He follows Dean out to a black muscle car. Predictably, it growls loudly as it starts up. The doors are heavy and loud when they close like new cars aren't.

He lets Dean fill the silence all he wants without his help. Castiel half pays attention to some story about whatever band he's popping in the cassette for. A cassette. If it was any other time he'd make a comment but he doesn't. Instead he stays tense, waiting for him to ask. But he doesn't. That's something. Dean just keeps going on talking like everything is normal. Like he hadn't found him crying. Like he hadn't seen his arms. Like it isn't the only reason he's sitting in his car right now.

The music starts and Dean stops talking. It's a little chaotic for his taste. Too loud but he doesn't mind. It helps. The singer is angry and so is he. He lets it fill the space between his ears and thump through him like a heartbeat.

Dean pulls up next to a curb at a Jackson Junior High and a surprisingly tall boy with a mop of brown hair reaches for his door. He pauses when he sees Castiel already in the passenger seat, then moves to the back instead.

"Hey," he says as he shuts the door.

"Sammy, this is Cas. Cas, Sammy."

"Cas?" He looks at Dean, Castiel, then waits a beat and shifts his eyes back to Dean with a slow almost evil grin. "Ohhh Cas!"

"Yes?" Castiel asks, feeling like he was missing something. Dean rolls the car forward then abruptly pumps the brakes so his brother careens into the front seat.

"Seatbelt," he barks, glaring meaningfully at the rearview mirror. Sam just smirks and buckles up.

"It's just Sam by the way," he says to him and gives a half-hearted wave while digging inbetween the seats to find where the seatbelt is wedged.

"Hello," Castiel offers back. It's all he can give right now. He should have walked. He could be home right now instead of having to be polite to someone's little brother. Maybe he could have slipped past his mom. He could be alone in his room. He could be-

But Dean turns up the music again. Drums, Bass, frantic electric guitar notes screeching and he can't think. That's good. He doesn't want to think anyway.

They arrive at their destination in less than ten minutes. Castiel sets off to follow Dean again silently when Sam motions back at the car.

"Something wrong with your board?"

"Nah. Don't need it today."

Sam gives him a disbelieving look but Dean's walking so Castiel shoulders his bag and follows, not really caring what they do.

They find a low cement wall, covered in neon green, pink and blue graffiti that encircles the activity about 4 feet high. Sam sits several feet away laying out a text book in front of him. Dean straddles the wall, facing a cross-legged Castiel but angled towards the skaters. He takes in the collection of ramps at odd angles and different heights, craters in the ground that look a little like huge empty swimming pools. Several guys and a girl are busy chasing and flipping and racing up curves that point toward the sky to hoots and hollers of on-lookers. Castiel doesn't know how they don't crash into each other but they seem to have it worked out so none of them approach the same ramp at anytime.

As one exits another enters and so on. It's kind of mesmerizing. He stares and tries to not think. He imagines it like pressing pause on all the twisting hurt inside him until he's finally alone. Dean's quiet too. He feels him occasionally sliding glances his way but ignores it. If Dean's going to start asking questions, he doesn't want it to be with his younger brother as an audience.

A guy with long hair whacked short in the front and the sleeves of his shirt cut off, exits smoothly from the cement dip nearest them and strides towards Dean with his skateboard under an arm. Castiel recognizes him as someone he's seen in the halls at school. He thinks his name is Ash.

"Yo Winchester, Sup? Gonna get off your lazy butt anytime soon?"

"Not today, man. I'll catch ya tomorrow."

The other guy accepts that easily with a head nod. "Cool. Later."

Dean returns the nod. When he glances back this time, Castiel is actually looking at him.

"You can go. I don't need a chaperone."

"Maybe I do." Dean smiles charmingly. Castiel doesn't so Dean just shrugs. "I do this like every day. It ain't a big deal."

Seeing Castiel is about to argue, Dean suddenly asks, "What's your favorite book?"

"What?" He's thrown for a second. "Why?"

"Just curious. Your nose is always buried in one half the time. You got a favorite?"

Vaguely annoyed at having to actually concentrate on a response, he answers, "That's a complicated question."

"Not really."

"It is. How do you pick one favorite?"

"Sammy!" Dean calls behind him without turning to face his brother. "What's your favorite book?"

"Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban," comes the immediate and distracted response.

"See?" Dean points his thumb back over his shoulder. "Easy. "

Castiel shifts a little towards Dean, reluctantly warming to the topic. "It's hardly easy. From your entire life? Just one? And from when do you pick it? Your favorite book as a child or now? Favorite to re-read? My favorite could change with my mood even."

Looking like he's trying to hold in a laugh, Dean tries, "Gun to your head, you gotta pick one, what would it be?"

"That's ridiculous. Why would anyone ask me at gun point what my favorite book was?"

Dean shakes his head in exasperation. "He's a crazy gunman, just humor him."

"Obviously. Acting so irrationally will get him apprehended way before I have time to think of how to answer his question."

"Okay, Jesus, tell me a recent favorite then."

Castiel exhales through his nose and thinks. Impulsively, he actually tells him. Any other time he wouldn't even be having this odd conversation and it's not like Dean would even have heard of it.

"Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe."

"Sounds like a chick book."

Castiel just sighs and looks back to the skaters.

"So, tell me about it."

"You wouldn't like it."

"Not for nothing, Cas, but you know crap about what I like," Dean points out and he has to admit he doesn't.

But of course he's stubborn, so he retorts, "No, I know you like loud music, loud cars and gambling your life on your ability to balance on a piece of light-weight wood."

Dean snickers. "Yeah, but do you know my favorite book?"

Castiel rolls his eyes but surprisingly the corner of his mouth pulls up against his will and he turns away to cover it.

After a few minutes of silence, Dean asks, "hungry?" He points out the taco truck parked off in a lot near the road a good distance away. Castiel honestly couldn't imagine eating right now but Dean looks so eager.

"Sure."

He unzips his bag to find his wallet but Dean waves him off. "Don't worry about it. They're really cheap. Sam?"

"Yeah," he confirms he wants some without taking his eyes off the textbook.

And Dean is off without asking what he wants or taking money.

Castiel slowly puts back his wallet, examining the not-so-little brother that is now visible with Dean no longer blocking his view. Sam continues his homework, chewing the end of his pencil idly. It's quiet besides the roll and scrap of wheels. With Dean gone, he starts to notice the burning throb from his arms and the miserable anger starts to leak back in. For over a minute, he clenches and unclenches his fist to try and distract himself, but that turns to cracking his knuckles with his thumb too quick. Desperate for anything to focus on, Castiel finally asks, "Why did you say my name like that? Before."

Sam pencil stops but keeps his eyes on the page. After a brief glance up, he goes back to writing but casually answers, "Dean mighta talked about you once or twice."

"Me?" He must be mistaken. "Why?" Then he changes it to, "what did he say?"

"Just that you were one of Charlie's friends." Castiel nods. That made sense he supposes. Sam smirks to himself before adding, "And that you'd argue with a brick wall."

That sounded more like what he expected... But the way Sam was smiling fondly confused him. "That doesn't sound like a good thing."

Sam shrugs. "Must be to Dean."

Castiel wanted to ask more about that, but Dean was within sight again. He is soon handing him a white wrapped burrito. "Chicken okay?"

"Yes... thank you." He watches Dean, trying to figure him out while he hands another wrap to Sam who grunts his thanks in turn.

Even though he has to force down the first few tentative bites, once his stomach stops rolling, Castiel realizes he hasn't eaten all day from nerves. After it's half gone and his stomach feels a bit less hollow, it even makes him feel better. Not that he really wanted to feel better. He didn't deserve to it but despite everything Castiel had to admit, before he got in Dean's car he'd felt a whole lot worse.

Almost an hour later, they're dropping Sam off because it was apparently closer than Castiel's house. Dean lives in a small red and brown bungalow he barely gets a look at before Sam is waving goodbye and they were growling down the road again. On the way, they listen to another tape Dean dug out of the glovebox. He changes it up from hard rock to classic. As it fills the interior of the car, Castiel thinks it sounds more like what his mom might listen to. Normally he wouldn't even give it a second thought, then he notices Dean humming under his breath. He can tell by the way Dean taps along with it on the steering wheel, it's a favorite. It's surprising this is also Dean's type of music, but a lot of stuff about Dean has surprised him today.

The next song is slower, strings plucking gently as they turn onto his street. A flute begins to play over top of it making it sound a little sad but beautiful. Castiel stares at the radio until Dean turns the knob down and he realizes they're stopped outside his house.

"I like that one."

"Stairway to Heaven, man... You never heard it before?"

"No." And he's kind of wishing he could listen to more of it. "It's pretty."

"Pretty?" Dean looks surprised like he never considered that then nods. "Yeah I guess it is."

After a second of silence, Cas starts the words that'll end with him getting out of the car. "Thank you, Dean. For today. You didn't have to."

Dean actually looks like he's blushing. It makes his freckles stand out in a not entirely unappealing way.

"Dude, it was nothing. No need to get all choked up over it."

"I wasn't…" Castiel almost yells before he forces himself to calm again and not fall into his default defensive state with Dean. "I know you saw me crying but you don't have to hold it over me."

"Jeez, Cas." Dean ran a hand through his hair and rolled his eyes. "I wasn't even thinking about earlier or tryin' to make you feel bad or something. How much of a dick do you think I am?"

Cas frowns looking down at his hands, half-covered by green flannel, then back to Dean again. "You never asked why. Aren't you curious?"

"Sure. But it's your business and I'm not gonna push or whatever. Don't figure you trust me like that."

Castiel took that as Dean didn't care. Of course, why would he care? Which was good, he didn't want to talk about it anyway, really. They weren't friends or anything. Not really. He probably wouldn't even tell Charlie. He'd keep it inside to roll and fester, like a perversion of the secret meeting he was so quick not to tell her about either. Charlie. Another thing that he fucked up. Everything was shit and he felt so damn disconnected from anyone that would care. Why should Dean? Despite showing a little kindness and babysitting him for an afternoon, he just felt obligated.

"Okay."

Cas turns to go, a little disappointed but this whole godforsaken day had been one horrible disappointment. Dean grabs his arm to stop him, and he slowly turns back, looking from the hand on his bicep to Dean's face with very little welcome. He feels the coldness slip over his face like a mask making it harsh.

"That doesn't mean I don't wanna know if you wanna tell me."

Then Dean releases him. Castiel quickly opens the door and gets so far as a foot on pavement. After hesitating long enough to find his bedroom window with his eyes, he pulls back inside the car and shuts the door.

He's quiet, just staring ahead out the windshield. Dean's car cool ticks. He probably wants to go. Get out of his car. Just go. Just a few more minutes and you can fall apart alone. Alone. Go.

"Tell me what happened."

Dean's gruff voice breaks his thoughts. It isn't a question. More a firm request. Almost an order. Castiel curls his fingers into the jeans he never wanted. He hates the material. It's too stiff.

"So Michael is gay..."

Dean doesn't say anything and he doesn't look over at him.

"Or well, he uh wanted to do stuff at least..."

Castiel darts a glance at Dean who only stares back with an uncharacteristically blank face. He can't gauge a reaction so he just helplessly barrels on.

"And he wanted me to..." He gestures vaguely at his own lap. "But um I got the impression that's all he wanted. Just someone to... "

Cas shrugs, trailing off. Was it really so bad. Had he overreacted? He wanted Michael and then he'd freaked out when he got what he wanted. Maybe he was just a cocktease after all.

He toys with the button on the flannel. Not green like Dean's eyes but a normal calm green.

"I mean what was I expecting I suppose."

He traces the button at the end of the sleeve with his thumb, around and around.

Was he expecting Michael to kiss him tenderly and hold hands and it was just ridiculous now that he thought about it. He'd never even seen two guys together in public. Not in Kansas. Maybe that's how it was for gay men. Secret, shameful, just sex. Hidden away in sordid stolen moments.

This is when Dean will say I told you so. He'd made little comments about Michael before that Castiel had been all too happy to ignore and dismiss. Surely this was Dean's chance and he definitely deserved it. He'd built his crush up in his mind as something so pure and perfect and the truth was always so much more disappointing.

"I'm so pathetic," he whispers softly, rubbing the button like a talisman.

Dean smacks the steering wheel making the horn chirp and startles Castiel into looking at him.

"Don't you fucking do that! That's bullshit!"

He's livid. Dean was one of the most irritatingly laid back people he knew and just now he's angrier than he thought the guy could ever be about anything.

Dean reaches out like he's going to touch his shoulder then stops himself and just balls his fist instead. Pointing his finger at him, he grits out, "What you expect is to be treated with freaking respect. Not just be used as some asshole's dirty secret."

Castiel just stares at him. Why was he so angry? He wasn't scared by the outburst, just surprised.

"Goddamnit!" Dean yells too loud for the exterior of the car making Castiel look around for nearby neighbors on his quiet road.

"Well I didn't do it so... It's really no big deal."

He felt the need to say it. Not that he'd ever cared what Dean thought but for some reason he didn't want him to think that of him.

Dean stops and blows out a heavy breath. "That's good, Cas." Slowly, he turns to him. "You deserve more than that."

Okay this was just getting weird. If you'd told him last week he would both turn down his seemingly straight crush and be comforted by one Dean Winchester all in the same day, he would have never have believed it. And strangely, the other boy's little tirade made him feel better about the whole screwed up thing, even if he would argue he got exactly what he deserved.

"Thank you, Dean."

"Don't have to thank me. It's the truth."

His mother was walking to the mailbox and seemed surprised to see him sitting in an unfamiliar car on the road.

"That's my mom," he says needlessly.

"Yeah, okay. Well... see you Monday then I guess."

Castiel frowns like he's still unsure of their whole interchange but nods in agreement and gets out.

"Don't…" Dean's call after him has Castiel ducking to see him properly through the open window. He's presses his lips like he's deciding whether to finish that. Then just quickly says, "Don't hurt yourself because of this prick. He's not worth it."

Castiel straightens, feeling his face flush. This was the first time he mentioned or acknowledged it. Tugging on the sleeves of Dean's flannel until they're over his fingertips, he curls his fists. It grounds him enough to answer.

"It doesn't work that way."

With that, Castiel turns and walks towards his house.

His mom smiles and he smiles back. When she asks about school he says it was fine. Because he knows she's going to ask, he adds that was his friend that dropped him off. The one he said he would be out with. Everything was great. They had fun. No he wouldn't be going to church. He had a headache. He might just go lay down.

Once he was safe in his room, Castiel takes off the damn flannel and tosses it towards his bed, immediately going to his knees next to it. Bending down, he wedges his hand between one of the flat wooden slats of the bedframe and the mattress. It's there, waiting for him.

Soon it's with relief he's staring down at fading pink skin of his arms. Finally alone.

He carefully unzips the small black kit he'd put together. A pouch of safety pins, 2 disposable razor-blades, a zippo lighter, one slender mini X-Acto knife. He stares at them, one at a time, but doesn't reach for any. The impulse, that desperate need, had faded. It'd been too long.

Castiel grabs one of the razor-blades anyway. He raises the edge several times but never presses it hard enough. His mind keeps replaying the last few hours instead of the sore spot it should be. He's remembering the scrape and roll of wheels on cement, lukewarm chicken burritos, his favorite book, the green flannel that's balled at the corner of his bed. He shakes his head and forces himself to concentrate on before all that. The Locker Room. Michael's smile twisting all wrong. The heavy warm hand he'd dreamed about cuffing the back of his neck. His head slamming into a locker. Castiel grinds his teeth and presses the tip, a small bead of blood wells before he sighs in frustration and just stops.

There was no urgency. If he did it now it, it would just be for the sake of doing it and he didn't really want a scar to remind him of Michael. Despite what he'd told Dean, if he did it now it would be just over that jerk and he was better than that. Maybe. So he wipes the dot of blood away, puts it all back in its case and tucks it back under his bed.

He sits there for a minute, feeling lost on what to do now that his one objective since leaving school wasn't appealing any longer. Finally, Castiel gets up and digs his phone out of his bag. It only takes a minute to find the Stairway to Heaven song on YouTube. Apparently it was a popular one. The notes string up, melancholy and beautiful, just like before. Castiel places it next to the pillow and turns to pick back up the flannel.

He lies on his back, clutching the green material to his stomach while the music soothes some of the jagged edges in his head. He didn't understand why it was comforting, but he took it anyway. The song ends and he plays it again. The third time, he sits up so he can put the flannel back on. He turns his face into the collar and rubs the soft material between thumb and index finger. Dean didn't smell like some expensive aftershave but it was nice. Light. Maybe that Adias spray if he had to guess.

Castiel fell asleep with it surrounding him.

Author's Note: I'm sorry for when I make you wait. I'll try to be quicker, my loves.