[[Sorry it took me a while to write this but i hope you guys like it]]

Chapter 3- Grey

Thirst.

"Hnng…" Dean grunted as his eyes stirred open. It's bright outside. Dean thought. His mind is fuzzy, eyes refusing to adjust to the bright light and when he does try to focus them, a terrible wave of pain washes over his brain and he falls back onto…whatever he's lying on.

How in the world did I get here?

Eyes still closed, he supported his weight on his arms and attempted to sit up. Even with such a small movement, dizziness and nausea over took him as he slumped down again. What the.

Knowing that he is in no shape to jump up and start breakdancing or just simply getting a glass of water, Dean decided to just stay put and let the sleep shake off a bit. But something is really vexing him, how did he get here (where is here?) and what happened. With quite an extensive list of discomforts at hand, the art of thinking doesn't seem to be a good idea at the moment either. He took deep breaths as he tried to not focus on anything at all. But something just bugs him…ah…like how bright the sunshine is seeping through the window.

NO! He screamed in his head as his body twitched. I must be turning into a vampire! That explains the sensitivity to light! Nonononono.

But wait…

Oh what the hell Dean, suck it up! He told himself as he covered his eyes with his bare forearms, blocking out the light; better. Too much twilight shit, too little logic.

Ten minutes later Dean found himself sitting up right to what, to his surprise, a queen bed in what appears to be a motel room. His conditions have somewhat improved nevertheless still annoying. By now he figured that he is incredibly hangover from whatever happened last night, it's worse than he thought it'd be. He chuckled. There's always a price to drinking too much even though it felt like the right thing at the moment. But why? What was his warrant for drinking to such a state? Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) he's forgotten most of the events leading up to him waking in this strange bed, it's all bits and pieces; and when he tries to put them together his head started to feel as if it's going to explode.

"Damn…" he muttered under his breath and something beneath him crackled. Reaching down, his fingers slid against a piece of crumbled paper. Smoothing it out, Dean and his weak mind slowly deciphered the messy scribbles: 'Dear Dean, I hope your liver is holding up. You were too drunk to make it home so I just put you in this motel. Don't worry, I already paid for it. Hope you feel better, call me if you need anything. Ellen.'

Well that certainly explains the hangover.

Standing up on wobbly legs, Dean finally realized that he is undressed, with nothing but a boxer on. Heat crawled up his cheeks as he imagined poor Ellen having to get a 200-pound man out of his suit without loosing her mind. He's thankful though, beats having a wrinkled and smelly suit.

In the bathroom he took a long pull from the tap, the feel of water in his throat quenched the terrible thirst and he felt much improved. Thoroughly washing his face in icy cold water, his fingers felt something weird on his face, strangely out of place. Water still dripping down his nose and his chin he whipped his head up and froze when he saw his reflection in the mirror. "What the actual…"

It took him a moment to recognize his very own face. His entire left cheekbone is severely bruised, color ranging from deep purple to inky green. As if that is not enough, there is a swollen lump now resting beneath his eye, sealing the deal. Gently pressing down onto it a dull pain spread through his face. "Mother of God…" he whimpered. Suddenly, it all came to him, like a great wall tumbling down. Every single detail of last night carved its way onto his brain, the party … the fight … the accident... "Shit."


LAST NIGHT

As Dean scurried off, Castiel suddenly felt very light headed, like a reverse adrenaline rush. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes to overcome his own shock. He knew it was valuable and maybe it was really a better choice to lock it away in the safety of a bank. Well, too late.

That asshat. He thought with his jaws clenched, leaning against the wall with his head up, eyes closed. Now he is so fucking going to pay for what he's done. I am Castiel Siaev, not a crappy, insignificant cockroach hiding in the cracks of the campus. You mess with me, you mess with all of the school.

Glancing briefly at his watch he realized it's already 10pm. By this point he doesn't feel like partying anymore. He now has a bunch of uncalled for shit to deal with, mainly psychologically but it isn't going to do him much good with 200 people in his house. So he pushed himself away from the cold walls in this empty, windowless room and opened the doors. The terrible stench of sweat and alcohol hit his senses as he raised his hand to cover his nose. Looking around he spotted the culprits, two very drunk students messily making out next to the door. The guy slid his hand up the girl's mini skirts and they grinded against each other. Gross. As if he hasn't had enough, he's going to end up having 10 people in an empty guest room having an orgy. That's why sexually transmitted diseases spread so quick in New York. Tsk Tsk. Glaring, Castiel grabbed hold of the guys collar and jerked him backwards, ungluing him from the girl who yelped then covered her exposed breasts. The guy's face is a mess, jesus Christ, does he even have any dignity? The girl's lipstick was smeared across his face like he's bleeding from a terrible accident. And the girl? Not much better. If Castiel were a director he could have shot kungfu panda 3 with no make up artist involved. Sorry—only that Po's going to look like he has a very bad case of herpes on his lips because from all the kissing her once red lipstick is now face paint. Stupid asses.

"Hey you fucking piece of shit." Castiel said as he threw the guy backwards and sent him crashing down on the floorboard, grunting in dismay. Seeing her lover hurting, the girl scowled and took a step toward Castiel, as if she is even sober enough to tell where he's actually standing.

" Dude, what's your problem?" The guy said, crawling up, dusting off his shirt.

"You're my problem," Castiel said, jabbing a finger dangerously close to the guy's eyes.

The guy glared at Castiel as he stood up on wobbly legs, mostly supporting himself on the girl. He squared up, jaw clenching and shoulders tense in anticipation for a full on fight. He must have thought he looked buff and heroic but in reality he looks like a slouching slug too drunk to even lift his head. If a 3 year old were to poke him on the leg he'd probably be tumbling down the stairs to his death. As much as Castiel would like to watch him tumbling to his death, he decided that the guy is simply not worth his time.

"Get out of my house, you drunkard." Castiel laughed coldly and cracked his knuckles, which have been bothering him since he slapped the bitch back there in the room. Without taking another look, he stormed past them and reentered the ball room.

Just like he's expected, the "wonderful aroma" got ever stronger. People dancing against each other, touching, kissing…you name it. He could feel the heat radiating from every single human body in there, and he's being driven insane. Feeling down his dress shirt he realized just how ruined it's became. Patches of purple red decorated the once dashing white material and scent of wine is really starting to get on his nerves, just like everything else. Why not. He thought as he slid his blazer off his shoulders, heads turned all around him. Girls drunk and sober alike became all intrigued as their eyes glued onto his face, his body, him. Their fingers stroked along their lips as their mouths dried with lust. Castiel is the sex god of the school, the senior that everyone admired and obsessed with. Slowly, traveling through the parting crowd he unbuttoned his shirt's buttons one by one, until finally, he took it off then slang it across his shoulder. Now he's wearing a tight grey t-shirt that fits his body flawlessly, hanging around his neck an untied blue tie.

"Why don't you take that shirt off too, daddy?" he heard someone say and girls giggled. A smirk floated onto his face but his blue eyes remained cool and distant as he lifted his shirt up a little bit, flashing the crowd that's perpetually gathered around him. Immediately he felt someone's sweaty hand caress the back of his neck then down his back and stopping on his ass. Turning round, he saw a girl he did not recognize and harshly slapped her hand off. "Don't touch me, you slut. Go blow those nasty truck drivers like your mom did."

People covered their mouths and started laughing as the girl, humiliated, turned around and buried her face in her hands, probably crying. The others continued to follow him and admiring his actions, some even pulled out their phone to take snapchats of the muscles rippling on his back as he walked. He felt proud, powerful. That little encounter with the bitch earlier almost killed his mood but now he is slowly regaining it back. Other people feel happy by binge watching their favorite shows or eating. But he feels powerful when he crushes people beneath his feet like ants. People sometimes are so shallow that with the proper foundation built up by the player, they can be controlled like little chess pieces of their game. At the moment, he's quite enjoying being the all mighty player who controls everything around him.

"Hey, you," he gestured toward an asian girl next to him, she froze as her face turned bright red.

"M-me?" she pointed at herself, not sure if she's heard right.

"Yeah you lame chick. Get me a beer." He ordered.

"Of course—" She skipped off as other girls looked at her in awe, as if to say 'why not me ugh that lucky bitch.'

Smugly he walked back to where the couch was stationed, joining his brothers that all seem to be very well accompanied by their ladies. Hmm, new girl. He thought as he glanced toward his brother Michael, who is talking to a girl he's not quite familiar with: dark hair, red dress, long legs. Yeah, nothing surprising about that.

"I see you got a new toy, huh?" Castiel said in a taunting manner as he took a pull from his beer, which he'd received from the girl a moment earlier.

Turning around mid-laugh, one corner of Michael's mouth tilted up in a mischievous smile and he pointed at the girl, his blue eyes sparkling. "Her? Yeah man, meet Lisa. She's hilarious!"

The girl finally direct her attention to Castiel, they exchanged nods of acknowledgement. Funny, she didn't have that swooning look on her face like when the other girls look at him but he is not the kind of person to bicker with his brother, especially when girls much hotter than her are willing to throw themselves at him. "Mike, I've been gone for like 10 minutes, how many girls have you raced through, during that time huh?"

"Oh brother, you have no idea." He winked then looked at Lisa, who didn't seem all that content. Castiel's words have made his point and he can't wait to see this Lisa girl run away heart broken. "Oh and, about those 10 minutes, how did it go with that jerk?"

Castiel stifled a laugh and sat on the end of the couch, leaning his head back against the soft material. Michael's question caught Lucifer and Balthazar's attentions as well as they sat up and looked at him excitingly for juicy descriptions for whatever went down.

"I sure hope you beat him up. To be honest, I was about to do it myself." Balthazar remarked and Castiel shot him a look of agreement.

"How's your precious locket though, you've had it since forever." Lucifer added, eyeing the bulge created by the locket on the front of his shirt. "I bet it's important."

"It is." Castiel snapped, feeling anger rising within him again. "I am still pissed as hell for what the guy did. My designer dress shirt all ruined, locket destroyed, I swear I am not done with him." He said bitterly.

"Anyways, I kinda slapped him and kicked his ass. I didn't even need to do much, he was so afraid…Oh, and you should have seen the look on his face... Other than that, he's been warned to pay me back within two weeks or he's really going to regret it all. "

"Savage. But why didn't you beat him up on the spot? Would have probably made you feel better." Lucifer added, combing his hand through his ginger hair.

Because I was too caught up with my emotions. "I need him afraid for tonight, I'll deal with him later of course. Why use the fun all at once when it can last longer?"

"Facts man…do you even remember what he look like?" Michael raised an eyebrow. It's a fair point though.

"Green eyes? Sandy hair?" Castiel laughed because he really doesn't remember the man much except how green his eyes looked as they stared at him in fear. "Kind of tall?" Something about his description caught Lisa's attention.

"Very helpful." Balthazar said sarcastically, "I remember he said his name was something along the lines of Dean. Actually I am quite sure it's Dean. "

With that, the dark headed girl next to Michael turned and started walking back toward the sea of people, pulling out her phone and began dialing a number.

"Yeah, Dean or not, he's in deep shit." Castiel shrugged and got up. "Gonna go for a smoke, be right back."

Lisa dialed Dean's phone furiously as she disappeared into the crowd. Voicemail. "Pick up you fucking jerk." She chastised angrily as again and again she was directed to voicemail. Hopeless, she called Sam in hope that Dean is with them instead and not in deep trouble after getting slapped by that Siaev fuck boy.

"Sam? Sam!" She screamed into the phone over the music with one hand covering her ear. Somehow she found the way out of the ball room and slipped into the nearest empty closet: peaceful.

"Lisa, why are you calling me." Sam said, clearly annoyed.

"Please tell me that Dean is with you?"

"Ah…no? He was with you since the very beginning. He isn't a kid anymore, not going to get lost, no worries."

"Where are you and Lisa?" She ignored Sam's words.

"just leaving to her apartment. What's wrong?" finally catching my drift.

"Apparently Dean did some terrible shit and got beaten up by Castiel!"

"Huh? Lisa, we've known Dean enough to know that he isn't the type to do things like this. Besides, It's probably a different Dean since it isn't really that unique of a name."

"Then where the hell can he be? Not answer his phone." She said, worried.

There was a long silent on the other end of the phone, Sam is probably thinking of the possibilities. "Maybe he got lucky and went off with a guy or a girl."

"A guy?"

"Yes?"

"You think he might be bi?" That's new, it hadn't occurred to her yet but now thinking about it, it explains things.

"No—I mean, I don't know but it's 2015 people can be a lot of different sexual orientations, you never know."

"Yeah right, sorry. Not the point—I am still kind of worried that he might be in some sort of trouble, okay? Try calling him for me?"

"Sure thing, laters." Sam said and hanged up the phone. But a millisecond before their call disconnected, she heard the screeching of car tires in the distance and a loud crash. It wasn't Sam's car but someone, whoever it is, is probably in trouble.


Dean was not okay, his face still stung from the slap as he scooted onto the back of a taxi cab, slamming the door shut and leaving the glowing mansion behind him. The more distance the better.

Before he knew it, he found himself in a familiar part of Brooklyn, a dull neon light flickering before his eyes. He'd always came here has a teenager even though he was underage. You aren't supposed to enter bars if you're under 21 but that rule doesn't apply at this bar, at least not at him. He remember the days when he'd hang out in the back room with Jo, daring each other to try random alcoholic drinks. They burnt his throat but it was never to the point to make him drunk.

For the hundredth time, he pushed open the wooden doors of the bar as a familiar ding of the bell echoed through the night. This bar is never crowded, only the regulars come and go to enjoy a few drinks and a nice chat. Today however, it's empty except the owner.

"Oh look! What a special guest!" The woman stood up and greeted Dean in a warming hug.

"Hey Ellen, how's it going?" Dean said grimly, trying hard to bring a smile onto his face.

"All good so far, neighbors had some rat problems but as far as I know, rats don't drink liquor." She winked. "What's wrong, something bugging you?"

"Yeah…" He sighed and sat on one of the high stools next to the counter. "Quite a lot of things are bugging me, which drink do you suggest?" He knows if he ever needed someone to talk to, Ellen is the one to go to. She's like his family, there's nothing he's afraid to share with her, knowing she will not judge and will offer whatever help she can.

"I'm thinking maybe that Hennessey Whisky." She said as she poured three shots of it and laid them all in front of Dean. "On me. Now speak."

Dean looked at her wearily as he picked up the first one and downed it. Feeling a nice burn down his throat all the way to his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut in response.

"Whoa, slow down tiger." She said as she refilled the glass.

"Yeah, okay…" Dean looked at her gratefully and started narrating everything that's just happened. 6 drinks and a lot of pauses later, he finished his story and they sat in silence for a while, accompanied only by the soft jazz music playing in the back ground.

"So how do you reckon you get the money?" She said, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder."

"I don't know…" he said honestly, elbows on the bar and his head clutched in his hands. "I am sorry but I really don't know…"

"I think you should talk to him."

"What?! Are you nuts? The last person I want to talk to is him." The light all of a sudden seemed so much blurrier, like a think fog was clouding up his vision.

"Hear me out, from what you told me, it seems that his rage all sprang from the locket and not because he hates you."

"Well, he hates me now."

"Sure, he's a dick but I'm telling ya, I've dealt with their family long long ago, their father, Chuck. Apparently Chuck disappeared when the kids were very young, so they had to grow up on their own: lots of money and power but little knowledge on what to do with it. Of course, that had an impact on who they've grown to be."

"How does this have to do with anything?" Dean complained, downing another glass of whiskey.

"It's just that, everything has a back story. People don't just be bad or good for no reason. There has to be a push factor that brings someone to that point. People are often the weakest when they're the strongest."

"Thanks Ellen but that's some deep shit that my brain can't comprehend."

"No, listen to me. The Siaevs live on the top of a castle that's like the game jenga. No matter how high up they might be, if you know which block to push, you can send it all tumbling down. Those blocks were all built on their own struggles, bad memories and childhood nightmares. It's who they truly are…they're just hiding it within the other blocks to create the illusion that they're all mighty." Ellen said thoughtfully.

"I see your point. So what now?" He said as the world began to spin

"Talk to him – " But before she could finish, Dean's already passed out and the next thing he knew, he woke up in that motel room.


NOW

Carefully dabbing his face clean of water, he stumbled back to the bed and finally found his phone still tucked within his dress pants.

(19) missed calls from Lisa B

(22) missed calls from Sammy

"They must have been worried out of their minds…" He said guiltily. But before he could fill them in on what happened…or not talking about it at all and just say he ran into a pole because he was too drunk, he has to make a quick call before he looses the courage to. Of course, who is he kidding, why in the world would he know Castiel Siaev's phone number? Time to go with plan B.

"DEAN?!" Sam's voice screamed through his phone as Dean violently jerked his head back, cowarding from the loud sound. "Where the heck are you?"

"I'm uh…" He paused to look at the flyer next to the nightstand, "Motel 8 somewhere in Brooklyn. I'm alive."

"Wha—Who did you spend the night with?" Sam asked, now dramatically calmer.

Dean can't believe that's the second question his dear little brother chose to ask. "No one? Why would you think that? Okay, point is, I need your help."

"Because you literally live 20 minutes away and need I say, you're in a freaking motel. And everything points to you having a once night stand; Tell me, who was it?"

"Shut up Sam." Dean rolled his eyes, something about Sam can always seem to lighten the mood up…but wait, he's got more important business in hand. "I need you to hack or do whatever and get me a Siaev's number."

Silence—"Dean, are you okay…"

"I'll explain later, please just do me this favor?" he begged and he could almost hear Sam sigh and give in.

"Which Siaev?"

"Eldest, Castiel."

More silence—"Dean." Breathing, "tell me you haven't slept with him?"

"WHAT?!" Dean blurted out, so angry and confused at the same time. "WHY in the fucking world would you even think that?!"

"Well, if you were to go on social media…you'd see um, a picture, of you on top of um, Castiel…on the floor…yeah."

Dean buried his face within his hands at a total loss of words. "No. Just, no. can you just…do it and disappear."

Ten minutes and a lot of facepalming later, Dean finally got Castiel's number. It's not like he's going to hit him up and ask for a drink or a peaceful talk by the sea, he just wants to sort everything out, apologize and hope Castiel will let him repay with lets say…friendship? Yeah, bunch of bullshit but it's better than trying to earn so much money in so little time.

Ring ring. No answer.

Maybe he's drunk or being sexed up by 5 girls right now, bit busy, rich people lives huh.

Finally, on the fourth try someone picked up the phone, a woman.

"Um, hello?" Dean asked through the phone, expecting the woman to say something like 'Castiel is too busy having sex please call again later.' But machines beeping in the back ground told him otherwise.

"Hello this is Bellevue Hospital Center the patient is currently in the middle of surgery, may I ask who this is? I may be able to answer some questions."

Surgery? Bellevue hospital? "I am uh…a friend. W-what's going on?"

"Mr. Siaev was unfortunately hit in a car crash last night around 11:30 pm, he is currently stable but he does have several broken ribs and a bruised lung."

Dean hang up.

What? Car crash, 11:30…what if it was all his fault?

please review x i want to know what you all think 3