"Alright, Cassie, what do you want?" Gabriel asked, looking over at his brother. The pastry shoppe was lit dimly, lit warmly. Castiel examined the pastries before he pointed to his favourite. A type of viennoiserie; pain au chocolat. Gabriel nodded and recited the order to the clerk, who gathered the breads and pastries, placing them in boxes and bags. Pulling out cash, Gabriel thanked the clerk and paid, Castiel helping to carry everything out to the car.
Silence filled the car as Gabriel started it up. Castiel leaned forwards to turn off the radio as Gabriel had turned it on.
Arguments were void that day on the way home.
Castiel moved his hands in a flutter of symbols, but Gabriel cut him off.
"I don't want to learn it."
Castiel dropped his hands, looking back out the window.
"I don't want to learn it because I want to hear your annoying-ass little brother voice, again, okay?"
Castiel looked down.
"Cassie, listen. I think that you just need to find someone."
Castiel turned Gabriel's head to look back at the road.
The older, yet shorter, brother didn't say anything more as they drove home.
Silence carried when they got home.
The nanny, a short and stout woman with pale skin, came to the door and took some of the pastries and bread, and led Castiel into the kitchen with them. Gabriel accompanied his brothers upstairs.
Castiel helped put away the bread as the previously mentioned nanny, Aadi, set out the pastries on plates, Castiel writing his siblings names on paper. The paper was folded and placed next to the respectable pastry.
Zachariah, Michael, Lucifer, Naomi, Gabriel, Anna, Castiel.
He capped the marker then folded the papers over. Aadi took them out and set them down on the dining room table. Castiel took his as she called them all down. The youngest brother slipped up into his room, setting his pastry down on a nightstand before laying down on his made bed, staring at the ceiling.
Castiel used to be proud of his room.
It used to have clean, deep blue walls that reminded him of the sea. White trim and a matching ceiling. The bed was dark mahogany and the duvet and sheets were white to match the curtains and accent the walls. Flooring was wooden like the bed.
Now his room walls were covered in prints of artwork he liked, and art that he had done. It hung on canvas and poster, paper and newsprint. Anything he could get his hands on. What was left of the dark walls had holes from punches or glass had been thrown to have it shard.
He kept the shards in a drawer that he kept locked.
Castiel, now fifteen, ran a hand over his ever-growing scruff. He wished for the millionth time it didn't grow so fast, that it hadn't grown, and he knew he'd have a shadow present always.
He ran a hand and pulled a bit at his hair. He sat up again and shrugged his leather jacket off, revealing a saddening collection of tally marks and words on his arms that were slowly scarring over. Biting his lip, he pulled his shirt over his head, letting the red tank top discard itself on the floor of his room as he stood and moved to a wall. The picture stared back at him.
The man- or woman- in orange cowered from a larger green man with long, white fingernails and black scraggly hair. There was broken walls and a couple of hills. The trees tangled like kudzu and the leaves were circles of purples and whites, much like grapes.
If you had asked Castiel what he liked so much about the painting, he would shrug and not talk to you. He had a lot to say on the piece, but he could never bring himself to.
Not since Raphael had died in that car accident.
He made his way back to the bed with his sketchbook. The music went up, blocking out anything else that dared to interfere as he stared at the pictures, trying to find something to draw, something new, something human.
Something to forget about the pain.
Normally it's Anna. Anna with her fiery red hair and sundresses, collarbones and strapless tops.
The redhead was reluctant to come to his mind.
Pencil lead left marks in the paper from tapping as he thought.