, and the next lot will be boiling." Dean snarls.
He backs off and John sits up, glowering as his eldest son reaches the door.
"He should have given it to me."
Dean turns to glare at him.
"That money puts this leaky damn roof over your drunk ass."
John drags himself to his feet, boots thudding onto the floor like bags of grit. His face is blanketed in scruff, his clothes marked with leaf mould and mud from where he'd likely fallen the previous night.
"I'm not going to let you talk to me like..."
"You're here because I allow it, John." Dean spits. "So stay out of the way and die fast, maybe Sam'll forgive you." He storms back into the living room, ignoring Sam's wince at the shouting, "He's the only one that will."
John doesn't follow, the rest of the apartment is too bright for him.
"I wish you two wouldn't go at each other." Sam mutters. "He didn't hit me that hard."
Dean looks at his brother and wonders when Sam got used to this being what his home was like. A wave of despair crashes over him, Sam isn't getting out of here unscathed, one way or another he'd bear the scars for life.
"I wish you could be sure of not getting hit, at least here." Dean sighs, "Clearly, that's not happening."
"You didn't answer my question." Sam points out, gnawing toast and wincing at the pain in his lip. "Where were you last night?"
"Hospital." Dean says shortly.
"Why?" Sam's eyes widen.
"I went to a club...thought I could get a drink without running into." He waves in the direction of John's room, ignoring Sam's distasteful frown. " Some guys were trying to take advantage of Castiel, they gave him a pill that wasn't...well, whatever it was meant to be, so I took him to the E.R."
Sam crunches in silence.
"Got something to say?" Dean prompts.
"I think it would be better if you left him alone." Sam says honestly. "We could get in trouble."
Dean sighs.
"I know it's hard for you to understand...but...I'm not a freaking saint, Sam, ok? I want things, for myself...and, maybe I want Castiel around more than anyone else."
"Then be careful." Sam mutters.
"You think I want to lose you and wind up alone with John?" Dean huffs. "I'd be in prison for murder before the week was over."
"Better than getting put away for statutory." Sam mutters, going to collect his backpack.
Dean can't think of a response to that.
"Shut up Sam." He mumbles to himself, putting the breakfast things into the sink.
(-*-)
Of course the troubling influence that was Brian Summers had not been put to bed. But, Dean was relieved to find that his focus had moved from Sam to himself – he was less relieved to find the janitor closet locks filled with glue when he got there. In the end he had to snap the whole handle off, breaking the cheap plywood, as his tools were locked inside.
Brian was leaning against the locker behind him by the time Dean was finished cleaning up the mess.
"Kids these days, huh?" Brian sighed. "Makes you sick, it really does."
Dean glares at him, waiting for the other foot to fall, and it does – straight onto his throat.
"So...I heard about Cassy passing out...did you think your boy toy was gonna die?"
Dean knew that Brian had no way of knowing that it was Dean who had taken Castiel to the hospital, that little piece of information was still private. But what the teen knew already was damaging enough.
He waits for Brian to get to the point, which he does in short order.
"They'd probably take Sam away from you if you knew you were banging a kid younger than him..." Brian trails the sentence. "That kind of secret...worth a buck or two to keep it quiet."
The quip about Sam and Cas's ages got to him, Castiel was only ten months Sam's junior, not even a year younger – yet still...Dean felt suddenly like the shower he'd taken that morning had had no effect. He felt marked somehow. Soiled.
"What do you want?" Dean asks.
"Three hundred." Brian tastes the words as he says them.
Dean laughs under his breath.
"What's funny?" Brian's smirk flakes and reveals the peevishness underneath.
"You've been picking on Sam for being white trash...and now you're trying to get money out of me." Dean drawls. "Not exactly in his league are you? Academically."
A fierce flush burns up Brian's neck, and for the first time Dean wonders if this all about Cas, rather than the ass kicking the kid had gotten. After all, Dean had stolen his favourite toy – and Brian really couldn't compete with him, not with his patchy skin and bleached Justin Beiber hair. Any pity Dean might have felt for the teenager was lost with his next words.
"Three hundred. Or I tell the principle, the police...that you're screwing Cas." The kid spits, "Tomorrow, here, after school."
Then he's gone, and Dean's standing in front of the closet alone, wondering how the fuck the mess always winds up at his door. Though, in all fairness, he'd willingly brought this on himself.
After work, and feeling kind of nervous, Dean drove the route he remembered to Castiel's house, this time he doesn't stop at the corner, but drives just a little past it, gets out and goes up to the front door. It's a pretty nice house, double porch across the front, steps to the front door, welcome mat, blue door, matching trim, a cast iron bell with a white dove ornament.
He thinks of their own front door, cracked from the time John had lost his keys and tried to kick his way in. He feels a flush of shame for the spectre of his own home, for the sweat on his shirt and his jeans, stained from where he'd had to work on the impala.
He goes up the steps, opens the screen door and knocks on the blue one underneath, forgetting to use the bell and mentally kicking himself for that slip up.
Castiel answers.
He opens the door, bare feet pointed like a dancers, long pale legs uncovered thanks to tatty pair of cargo shorts, so small as to barely reach past mid thigh, one of his many vests slung over the top. He looks small and pale still, but Dean can't help but admire him in the afternoon light.
"Hey." The teen says, mouth creeping up at the side into a smile half shyness and half blatant seduction. He nudges the door open. "Come in."
Dean follows him into the house.
Inside it's just as perfect as out, white walls and light blue carpet, a little white china cross on the wall. Smells like fancy room scent, fig and Italian vanilla.
Castiel backs towards the stairs, holding his hand out. Dean takes it and Castiel twists, leading him upstairs.
"My dad's out." Castiel says as they reach his bedroom door. Inside it's shadowy and still, a quiet cave of a room with a messy bed and stacks of books and swathes of clothing on the floor. At home this would look messy, but here the effect is almost glamorous, the excesses of stuff alone... or maybe it's the musky odour of Cas that dominates the room – A bed slept in, tobacco smoked and a libido indulged.
"You weren't at school...still feeling bad?"
"No..." He frowns as if trying to pinpoint exactly how he feels. "I'm good, very good." He comes closer and Dean can smell the weed on him. Castiel kisses him bluntly. "You saved me." He smiles and kisses him again.
Dean slowly moves away and Cas frowns.
"What?"
"Castiel..." does he imagine the flinch at the use of his full name? "Last night...you practically said you wished you'd died there...and now..."
"I can't change my mind?"
"This isn't your mind talking." Dean tells him. "This – is a joint, maybe two."
Cas smirks, holds up three fingers before he flops down on the bed, folding himself elegantly – origami in action. "I was bored." He glances up at Dean. "I thought if I let you in you'd want to...do something not boring."
Dean lies down next to him and tugs Cas against him, pulling the soft, smoky duvet over them both. Castiel sighs against his chest, wriggling with anticipation, after a second he looks at Dean through the muzzy, undercover shadows.
"Are we doing this or not?" He murmurs.
Dean rolls him onto the mattress and covers him with his own body. Cas mewls in satisfaction, reaching up and cupping Dean's ass with his hands. But Dean does nothing more than kiss him, lazily, shifting them so that he can hold Cas's body gently.
Cas stiffens. "Oh." He mutters, and for a second Dean thinks he's going to get pushed away, then awkward arms return the embrace, softening and stroking his back lightly.
"You're a weird guy." Cas whispers.
Dean breathes the scent of him in gently.
"You told me you loved me." Castiel murmurs.
"I did."
"I love you too." He confides.
Dean doesn't remember when he last heard that, when it wasn't coming from Sam.