A/N: Just a continuation of the last scene.

Fanfiction Writing Month: December [1831]

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It was three in the morning then, and they were lying on the couch together, talking quietly. "So your dad… He became a hunter because of what happened to your mom?"

Dean nodded.

"And… He thought it was a demon?"

He nodded again.

"And did you ever find it?"

He traced a line down Cas' bare chest. "No. Sometimes I wonder if it was ever even a demon at all."

"But all the monsters you mentioned...they do exist?"

"Yes."

"And that's what happened to my mom?"

"Yes. It was a demon possession. There was nothing you or she could have done about it. They're very aggressive and take pleasure in violence."

Cas closed his eyes for a moment. "And all of your scars… They came from those monsters? From hunting them?"

He hesitated. "Not all of them." He sat up and looked down at his hands. "Some came from Sir."

"John," said Cas, sliding up to lean on the arm of the couch.

"What?"

"You don't have to call him that anymore, Dean. He doesn't deserve that title. Call him by his name. Call him whatever you want, really. He doesn't deserve any respect at all."

Dean whispered, "Some of them came from...John." They kissed for a while, until Cas touched Dean's shirt collar, starting to unbutton, and he flinched so harshly that he had to pull away. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Dean," he said. "There's no need to be sorry. It's not your fault."

He shook his head. "I just… Maybe we can turn the lights off?"

Castiel tilted his head at Dean. "Dean, I love you as you are. I love all that you are. Including your scars."

"But… Cas, I think it would just be better if we turned the lights off. I mean, you've never seen… I never… I just…"

Cas held Dean by the shoulders. "I won't do anything you don't want to do, Dean."

"No, I want to," Dean began, "but I just want to take it slow, okay?"

"Okay." Cas squinted at Dean as if trying to read his mind. "Here. Let me try something." He showed his boyfriend the inside of his arm, where there was a dark slice of a scar. "That's where my mom tried to take off my hand when… When everything happened." He pointed to another one on his neck. "This one came from a seatbelt when I was eight; one of my foster parents was driving me to choir practice and another car came out of nowhere. Everyone was fine, but the seatbelt cut real deep." He pointed to the smooth line on his cheekbone. "And that one came from you a couple years ago when you had a nightmare and a knife at the same time."

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be. You can't control what you do when you're asleep, and I wouldn't expect you to." Cas looked up at him. "You want to tell me about one?"

Dean didn't say anything for a few seconds and then held up his hand. "When I was six, there was a demon in Southern California that liked fingers and toes. He took some of mine before...John could exorcise it." Cas took Dean's hand and kissed the spot where his missing flesh should have been, doing the next hand as well. He traced a scar across Dean's palm, his action a silent question. "When you make certain...rituals, certain warding, to protect yourself from monsters, you have to use blood to write it or need blood to make it. The hand's the easiest place, usually." Cas moved to the dozens of curves lines marring the backs of his hands. "Sir—John would punish me sometimes… He'd use the belt buckle on my hands, because it hurt the most, and because you have to look at it every day." Dean's empty stare was frightening. "So every time I got up in the morning, any time I did anything, I'd be reminded of what I did wrong." Dean told him about the scars on his hands and face and neck, all of his exposed skin, until finally Dean's fingers were on his top shirt button. He unbuttoned until his chest was visible; Cas could see some of his worst scars there. "A vampire gave me that one," he said, as Cas' hands traced a bite scar. "Most of the bites came from her and her…" He closed his eyes for a moment. "She… She kept me in her basement as a blood bag for about a week. She and her friends took so much blood from me that I didn't wake up until two days later." Cas found a small, puckered gunshot scar. "That's courtesy of this one lunatic. We thought he was a demon at first, but turns out he was just a psycho. He shot me three times and broke my ankle, too." At the claw marks, Dean shivered. "A couple werewolves," he whispered, "and some other monsters gave me those. It's really hard to run away from something that's hell-bent on ripping your heart out and built to kill." Cas touched an odd brand on Dean's shoulder, and he had to stop and close his eyes. When he opened them, they were filled with tears. "A ghost… Crazy guy in Rhode Island… Decided to give me his mark after he had me for a few hours. Strapped me down to a table, heated up a metal stamp, and gave me five brands." He pointed to each in turn.

Finally, they reached Dean's back, which was covered in scars from whips and belts. Dean slumped in shame, wrapping his arms around himself. Cas kissed him and whispered words of comfort, and soon Dean relented. "I don't even know what it looks like," he confessed. "I never wanted to look at it… I… I never…" He didn't mean to, but soon he was crying.

Cas shushed him, taking his face in his hands and kissing him. "It's not your fault, Dean," he consoled.

Dean pushed him away. "N-no, Cas, you don't understand. It is m-my fault. I-I—" He curled in on himself, and Cas could see that he was trying to escape into his mind, blinking and shaking his head.

"Dean, I'm here, I'm here. You have nothing to be ashamed of, okay?"

Finally, after composing himself, Dean hiccuped and spoke quietly. "The first time I lost Sam," he said, "I was eight. Sam was four. It was late, Sir was at a bar, and Sam was crying because he was hungry. I didn't want to let him go hungry, because he had a little cold and I didn't want him to get any sicker. So I told him to stay in bed, and I went to the vending machine on the second floor to get some food. When I came back, he was gone. I looked everywhere for him, b-but I couldn't find him.

"When John came back that night, he was" —Dean gulped— "pretty drunk. It wasn't a surprise or anything, but this time there was something for him to be angry about, so I was scared out of my mind. He got back and asked me where Sam was. I told him I didn't know, and I was ready for him to punish me then, but he didn't do anything. He just stared at me for a long time and then said, 'Okay.' He went to bed, and I d-didn't know what to do. So I went looking for Sam again, but I couldn't find him. John went hunting again the next day, so I looked for Sam more. On the third day, we found out a family had picked him up and taken care of him because he couldn't remember where we lived. Because we move around so much. We got him home, and still John didn't punish me.

"Then, about a week later, he dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night, beat me until I got into position, and then he punished me." He stared at his hands. "That was the first time he used the belt on my...back. That's when I got a lot of these scars. It was b-be-because I lost Sam."

Castiel suddenly understood why losing Sam had been so mentally devastating to Dean; when he was without his little brother, he was not only afraid for the safety of his little brother, but also for his father's foreboding punishment. "Oh… Dean…"

Dean's head hung low with shame.

"Dean, that's not your fault," Cas said quietly. He touched Dean's face. "It's not your fault."

Again, Dean shook his head, crying. "The third time I lost Sam, Sir—John beat me, real bad, and then took me on a hunt, away from Sam. I was still injured, and I… I couldn't do anything without hurting. When he—" He shuddered, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. When he spoke again, it was so quiet that Cas could barely hear him. "When the ghost… When he caught up to me, I couldn't fight back; I could barely aim my shotgun. He took me back to his basement and he… He…" His eyes glistened with terror. "He kept me down there for a week… Gave me" —he touched his back, his fingertips brushing against the ridges there— "these. It hurt like nothing I'd ever felt before, Cas. I thought… I'd never… I wanted to die, it hurt so much. I don't…" Cas kissed his cheek and held him close, shushing him. "When Sir finally came back for me," Dean whispered finally, "he took me to the hospital. I woke up there, and he… He was so disappointed. He said… He said, 'You should know better than to let your guard down, Dean.' He told me that he hoped I'd learned my lesson. He didn't let me stay with Sam as much, then. I had to teach Sam how to shoot, how to take care of himself, in case anything happened. And I had to make double sure that when I went on a hunt, I killed the thing so it couldn't come after Sam. And so Sir wouldn't come after Sam."

"Dean," said Cas. "He never should have put this much weight on you, do you understand? He made you an adult when you still should have been learning to read. It's wasn't fair that he did this to you. Any of it. He should never have hurt you, and he never should have put you in those dangerous situations. None of this will ever, ever be your fault, okay?" Dean stared emptily at Cas' chest. "Dean, listen. Do you blame me for what happened with my mom?"

Finally, Dean met his boyfriend's eyes, confused. "Of course not. Why would I—"

"It's the same thing, Dean." Cas took Dean's hands. "It's the exact same thing."

When Sonny and Kathy came downstairs that morning, they found Cas and Dean on the couch together, fast asleep and holding each other.

A/N: Just so you guys know, it might be a while till the next chapter, but I'll definitely be writing more. Thanks so much to everyone who made it this far!