Chapter 25: I Am Young

Dean showed up when the stars were already spreading across the night sky. He drove the Impala into the abandoned back wood area and despite the protests from his car slammed the gas to get her up the hill. He parked her in a corner under trees that were over looking the town and climbed out. His head swam as he stumbled forward, wanting nothing more than to get his brain to shut up. He slammed his baby's door shut and wandered towards his friends. He noted that neither Ash nor Chuck were there; just fragments of people he'd met before. He marched forward and was greeted with a bottle of Jack. Dean clutched the neck of the bottle tightly and tilted it towards his lips. He chugged the burn down as half of the liquid spilled down the sides of his cheeks and down his own neck. He coughed and felt some of the burn explode into his lungs. He coughed as the people around him laughed, offering him bottles and cups of smoother alcohol. He waved them off and spat into the ground before taking another swig.

It was a strangely cloudless sky and there was a thick layer of snow on the ground for so late in the winter. Not that they didn't have snow, it just usually wasn't so heavy. He waded through the footsteps of others to the trash can that had been lit on fire to provide them warmth. He grinned and for a moment thought about tossing himself in there as kindling. He shook the thought from his head; you couldn't run from the pain you've caused other people. Still... he was tempted. He moved forward, now four gulps into the bottle he'd been handed and felt himself pulled into a one armed hug by someone there. The voice was familiar enough for him to assume they'd played on the soccer team together. They rubbed each others head's affectionately as he moved further towards the center of the crowd.

He stared at the fire his own mind burning. Dean didn't know what was more painful, the reality of what he had done to the boy, that he'd started finally crushed on, or the heat licking up his face as he walked next to the brass tin to accept a cigarette from a stumbling woman.

He didn't even smoke.

Dean inhaled the hurricane in his head through his lungs, and felt it bitterly ignite his loathing. He took another drag and imagined his lungs curling up into two black smudges that could never be recovered.

"Dean!"

He looked up and smiled, plastering his expression into concrete if he was to survive the night. A woman slung herself at him, one arm on his shoulder and the other slipping past his arm and desperately clinging to his belt loop to keep herself upright. He laughed and said hello, giving her a kiss on the head without even registering what she looked like.

"Where've you been?"

Dean laughed and slung his free arm, sloshing booze over the top of the bottle as he pulled the man close to him. "Around."

They grinned at him and pulled him further into the fire.

The fire sparked, as someone threw in a handful of empty cigarette packs and a beer bottle. Dean found himself dragged onto a log and sandwiched between two people. They curled next to him, already hammered, one of their hands running across his chest.

"I'm sor—riee" one of the girls slurred as she trier to cuddle closer to his body.

"Me too," the guy added after taking a swig.

He looked around between them confused. Sorry for what? He doesn't realize he's said it out loud until he feels another person wrap their arms around him from behind, hands sliding down his chest and squeezing. They cuddle closer.

"Things've been so hard for you, baby," she purred into his ear, trying to get closer, nuzzling her head affectionately. Dean probably should've checked the time to see that the drinking had been going on for hours. There wasn't a single sober person there but him, but that was about to change.

Dean huffed and opened his throat, slinging the bottle back and letting the fire run down his throat and settle into his stomach to roar. He wiped his mouth of with his sleeve before tossing his jacket off, noting that the leather didn't do anything to collect the moisture. It just spread it to where his lips tingled. The burn almost reminded him of the tingle he'd felt when Cas' lips brushed against his. Panic and fear rose up in him at the memory of soft lips and he quickly took another swig, droplets of liquor burning away his memories. 'You're okay' someone whispered. The people around him had changed, he felt his body swaying on the log. He didn't drink much to begin with. But the furnace inside him kept him warm from the cold feelings trying to eat their way into him.

"No I'm not," he laughed out, falling backwards, the two people on his arms squealing and falling back with him. The rest of the bottle, what was left of it, spilling to the ground next to his head, collecting in his hair. It smelled bitter. And that felt appropriate. He rolled his head to the side and felt the scrape of the wood scratch him across the back. The two people with him, curled closer, one of them slinging their leg across him whispering sweet nothings. He listened to it for a little before angrily pulling away. "No!"

The people gathered all stared at him. He hated the way that their eyes spilled pity and 'sorry's' towards him. It made him want to up chuck what he had consumed. Vaguely he remembered not having eaten anything but stale crackers he'd found in his car. Why would they look at him like that? Of course, he knew why. He'd lost his shit. He'd... he'd pushed... that gorgeous, strong boy into a corner. He'd made Cas stare at him like he was going to shove him through glass and give him more bruises and cuts. He knew they'd seen the anger, and the screams that had escaped him as he'd cornered the boy. Hell, he'd heard them echo around the walls. Dean's hand twitched around the empty liquor bottle wanting to bring it to his neck and smash it to bleed him dry. How could he have done that? A loud, bitter, cracked laugh launched from his chest and out of his throat. Some of the people turned away. The two people clinging to him tried to hold him tighter.

He wanted to smash their brains in.

Couldn't they see it? Hadn't they watched the news? Didn't they know he was the abuser? Didn't they know he'd hurt one of the most beautiful in this world, clipped it's wings and smashed it into a glass case for tours for other's amusement, didn't they know he'd trapped an angel and skinned it of its wings. How could anyone stand by his side. Why hadn't they tossed the tower of burning embers on him yet and let him rot inside the flames.

He thought about the fist he'd slammed next to Cas' head as he raged. How he'd crowded into the boy's space. Lining himself up as close as he could to be intimidating. In his head he saw his hands transform into the paler, longer fingers. Ones that had also wrapped around his brother's neck. Dean recoiled at the thought and ground the back of his head against the dirt. It caked into the strands of his hair with the liquor and he launched himself up, shaking his head and accidentally smashing the lip of the bottle into his bruised eye. He winced but laughed. There was a drunken temptation to bury it into his eye socket and let it rest there, pouring fire into him to attempt to burn out the wrong he'd done.

Dean told himself again, that it was the easy way out. But all he could think of was showing Cas what a spark plug was and then him crowding into his space. He dropped the bottle and squeezed his temples with his hands. All he wanted to do was to rewind time. To be there to rush into the door as the medics had done. Somewhere deep in his soul was a voice that said he did the best he could at the time, taking Sam straight to the hospital. The louder voice told him he should've doubled back for Cas if any of his feelings were real. If he'd actually cared and had begun to develop feelings he would've put the Impala in gear and skidded across the icy snow back to the house.

But he hadn't.

That was on him.

How could he have not known? How hadn't he seen the signs? He'd looked up enough small information on how to take care of his brother to see some signs of abuse, although every article said it wasn't sure fire when it happened. Sometimes things were accidents. Dean recalled the twisted sick feelings he'd had at seeing Lucifer and how he and Cas interacted. How could he have not reacted to that? How did he not see what had been going on? He was the protector. He was supposed to be the safe place. Warm arms and an even warmer house. It wasn't like he'd never sneaked in a friend at 1 am because they didn't feel safe at home. He was supposed to know better. But he'd failed.

"Dean?"

He looked up to find Ash and Chuck staring down at him. The ground was cold and he realized he was sitting in half frosted mud, the wetness sinking into his pants. He let his hands drop and dug his frozen fingers into the ground, breaking some of his nails. There was something stinging in his palms but he couldn't figure out what. Water seemed to slosh around his head, from one side to the other, as he tried to straighten himself. He felt his hand lifted and vaguely registered that his knuckles were torn apart and bloodied. If he'd bothered to look further down his arm he might've seen that the rest of his arm was torn to shreds, as if he'd ripped it through a harsh surface.

For a little bit he saw what was actually happening around him. He'd wandered out from the fire pit after tossing the people around him into the dirt, and knocking over the fire pit (it had grown bigger as drunken participants in the celebration had tried to put it out with alcohol). Luckily someone had called the two best friends he had and someone had still had the sense to shovel dirt over the fire. The bin was back up and roaring with a healthy flame to keep the party going in Dean's destructive wake. There was nothing but glowing black in front of him with shards on the earth that reminded him of stars. He felt two strong arms drag him back up from the ground as best they could. All he wanted to do was to let himself fall backwards and drag himself through whatever hell may become him. Maybe he shouldn't have drank so much. Dean shoved the people around him away and stumbles, after turning around to shove these people away, into something solid and feels his back spike in something deliciously sharp. He ran his back against it before he's pulled back forward.

"Dean, okay, man, Dean. Calm down."

He shook his head.

"Dean, stop. Okay. Dude, please just please. Man, stop."

He giggled and tried to swing his head towards the spikes of ice he'd felt earlier.

"-... may be girly... just- man... we're he... gon... -"

Dean pulled himself up enough to see the figures. He tried to look one of them in the eye before stumbling his way to the light. He felt another flame put in between his fingers. He dragged on it and let himself lean back, coughing out pieces that feel like fire. The two voices faded out as he stumbled and leaned into a strong body. He grinned at them . There's some more laughter before he bellows.

"I'm just as bad!"

"I'm just as fucking bad!"

"Fuck!"

"God fucking damn"

"I did the same thing!"

"I might as well have raped him too!"

The next time that Dean comes around he's wrapped in warm blankets with small dried tear tracks at the edges of his cheeks. His head hurts and for a moment he's sure bleeding somewhere. The two people around him try and hold him tighter but he won't let it happen. Dean pushes them away and crawls up as far as he can on the surface behind him. Dean sways a little before his knee buckles and he almost eats dirt again.

"Dean... man- just- it's okay just- what's wrong?"

"Cas-" he thinks he says before he breaks into hammered sobs and vague admissions of abuse. He thinks he swings at someone but falls forward into the ground as it misses. He vaguely enjoys the ice biting at his lip. Bitter iron swells in his mouth and he swallows it down. Dean thinks he imagines Chuck's face swimming into view, "I hurt him. I... HURT... him." It tastes like snot and spit in his mouth.

It's not until he'd screamed to call the cops on everyone that the group had left. There were two lingering touches until he'd threatened everything he knew about his two best friends, for them to leave. He crawled towards that cold metallic surface he'd felt and rested. His eyes drifted lazily, vision blurring. Dean saw imagines of Cas' smile, when he dared to. The first time that Cas had won a fighting game. Dean had sat next to him, probably scooted way too close and thriving off of each others body heat, coaching him on all the tricks it took to win against Sam. They'd high fived and curled their fingers around each other, held on for a little longer than necessary, and teased Sam about their joint victory. Dean had lost against Cas after that. No one would be able to tell whether it was on purpose or not. Maybe Dean had been too distracted by the glow in the boy's eyes. Visions rotated with the world as his head spun, of when they had crawled into the car and he'd let Cas pick the music out of his outdated box of tapes. Sam had scowled at him the entire time but Cas had ran his hands gently across every tape before finally selecting one. Dean had popped it in with a grin and he may have stuck out his tongue in childish victory.

Dean felt his body lurch forward as he thought of the times that he'd waited at the Impala with Cas for Sam. Back when it was warmer he'd popped the hood and had Cas memorize some of the parts. They'd slammed it shut the second they could see Sam's lanky form emerge in their peripheral vision. The two of them had shared a shy smile and a laugh before Cas crawled into the back of the Impala, with Dean holding it open for him.

Looking back, he realized those small moments were affection. Maybe not attraction, but affection. Cas had seemed too young. But that had changed. Dean's dick throbbed for a little, and it only made him feel sicker, as he thought of Cas gaining muscle and some color. And his chest moving up and down in panicked rhythms after Meg (which was fucked to all hell, he knew) but seeing the hips follow the movement nailed something in him), and his own body responding in interest. Curiosity. The curiosity of that muscular body against his. Feeling such strength, more like his own, than the type of women he usually went for. His memory scorched his head as he thought about it.

No woman that he'd picked had ever looked at him with such a hidden strength and resilience. Until his worn down body let himself think it, he didn't realize he'd been thrilled by the thought of something stronger than him taking him over.

As Dean crawled up the cold metal and swung a cold latch between his frozen fingertips, he realized he'd never wanted something to envelop him so completely. He'd never been invested to the point of a tidal wave other than his family before this boy and what he'd done to him. Cas was a tsunami and Dean was a small fish swept up in. And he wanted to keep riding that wave for forever. Never wanting to come down. But he had.

He crawled onto cold leather seats, trying to imagine the warmth of fire he'd had earlier, and turned to his side. Dean curled into his shirt and let a few more tears of shame drip from his face, snot dripping into black as he ran his face into it. He should've known better. The few days he'd spent obsessing about his brother...

Dean slammed his fist down and let his memories play live in his head. He watched them dance across the ceiling and watched every memory of affection turned into torture. How could he have notice the pull back? His parents had told him he'd always inherited Mary's intuition about what was going on. And yet, here he was, lying in something cold, hammered, his entire body dripping with venom. He was supposed to be better. He was supposed to be the good guy.

The one... that...

When Dean woke up he felt sore, and sick. His stomach was trying to shoot out of his throat. He dry heaved, on his back and worried that it would spew out everywhere. It took him a few seconds to realize he was staring at the roof of the Impala. He swallowed back bile, looking glassy eyed and trying to wipe sleep away from them, realizing where he was. A nasty hiccup rocked his system as he tried to find some hold to drag his body up. The windows showed bright sky and he heard a few birds chirping. He wanted to sling rocks at them.

Slowly the memories road like a monster truck into his head and he let himself back down, a dry screech escaping his lungs. He tried to find something to toss over himself at the air nipping at him. His eyes wandered to try and find the source of the cold. Shattered glass laid across the front seat and he giggled. Dean dragged himself up and rested against the back passenger side door. There was a hole in the driver side window, about fist size. For a little bit he remembered swinging against his 'Baby' repeatedly before breaking through the glass and breathing a sigh of relief. Somewhere a part of him told him he'd tried to break the other windows.

Dean laughs and curls up towards the freezing leather seats and presses his lips to it in an apology. She wasn't at fault. He lets himself freeze over a little more before crawling around the car for his phone. He finds several missed calls and a text from Ash saying 'You might not wanna come to school today. Shit you said last night just hit the school. Go home.'

Birds chirp in the background as he sits up, laughing at the text. He should go to school. But he won't. He needs to go to make sure that he's punished properly for hurting someone he cares about.

But he won't.

Because Dean feels like a coward. He shouldv'e been punished the night before. But somehow he's still awake to see the next day. To see what he'd done to Cas.

He prays for divine punishment as he sinks back into the back seat of the Impala.

He fucked up.