Dean stopped counting on Monday.
The task of keeping track of the hours and minutes and seconds that had passed since his dad had found him and Cas together and proceeded to tear his life apart; it was just too disheartening and frankly, exhausting. The missing chunks of time when he had been knocked unconscious from his fight with John or passed out in the passenger seat of the truck because it gave him a short respite from the throbbing ache in his skin from his various injuries didn't help when he had tried to add it all up on his fingers either; fucking math.
Maybe it was better that John had made him leave that message for the school, Dean was pretty sure that the jig would've been up with Cas anyway once his SAT scores came back and the other boy realized that they was no chance in hell of Dean getting into any college anywhere. It was part of why he had been so desperate to have Cas top, eager to convince the other boy that if nothing else Dean was good for at least one thing and might keep him around until he found someone better, smarter, more deserving of someone as strong and as wonderful as the other boy.
So he stopped counting, partially because he lost track of the time since his life had turned to shit, but mostly because a small, vicious voice inside of him was telling him that this was all for the best anyway; Cas was better off without him. Cas didn't need anymore drama in his life after having just gotten over everything with his own dad and maybe it was better that everything between them came crashing down on the heels of such a huge personal triumph for the other boy. But he was selfish and too greedy to leave Cas alone when he really knew that all of this was probably a huge fucking neon sign that he should.
It was probably the most fatherly thing that John had ever done, reminding him of all of that. Reminding Dean that he was damaged (always had been), poison (wasn't that why his mom had left after all?), dirty (the only thing, incidentally that John did blame on Cas).
"And you're just encouraging that little deviant by telling him you love him and shit," John was saying as he pulled up to a dingy looking motel that was far on the outskirts on the bad side of the small town that they had just passed through. "It's, just not right, Dean. Are you listening to me, boy?"
"Yes, sir," Dean acknowledged even though he had tuned his father out again once he had noticed that they were stopping at an actual hotel for the first time all weekend.
They hadn't stopped anywhere besides dingy gas stations and roadside rest stops since leaving the apartment early Saturday morning and even then John had shot him suspicious and threatening looks anytime that Dean's hand had so much as strayed towards the handle on his door. John kept pointedly touching the pearlized grip on his handgun anytime Dean tried to steer the conversation in the direction of how they should probably go back; mentioning that the school probably wouldn't take his message saying he was dropping out seriously if he still showed up for class and dropping hints that Sam would eventually start to wonder where he was sooner rather than later.
But his dad wasn't listening or if he was then he was putting on a very good show of acting like he wasn't so Dean decided to save his voice for when he finally got the opportunity to use it to call for help. And now that they were stopping somewhere that he could maybe do just that, Dean tried very hard to not show how anxious he was to finally get out of the car for anything more than a piss and a stretch on the side of a road somewhere.
His reluctance to break their uneasy truce was based more on the fact that John would most definitely beat him back to Lawrence if the older man got pissed off enough and left him on the side of the road somewhere rather than any stubbornly lingering familial affection. Dean had no doubt that the first thing the still surprisingly sober John Winchester would do upon returning home would be to go over to the Novak house to punish everyone he thought deserved it, Sammy and Cas and anyone else who got in his way included.
"Good," John replied tersely, throwing his truck into park right in front of the office of the hotel; it was still early but there was a sleepy looking woman with a Dorothy Hamill haircut watching them disinterestedly through the window. "Now, I'm gonna go get a room. You, stay here. Don't do anything else stupid."
Dean nodded, not even having to feign the way his shoulders were slumped in defeat because there's no way he could just bolt without John seeing him and catching up with him. No, he would have to wait until his dad was asleep or something so that he could call Cas and tell him where he was; then Cas would send Bobby or Sam or maybe Sheriff Mills to come and get him and Dean had already decided that there was no shame in being rescued despite whatever disparaging remark John made about him being a damsel in distress.
He was almost surprised that no one had caught up with them yet, but when they passed through Topeka and then Junction City on just their first day of driving Dean had realized that everyone would be looking for him in Eudora where John's latest job and taken him instead of in the opposite direction. Dean didn't exactly know where they were at this point, but the irony that there was literally no way they could be in Kansas anymore was not lost on him.
John was just in the small hotel office for a couple of minutes, keeping his body and face angled towards where Dean was sitting in the truck so that he could see if Dean tried to make a break for it, but it was long enough to Dean to do a surreptitious inventory of the cab of the truck; finding nothing but a mismatched stack of fast food napkins in the glove compartment, a handful of loose change in the ashtray, and a few bent roofing nails littering the floorboards that he figured his dad had probably pulled out of the bottom of his work boots. There was nothing even remotely helpful that he could use to fight back against his dad and even then he didn't want hurt the older man, just maybe handcuff him to a radiator so that he could make a getaway that didn't involve pistols and punching.
"Grab your bag," John order gruffly through the window after rapping on it sharply to get Dean's attention. "Got us a room for a few days, just til I find us a job."
Dean nodded meekly and followed the older man towards a room that was a couple of doors down from the office, taking in as much about his surroundings as he could so that he would be able to tell someone that he was at the Starlight Motel in Not Kanas somewhere where there were a lot of woods. He was pretty sure they were in Colorado, but the pounding in his head had been making it hard to pay attention to what was going on around him and Dean was more than a little worried that a doctor might tell him there was brain damage or something once he finally made it home.
He had mopped up his face the best that he could at the first gas station they had stopped at, well aware of the fact that his father was standing right outside the door and that there was no way he could fit through the tiny window that faced the back lot that was full of truckers sleeping in the respective cabs of their vehicles. The pimpled late-night cashier at that particular Gas N' Sip had given him a scandalized look, but the woman idly popping her gum behind the front desk didn't even spare a glance their way as the two Winchesters passed her window.
Once Dean saw their room he realized it was probably because this wasn't the kind of hotel where the employees were paid extra to ask those probing questions. No, the brownish coverlets with their tell-tale stains that covered the two twin sized beds and the sagging, water-stained wallpaper did not inspire a lot of confidence in Dean. This was probably the kind of hotel where you paid by the hour and tipped the employees extra to look the other way. The kind of place where sometimes you saw things or heard things, but it was just safer and easier to stay the fuck out of it. Yea, no one was going to help him here.
"Go get cleaned up," John said with a dismissive wave towards the door that Dean figured was to the bathroom, dropping heavily onto the end of one of the beds as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "You look like shit."
Dean nodded and scurried into the tiny bathroom, taking his bag with him because if he could just get out a window or something then he could maybe hitchhike his way to a police station or back to Kansas; something his dad wouldn't probably be expecting him to do with how meek and eager to please he had been acting for the last couple of days. He hadn't even been arguing back about Cas, hadn't said a word if he could help it besides 'Yes, sir' or 'No,sir' since the first fifty miles and maybe he had finally managed to get his father to let his guard down enough that Dean could get away.
But of course in this kind of hotel there were bars on the windows, not that he would've been able to fit through it anyway. Hell, Anna probably wouldn't even have been able to fit through the tiny pane of frosted glass that was set into the wall above the shower, but it still didn't stop Dean from jiggling the bars to see if they were loose. They weren't.
"Motherfuckingshitfuckingdamnitfuck," Dean muttered, shaking the bars desperately one last time before he gave up and stepped out of the shower to lean heavily against the sink. It was then that he finally looked into a mirror for the first time since Kansas and if there was anything he could ever agree with his dad about it was that he looked like shit.
He had been able to feel the bruises forming and throbbing over the last couple of days to the point where he could barely even open his left eye while every mouthful of over-cooked gas station hot dogs had made his jaw click and the skin pull tight and hot over the cut on his cheekbone. But even then he had resisted the urge to look at his reflection in one of the truck's mirrors because if he didn't see it he could still pretend that maybe this wasn't real. That maybe all of the damage that John had done was part of some overly elaborate hunger-induced nightmare that he would wake up from to find Cas cuddled into his chest with the smell of mint wrapped around the both of them like a blanket.
But seeing his face in the sickly purplegreenyellow technicolor mass of abstract art that was reflected back at him from the mottled bathroom mirror, Dean had to admit that this was his life and it was real and maybe the only way to get back to Cas would be for more people to get hurt. The only problem was, as much as he hated his dad for well...as much as he hated John, John was still his father and he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to hurt the older man. If anyone could understand the conflicting emotions he was having over all of this shit, it would be Cas. But his boyfriend wasn't here which was the entire problem to begin with.
Dean initially turned on the shower in an effort to forestall the inevitable, just wanting to be away from his father and his looming threats that made Dean feel like he had to agree with everything the older man said. But then it quickly got muggy in the small room and his shirt started sticking to his back with sweat. And while he appreciated the fact that the condensation on the mirror was dense enough to obscure the fact that the tears of defeat and frustration were dripping steadily off of his nose and chin and into the sink it didn't mean that he hadn't first seen the days old blood still tinting his scalp a rusty brown before everything had gotten as foggy in real life as it had felt in his head over the last couple of days.
So he caved and took a quick shower, hoping that the sound of the water with its surprisingly decent water pressure hitting the dingy tile at his feet was loud enough to drown out the sobs that were wracking through him as he thought of Cas and his dad and how disgusted he was with himself for betraying the trust of the one person he had sworn never to hurt. It felt like the water would never be hot enough to blister off all of the hatred he was feeling for himself right then. And he deserved the pain anyway, even though he could barely feel it and certainly couldn't find any relief in the scalding water pouring down on his sore muscles.
He was surprised to see his dad sprawled half asleep across one of the beds when he stepped back into the main room, the older man lazily watching some fuzzy reality show in the fading light that was struggling through the dirty curtains that were covering the room's sole window. Dean was even more surprised to see a cheap plastic bucket filled with ice steadily condensatating on the scarred linoleum table near the door and much much less surprised to see a pair of handcuffs secured to the headboard of the empty bed that Dean assumed was his. It seemed his dad had been busy while Dean was in the shower. Or maybe it was some like father like son bullshit, he was just too tired to fight the fact that he seemed to be fate's bitch anymore.
"I got some ice," John mumbled sitting up from his slouch against his own headboard to stretch his arms over his head with a pained sounding groan. "Y'know for your face. Alternate hot and cold, it helps the swelling go down."
Dean nodded and dumped his bag at the foot of the empty bed, glancing warily at the handcuffs before he noticed the line for the room's phone was dangling over the edge of the nightstand between the two beds. Who even knew what John had done with it while Dean was busy feeling sorry for himself in the bathroom? He had to stop zoning out and trying to figure out a real way to get some help, especially if he ever wanted to get back home to Sammy and Cas and the rest of his real family.
"I ordered pizza, meat lover's. You still eat meat right? Haven't turned into a vegetarian or nothing over the last coupla months have you?" John asked, going towards the door where he began making a makeshift ice pack for Dean using one of the hotel's threadbare hand towels. Dean shook his head when his father glanced back over his shoulder at him and went back to looking for John's handgun or his own cell phone that the older man had taken once his father's attention was diverted again.
"Good," John grunted after a couple of seconds of Dean surreptitious investigation before turning back towards the younger man and gesturing towards the unused bed. "Y'know maybe this is good, us spending time together. Maybe that's where I messed up with all of this; I spent more time away from home than paying attention towards my own sons. Sammy's like a stranger now, but I got to you in time. You're still Dean, we can still fix all of this."
"Yea," Dean agreed quickly, his heart leaping in his throat because, yes.
Holy mother of god, yes. He was still Dean; the same Dean who liked action movies and football and watching NASCAR with Jo. The same Dean who had helped build the Impala from the ground up because he had fucking hero worshipped John when he was little and thought having a job where you were allowed to be dirty was just about the coolest thing ever. Being with Cas didn't change who he was and Jesus, maybe his dad had realized that.
"You just gotta figure out that whatever that boy has been telling you is nonsense," John continued like he was stating the obvious and Dean felt his knees start to go once he realized that his dad hadn't changed his mind; just managed to justify his actions somehow in his alcohol atrophied brain.
"I know he's probably been filling your head with all kinds of stuff," the older man said gently, almost sounding like he understood why Dean was suddenly slumping down onto his unrumpled hotel bed; like Dean was feeling betrayed by Cas and not losing the last shred of hope he had of his father not being completely nuts. "I know you were lonely, hell I get not having a dad around and that's my fault. I will take the blame for that, but Dean, he doesn't care about you the way you think he does. They never do."
"What do you know about it?" Dean asked, his blood boiling with a sudden rage at his situation that blotted out all of the fatigue and sadness and utter horror over what what his life had become. "You met him all of one time and you were drunk. Fuck, dad. You were so focused on being pissed about Sam that you wouldn't even shake Cas's hand! You wouldn't even give him a fucking chance! He's a good person dad!"
"Yea, that little shit's a real good fucking person," John scoffed, tossing his makeshift icepack hard at Dean's chest before he dug a hand into his pocket, producing Dean's cellphone that he flipped open before dropping it down onto the faded bedspread next to his leg. "Would a good fucking person not even call to check on you? Huh, Dean? He didn't even call you, that little queer doesn't give two shits about you. So before you go getting all self-righteous maybe you should ask yourself how much he really loved you."
Dean hesitated for all of never before snatching up his phone where it had slid down to where he was making the worn out mattress dip under his weight. There was a little voicemail notification at the top of the screen and the battery was almost dead, but Dean didn't think John would let him actually make a phone call, not even to his voicemail, so he navigated to his recent call history and scrolled to his heart's content. His dad grumbled murderous sounding things under his breath as he hefted his own bag up onto his bed, rummaging through it until he found what he was looking for; keeping a distrustful eye on Dean as he did so.
There was a knock on the door, which Dean assumed was the pizza being delivered because the smell of pepperoni and garlic was suddenly just there, but he was too caught up in frowning at his cell phone and scrolling back and forth between his last outgoing call (the one he had made himself to the guidance counselor's office at school) and his most recent incoming call (Bobby all of an twenty six minutes ago). He was looking at the white spaces on his screen for the millions of missed calls of from Cas that seemed to have just magically disappeared.
Because surely Cas had called him to check on him. Surely the other boy hadn't just left him at John's mercy and gone about his business like nothing life-shattering had happened to the collective they. Dean was pretty sure that his dad was behind this some how because the older man was looking at him but not looking at him in that entirely conspicuous and telling way that only people who were guilty had; Cas's oldest brother had looked the same exact way during the entirety of his boyfriend's trial. Dean clung to that look because maybe it meant that his dad was still just that, a person who could feel guilt and realize that what he was doing was fucking crazy and his father. Not this other John Winchester who was a zealous, violent stranger; that John Winchester wouldn't take him home.
"That asshole," Dean cursed, lying through his gritted teeth to make it actually sound like he was angry at Cas instead of worried that the other boy had fallen into a coma or something. He tossed his phone down onto the floor, turning to quickly lie down on the bed so that the way he was trembling wouldn't be quite so noticeable because the thought of Cas being so hurt that he couldn't even check on him was making him physically ill.
"You have every right to be mad, son," John said comfortingly as Dean felt the bed dip slightly down by his feet. "Hell, I'd be upset too if I was in your shoes, but you've got to understand. People like that, well, the just ain't built to deal with real problems like the rest of us. They run, they avoid; it's a self-preservation thing. They're kind of like animals or parasites, they don't know any better."
Dean felt like flinching away from his father when he felt the other man's hand pat his shoulder before the jangle of the handcuffs made him look up in alarm. He watched John pick up his right wrist and attach the loose end of the handcuff to it with a resigned sort of detachment even as his father gave him a small, apologetic smile. For a moment there Dean had thought he had his father fooled.
"Just for a couple of nights, Dean," John explained, tugging on the handcuffs before jerking his head towards the box of pizza that he had placed within Dean's reach near the foot of the bed. "Eat something, you'll feel better. I'm gonna take a shower and then call around and see if I can find us some work."
"Dad?" Dean asked brokenly, blinking back the tears that were making the corners of his eyes burn with the exertion it was taking to try to keep him from spilling over. "When can we go home?"
"A few weeks away from Lawrence will do you some good," John replied, ruffling Dean's hair as he straightened back up with a pained groan and a few ominous popping sounds from his back. "Hell, it'll do both of us some good. I just gotta make some money to square up with Eve and then we'll go back, if you want. I'd understand if you need longer away from everything there, you be sure to let me know. 'Kay, son?"
"Yea," Dean managed forcing what he hoped was a grateful expression on his face as he settled his hand that was attached to the bed underneath his face. "Thanks, Dad."
"I just want what's best for you, Dean."
"I know, Dad," Dean lied...again, pressing his face closer to the pillow because yea he was crying now and his da- John wouldn't understand why. Dean had cried when he lost his mother, cried for what felt like weeks and now...now he couldn't help but muster up some tears for his father who he had lost just as surely as the mother who had left him and Sam behind.
The only thing that kept him at school until lunch was the fact that Jo had evil spies in all of his classes. Between her, Ash, Garth, and Becky, Cas couldn't even manage to go to the bathroom by himself between classes; Garth or Ash or even Adam all happened to conveniently be in there everytime he so much as thought about washing his hands. He wasn't entirely sure how Jo had managed to wrangle the sophomore into making sure he didn't cut, but he was pretty sure that the other boy was promised all kinds of mind blowing sexual favors and if so he couldn't even find it in himself to be irritated. At least Kevin wasn't following him around too.
And besides, it was Valentine's Day, he didn't want to ruin it for any of his friends.
But he couldn't just stand by and watch them go about their business like nothing was wrong; like Dean not being there wasn't just fundamentally wrong. He had caused all of this though, by not telling the truth because he wanted to protect everyone from John since he hadn't been able to protect Dean. Now he felt like he was walking along the precipice of a cliff; torn between keeping the facade in place so that someone else wouldn't go looking for Dean and end up getting hurt and begging everyone in town to help him find his boyfriend before it was too late.
It wasn't until Chuck stopped him after class though that Castiel decided cutting and asking for help probably was going to be the only thing that kept him sane. The teacher waved Becky out the door when she hesitated packing up her things and Cas didn't even bother suppressing his gratitude towards the older man when she finally relented and agreed to leave him alone for the first time all morning. Chuck was leaning up against the front of his desk with his legs crossed at his ankles and his arms casually supporting his weight as Becky left the room, holding up a hand to silence Castiel before he could speak until the door clicked shut behind her.
"Now, do you mind telling me what's going on with you?" Chuck asked without preamble as he returned his gaze back to Castiel.
The question made Cas flinch and tighten his grip on the strap of his messenger bag, the roiling sickening worry that he had been battling against all day crashing down on him along with all of the hope he had that his pretense of being fine was working on anyone at all. He knew he looked like hell, because he hadn't been able to sleep without the aid of the more than the prescribed dose of Meg's over-the-counter sleep aids and even then the bit that he did get was fraught with nightmares that were all about Dean now.
He wanted to tell Chuck everything, because it would be so very easy to drag someone, an adult, into all of this mess with him, but he also wasn't blind. The teacher was just now getting his own life under control and Cas knew better than anyone how tenuous that control could be; look how easily his own had slipped away from him.
So he tightened his jaw against all of the words he wanted to unload on someone else that they would stop drowning him and just shook his head in response to the other man's question.
"Right," Chuck said disbelievingly before he took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I mean, you don't want to tell me; that's your decision and who am I to take that away from you? I just need to know if you're going to be able to handle doing your short story on your own or would you like to join one of the other groups?"
"I-I do- I do not understand," Castiel stuttered in surprise. "I mean, I'm doing the project with Dean. Dean is my group, it's our story. We're doing it together."
The teacher looked up sharply at that, fumbling his glasses back onto his face and he stood up straight from where he was perched on his desk.
"Castiel...you know." Chuck started, gesturing at the younger boy like they were sharing some secret. "If anyone knows its you, in fact Tessa is probably going to corner you and ask why he did it, but I think that's Dean's business. I mean, I've always said that he was smart, but I don't really think Dean ever believed it when I said it. Maybe I should've said it more or talked to his other teachers, but I thought they saw it too. You can't meet a kid who is that rare sort of unassumingly smart without noticing unless you're just blind. He could've been the next David Foster Wallace, hell still could be; I guess you don't need a high school diploma to be creative."
"What?" Castiel breathed in dismay, he was pretty sure he knew what Chuck was saying, but honestly it was the epitome of ridiculousness because he and Dean had plans.
A Plan that was better than the one that the other boy had been struggling with on his own before simply because it was theirs and they were going to do it together. And yea, he hadn't factored in John when he had been daydreaming about picket fences and tire swings with Dean, but he could fix that; what he couldn't fix was Dean giving up on their plan, their life together. Them.
"Dean's dropping out," Chuck said shortly, frowning in confusion when the younger man staggered backwards into the desk behind him and made a choking sort of gasping sound that he had only ever heard the prey on nature documentaries make. "Cas...you knew, right? He had to have told you he was doing this, you're like his number one cheerleader school-wise…"
"I have to go," Castiel forced out, his hand reaching up to cover his throat as he spoke because it felt like his throat was closing up and everything that he had thought he could handle turned out to be things that he really really couldn't handle by himself and he was just so…
Stupid, worthless, godless deviant.
"NO!" he yelled, blinking himself back into reality and out of his head where his father's voice was louder and clearer than it had been in months. Chuck's hand was on his shoulder and the older man looked startled and concerned and just the way that adults were supposed to look when you were acting strange and they cared about you. "I mean, I'm sorry. Chuck...I just really need to go. I've just...got to go."
"Castiel," the teacher called, following him out into the hallway where he fought the urge to run because he may be cutting to go get Bobby's help which he should've done days and days ago, but that didn't mean that he wasn't fairly sure Chuck wouldn't try to stop him if the teacher realized that Castiel was planning on leaving the building. "I can help you, whatever is going on with you and Dean. He's not officially out until he signs the paperwork, I can go with you to talk to him."
Castiel shook his head and made to move down the hallway that led to the cafeteria; the Impala was outside because he had refused to accept a ride from Jo or Meg to school and he had figured that it would give him and Dean an exit strategy if they needed to get away from their friends' questions about their busted lip or blackened eye. He just needed to shake Chuck and then he could go and tell Bobby everything; Bobby would know what to do.
"Okay," Chuck acquiesced softly, stopping short at the junction of the hallway where he scrubbed an agitated palm over his jawline before putting both of his hands on his hips and letting out a heavy breath. "Just...is something going on? Is Dean okay?"
"Of course he is," Castiel lied, for the last time, brushing away a tear that was stubbornly threatening to spill over. He was too tired to lie anymore, but it was going to be the only way that he could get to Bobby, so after this no more. "Why wouldn't he be?"
The older man narrowed his eyes, but nodded slowly and turned to go back towards his classroom. Castiel noticed the teacher pull his cellphone out of his pocket as he stealthily made his way towards the closest exit. Chuck's worried frown was replaced with a goofy grin that was familiar because Cas was used to seeing it on Dean's face anytime Cas said something his boyfriend thought was adorable; it was good that Chuck had someone who made that expression appear on his face.
He deserved that. And Dean deserved that and fuck this shit, Cas deserved that.
So before he was even in the Impala he was calling Bobby, because the the older man knew about the stubbornness of Winchesters; luckily Cas was a Novak and not above asking for help when circumstances got dire. And Cas was pretty sure that that things could possibly get any worse.
Author Note: I know this update took forever to get here, but seriously guys if you think this fic is bumming you out then I'm like sunk in a Morrissey level depression over here. But I'm going to try to be better so that we can get back to the happy. Bear with me, read my other fics, we'll figure it out together. Promise. Let me know what you're thinking/how much you hate me, either way I just like hearing from you. Come see me on tumblr! itspronounceddeathsteel