A/N: Hey all. Chapter three is well on its way. I've been writing most of the chapter in my little personal notebook, but I rather enjoy typing. It's much nicer and easier to think when I'm typing. This chapter can get pretty intense. If you have any triggers, I'm warning you now.

TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM AND CHILD ABUSE MENTIONED AND SPOKEN ABOUT IN DETAIL.

To finish, this chapter has two different flashbacks. One from Castiel and one from Dean. You'll see and understand. Love you guys! ~Bee~

Chapter Three: Horror

They made it back to the school in time for Dean to hurry to his biology class. Castiel laughed sweetly at the flustered way Dean leaned forward to kiss him goodbye. The rain hadn't let up in the two hours they'd been gone, so Cas made his way casually to the library, planning to work on his essay for Lit. He smiled at the librarian, skirting his way quietly to the computer furthest from the entrance. Digging around in his bag, he pulled out his phone, a sheath of notes, and an old notebook.

'How's bio?' he sent to Dean. It took a few minutes to sign into the computer, and Castiel shifted through his notes, trying to find the ones he'd taken the class before. He shook his head at the absence of them, checking his phone for texts.

'The teacher locked me out :[' replied Dean, and Cas chuckled. Mr. Crowley was widely known for locking people out of his classroom. He tapped out a gentle reply, asking him to come to the library.

'Hell no.'

'Please Dean? I really need your English notes.'

'Is that all I'm good for now? ;]'

'Umm… ;]' Castiel laughed quietly, setting his phone aside. He logged into his email, deleting the junk mail and the few left over college emails. He still needed to talk to Dean about plans for after high school. He was so confused; Castiel's fall out with his father two years earlier had derailed his plans for school almost completely. He thought back quietly to himself on the last conversation he'd had with his father.

Castiel looked up the stairs, listening carefully to the yelling argument between Meg and his father. Tears streamed down Castiel's face, and he slowly made his way up the stairs. His wrists hurt and he was still dizzy from blood loss; he'd tried his hardest – with the help from his elder brother Gabriel – to tape up his wrists. His father had, the night previous, tried to exorcise him: tried to save him from the 'demon riding his skin'. It terrified him, and he would have died bound to his bed had Meg and her mother not come home. His sister, the saint, had called Gabe sobbing, holding towels to his wrists. Meg was always fighting for him: his happiness, his sexuality, his ability to make his own choices. Castiel walked into his fathers study, putting a hand gently on Meg's shoulder, interrupting her. She glanced back at him, smiling through her tears.

"We're leaving, Dad." said Castiel, looking at Meg. She nodded, gripping his hand.

"You're not leaving, not till I'm through talking to you, kid. You're sick! You need help. You need Jesus' help, kiddo." Castiel shuddered at the fond word. He shook his head, stepping towards his father.

"Jesus was just a man, Dad. I'm not sick, and I don't need help. YOU need help-" his dad lunged towards him across the desk, smacking him hard across the face. Meg, crazed in her attempt to protect Castiel, screamed gutturally in rage, clawing at her stepfather. Castiel stared at the ground, fresh tears wetting his eyes. Meg and his father fought harder, screaming at each other, agonizing words tearing them both apart. Cas heard the front door close, and he hurried down the stairs.

"Balthazar," said Castiel, rushing into his best friends arms. He sobbed silently for a moment into his chest, feeling Balthazar's large hands calmly rub Castiel's back. Balthazar placed light kisses in his dark hair, hushing him. "I have to leave here, before he kills me." Balthazar nodded, stepping back.

"You never called me back last night," said the blonde. His voice had a light tone, English and loving. Castiel nodded, looking ashamedly down at his feet.

"I… My father…" Castiel trailed off, fingers moving gently along the edge of the kitchen chair. Balthazar touched them lightly, and Cas moved away, pulling his sleeve up his arm to show him the burns and cuts; the bandages that wrapped thick around his wrists and mid-forearm. "He tried to exorcise me last night. It was terrifying… I thought he was going to kill me Bal." Balthazar looked at him, fury set deeply in his blue eyes. He looked sadly at Cas, placing a light kiss on his lips. "Kiddo…" started Castiel, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the door. "You have to go, he'll kill you if he sees you." Balthazar pulled Castiel's hand off him, shaking his hands.

"Being fearful of your father is like being fearful of God: recommended, but incredibly foolish." He turned, walking away from Cas towards the stairs. Cas chased after him, careful not to make too much noise.

"Mr. Novak," said Balthazar quietly. The 19-year-old held tightly onto Castiel's hand, shaking slightly in anger. He moved his fingers to Castiel's bound wrist, holding it aloft before him. "This is wrong. Castiel isn't sick; YOU are. You are so possessed by God, you think you can save a boy who doesn't need saving. He worshipped the ground you tread, told me often how scared he was you wouldn't love him anymore. But it doesn't matter, obviously, because all you care about is curing something that will never be cured. He's per-" the elder man surged around his desk, sound of skin contacting skin making a loud sound. Castiel cried at his father, pushing him away from Balthazar.

"STOP!" yelled Castiel, holding his father back. "Stop, Dad. Enough. I'm done. Be done with me." Mr. Novak looked at Castiel, tears in eyes that reflected his son's.

"I just want to make you better, Cas. I love you, kiddo." Cas cried quietly, looking at his father.

"No, you don't. You love God, you love Martha, you love your kiss-ass son, Michael. But you don't love me, Dad. You never have. I've always only disappointed you." He shook his head, backing away. "C'mon Meg. You all packed?"

"Yes," she said, flipping off her stepfather and backing out of the room. Castiel turned to Balthazar, thanking him wordlessly, taking his hand.

"This feels right to me, Dad. This feels like what I'm meant to be. If you're ashamed of that, I'm sorry you're so tortured." They left, walking to Castiel's room in the basement. His heart raced, hearing his father crash around his study. Gabriel sat in Castiel's room, unlocking his medical kit to clean a cut in Meg's eyebrow and her split lip. He smiled at Balthazar, hand extended in greeting.
"Been a while, eh, Balthazar?" said Gabriel, smiling at his brother's friend. "How're you?"

"Bit weathered."

"Yeah, Daddy-dearest seems to do that to people. Roughed you up too a bit, eh Cas?" said Gabe, winking. Cas smiled gently, slightly confused.

"You said you were leaving this morning?" asked Castiel, looking at his brother; he was happy Gabe was still here. Gabriel was like his guardian angel, a man whose big, gold wings protected him from any wrong.

"Figured you'd need some help getting all your shit into that piece of crap car you got." said Gabriel, smiling at Meg. He dabbed gently at her lip, then kissed her forehead the way any older brother would. "Ready?" They all nodded in unison, grabbing bags and boxes.

"Thank you, Balthazar." said Castiel, leaning up to kiss him before walking out of the house with his brother and Meg.

By the time Castiel realized Dean was sitting next to him in the library, his eyes had filled with reluctant tears. Dean's eyes scanned Castiel's face, and he filled him in on the memory. Dean was struck with a sense of awe as he watched Castiel recount the last conversation he'd had with his father. The way he handled himself, the calm air he had while talking about his father… He was angry at a man he'd never met, and when Castiel was done, he leaned in, kissing him fully on the mouth.

"You are one of the strongest people I've ever met." whispered Dean. "You wanna go sit in the car?" asked Dean, looking around at the crowded library. "I have a story to tell you." Castiel nodded, logging out of the computer and throwing his things into his bag.

They walked quickly out to the Impala, hustling through the pouring rain. Dean unlocked the car, leaning across to open the door for Cas. He cast his eyes around the car, looking for any way to avoid the conversation at hand. Dean hated talking about himself, almost more than he hated the way people looked at him when they saw the countless scars on his arms. Castiel looked at him, a smile in his dark blue eyes. He started the car, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, and pulled out of the parking lot. He parked a few blocks away, checking the time and cutting the engine. He dragged his cigarette heavily, throwing it out the window before lighting another one. He stalled as long as he could before bursting into speech.

"I don't talk about myself, Cas." said Dean softly. "Ever, to anyone. Even my brother hasn't heard this story. You… you're different. You're special, Castiel. I… I'm terrified of what it means if I say this to you now, especially with summer and school in the fall and –"

Castiel put a hand on his wrist, easing his fingers off the steering wheel, pulling them into his lap. "I love you, Dean." He leaned in, kissing Dean more passionately than Dean had been kissed in two years. Dean kissed back, pulling him into his body. He pulled at Cas, straining to keep his cool. Their tongues tangled, and Dean struggled not to burn him with his cigarette. Castiel pulled away, a small laugh pulling from his throat. Dean dragged his cigarette again, sitting up. He cleared his throat, looking out the foggy window.

"My father and I weren't ever very close. It was always my job to watch Sam when Dad would go out drinking or binging on women. Ellen took us in for a couple months while he was in the hospital when we were young, but I still… even to this day I feel responsible for my brother. Especially after what he did for me." Dean started, coughing into his fist. "But I thought it would be okay, just… telling him about me. He'd had friends who were gay, especially when he was working in the garage with my Uncle Bobby. But it was different when it was his own son." He stared at Castiel, eyes searching his face.

Dean walked through the front door, closing it softly behind him. He'd just gotten back from Stacy London's house – it was late, around eight or nine o'clock in the evening. He walked softly into the living room. His dad sat forward on the couch, watching a baseball game. He shifted, looking towards Dean. "Hey, son." slurred his father, looking him up and down. "Have fun at Stacy's?" He winked, sipping out of his bottle of Jack Daniels. Dean shrugged, coming to sit next to him on the couch.

"Who's playing?" asked Dean quietly, ears hot with anticipation. He wanted to finally tell his father, admit who he was to someone he trusted and loved. Sammy knew, Ellen had known for years, but John was the only person Dean really needed to fully understand. John shrugged, looking at his son.

"Somethin' on your mind, son?" asked John, putting a hand on his shoulder, concern crossing his features at the sight of Dean's reddened ears and red-rimmed eyes. Dean nodded, looking down at his feet.

"Dad, I got somethin' to tell you. But I don't… think you're gonna like it. And I want you to take in perspective everything I've done for us. How many times I've protected Sammy..." said Dean. John pressed gently on his shoulder, urging him on.

"You didn't get a girl pregnant, did you, son?" John questioned, looking at his son.

"No," said Dean, chuckling, shaking his head. "No, it's… definitely not that. Dad, I'm… Dad, I'm gay." he stumbled the words out of his mouth. John removed his hand slowly, looking at his son. He spun slightly in his drunkenness, shaking his head. He scooted away from his son, staring at him. He laughed slightly, before looking at Dean. His face went blank, eyes taking in the pure look of self-loathing that had collected on Dean's face.

"No, Dean. You're… no." He stood, breathing in sharply. "Dean, you are not a faggot."

"Dad, please, listen to me." Dean begged, sitting forward.

"You're a FAGGOT?! DEAN, MARY DID NOT BRING A FAGGOT INTO THE WORLD. YOU AIN'T A COCK SUCKER, KID." yelled John, hands balling into fists at his sides. He leaned forward, slapping Dean across the face. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME, SON!" He slapped Dean again, grabbing him by the shirt collar. John shook him, pushing Dean down. He fell to the floor, face slamming into the table. He could feel the bone in his nose break, blood pouring down his face. John kicked him, brutality searing through him. "I LOVE YOU, DEAN, YOU'RE MY FUCKING SON. YOU CAN'T BE A FAG, DEAN, NO. YOU'RE TOO GOOD FOR THAT, TOO GOOD FOR THAT DEAN."

"Dad, stop, please stop." he begged, kneeling on the ground, spitting blood into his lap. "Dad, please." John slapped him across the back of the head, sounds spitting from his mouth but no words forming. Dean sobbed emptily, body shaking in fear. He crawled across the room, dragging himself as his father fell into his arm-chair, wailing.

Dean pulled himself onto his bed, pulling a knife from his bedside table. He carved his skin that night, digging deeper than he ever had. A word formed in the blood – "faggot". He sobbed dryly, begging for someone to kill him, for him to just die. But he knew he couldn't do that. Not to his brother, not to Ellen and Jo and Bobby. He pulled his phone out, texting Sam with shaking hands.

'Come home, now, please. I… Dad… I need you Sammy.' Dean wrote. He sent, hearing the small tone that signaled its confirmation. He whined in pain, pulling the sheet over him. He pulled his sleeves down, holding the soft cotton to his painful cuts, waiting.

"Dean…" whispered Castiel, pulling Dean into his lap across the cab of the car. Dean sobbed heavily, pawing at his face, covering his mouth to attempt to muffle the inhuman sounds that escaped him. He kissed his face softly, murmuring words of comfort into his soft, light brown hair. "Dean, he's gone. He can't hurt you anymore." Castiel said.

"He did the best he could." said Dean, clutching tightly to his shirt, breathing in the smell of Castiel. "He… did the best he could…" Dean repeated. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see. "I can't drive, but Sam needs a ride back to Bobby's, and I need to go somewhere." Castiel nodded, pulling Dean more towards him and climbing into the driver's seat.

"You're coming home with me for a bit." said Castiel, he looked over at Dean and smiled. "I love you." Dean looked at him, wiping tears off his face. He nodded, smiling through still wet eyes.

"Thank you for listening." he said. Castiel nodded, looking at Dean, eyebrows raised.

"Is it okay if I drive your car?" asked Castiel. Dean glanced at him, raising his eyebrows in return.

"I wouldn't have said anything… if I hadn't meant it." Dean countered, sniffling and scratching his cheek. He felt his throat closing again, and another wave of sobs wracked him, and Castiel started the car, moving out of their parking spot, and down the street. He pulled Dean towards him, holding him gently against him.

"I love you, Dean Winchester, you know that right? I know it's sudden and soon but… I've never felt like this before. I've never felt good like this. You make me feel good like this." Dean sniffed and chuckled, pressing closer to Castiel. He nodded, kissing his shoulder.

"I think I love you too, Castiel Novak." Dean murmured into his shoulder, muffling his whimper. "Yes, I definitely love you too." Castiel sighed in happiness, wrapping Dean closer to him, feeling pleased with his life.

A/N: Wow, big changes are happening here! I'm very pleased. Thank you for breathing along with me in this crazy whirlwind of a story. You all make me feel better about myself. Stay tuned! Love you bunches ~Bee~