A/N: Whoo, okay, so. To follow up the unapologetic fluff of last chapter, here is a full chapter of...of definitely not fluff. Seriously y'all. Some warnings for this chapter: firsthand (well, third person, but firsthand, as it were) description of a minor panic attack; references to domestic abuse/child abuse, both verbal and physical; actual verbal abuse happening; homophobic slurs being tossed around like confetti at a parade. Also language/cursing, if that's something that bothers you, which if that's the case, I'm kinda surprised you're still reading this, because I have an unfortunate tendency to cuss like it's going out of style.
Other than that, insert traditional disclaimer with regards to ownership here, and uh yeah.
That's that.
[this is a line break]
No one had heard from Cas in three days.
Dean was practically panicking. No, fuck that, he was panicking. There was this horrible tight feeling in his chest that threatened to explode every second. He couldn't concentrate at work – Bobby had to pull him out from beneath a car he hadn't jacked up right because couldn't focus on anything other than, come on, Cas, where the hell are you?
(Bobby had yelled at him for about five minutes straight after, to pay some attention to your damn work, boy, I do not need blood all over these cars and neither do the customers, paying customers I might remind you, and do you know how much a damn death on the job will jack up my insurance I can't afford that shit. But afterward he gave Dean a worried look and called him an idjit, which meant he still loved him.)
Dean knew he wasn't the only one who noticed the absence of big blue eyes in their little gang. Sammy kept giving him these long, worried looks and Jo kept frowning and fidgeting, but nobody said anything about it. He wondered vaguely if maybe the other two thought he and Cas had broken up or were fighting again or something, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. Finally, Ellen had had enough of all of them moping around the Roadhouse like they were waiting for the world to end.
"Dean, you call these dishes clean?" Ellen called from the back room, mid-afternoon on the third day with maybe an hour left until the supper rush. "Get your ass back here, I wanna show you these."
"Awww, Ellen, c'mon," Dean whined, even as he stood and slouched into the back room. Ellen closed the door firmly behind him. Shit, Dean couldn't help but think as Ellen positioned herself in front of him, eyebrows raised, arms crossed, wearing her I-mean-business face.
"Out with it, kid," Ellen demanded quietly. Okay, private conversation. This was bad.
"Out with what?" Dean returned, even though this was clearly about Cas. (Who was he kidding, his entire friggin life these days, all the parts that didn't revolve around Sammy, all of it, everything was about Cas.)
"Are you and Castiel fighting again? He hasn't been by, he hasn't even called, and all of you are sitting around all miserable, and you," Dean winced at her tone. "You look like you're gonna jump out of your skin and now you look guilty as hell. What's going on, Dean?"
Maybe two months ago, Dean would have shrugged and said something noncommittal to get Ellen off his back and returned to freaking out by himself, but – "No, we're not – we're not fighting, it's just – " Dean hesitated, throat closing up around the words, not knowing how much to say. "I think Cas is in trouble. Because of me."
Ellen just raised her eyebrows, and Dean hesitated. It wasn't like he could tell Ellen what had happened, not really. That was the whole problem, wasn't it? The big secret. This bullshit secret that had to be kept because half the people that mattered in his life couldn't be counted on to be okay with whatever he and Cas were because they weren't straight because they weren't normal because they weren't good enough.
And maybe two months ago, Dean would have shrugged and said something noncommittal to get Ellen off his back. Maybe two months ago, Dean would have said he was pretty sure Michael knew he and Cas were hanging out and Cas was probably grounded again, would Ellen call Dean if she heard from him? Maybe two months ago, he wouldn't have been so worked up about going three days without hearing from Cas (because really, it wasn't like this was the first time it had happened, just the first time since – since).
But now? Cas was right. He hated the sneaking, too.
"Lilith saw us. Together. A few nights back, it was raining and I dropped him off and we – and she saw us." Dean was a little surprised that he had managed to say anything, but now that he was talking the words just kept coming, like the pressure in his chest squeezing them out of him. "And I didn't think it was a big deal, she's always stoned anyways, and I told Cas it would be fine, it was supposed to be fine and it's not she must've told Michael because I haven't heard from Cas since and nobody has and – and – " Dean cut off, his throat closing up completely. He couldn't breathe. Michael knew and Cas was in serious trouble and Dean didn't know how bad and Michael had never hit Cas but what if he couldn't stop with the what ifs and he couldn't breathe.
"Whoa, there, kid, take a deep breath, okay?" Ellen stepped forward, alarmed, putting a hand on each of Dean's shoulders (getting to be a little awkward, since Dean was finally starting to be taller than her). "Michael Milton already knows you two still see each other, calls me to bitch about it, tells me to keep an eye on Castiel for him. I just tell him sure and then give the kid extra fries." She snorted derisively. "So it's not news to Michael, alright, Cas – he'll be okay. Michael probably just grounded him again. Just breathe, Dean."
Maybe two months ago, Dean would've taken a deep breath and laughed at how stupid he was being and nodded and said yeah and gone back to pretending like he wasn't worried at all. But he couldn't now.
Ellen would…would Ellen care? It would be better telling her than telling Dad or even Bobby, but…Dean managed to shake his head – he was shaking all over now, hunching over, still unable to get a full breath, god this was humiliating – shook his head, no, no it wasn't alright.
"No?" Ellen asked, concern clouding her face, "Dean, honey, what's wrong, what do you think's happened?"
"I'm not stupid, I know Michael knows Cas hangs out with us." Okay, he didn't mean to snap, and from the way Ellen pursed her lips she didn't exactly appreciate it, and he hurried to talk over himself. "That's not – what Lilith saw," deep breath, "Me and Cas. Together." He couldn't say any more than that, couldn't force himself to make it any clearer, except to add, "And now Michael knows, knows about Cas. And me."
There was a long moment of absolute silence as Dean tried to remember how to breathe and tried not to look at Ellen but couldn't help but look at Ellen as he watched realization dawn slowly on her face.
"Dean," she said softly, slowly, putting a gentle, calloused hand on his face. "Dean, honey, look at me. Just look at me, okay?" Dean did, reluctantly, his heart beating like it was going to burst from his chest. "Are you and Castiel – " she cut off, apparently unsure how to finish the sentence. There was an awful sinking feeling in Dean's chest. If even Ellen couldn't say it, if even Ellen couldn't be okay with this, what the fuck was he supposed to do? Ellen closed her eyes, breathed for a second, opened them and, staring intently at Dean, continued. "Was Jo right? Are you and Castiel together?"
Dean closed his eyes and nodded once. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Ellen. "Alright. And Lilith saw you two outside doing what – you know, nevermind, I don't even wanna go there." She gave a weak laugh and Dean blinked his eyes open again hopefully. "And now Michael knows Cas is gay?"
Dean nodded again. Ellen pursed her lips and murmured, "Shit," under her breath, making Dean flinch. He cursed himself right after for letting it show, but Ellen saw because she frowned at him slightly before drawing one more deep breath (seriously, was she doing breathing exercises to keep from freaking out or something because if it was working, she needed to teach Dean how to do that, like, now). "Does anyone else know?"
"Sammy," Dean managed. "And – and Jo. That's it."
Ellen nodded again, seeming to process the information. Dean couldn't figure out the look on her face. She was frowning, but not at him, staring instead somewhere over his shoulder, over her hand still resting there. He wanted to ask what she thought Michael would do to Cas, or if she would call to check on him, but what came out instead was, "Are you mad?"
Ellen blinked once at him in disbelief, and then her face melted into the saddest Dean had seen it since Bill died, years and years ago. She wrapped both arms tight around Dean and hugged him to her, resting her chin on his shoulder. It took her almost a minute to do anything other than hug him, but when she spoke, her voice was choked with tears. "No, baby, of course not. I'm not mad at all, never think that, okay? I love you, and I know you don't like to listen to this shit, but you hear me now, Dean Winchester, I love you like you were my own kid and this doesn't change that at all. You hear me?"
"Yes ma'am," Dean mumbled gratefully into Ellen's hair, and maybe there were tears in his voice, too. He was hugging Ellen back, just as tightly, clutching the back of her jacket like a drowning man. But despite the fact that she might be crushing his ribcage, Dean found he could breathe again.
"Okay, here's what we're gonna do," Ellen said after another minute, stepping away from Dean. "We're gonna go back out there, smiling with our brave faces on like the grown-ass folks we are," she reached out and wiped away a tear (a very manly tear, Dean tried to reassure himself) from Dean's face, giving him a watery smile. "And I am gonna call Michael Milton. And I am going to find out where Castiel has been, and we're gonna get him back. And you two are going to be fine. Okay?"
"Okay." Dean felt like some of the weight on his lungs had been lifted. Ellen gave his shoulder one final squeeze and headed toward the front room. "Wait," Dean blurted, and she turned around. He shifted for a second before voicing what he had barely dared think underneath his concern for Cas. "Do you think – do you think Michael will tell my dad?"
Ellen's face fell, and Dean's stomach sank. It must've showed, because she reached over and put a hand on his shoulder again. "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it, okay, kid? For now, let's just get Castiel back."
Back out in the common room of the Roadhouse, Sam and Jo were bickering over something while the place slowly filled up with dinner patrons. Ellen waved to a few people and shouted for Ash to get his ass in here and start taking orders already, and you could help, too, Joanna. But Ellen herself headed straight for the phone behind the counter and Dean followed, still too full of Cas to sit and banter with Sam and Jo. He sat himself next to where Ellen stood, on a short stool near the bar, largely out of sight of customers.
"Hey, Michael, Ellen Harvelle here. I'm calling 'cause we've been missing Castiel around here for the past few days. He alright? Excuse me? Oh, really, is that – How dare you even – oh, because you've done such a damn fine job of being family!" Ellen's tone was heating up and she was starting to raise her voice dangerously and Dean's heart was speeding up and his stomach was dropping. "You ignorant swine, you have no idea how to care for your nephew – oh, is that your answer, just brainwash him until he's a self-righteous prick like you? I will damn well use whatever language I please – You have no right, you stay away from him. I am his family – I hope to hell and back that the moment that boy turns eighteen he leaves and you never see him again, because he sure as hell deserves a better family than you could ever be. Oh? Well, you know what, Milton? Go fuck yourself!"
With that, Ellen slammed the phone back into its cradle, the crash echoing in the ringing silence that filled the bar. Ellen ignored the stares that her progressively louder phone conversation had earned her and turned calmly to Dean. Her face was tense and angry and determined, but there was a sadness or a worry pulling at the corner of her eye that hit Dean like a sledgehammer. Any hopes he had had a few minutes before that it was all going to somehow be okay vanished.
"You were right, she told Michael. He's not taking it so well. He's sending Castiel away." Dean felt all the blood drain from his face and he opened his mouth to protest, but Ellen held up a hand to cut him off. "Not now. I'll explain more later. But right now, I suggest you take your brother and go home, because Milton is considering the possibility of calling your father. I think John would rather hear this from you first, if he's going to hear it at all."
"Sammy," Dean said, lurching to his feet, and no, his voice didn't wobble at all. "Sammy, come on, we need to get home."
"Okay?" Sam's eyes were big and confused, and he was giving Dean the sort of pathetic puppy dog face that would normally make Dean tell him everything, but right now he was too caught up in he's sending Cas away. Dean grabbed his little brother by the elbow and practically bolted from the Roadhouse, shoving Sam into the car and fumbling his own door in his haste to get it shut.
"Dean, Dean what's going on? We couldn't hear Ellen talking to you, we were too far away. What's wrong?" Dean just shook his head. He didn't have an answer for that right now, not with his mind racing with ways he could see Cas before he was gone and wondering when he'd be back or if there was a better way to come out of the closet to John Winchester than, hey Dad, so my boyfriend's crazy uncle found out about us and is gonna call you and tell you all about it, so you should probably know that I like dudes, too.
The world was falling apart.
[this is a line break]
When they screeched into their driveway, Sam crying out Dean! And gripping the Jesus handle with white knuckles, the first thing Dean saw was John's car parked in front of the garage. He had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The second thing he saw was a small spot of white marring the dark green of the summer grass on the lawn. With a quick glance at the front door, he jogged over the lawn first, his heart rate picking up as he realized it was a paper airplane.
His mind flashed immediately to the day last week, a rainy day when he and Cas had holed up in a corner of the Roadhouse, practically eating Ellen out of business with all the French fries they consumed. Cas had sat there, patiently trying to explain to Dean how to properly fold a paper airplane – something he was freakishly good at, for reasons beyond Dean's comprehension. Dean had just loved the excuse to have Cas' hands on his, even though they were in public.
Now he saw the airplane lying on the ground and he knew it was from Cas, maybe thrown from a car window on the way out of town because they were sending Cas away. He picked it up, unfolding it with trembling hands, hearing Sam faintly still shouting his name. There were a few lines scribbled on a torn sheet of looseleaf in smudged pencil, Cas' normally neat and careful script slanted and hurried.
Dean – I know we never said it but it's always been implied but right now I want you to know – no matter what happens or what they tell you or even what I tell you trust me in this – I love you.
Dean thought he was gonna throw up.
There was a hand on his shoulder and he jerked instinctively away, whirling around to see Sam standing there, looking nothing short of terrified. He bit his lip and nodded to the door. Still clutching the folded piece of looseleaf in a white-knuckled hand, Dean looked to the front porch. John was standing there, arms crossed across his chest, looking at Dean, just looking. It wasn't the way Ellen had looked at him, wasn't the way she had crossed her arms. The look on his face was…was the one he'd given Dean when Dean had stood up to him for the first time, stood up to him to protect Sammy. The look on his face right before he hit Dean for the first time.
Dean swallowed, tried to remember to breathe. "Hey Dad."
John's expression didn't change. "Dean, come inside. We need to talk."
Dean nodded and started toward the door. Sam followed, but Dean turned and said under his breath, "Sammy, go. Go next door to Missouri's or something, I don't care, just go."
"Dean, no." The look on Sam's face was something fierce and protective, something Dean had never seen there before, but a look he recognized all the same. It was his own protective big brother look, come back to haunt him on the still chubby, rounded features of Sammy. Well, shit. Sammy was growing up. And that wasn't something he had the energy to try to reflect on right now, so he just nodded and followed his Dad inside.
The door clicked shut behind them and Dean closed his eyes, trying to calm himself with a deep breath like Ellen had kept doing this afternoon. It didn't work, and a heavy dread settled in his gut.
"So Michael Milton called me a few minutes ago." John's voice was low and calm and sober and somehow that much more terrifying for all that.
"Yeah? I didn't realize you two were buddies." Sam made a slight noise at Dean's terse voice and cavalier attitude. John's face stayed the same.
"We're not. But he had some information he thought I'd might want to know."
"What, insider stock information? Hotline number to that god character he's always going on about?"
"Dean," Sam said softly in warning tones from behind him.
John ignored them both. "So when exactly were you planning on letting me know that you're a goddamned faggot, Dean?"
He knew it was coming, but that didn't stop Dad's words from feeling like a physical blow. Through the sudden rushing noise in his ears, Dean heard himself say, "I'm sorry, Dad."
"Sorry for what? Sorry for not telling me? For sneaking around and going behind my back and bringing that little fag Castiel under my roof and tricking me into welcoming him when the whole time he was – was turning you or something?"
"Dad, please, don't put this on Cas," Dean said quietly, unable to look at John.
"Then what the fuck am I supposed to blame it on, Dean? Because I may be a shit father, but I did not raise my son to be – to be this." It was horrible in that Dad couldn't even say it, couldn't even say what Dean was. It was worse in that John's voice never got any louder, any angrier. He was just…cold. Serious. Final.
"Please, Dad, don't," and Dean was begging, but he didn't know what for, because what was there to say? What was he supposed to say to a father that was disgusted by who he was?
Dean loved his dad. He really did. Why the fuck else would he have put up with so much shit from the man over the years, when he knew perfectly well that Ellen or Bobby would've taken him and Sam in in an instant? He loved his dad because he remembered when his mom was still alive and they'd take him to T-ball and Dad would proudly cheer him on. He loved his dad because, as much as he had fucked up, he still sometimes tried – like this summer, sobering up, getting to know his kids again. He loved his dad because he knew that, in spite of everything, his dad loved him.
In spite of the drinking and the yelling and the broken bottles and the bruises. In spite of the crying jags on Mary's birthday or the weeks where he didn't get out of bed and the angry words thrown at Dean when he tried to help. In spite of never being there, of being more of a child than a parent. In spite of everything he did that made it seem otherwise, John Winchester loved his sons, and Dean knew this. It was why he stuck around, why he took the punches, why he always backed down to keep the peace. Because John didn't mean it, not really, because John loved them. And yeah, maybe that was fifty kinds of fucked up, but Dean didn't care because family was family and you stuck together, right?
"Dean, you can't just let him – " Sam started in disbelief, but Dean cut him off.
"Sammy, not now, okay? Just – not now."
"Sam, if you know what's good for you, you will not get involved in this conversation. Unless you want to tell me now that you're a fairy, too?" John turned his eyes to Sam for the first time since they'd gotten home and Sam quailed under his glare, shaking his head and backing off. (It would be almost two more years before Sam really learned to stand up to John, before he started yelling back, before the fights got ugly, and Dean will never stop thinking that it was his fault because he left them.)
"And frankly, Dean," John continued, his voice starting to rise a little at last as he turned back to the problem, to Dean. "I expected more from you. You've always understood, you've always been a good kid, too good to me by half," and Dad's voice wasn't nearly as soft there as his words wanted it to be, "You were a good son and a good brother to Sam and now this? Is this your idea of getting back at me? Is this some stupid teenage rebellion thing? Because you can just cut that shit out right now, you hear me?"
Dean put up with a lot of shit, a lot of horrible words, because Dad was family and he loved them.
"No, Dad, it's just – it's just me, I'm not doing this on purpose – " Dean's voice was shaking and his hands were shaking and dammit he shouldn't have to be apologizing for this, he shouldn't have to have to explain himself.
"It's 'just you'?" John repeated in disbelief, his tone turning angry at last. It was almost a relief. "No, this isn't you, Dean. You are my son, you work on cars and play football and go on dates with a lot of different girls, which I used to worry about, but obviously I shouldn't have been because I want that back. You are my goddamn son, not some fruit with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth like the Milton kid."
John was family and he loved them.
"Don't talk about Cas like that – " because it was easier to defend Cas than himself, just like it had always been easier to step in on Sam's behalf then to raise an arm to protect his own body.
"Why, because he's your boyfriend?" John sneered the last word with such venom that Dean actually flinched back.
John was family –
"Because I love him – " Dean blurted before he even knew what he was saying, his hand twitching tighter around the note he had carried through all of this. There was a moment of horrible silence and then –
John laughed. It was the darkest, most horrible, strangled sound Dean had ever heard leave his father's mouth, and it tore a hole right through him. "Like hell you do," John retorted in disgust. "I cannot fucking believe this. I expected better from you, Dean."
- and he didn't love Dean anymore.
It was too much. Too much in one day to lose Cas and be outed to his father, to everyone, before he was even sure what he wanted to label himself, or if he wanted to at all. Too much to be mocked and derided and laughed at for the one thing that had made him the happiest he'd ever been. Too much. It was too much to lose Cas and Dad in the same day.
"Get out," he said. His own voice was as flat and quietly dangerous as John's had been earlier, and he almost scared himself a little bit.
John's face fell into an expression of shock and thinly veiled anger. "What did you just say to me?"
"Get out," Dean repeated, louder now, fists clenching by his sides, paper airplane crumpling slightly in his hand. "I don't want to hear this anymore, I can't take this. Get out."
"You can't order me out of my own house, boy – "
"Get. OUT," Dean screamed it this time. "LEAVE, JUST GET OUT."
And to his never-ending surprise, John did.
