Like The First Time You Felt That Shock

Friday night became youth night at the church. Castiel told Michael it was to keep the kids from being out unsupervised on the weekend, but really it was because he knew Claire didn't have work. He did very few religious focused activities, much to Michael's dismay, but instead took the group bowling and stargazing and viewing movies. Castiel tried to explain the importance of trust and safety for teens to open up, but Michael just frowned, convinced there should be a more active aspect of directing and influencing their behaviors.

The kids though seemed to be having fun, and after a while, he was able to get them into having real conversations about their families, their lives, even God. Castiel's quiet, easygoing approach worked. Kids brought friends from school to join them, and when he was out, kids would give him a hug or a slap on the shoulder. It was a real connection he was forging and every day it filled him with a sense of rightness, of calling.

God had sent him here, God had called him to walk a true path. And even though he was weak, even though he was a sinner, his work would be his legacy.

Soon, he began Sunday afternoon bible study for teens and adults. A gathering he had worried wouldn't be well attended but was happy to see many familiar faces from Youth Group and the community.

The first meeting included Michael, Duma, Claire, and her family, Ellen-who turned out to be Jo's mother, Missouri, Arthur, Zach, and a number of other faces Castiel was still working to remember. They talked about history, about the bible as a living document that changed with the passage of time, about the art of translation vs. transliteration, and the entomology of language. Castiel was in his version of heaven.

At the end everyone was excited for next week's discussion, promising to return and tasked with bringing the oldest version of the bible they could find in their home. Castiel himself had 5 bibles with him, lugged all the way from Vermont, and he planned to bring them all. His energy was high, his passion and inspiration stirred to new levels. This was what he joined the seminary for.

He didn't notice the look on Michael's face until the room had emptied out.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Castiel?"

He turned and raised an eyebrow at the older man. "Excuse me?"

"Ok, let me be more clear. Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Michael, I don't understand. Have I done something wrong?"

"This is not what we agreed to."

Castiel shook his head trying to clear away the confusion. "Your meaning is no clearer. We agreed I would run a bible study group. We just spent over an hour studying the bible, and your parishioners enjoyed it. Isn't that what you wanted? For them to engage with the scripture?"

"With the scripture. With the word of God as written. Not with your academic attempts to rip it apart." Michael's voice rose, passion driving his words. "This is exactly the problem with progressive Christianity and I won't have it in my church."

"This is nothing at odds with our faith, this is history, facts, and it's exciting to learn about. It engages people so they interact with the scripture, not just obey it." Castiel retorted more fire in his words than he usually allowed.

Michael tightened his jaw and spit out, "Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. It is not to be interpreted, it is truth.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, not about to have the bible used against him ever again. "All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness."

"You're hanging your own rope with this. It will turn out badly. People need direction, the surety of truth, not interpretation or translations. The flock is weak, it's your job to be strong. The sooner you learn that the better you will be at your job."

"Perhaps that is true," Castiel nodded slowly. "But on the off chance it is not, I'd rather fail while encouraging people to find love and truth in their relationship with God, than be a dictator of His word." Castiel gathered his jacket and left the silenced Michael behind.

He drove too fast, the roads slick from the early morning rain, but he knew the way now. The way home to reassurance and comfort. The way to Dean. His phone rang and when he saw Duma's name on the screen he ignored it, anger and frustration filling his thoughts.

When he got home, he discovered Dean standing in the middle of the living room in nothing but a low slung pair of jeans flipping himself upside down in an attempt to do a handstand. Garth cowered at the end of the couch, barking at his owner in horror.

"Dean?" Castiel laughed.

"Can you do a handstand?" Dean asked after falling flat on his back.

"I can."

"Stupid yoga," Dean muttered. "Think you can teach me?"

"Why exactly do you need to learn how to do a handstand?"

"Sam said I couldn't." Dean cast his eyes downward, realizing instantly how stupid and juvenile he sounded.

"So your little brother dared you?"

"And then Charlie laughed!" Dean sat up and gave Castiel big offended eyes. "You gotta help me Cas, this kind of insult can't go unanswered."

Castiel laughed; his anger from the morning disappearing into the afternoon light. "I'll try, but you aren't really built for it."

"What do you mean?" Dean looks down at his body, eyebrows pulled together in critical concentration. His gaze drew Castiel's eyes with it, looking over the broad shoulders, the strong chest, the tight waist that pulled into a strong v between sharp hip bones bringing Castiel's eyes even lower.

When he looked back up, a knowing Dean stared him right in the eye, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Is there something wrong with how I'm built?" his voice a low growl.

"I… no… it's just… Um, you're a little top-heavy."

Dean barked out a laugh. "I have never heard that one before!"

"I just mean," And instead of trying to explain he dropped his bag and jacket and flipped over into a steady handstand. He walked around a little on his hands to find his balance until he could just hold still. "See, I'm skinnier than you, my center of gravity is in the middle, but yours is in your chest, it makes it harder to find a steady place to be comfortable, but with practice, you can still do it."

He stood on his hands in front of Dean, their eyes almost meeting, but instead, Dean looked him over and reached out a tender hand. His fingers touched the scarred flesh of Castiel's stomach, his shirt had been untucked and fell down, revealing the burn marks that started over his right shoulder and trailed down over his hip and below the waistline of his pants.

When his fingertips made contact, Castiel fell.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Dean reached forward but Castiel scrambled back, crab crawling away from his touch. "Okay, I didn't mean to scare you. I won't touch you." He held up his hands and sat, quiet, patient.

Castiel shook, memories as hot and deep as the burns on his flesh had been. He shook his head, eyes wild and dilated as he tried to escape what he knew was coming. "Fuck…" he whispered. "Fuck…" the words wrenched out of his throat. A word his lips barely knew how to speak, it felt alien in his mouth, but it was the only one that even began to encompass what he felt.

Soon the shaking in Castiel's hands spread up his arms and his shoulders, he shifted back, practically under the table, and leaned against it, trying to find support. His lips whispered silent prayers, the ones drilled into him and brought forward by the memory of things he longed to forget.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Father, I fervently pray again to be washed, be sanctified, and be justified."

Dean's eyes flew open, his concern turning to fear as Castiel spoke, the words coming from his mouth the stuff of horror movies.

"I pray for the strength to not suffer the punishment of Sodom and Gomorrah."

Tears fell from Castiel's eyes but he didn't wipe them away, transported into a time when these words were not yet branded on his soul.

"Breath of God, breathe purity into me."

"Cas?" Dean tried, but even though the other man opened his eyes he could no longer see him.

"Help me avoid any penalty for my perversion."

A sob broke from Castiel's chest and he curled tighter in on himself, his tears cracking through the dam of self-preservation he had constructed.

"Bind Satan from deceiving me into thinking I am not really sinning."

"Cas, please look at me." Dean pleaded.

"Give me hope."

Castiel's voice broke on the last word and he crumbled into the floor, limp except for the shaking of his shoulders as he sobbed.

Dean didn't dare reach forward. His instinct was to console, to touch, and soothe away all this horrible pain. But the burn marks scared him. The story untold was one that lingered in the back of his mind like a boogeyman, but that he'd never had to look at, never before seen the result of. Someone did this to Cas. Someone hurt him, more than just a burn, enough to reduce him back to this version of himself by a mere touch.

So he did the only thing he could think of. He stood slowly, moving quietly and purposefully, the way you would around a frightened animal in the woods. He hated to leave Cas's sight so he darted into his room quickly and returned with a King Size sheet. WIth Cas lying practically under the table, it was easy to drape it over top and pull out the chairs to create a proper sheet tent.

Once constructed, he slid inside, sitting as far from Cas as he could while still under the sheet.

"Remember you told me your sister and you would do this?" he whispered to an unresponsive Cas.

"You're safe now. The things we whisper under the sheet can't hurt you. If you want. If not, I'll just sit here with you until you're ready to get out." Dean leaned his elbows on his thighs and stared at the top of Castiel's head.

In the time they sat, Dean noticed a lot of little things he'd overlooked before. Cas's hair wasn't as dark as it appeared, it was actually a dark brown with a lot of other colors blended in, black, red, blonde streaks, and even some silver. It was because of his shocking blue eyes that his hair took on such a stark contrast. His shoulders weren't broad like Dean's, but they were strong, solid. There was very little meat on him, he was all hard muscle. In fact, it occurred to him that Cas had lost some weight.

When was the last time they'd eaten together? He was always grabbing something out or having food at the church. Dean worried. Was Cas starving himself? That was one of the most common things he'd heard about people who'd suffered abuse like this. Not that Cas had told him for sure what happened but the broad strokes felt clear.

After a while, when Castiel's breathing started to even out Dean spoke softly, "Do you want to talk?"

Silence spread between them. Dean knew that even if Cas wanted to he probably didn't know how to talk about what had happened.

"Dean, I'm sorry."

"Hey, you have nothing to apologize for, Cas. I ain't mad at you."

"This isn't your problem. I… I should just go to my room."

Castiel didn't move.

"You know, my Dad was not very happy about me being like I am." Dean started, not really knowing where he was going, but hoping that maybe opening the door would convince Cas to at least consider sticking his head out. "The first time he saw me kissing a guy, whew, I got the shit kicked out of me. I was black and blue for weeks, broke my nose, and fucked up my knuckles when I tried to fight back. My dad was tough, ex-marine, hard like a rock. The second time, I got kicked out of the house. He took Sam and drove off to another town, leaving me behind. I had no idea how to find him. He didn't come back for me for two months that time."

Cas sniffed.

"Those weren't the only times my dad was a bastard, but they were the worst. Mostly I did whatever I had to to make sure he stayed focused on me and left Sammy alone. I tried to set that part of me aside, just not make a big deal of it. I dated the prettiest girls in whatever school we were going to and my Dad would slip me a box of condoms before a date like he was so proud. I had a few guys I liked, but I made sure to never bring it home or really do anything about it. When my Dad left us here, it was the first time I ever got to even try to be myself without someone beating it out of me."

"What about Bobby?"

Castiel's voice was soft but Dean was so relieved to hear it he let out a deep sigh.

"Bobby didn't care. You'll meet him one of the days. He and Jody like to have us out for dinner every month or so, next time you should come. He'd get a big kick out of you."

"Why? I'm a disaster."

"Cas, you're the single most amazing creature I've ever met. And that includes Garth."

Castiel snorted.

"But Bobby will like you for the same reason I think you'll like him. He's redneck hillbilly all the way. Drove tractor-trailers for a dozen years or so and then opened up the garage. But that's only one side of him. What you wouldn't know is he's fluent in like five languages, including Latin and greek. He's got stacks of books all over the house, driving Jody insane, on all kinds of esoteric cultural and anthropological topics. Books that he's probably the only person to ever read. He can also strip down and rebuild a shotgun faster than any person I've ever met."

Cas slowly unfurled and was soon lying with his head near Dean, his eyes closed.

"Bobby would love to have someone around who might be as smart as him. I don't come anywhere close."

"You're smarter than you give yourself credit for."

"Hmm… smart enough to know you'll only talk about me but not about you."

When Castiel let out a little chuckle, Dean took a risk and reached out, sliding his fingers softly through his hair. His body tensed, and for a moment Dean thought he might actually run, but then he surrendered, even moving slightly closer.

"It was your family?" Dean whispered.

"Mmmhmmm."

"Did they catch you with someone?"

Castiel laughed, a caustic, bitter laugh, the idea so absurd it shocked through his trauma. "Dean, I didn't even kiss anyone until I was in college, and including you, that adds up to a total of three people."

"Oh, so you're admitting that you kissed me now?" Dean chuckled and kept his hands moving languidly through Castiel's thick hair. "So what was it?"

"Nothing. It was nothing. Sometimes who a person is, is so ingrained in their being it doesn't require any action at all to be true. I simply was, and the person I was, the person I am, is an abomination."

"So they burned you?"

"Not at first. There were... other things."

"Will you tell me about them?"

Castiel shook his head. "Not right now, maybe someday, in another sheet tent." A faint smile glanced across his face, highlighting just how handsome Dean found him.

"Cas, have you been eating?" Dean ran his fingers down the other man's face, feeling the sharpness of his cheekbone and the strong jawline jutting out more than it should.

"Not enough," he admitted, closing his eyes.

"A punishment?"

Castiel nodded and gathered another sniff.

"Because of me?"

"No Dean, no, don't take this on yourself. Don't. Please."

"But I've been pushing you, I know I have, and I'm sorry. I don't want to see you in any pain." He pulled back his hand and was shocked when Castiel wrapped a strong grip around his wrist.

"Please don't stop. Please don't leave me. Even if it's just for these few moments. Please." Desperate blue eyes sought out Dean's gaze, the agony of hope so painful to see.

"Will you eat? I can't bear to know you're hurting yourself."

Castiel closed his eyes.

"Okay, let's try this another way. I'll stay. I'll stay until you tell me to go, but you tell me why you aren't eating."

Another stretch of silence before Castiel loosens his hold on Dean's wrist and nods.

"I don't quite know how to explain it. When I was younger and I preferred sticking with my mother and Hannah, doing chores and playing with the girls. I wouldn't get dinner because I hadn't done my share of the men's chores. It became a way to rebel, I accepted not having food as the price of being who I wanted to be. Hunger meant freedom. But eventually, it would get to be too much, too painful and I'd give in. Eventually I always gave in. And if I'm thinking about wanting to eat, my mind can't think about wanting…"

"Me?" Dean sighed.

"Sheet Tent Secrets?" Castiel leaned up toward Dean.

Dean nodded.

"Yeah, Dean. You. I don't know what to do with these feelings so it was easier to feel pain. I understand pain."

Dean's entire body wanted to take Cas into his arms, to kiss him and hold him and tell him how amazing he is, but he knew to do that could likely start this whole breakdown over, and he never wanted to see Cas like that again.

"Please stop this, Cas. You have to eat. You have to take care of yourself or you'll get sick. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me. I never want to see you hurting. I will cook you every meal. I'll pack you lunch or bring it to the church. I'll get you a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle lunch box from Charlie's store, just please eat."

Castiel chuckled gently and nodded. "I'll try. It's not a healthy way to handle things, I know that. I know better. But I felt so out of control, it was easy to slide into bad habits. I can't promise anything but I'll try."

Dean exhaled, glad to have at least some things explained. Cas was sitting up now facing Dean, so Dean carefully slipped his finger's under Cas's. He tensed and looked around them. A smile danced across his lips before he took Dean's hands in his own.

"I like the tent. This was a kind thing to do."

"I'm surprised to admit it, but it totally works. I feel like we're separate from the rest of the world in here."

"That was the idea. You would like Hannah, she's very intuitive, like you."

"I don't know about that."

"Yes, Dean. You can read people, you can manage groups of people with all kinds of personalities. You understand things without being told."

"There's one thing I don't understand."

"What's that?" Cas looked nervous.

"How has a catch like you only been kissed three times."

Castiel blushed fiercely, the heat of it filling the small space.

"Tell me about them."

"No, it's your turn. You tell me something first."

Dean shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

Hmmm, Cas tilted his head to the side and Dean noticed how his shoulders had fallen and the pain in his eyes had diminished. Whatever Cas wanted to know, Dean would tell him. He'd sing fucking dixie if it kept that terrifying detached look from ever returning.

"How did your mother die?"

"Oh!" Dean exhaled. "I wasn't expecting that one. Usually, everyone avoids the topic of my mom."

"I'm sorry, if you don't want to talk about it…"

"No, it's actually, it's strangely nice to have it come up. She usually only gets talked about for sad things, but she was a really happy person." He took a deep breath and continued. "She was shot. Someone broke into our house and was going through Sam's nursery, it was a small house so it doubled as the office, they probably didn't even know he was in there, and she heard something and interrupted them. My Dad was passed out drunk on the couch. I heard it all and hid under my bed. When they left, I grabbed Sammy and ran to the neighbors. They called 911."

"How old were you?"

"Four… almost five. And about 6 months later we hit the road. Sam was one. I changed diapers and fed him and taught him how to walk. His first word was damn, which I convinced Dad was his version of baby talk for Daddy. That was pretty funny." Dean chuckled, remembering all the other swear words he taught baby Sam.

"You're terrible."

"You're laughing." Dean beamed at Cas and they sat that way, holding hands for a while. The sun started to set outside as they told innocent stories of happy times. Dean did most of the talking, but Castiel chimed in with the occasional story about a prank his brothers played or something Hannah did.

"How many brothers do you have?" Dean asked, stroking Cas's hands with his thumbs.

"Too many," Castiel rolled his eyes.

"Ok, from your stories I've counted 1 sister, Hannah."

"Right"

"And then there's Uriel, Inias, Enoch, Benjamin and Akobel"

"That's them. There's 7 of us total. When our father left to try and preach and bring people to his faith, I was two. I don't even remember what he looked like. Our uncle Ishram stepped in, taking over parenting us, and took care of my mother. They never married, but he was the only real father I ever knew."

"And you are the baby?"

Cas laughed, "Of the boys, Hanna is the youngest. So I was the baby, the disappointment, the disgrace, the betrayer."

"So it was Ishram who did this to you?"

Castiel looked Dean deep in the eyes, searching the depths for danger before speaking. "Dean, you still don't understand. It wasn't one person, it was all of them, my family, my brothers, my mother, the minister, the whole congregation. What happened to me wasn't private. It was a public shame."

"I…" Dean clutched Cas's hands until he worried he might hurt him. "Cas…" he let go of the strong hands and leaned forward, pulling his friend into an awkward sitting hug but he didn't let go, he wanted to never let go.

"Dean?"

"Sorry, Cas." he sniffed, wiping away a tear of his own as he released Castiel. "How about some dinner? I have left over spaghetti and meatballs we can heat up easy. You eat what you can, I won't nag you, I know it takes time to start again."

"Thank you, I still don't understand why you are so kind to me."

"Well, maybe we can explore that the next time we have a sheet tent." Dean crawled out and held a flap open for Castiel to follow.