Chapter 12 warnings: Mentions of underage prostitution

Early in September, Dean starts to draw away from Cas, both physically and emotionally. He checks the calendar hanging up on Ellen's wall every day, and when Cas asks him about it, he glares and says, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Finally, one night as they're lying farther away than they have in weeks, Castiel gets fed up. He kicks Dean repeatedly in the shins until the other boy can't ignore him anymore and turns over and elbows him, purposefully or not, in the face.

"Cas, what the hell is your problem? I'm trying to sleep here!" His tone is sharp as he props himself up on one arm, rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he peers at Cas.

"No you weren't, you were moping. Now tell me what's going on."

"Dude, I was sleeping!" Cas just eyes him, both of them fully aware that the other knows that Dean is lying. "It's none of your fucking business, that's what's going on, jackass."

The words are sharp, but even as he speaks them, Dean is leaning over towards Cas the way be always does when they're about to have a "chick flick moment", as he's named them. Over the weeks, Castiel has become attuned to Dean's body language, learning to read him like an open book, and whenever Dean reaches out a comforting hand to brush at the nape of his neck whenever everything's just starting to become too much, Castiel thinks that Dean has learned how to read him too. Eventually, as they lay there illuminated oh so slightly by the streetlamp at the corner of the street, Dean sighs and flops onto his back, scooting closer to Cas.

"School started last week and I still haven't heard from Sam. I don't know where he is or if he's eating or if Dad even remembered to register him this year. That was all my job, you know? I was the one who made enough money to keep him full, I was the one who forged Dad's signature on the school documents, and drove him to and from the place when I dropped out. I was more of a parent to that kid than Dad ever was, and I don't like thinking about how he'll manage without me."

"Dean, I'm sure Sam is capable of taking care of himself. He sounds like an incredibly intelligent person, and I'm sure he's smart enough to figure something out," Cas says as reassuringly as possible, even though he knows Dean doesn't want to be reassured. He needs someone to rant to, and Castiel can be that person. So he shuts up and waits for Dean to continue.

"Sam's never been as street-smart as me. It's the one thing he's not amazing at. I was always the one who talked up the landlord or the motel manager or the sleazy guys in the bars, even though there wasn't much talking involved, y'know? He can memorize poetry and balance equations blindfolded, but he never clued in onto how exactly I made our money. He always bought that I won it in a pool game, or that I begged it off some old lady in the grocery store, even when I came back reeking of sex. He always figured that I'd gone out and picked up a chick, I guess." Dean's voice is rough, pitched low in the space between them. His breath drifts over Cas's lips and, not for the first time, he finds himself wanting more than ever to lean over and finally learn what Dean's mouth feels like against his own. He doesn't, though, because he doesn't deserve someone like Dean, and they're only this close because neither of them really had a choice.

"I miss him, every day, Cas. I mean, I've gone fourteen years of my life with Sammy being the first thing I thought about in the morning and the last thing I thought about at night. Everything I did was to keep him happy and safe, from whoring myself out when we ran out of food, to letting Dad beat the crap outta me so he wouldn't take out his hangover on Sam. I'd never let anyone hurt him, but here I am in the middle of fucking Flagstaff, with no way to even know if he's still breathing." Dean finishes jaggedly, his tone roughening in an obvious attempt to clear away tears before they fall, and Castiel reaches out a hand to twine their fingers together. Dean pulls him in close, almost crushing Castiel against his chest as his arms drag over the rough and worn blanket beneath them. He might have carpet burn tomorrow, but he doesn't really care. He just knows that Dean is holding him and it feels right.

"It's okay, Dean," Cas murmurs into his friend's chest, and he's not sure if Dean hears him, but the strong arms around him seem to wrap a little bit tighter. Eventually, he drifts off, secure in Dean's arms and wishing he could stay there for the rest of his life.

• • • •

The diner Gabriel drives him to is small, not the kind of restaurant Castiel remembers dining at in his childhood. Those were the days when Lucifer and Michael were fresh out of medical school and Michael was still willing to let his younger siblings be seen in public. Soon after Castiel turned five, he began homeschool, and those rare but pleasant outings with all of his siblings dwindled from rare to nonexistent.

As a waitress leads them towards the back of the room towards their table, Castiel wonders what he could possibly say to Michael to make things between them better. Castiel was so angry for all those years, and he knows that he made mistakes, but he wants to fix them. He doesn't want to be at odds with Michael for the rest of his life.

Gabriel watches him closely, out of the side of his eye, after they're settled at the empty booth. Michael and Lucifer. Castiel pretends not to notice, keeping his eyes down and slowly shredding a paper napkin.

"Look, Cas," Gabriel says after a few minutes. Castiel looks up to see Gabriel fidgeting uneasily and avoiding his eye. "Michael...it hit him hard when you left, that last time. You'd done it before, but after what he said to you...it hurt him. And I know you thought you didn't have another option, but I want you to remember that he loves you."

Usually, Gabriel isn't one to talk about serious things. He makes jokes and tries to smooth things over, but he never really engages. Castiel has had more serious conversations with him in the last two weeks than he had in the seventeen years before them. So now, when Gabriel says something like that, Cas listens.

"I know," he replies quietly. "I never wanted to hurt him."

"But what did you think would happen? When you left in the middle of the night after the worst argument you two have ever had, how did you think he would react?" There's no accusation in Gabriel's words, but they still make him feel guilty enough that he averts his eyes from his brother's face. "Did you think that he'd just be fine with it? That he wouldn't care?"

"Yes." It's the truth, and Castiel knows that it's not what Gabriel wants to hear. "And I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. But it's the truth."

"Yeah," Gabriel sighs. "I know."

It's a few more minutes until Michael and Lucifer show up, and when they do, Castiel freezes. He feels like he's fought in the headlights of an oncoming train, two pairs of eyes boring into him with varying levels of relief and disbelief.

"Hello, Castiel," Michael finally says, and he breaks like a wave crashing onto sand. In what feels like less than a second, Castiel has slid out of the booth and is wrapping his arms around his older brother.

"Hello, Michael." In the months that he's been absent, Castiel has caught up to his older brother, and he can easily rest his head on Michael's shoulder. Michael is gripping him just as tightly as Castiel is holding him, and after a moment he claps his hand on Castiel's shoulder and steps back. His eyes are glistening with unshed tears, but before they can fall, he steps back and slides into the booth.

"It's been a long time, Castiel," Lucifer remarks quietly before embracing him much like Michael had. He's still several inches taller than Castiel, and he resists the urge to bury his head in his brother's chest like he did when he was a child. Even back then, he always went to Lucifer when he needed to be comforted.

"I know," he whispers instead. "I'm sorry." It's not nearly enough, not nearly enough to convey everything that he's feeling, but it's all Castiel can give. Lucifer just smiles, releasing his hold, and slides into the booth next to Michael. Gabriel is looking at the three of them with an undecipherable expression, something like hope and regret and pain all thrown together.

"It's all right, Castiel. I understand," Michael says, sounding as if he's dragging the words out as they fight tooth and nail against him. "I said some truly unforgivable things, and you had every right to react the way you did."

No. This isn't how it's supposed to go. Michael isn't supposed to forgive him, isn't supposed to absolve Castiel of his sins. Castiel has done horrible things, and he's put his family through so much that he shouldn't be allowed to have this.

"No," he says, and Lucifer's brow furrows in confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"No," he repeats. "I didn't have the right to do that. I should never have left in the first place, and you shouldn't' tell me otherwise. I hurt you, both of you." Gabriel is looking steadily at Michael, like this is some type of test that he needs to make sure their brother passes.

"That's what family does, Castiel. We hurt each other, intentionally or not. I don't want to pretend that these last months have been easy for me, but they were undoubtedly more difficult for you. I'm your brother, and I will be here for you whenever you need it, and you need me now. It's not the time to discuss my personal baggage."

The statement leaves Cas shocked, frozen in place on the other side of the table. Nothing is making sense; nothing is going the way it should. Michael should be yelling at him, should be screaming and furious and hurting him, but he's not. He should be punishing Castiel for the sins he's committed, and he's not, and it makes Castiel so confused that he doesn't know what to say.

"Michael, maybe we should wait until after we eat to discuss things," Lucifer says rationally, signaling a nearby waitress. She takes their orders quickly, Castiel ordering the first thing he sees because he's still not used to being able to pick and choose his meals like this again. The silence is almost overwhelming, until Lucifer quietly asks Michael how his last patient is recovering, and Gabriel offers to bring around cookies at the hospital for the kids in pediatrics. It almost feels normal, sitting with the three of them and listening to the muted conversation, but Castiel feels more like an outsider than he ever did when Anna was alive. She was his support when he lived with Michael. She would always respond to his calls and come over when he asked, she was his shelter in the never ending storm of shame and anger and apathy that reigned his life in that too-big house.

As their food arrives, Castiel ponders the way their little family has fallen apart. He rarely saw Gabriel after he left home, and with Lucifer's hours it was a miracle that they even crossed paths at all. Anna and Michael were the only two siblings Castiel ever saw regularly; polar opposites who, even with the best intentions, still only managed to push him away further. Nothing in his family was ever simple back then, and nothing has changed now. He still has no idea how to approach Lucifer, or how to make amends with Michel, or even how do decipher the extent of Gabriel's emotional range behind the façade of a happy-go-lucky chef. He eats his food without tasting it, eyes cast downwards and hands folded carefully in his lap when he finished. Every lesson his tutors drilled into him as a child, sit up straight and don't put your elbows on the table and be seen, not heard chime in his ears, and the last words his father ever spoke to a two year old boy who was all to happy to be called by his full name echo around in his head.

"Be good, Castiel."

As his brothers finish, Castiel finds himself dreading the upcoming conversation. There will be questions he doesn't not want to answer, and questions that he simply cannot respond to. Michel will ask to know his story, and, if he's honest with himself, Castiel doesn't think he can tell it.