It had become fairly easy for Castiel to form a routine, during the next few days. His alarm clock would go off, then Anna would come to his room ten minutes later to chase him out of bed. He'd get ready for school, and run out of the house before Anna could finish making him breakfast. Twice, Castiel ate an apple on his walks to school, so as to maintain his strength. He loathed how weak he was, how dependent on food his body was. The first day, he only ate half of the apple before tossing it in the grass. He'd felt light-headed the entire day, he begrudgingly ate the entire apple the next time.
School would go by in a blur of isolation and boredom. Castiel continued to spend his lunch period surrounded by the discarded rubbish around the side of the school. It was much quieter than anywhere in the school, including the library, proving to be an acceptable spot to complete his necessary assignments. No one ever bothered him and he reveled in the complete lack of social interaction.
After school, Castiel would take the longer path back to his house, for the added exercise. Once home, Castiel would strip out of his slightly sweaty clothing to take a long, hot shower. He would let the scalding water pour over him, washing away all the anxieties he'd been harbouring that day. The heat burnt his skin, temporarily leaving angry red marks, but Castiel liked the pain. It kept him grounded. It kept him sane or, as sane as he could ever hope to be.
Castiel was broken. He knew it better than anyone. The sadness that invaded his every thought and action was becoming more potent with each passing day. It was overwhelming and nearly impossible to escape. The only repose Castiel got from his mental and physical exhaustion was sleep. He'd sleep immediately after his shower until his alarm woke him up at seven the next morning. Castiel was getting thirteen hours of sleep on a regular basis, yet he was constantly waking up exhausted. He supposed being tired was just one of the many perks of being sad all the time, so when Castiel woke up Friday morning he wasn't surprised at the painful aching desire to continue sleeping. It was just another day. Nothing special.
He followed his routine robotically, barely aware of his actions. Castiel felt distant, as if he were watching someone else complete his menial tasks. He went to his classes, copied down notes and before he knew it, it was lunch time and he was being pushed along in a current of chatty high school students.
It was all too much to handle, all the kids his age laughing loudly, shoving each other. He needed to get away from the crushing crowd. Castiel ducked into the boys' toilets to find it blissfully empty. He let out a breath and listened to the obnoxious voices of his peers pass by.
Castiel glanced nervously at his reflection. He looked as tired as he felt. Slowly, Castiel turned the cold water tap as far as it would go. He waited a few seconds before leaning over the sink and splashing the freezing water over his face. It was a shock and he felt himself wake up a bit more. He splashed more and more water on himself until his fingers were numb from the prolonged exposure to the cold.
He turned the tap off and wiped his hands on his jeans only to find them already sopping wet. He smirked as he took in the puddle he was now standing in as well as his drenched sweater and trousers. The hair surrounding his face was damp and plastered to his forehead. He felt like a mess.
His sneakers squeaked as he made his way over to the hand dryer. He pushed the button and positioned himself so his lower half was directly underneath the heat. Castiel relished the hot air that danced deliciously over his body. It was as if he were being encompassed in a large blanket. The warmth seeped into his bones and he was reminded of his mother. His smirked morphed into a pained expression as he recalled the safety of his mother's embrace. His mother's hugs had always made him feel better after a tough day. He could have really used those hugs these past few years.
His eyes began to prickle as the tears welled up. Castiel quickly blinked and swiped at his face, when he heard the door open, stepping away from the hand dryer.
"Castiel! It's been a while," Castiel froze at the familiar English accent. No. This couldn't be happening. He'd been so good in managing to avoid him all week.
Castiel turned to look at the new comer, his body rigid and his face carefully devoid of emotion, "Crowley," Castiel greeted.
"How was your summer?" Crowley leered.
Castiel frowned slightly. Was Crowley really bothering with such pleasantries? Castiel suddenly felt very wary of the other boy as he replied, "It was acceptable."
"I'm sure it was," Crowley's voice was unmistakably sardonic.
"I'm not sure I understand your intentions with this interaction," Castiel said, tilting his head to the side in confusion. This wasn't quite how things usually went with them.
"Of course you don't. You're so bloody innocent and naïve. It's adorable really," Crowley sneered, "You see, I'm willing to bet you spent your summer all alone bathing in self-loathing. I know you, Castiel. You're sad and pathetic, but that works for me," Crowley took a few steps towards Castiel, completely disregarding personal space. Castiel swallowed audibly as he realised where this conversation was leading towards, "You're week and easy to manipulate. You also have no social life, which makes you perfect for keeping secrets."
Castiel couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. He wanted to escape. Why did Crowley have to choose him? He was nothing special, but that was the point.
Crowley's breath brushed across Castiel's face, making him shiver in revulsion. Crowley drew closer, reading the shiver as a reaction akin to desire. Castiel flinched as lips pressed against his, the smaller boy pinning him against the wall next to the urinals. Crowley's tongue shoved its way into Castiel's mouth, not taking no for an answer. Castiel wanted to gag, but instead he kissed back. As disgusting as the situation was, at least Crowley wanted him. In the end, Castiel didn't deserve a perfect romance; he didn't deserve soft, sweet kisses with someone he loved. Hell, he didn't even deserve an unwanted make out session in the boys' toilets. Castiel was worthless and if a wealthy, attractive, closeted, homophobic boy wanted to kiss him, Castiel couldn't argue.
Crowley gripped Castiel's hair, tugging harder than Castiel was comfortable with, as his tongue continued to explore Castiel's mouth. The sound of their tongues tangling filled the room and Castiel thought he might be sick. He wanted to cry about how utterly wrong this situation was.
He was just reaching his breaking point when a voice grew closer to the door.
"Okay, see you later, Sammy."
Crowley broke away from Castiel and gave him a dark look, "Not a word, you faggot," he commanded before he strode through the doors.
Castiel closed his eyes and sunk to the floor, wiping a hand over his mouth. He could still taste Crowley and he hated it. He leant his head back against the wall, letting out a frustrated sigh.
"Are you okay?"
Castiel's eyes snapped open in shock. He'd thought he'd been alone. Why was he so stupid? His eyes were blurry from the oncoming tears. He rubbed at his eyes roughly before he found himself staring up at Dean Winchester.
"Um, Castiel? You okay?" Dean repeated when Castiel didn't answer. His green eyes were clouded with worry, but all Castiel could do was nod dumbly because Dean Winchester was talking to him. Dean Winchester knew his name! The most beautiful boy at school was actually talking to him. Castiel was unconvinced that he wasn't, in fact, dreaming. He'd certainly never had dreams like this before. His dreams usually featured his dying mother or some other anxiety inducing horror.
"Are you sure, because you kinda looked like you wanted to cut your tongue out a moment ago." Dean continued to look worried, as he held out a hand to Castiel to help him up.
It took several seconds for Castiel's brain to register what was happening. When he finally understood Dean's actions he blushed, taking the proffered hand and allowing Dean pulled him up.
"Really, I'm fine," Castiel insisted, producing a shaky smile.
"Was it Crowley? I saw him leave as I came in. Was he giving you a hard time?" Dean still hadn't let go of Castiel's hand and Castiel was finding it increasingly difficult to think being in such close proximity to Dean.
"You know that piece of shit is just a pretentious douchebag, right? Just ignore everything he says," Dean was staring intently into Castiel's eyes and all of a sudden it felt suffocating.
He withdrew his hand from Dean's loose grasp and turned on his heels, marching for the door, "I said I was fine," Castiel called coldly over his shoulder as he left a surprised Dean alone in the toilets.
There were fifteen minutes until class started. Instead of arriving early as he usually did, Castiel ran out of the school, ignoring the chastising shouts of his teachers. He made his way over to his rubbish pile and took out his pack of cigarettes. There was a tremor running through his body and he dropped his pack. Cursing he picked it up, dusting off the dirt, and took out a cigarette with unsteady fingers. He desperately tried to light it. It took several attempts, but eventually Castiel managed to get it working. He inhaled deeply holding his breath, then let the smoke out through his nose.
His mind was a mess, unorganised and scattered, much like the spot where he was sat. He couldn't process what had happened. It appeared Crowley still wanted to use him as a means to get his homosexual tendencies out of his system, or that had been his explanation the previous year. Castiel had hoped Crowley would have forgotten him, but Castiel was never much one for being lucky. He'd just have to work on his invisibility if he wanted to avoid any more encounters with the English boy.
Then there was Dean. He really was the most beautiful person Castiel had ever seen. His earnest concern for Castiel had been completely unexpected. As far as Castiel knew, they'd had no classes together the entirety of their high school experience. There was no reason for Dean to know who he was, yet he did. It was terribly unnerving.
As overwhelming as all of that was, one thing unsettled Castiel the most: Dean's eyes. His gaze had been unwavering and Castiel felt like he'd been falling into the depths of that gorgeous green to a place where there was no turning back. Castiel tried to shake the thoughts from his head by taking another, deeper drag from his cigarette. He continued this way until he heard the bell signalling the end of lunch ring.
Dean's first week back at school had been going by smoothly. Everyone greeted him as he walked through the halls, his classes weren't very difficult. Things were good.
The only complaint Dean had was that it was nearly impossible to talk to Castiel Milton. He hadn't seen him walking to school since that first day and he was never anywhere to be found at lunch time. If it wasn't for the class they shared, Dean would have continued to be completely oblivious to his presence at school.
Dean had asked around for more information on Castiel, but no one knew who Dean was referring to. That knowledge made Dean's heart ache. How lonely it must be to remain unnoticed by the large majority of the school populace. What did Castiel do in his free time? Did he have any friends? Dean wanted to be his friend. He knew that as easily as he knew he'd always look out for his brother. What he didn't know was whether or not Castiel would reciprocate this desire to be his friend. The way Castiel managed to stay below the radar suggested otherwise, but Dean wasn't about to give up.
That Friday, Dean had tried to catch Castiel before he left their history class, but Mrs. Tanner had called Dean over to discuss how he was doing so far in the semester. As kind as she was, Dean really disliked her in that moment. He went through the rest of his classes resigned to the fact that he wouldn't be seeing Castiel until Monday.
When the lunch bell rang, Dean made his way to his locker with Lisa Braeden in tow. Lisa had been flirting with him every second they were together for the past week. Normally Dean would have relished the attention, instead he felt annoyed and frustrated at her for not leaving him alone for more than five seconds. He knew he should have cared that she wanted him. She was hot and everyone knew it, including her. She was the kind of girl every guy wanted to hook up with, so they could regale other guys with the story of their sexual encounters, in the hopes of making others jealous. Dean knew he should want that, but he didn't.
Every time he looked at her, he couldn't help but notice her hair was the wrong shade of brown, her skin wasn't pale enough and her eyes were unexceptionally brown. He hated himself for thinking these things. If his father ever found out, Dean would be in so much trouble. As ridiculous as it was, Dean wanted to impress his dad. He wanted to be someone his father could be proud of, so whatever feelings he harboured for the Milton boy that were more than platonic would have to be smothered and forgotten.
Lisa was babbling incessantly about something or other while Dean tried his hardest to find an escape. He spotted Sam talking to some other nerdy guy. Dean thought that maybe things were turning around for him. Dean cheerfully excused himself from Lisa and headed over to his brother, smiling.
"Sammy!" Dean boomed clapping him on the back.
"It's Sam!" Sam insisted, presenting Dean with one of his many bitch faces.
"Right, so whatcha doin'" Dean asked relieved to be free of Lisa.
"Going to the library to work, why?" Sam was giving his brother a strange look.
"Aw, come on! Can't I say hello to my little brother?"
"No one said you couldn't. You're just acting weird is all," Sam explained.
"I'm not acting weird. What are you talking about, Sam?" Dean spotted Lisa watching him, where he left her. She smiled at him. Shit! She was waiting for him, "Okay, see you later, Sammy," Dean called as he attempted another escape to the boys' toilets.
Sam just watched him with that strange look on his face, as if Dean were one of the world's greatest enigmas.
Just as Dean was about to push the door, it swung open revealing a temperamental Crowley. Dean shrugged and walked through the door before it shut, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his foul mood.
He began to make his way to the sinks, when he heard a sniffle. He looked down and recognised the distinct mop of sex hair. Castiel was huddled on the floor crying. He felt his heart stop. A million possibilities ran through Dean's mind as to what had happened to make him so upset. Each thought was worse than the other. Dean was slightly panicking when he asked Castiel if he was all right.
The whole interaction was surreal. One second he's helping Castiel get to his feet, getting lost in the sea of blue made bluer by his tears, the next second Castiel's storming out of the toilets. Dean couldn't really remember saying anything offensive, but he could barely remember anything. His mind was left at sea and he had a feeling it would probably be staying there for a long time.
Dean waited a little longer before leaving. He was still mulling over Castiel's dramatic exit. He hoped Castiel was okay. He always seemed fine in class, but if anyone should know what an easy game deceit was to play, it would be Dean. He had quite the talent for keeping his family life private. Only Jo and Ash knew his mother was dead and that his dad wasn't around much. That was the most anyone knew about him, and they didn't even know the whole truth. They didn't know Dean's father was an alcoholic. They didn't know he would beat Dean whenever things didn't work out perfectly. They didn't know a lot and if Dean had his way, they'd never find out.
Thankfully Lisa was gone, when Dean entered the hallway. He didn't think he could pretend to be interested in another thing she said for a very long time. Hopefully, she would find someone who was actually interested in her to flirt with.
He was feeling confused and distressed over Castiel's behaviour. With the added stress of Castiel, Dean had had too much to deal with, he needed a break. He decided to skip the rest of his classes in favour of going for a drive in his baby. If Dean's life was a movie, his soundtrack would be comprised of the roar of his Impala's engine and the heavy guitar of a classic rock ballad. It captured his essence so completely, he realised this was all anyone really needed to know about him.
He drove for hours just relaxing and enjoying himself before he returned to school to pick up Sam. His brother came out at exactly 3:30pm, the ever punctual nerd. Dean had hoped to catch sight of Castiel at least once more, but again Castiel proved to be quite skilled in eluding him and everyone else.
Ignoring the punch of disappointment in his gut, he headed back home. The ride was more or less quiet. The closer to home they got, the tenser Sam got. Dean wished he could relieve the tension that thickly clouded the air between his brother and his father, but it seemed to be a lost cause.
When they arrived home, they were bombarded with the stench of alcohol. It was worse than Dean had ever experienced. As they explored the house a bit more Dean and Sam found a shocking amount of empty bottles as well as some spilt whisky and vodka on the carpet. The house was a mess. How could their father have destroyed the house so badly in only six hours?
They split up to look for their troublesome father. After only a few seconds, Sam's voice called for Dean in the kitchen. On the kitchen island surrounded by empty liquor bottles was a stack of money. That usually indicated that John had gone on a job, but the amount was much more than they were used to.
"Do you think this means he'll be gone for a lot longer?" Sam asked; hope creeping into his voice unabashedly.
"I don't know," Dean replied, but for once he was hoping with Sam.
