"My dad isn't around much." I shrugged, trying desperately to look indifferent. If I looked like I didn't care, maybe he'd take a hint and let it go.
"And why is that?" It wasn't working.
"Dunno." I deceived. Or at least tried to.
"Dean..." Came the soft, rasping voice of this stranger. He reached forward ever-so gently and placed his hand on my thigh, patting it reassuringly.
I bit my lip. Not because I didn't want to speak, but because his hand was currently opening a recent wound.
John had come after me with a kitchen knife, late in the night about a week ago.
I had only been in my underwear when I came down. I told him to go to bed. He was having none of it.
He made a fuss as I tried to haul him up the steps, lifting him from under his arms. He hollered and kicked. He picked up a dirty knife from the table and slashed out at me, aiming for my stomach.
I jumped back but he fell forward with me, slicing open my thigh and hip in the process.
It left a long, diagonal laceration across the flesh. It wasn't too deep. But it sure as hell stung.
"What's wrong?" He coaxed, patting his hand one last time. And I could feel the wound release. The puss and blood unraveling made my leg feel wet. The wound was just starting to scab and he had unintentionally peeled it apart.
The thin bandage round my leg couldn't control the wetness spreading, warm and cold at the same time, through my pants.
"Please…just let us go." I whimpered, locking eyes with him and holding his gaze, because dear god don't let him look at the small spots of blood seeping through the denim.
"Why should I if you aren't being honest with me, Dean?" He asked, and every time he said my name it only made it worse.
"You want me to be honest with you?" I urged, and although my tone would have been offensive to anyone else, this man just nodded, that slow, sure nod.
"Of course."
"Yeah, well you ever had someone else's life in your hands? You ever have to watch them grow up this terrible life and you can't do a fucking thing about it? You ever have to starve yourself just so your little brother gets a good meal in him? You ever taken a bea-…"
Cas squinted then, his eyes glazed over with a wet sadness.
"Your father beats you?" He asked, reaching out and touching my leg again. But I could tell…by the way he looked at it, not surprised nor horrified… The blood touched his fingers and he just clenched his hand into a tight fist, recoiling.
He knew all along. He wasn't dumb and he wasn't naïve.
"What do you care?" I hissed, feeling tears come to my eyes.
The problem was, he's the first person to ever show me any kind of attention for what's happened to me in my life.
He's the first person to ever reach out and touch me and not either freak out or ignore it.
I choked out a curse and threw my head into my hands, sobbing emptily in my lap.
His arms were around me then, grasping my ribs just like John, I whimpered and flinched before I realized it was different.
His hands were warm and soothing.
They caressed my back and almost shushed the pain, if not, making it flare up but sizzle right back down into his palms.
"I won't take you back there." He said firmly, the pure rage eminent in his voice, wracked with authority.
I sniffed, wedged between embarrassed and relieved. "Why?" I asked, not sure if I want to hug him or apologize for losing my self-control like this. But I continued to weep, unable to stop at this point.
The heavy tears rolled down my face, where they hadn't in years. Especially not like this. Not in front of anyone else. Ever.
"Your father's supposed to guide you." He spat, curling around me like a shell. I had to admit it wasn't very appropriate but I think I'd be much worse off if he wasn't holding me.
"He's supposed to teach you how to grow up, be good." He added, clenching his fists in my t-shirt.
"He's supposed to protect his kids." He snarled and I very slowly sat up, looking at his face, where a single tear fell from his cheek.
I would have missed it completely if I'd just have waited to rise, just another second.
He pretended it wasn't there. So I said nothing.
"Yeah…well he doesn't." I said, wiping my face with the backs of my hands.
"Wait." He said quietly, digging into his pocket and handing me a rumpled handkerchief.
I laughed. A strangled, weak laugh. "They still make these?"
"I don't think they do." He smiled with a sheepish chuckle "But…it was my fathers." He said and then his face contorted into one of apprehension. He looked as if he were walking on eggshells.
And he was, to be honest. But he couldn't have known, unless I told him; how it made me feel. Hearing about other people's dads. Real dads.
"What are you going to do?" I asked after a moment, ringing the hankie in my white-knuckled fists.
He pursed his lips and sighed. "Honestly…I.." He paused.
"…whatever you decide.." I whispered, now placing my hand in his lap, gently touching his thigh, patting. "thank you, Castiel."
He smiled candidly, and that was the first glimpse I got into that beautiful thing that was Castiel's smile.
The way his teeth glittered in appreciation for what I said. Wet and smooth, recently brushed. The way his plump lips pulled up just enough that you saw half a millimeter of his top gums. The way his eyes crinkled up at the corners.
The way his eyes danced as glee ran throughout him.
I took in a breath, and held it until he let his mouth fall gently back over his teeth. Let his face relax, but his eyes still sparkled.
"I think I have an idea." He declared, eyes flashing in passing headlights. The shone bright and he let a different smile grace his features.
"Please, do tell?" I persuaded, neatly folding the handkerchief, and handing it back.
I expected him to do the comical, take it between two fingers, hold it as far away as possible, and tell me to keep it.
But he simply pocketed it without a seconds glance.
He shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. "You'll think I'm crazy."
"…no…anything…if you're going to help us…we have to take it." I stammered, suddenly feeling equally as apprehensive.
I mean, he was a police officer. But that didn't mean he wasn't corrupt.
It also didn't mean he wasn't really friends with my old man and just doing this to get information from me.
The thought made my stomach churn, and I couldn't shake the idea of him stealing us back to my house and turning me in.
"Your father drove himself to the police station…" Officer Novak began.
I could see where that could be a problem.
"I could write him up for a DUI." He continued, "That would be his third offense." Castiel raised his eyebrows and grinned.
I suddenly couldn't see him trapping me and Sam. Why would he? He hadn't given me any reason not to trust him.
But at the same time I just couldn't find myself throwing all my eggs in his basket.
I had to have a contingency plan, right?
I did. The Monroe apartments. 500 a month for one bedroom. Sam and I could share, or I could take the couch, if there was one.
"Look, Dean.." He broke the silence again, pulling me in with those blue abysses. "I… I know what it's like." His voice cracked as he gently pulled up his sleeve, revealing fat, ugly scars, round and bright pink against his pale complexion. They were burns. From cigars.
I felt my heart drop to my feet. This explained a lot.
"Oh…" I breathed, holding my own wrists in sympathy.
"How does he hurt you..?" He inquired, taking a step forward, his warm breath trapping the words in my throat. He stood an inch taller than me, but I had a feeling I was shortly going to outgrow him.
"You can tell me." He cooed, his gruff voice soft and caring.
"Maybe another time." I choked, turning around and wrapping my arms around myself, not able to even think about it. Not able to fathom, in reality what my father had done to me in the past fourteen years.
I could tell he was wringing his hands, nervous and not sure what else to say.
"Dean…let me help you." He finally begged, his voice pleading.
"How?" I spat out, and instantly turning around to apologize, but he was so close, I nearly collided with his chest.
I gasped and took half a step backward.
He looked down at me and warily touched my shoulders, placing firm hands there, and speaking, in spurts of breath and uncertainty.
"Look…I…I know what it's like…Dean…" He licked his lips, and looked toward the ceiling, continuing when he regained his train of thought. "I just…I don't know how else to say it.." He chewed his lip and sighed. "Let me…take you and your brother…home with me.."
The breath caught in my throat. I didn't know what to say. That was entirely inappropriate.
He couldn't actually be that nice. Nobody ever did that kind of stuff with purely good intentions. Did they?
"Um…Officer…"
"Castiel.." He corrected "Please…call me Castiel."
"okay…Castiel." The word felt wrong in my mouth, I wanted to spit it out as it rolled off my tongue. "I couldn't accept…"
He clenched his jaw and dropped his hands, holding them at his sides instead.
"It isn't…safe." He puffed, "I…" he gritted his teeth. "I can't let you stay here."
"Why not?" I put up my wall again. Who knows what this guy had planned for us.
"Because I know what it's like!" He burst. The sudden explosion of emotion from him threw me back on my heels.
"Know what what's like?" I cringed away form him, an dhe quickly collected himself.
"I was eighteen. And I had my chance. I took it." He trembled. "I ran away. I wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for people I met along the way." He sighed, reminiscing. "…and I get it. Okay? I know you can't go back. I can get your dad locked up for some time, but it's not going to be easy." He took a cautious step closer.
"So? If he's locked up who cares? We can go back home." I argued.
He shook his head. "No…Sam would be taken into the custody of the state."
"Son of a bitch!" I exclaimed, burying my hands in my hair. "So you expect me to trust you?" I scoffed. "Dude I barely know you!"
"You think I don't know that?" He said, defeated if I ever heard it.
"Dean?" Sam's soft voice came from the other side of the room, making me snap my head up, and rush to his side.
"Hiya Sammy… what's up?" I asked, pushing his sleep-hair form his head.
"Is that..?" He didn't finish the question. He knew the answer.
"Officer Castiel Novak." Castiel offered, holding out his hand, Sam shaking it gingerly.
"You… you want to help us?"
"Yes, Sam." He smiled and stood pertly next to me.
"No." I interjected. "I'm sorry but I just can't risk it."
"Dean…but he's willing to help us…" Sam argued, and his forehead creased, and his eyes swelled up and his lip pouted and my chest tightened.
Oh no. The puppy dog face.
"Sam.." I tried, but he already had me and he knew it.
"I'll pack my things." Sam exclaimed, jumping out of bed and throwing his clothes back into his bag.
"Sam…" I said again, trying to show just how upset I was that he had won.
"Dean, I promise you that I won't break your trust.." Castiel brought me back with those eyes. So blue it hurt.
Blue was such a beautiful color on him, I mused, taking not of his uniform again.
I realized what I was doing. Checking him out? No, of course not.
I snapped my head back up so fast I saw spots. He looked at me and quirked an eyebrow, with a devilish grin that sent chills down my spine.
"You should grab your things, Dean." He suggested, that smile never leaving his stupid face.
I just nodded numbly, and shoved the book into my bag, and zipping it up. Now glad I'd been too lazy to unpack.
I wheeled around, apparently more swiftly than Officer Novak had suspected.
His eyes shot up from their place on my ass and met mine, a slight blush filling his cheeks.
My eyes widened in stunned bewilderment.
There's no way…
As if to deliberately defy me, his eyes slowly swept over my front, as I watched, vexed.
Was he just fucking with me?
I couldn't tell as his eyes scanned back up to my face and he smiled, no teeth, cheeks red, eyes on the floor.