This is a chapter that is way too long. It was originally two chapters, but I didn't really like how it flowed. I'm aware it's cheesy, like SUPER cheesy, but sometimes I can't help myself ._.
After brunch, with his mother gone and his brother asleep, Dean felt himself drawn to Castiel. For some reason, he'd felt like a cat in heat around him the last few days. He wasn't sure why. He was semi-convinced it was because he was in his childhood home again and it felt illicit, which gave him a little thrill.
Dean turned to Castiel. "I've got you alone again." He purred, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, rubbing himself against him almost obscenely. "Mmm, I don't know what it is about you the last few days, but I just want to eat you all up."
"Stop." Cas whispered. "I'm not… I'm not in the mood."
"What's wrong, Cas?" Dean asked, pulling away slowly, even though he no desire to do so.
"It's nothing." He said roughly. "It's stupid."
"Come on, Cas. You know we tell each other when we're feeling like crap now, so we don't get a repeat of our best pictures, 'Cas Shoving Jo' and 'Dean Puking on Castiel's Toms.' Out with it." Dean said.
"Can we go upstairs to your room?" Castiel asked.
Dean just nodded and led him up the stairs. They kicked off their shoes and sat on the edge of the bed.
"What is it?" Dean asked.
"Now, don't think I'm undermining what has happened to you and Sam…" Castiel started.
"You don't need to explain yourself, Cas. I promise, whatever it is that's bugging you, I won't relate it back to my own crappy life." Dean said. He knew he had a tendency to do that.
"Hearing about your childhood, the one you shared with your brother, Jo and her brother… it just kind of… I don't know. It hurt." He admitted. "Seeing the Singers, who are truly wonderful people, seeing how they were with their children and with you and Sam, that hurt too."
"Why?" Dean asked, genuinely confused.
"I never had that. Any of that. I was moved so often, that any lasting relationships I could have formed were cut off at the bud. I never had a fort. I never had friends who were 'soulmates.' I never had anyone who referred to me as making their life worth living." Castiel said.
"Aw, Cas." Dean said. "Why didn't you say something?"
"And stop you from reliving wonderful parts of your life? Make Ellen and Bobby aware of how pathetic I am? No. I don't do that. I won't do that." He said, shaking his head. "I just never had a normal childhood. I never had a family. Even the Novaks, who are the best people I've ever met, I hardly can count them as family. I was far too damaged by the time they found me."
"Cas... where are you parents?" He asked. Dean had wanted to ask this question for months now, since he'd found out about Castiel's past.
He just shook his head. "I don't know. There was never a father. I tried to find my birth mother while I was in graduate school, but I couldn't. She's either dead or she's changed her name."
"You lived with your grandmother for five years? Couldn't you find her that way?"
"I tried, Dean. Believe me, I tried. All I know is that she dropped me off at a police station when I was six months old, with my grandmother's name and contact information. She refused to help the court find her. She said I was 'better off' never knowing her."
"People can do that? They can just... drop their children off?" Dean asked in disbelief.
"It's called a Safe Haven law. You can drop your children at any police station, fire station or hospital without consequence."
"That's horrible."
"No, no it's not. You don't understand. That law may have saved my life. Not that I have any clue about why she'd do it in the first place. If my grandmother was still alive… I would know by now, but unfortunately, she's not, so I don't know. I'll probably never know."
Dean just nodded. Castiel had a point. He had no idea why his mother had given him up. She could have been on drugs, Castiel could have been the product of rape, or she might have just been a bad mother. Whatever the reason was, it was probably a pretty big one. Dean didn't press the issue.
"Do you have any pictures of her?"
"One. Just one. My grandma gave it to me a few weeks before she died. She knew she was dying and I guess wanted me to have it. My mother was maybe 14 when the picture was taken. She... well, she looks like me."
Castiel hopped off the bed and opened his trunk, pulling out his sketchbook, the one he carried with him everywhere. Dean was sure he'd filled many sketchbooks, but he carried this one everywhere and it was battered and covered in doodles that had faded with age.
He sat back down next to Dean and opened it. He pulled out two photos from a slipcover behind the front cover. One showed an older woman with a kind face and graying brown hair. She was bent over to a toddler on a tricycle, her hand on his shoulder. The child was looking away, laughing at something in the background, but the older woman was smiling at the camera.
"That's me and my grandma. I was four here. I have more pictures of her, but this is my favorite." He said softly.
"D'aww Cas. You were so cute!" Dean squealed.
Castiel just smiled. "I had a chance then, you know?"
He flipped to the next picture. This one was faded and curling around the edges, showing its obvious age and the fact that it had been handled many times over the years. It showed a teenage girl wearing a pink sundress, with a mane of brown Farrah Fawcett hair and eyes so blue they looked alien. She was smiling stiffly, standing in front of a rosebush.
"She's a dead spit for you. Those eyes." He said.
"I know." Castiel said. "Everyone always notices that immediately. I guess these eyes run in the family."
"What about a DNA test? Could you find her that way?" Dean asked.
"I've thought about trying that, but it's expensive, and honestly, I don't care if I find her anymore. She obviously didn't want me. She obviously doesn't want to know me, either, because by now, it would have been easy for her to track me down." He said.
Dean just nodded. Castiel slipped the photos back into the sketchbook carefully and put it back in the trunk.
"These pictures are all I have left of them." He said. "Looking at them, I almost feel normal, even though I'm not."
"I'm sorry you never had a family or a normal childhood. I wish I could take all those awful memories away and replace them with ones like I have." Dean said, slipping an arm around his shoulder.
"Dean… I know your upbringing wasn't perfect, that you and Sam went through hell, but coming here, has just shown me how many people love you. Your brother, he watches you with such adulation. He worships you. Your mom's the same way, the way she looks at you with such tenderness when she thinks you're not looking. The Singers too, Jo and her parents and brother, they're like a second family. You have no idea how much these people love you. How they'd die for you." He said.
"I know. I'm lucky." Dean said, and for once he actually believed it.
"Hold onto them. Hold onto them for dear life, because one day you could wake up and be like me, with nothing left of them besides a few vague memories and worn pictures. If you do absolutely nothing else in your life, do that." Castiel said.
Dean knew what Castiel was saying to him underneath his words, which were so carefully chosen. Dean had a family. In fact, Dean had two families, yet for a long time, he hadn't made them a priority. He knew that Castiel thought he needed to change and Dean knew he was right. Castiel assumed he had no one, nothing to hold onto, no one to call home, like Dean did. No matter how he spun it, when it came down to it, he knew his family wasn't Castiel's and there was always a chance they'd split. Dean wanted to give him something to hold on to, at least for now.
"Cas, I'm about to get really cheesy for a minute, so bear with me and don't interrupt, because this will probably never happen again." Dean said, actually blushing, "You're right about a lot, but you're wrong too. From the moment I ran over you in the quad last August, I've been falling for you. I love you as much as Sammy loves me, albeit in a different way. I look at you with that same adulation."
"Dean…" Castiel said softly, looking away. "It doesn't matter. You're not blood."
"I'm not done. Cas. You should know, blood doesn't always mean family. I mean, hell, look at my dad. Anyway, I want to tell you why I love you; I want you to know each little thing about you that drives me crazy."
Castiel just looked uncomfortable, but he nodded at him to go on.
"This is a mouthful, but here it goes. Cas, I love your messy hair. I love those bizarre eyes of yours and the way you stare at me with such wonder. I love how the first time I kissed you, you quoted Sylvia Plath. I love the breathy little sighs that escape your mouth when I'm kissing that sensitive spot on your shoulder. I love that you offered to draw my brother a birthday card. I love that you can wear fishnets and public and not give a shit. I love your mind, your wonderful, busy mind. I love the way you move. The way you speak. I love you, body, heart, and soul. I want you to know, no matter what happens, I would happily die for you a thousand times."
Dean finished and he was amazed at how insecure he felt when he was done saying it. He was slightly afraid that Castiel would laugh at him. It was probably the cheesiest thing he had ever said to anyone and he had used some pretty bad lines in his younger days. Fortunately, he had just meant what he said. He started to get more embarrassed when Castiel didn't say anything back.
Dean chuckled nervously. "Cas, come on. Say something and don't make me regret the cheese."
"How do love thee? Let me count the ways." He murmured. "Dean, have you ever read that poem?"
"Cas, you should know by now that I don't read poetry." He said, smiling a little bit.
"You should because you basically just recited it to me, but much more honestly." Castiel said, wiping his eyes.
"Oh man, why are you crying?" Dean asked.
"I'm not sobbing, so no worries." He said. "That was just… probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me."
"M y point is, that people love you. I love you. There are so many reasons why. If you'd let more people see it, you'd have all the family you ever needed. You don't need blood relatives to be loved, Cas. You just need to be you." Dean said.
"God, Dean, are you trying to make me bawl?" He asked, sniffling.
"Maybe just a little." Dean admitted.
"Well it's working." He said. "You may be trying to be a scientist, but sometimes you have a way with words."
"Only when I really mean them, Cas. Now, want to see what's on tv?" Dean asked, reaching his hand forward and thumbing away one of the few stray tears that had escaped from his eyes.
"Sounds perfect."
They settled on Star Wars, mostly because Castiel loved it and Dean hated "A Christmas Story," which was the only other show on television right now. Dean hadn't celebrated the holiday season in a long time. The last two years had been spent in Plainville, sitting on the couch in his lonely, small apartment, drinking bourbon straight from the bottle, getting drunk enough to appreciate "It's a Wonderful Life." He'd call his family before dinner, drunk as a skunk, wishing them a Merry Christmas. He'd cackle merrily and tell them he was meeting Charlie's incredibly Catholic family for Mass later and his mother would bemoan him for "mocking their faith." Dean hadn't ever been mocking them; he simply joined them for Mass because he didn't want to be alone on December 25th.
Dean was a staunch atheist and he felt strange being expected to celebrate Christmas, mostly because of the "Christ" part of the equation. He knew no one celebrated it for these reasons anymore, but it still felt wrong celebrating the birth of someone he knew was probably just some guy. No one in Dean's family was religious, least of all him, but over the years, they always put on music celebrating baby Jesus and from the beginning of December through the middle of January, a fake Christmas tree sat in their living room. He didn't know why he was thinking about this all of the sudden. Maybe it was the season, maybe it was because this year he wasn't going to Mass simply to avoid being alone on some date that meant absolutely nothing to him, maybe it was the fact that Castiel had once told him that his name was derived from Cassiel, an angel mentioned in the bible (Dean had no idea—he had never owned a bible).
Dean glanced down at Castiel, who was currently leaning against him as if he were a pillow, his body totally relaxed, wearing a contented smile on his face. He couldn't believe that this was the same guy who one hour ago was in hysterics because Ellen and Bobby had been just too nice. Dean felt a twinge in his chest that was a mixture of love and lust. Castiel was certainly no angel, but Dean sometimes felt like one had sent him to him.
"Cas, do you believe in God?" He asked.
"No." Castiel said, not taking his eyes off Star Wars. "I'd be more likely to enter a burning house covered in gasoline than to go church, believe in God, or read the Bible."
"I didn't know you felt that strongly." Dean said, raising an eyebrow.
Castiel rolled his eyes and looked up at him. "If there were a God, then I doubt I would have been subjected to the things that happened to me as a child. If somehow, this mythical being did exist and these things still happened, then I'd take hell any day of the week." He muttered, furrowing an eyebrow.
Dean didn't say anything. Although Castiel was normally very sweet, kind, and funny, with a sense of humor that reminded him of Singer family's humor, he had so much rage and sadness inside of him. He remembered how he snarled at Jo, calling her a "dyke", the destroyed dishes and the paintings that he had slashed with a knife. Castiel was definitely no angel, unless angels were capable of getting PTSD.
"Please tell me you haven't suddenly switched sides." Castiel said sharply.
"No, not at all. I was just thinking about how at this time last year, I'd be moping around my apartment, drinking for a week straight, then going to church with Charlie and her family. Believe me, I'm on the same page as you are."
"Good." Castiel said.
Dean leaned over and cupped Castiel's face in his hands, kissing him. Castiel returned the kiss, which was filled with a sense of urgency that Dean had gotten addicted to experiencing.
"Mmm. Want to go upstairs?" Castiel breathed. "I'm kind of in the mood now."
Dean just grinned at him and kissed him again, He moved his hands from Castiel's face down to his waist, skimming his fingers over his ribs and then moving him up his shirt, kissing him deeper. Then, he heard the voice of the angel of cock blocking.
"Oh gross, get a room!" Jo yelled. "Your mom is right behind me."
Dean groaned inwardly and lifted himself off Castiel, whose eyes were still burning. He winked at him again and stood up.
"Jo, I love how, even here, you're showing up at my house unannounced at the worst times." He said, sending her a tight smile.
"Honey, I ran into Jo at the supermarket and invited her over to help with dinner. I haven't seen this girl in such a long time!" Mary said, smiling at Jo. They set bags of groceries on the kitchen table.
"Where's Sam?" Mary asked suddenly, her voice grave.
"Chill, mom, he's sleeping." Dean said.
Mary just nodded. "Okay. Good. You boys want to help me with dinner?"
"I brought wine." Jo added.
"Then we'll definitely help." Castiel said, standing up.
"You won't." Dean said, grinning. "Seriously, mom, Cas is like the worst cook ever."
The four of them padded around into kitchen, Castiel was relegated cutting vegetables (he seriously couldn't cook worth a damn and Dean hardly trusted him to cut vegetables), while Jo poured wine and made, and Mary preparing the lasagna. Chat was idle and Dean felt warm, loved and lucky to have these people in his life. They were cooking dinner and in two days, it was Christmas. It was so unbelievably normal that it hardly seemed like his life.
Around 6:30, with the pasta in the oven, Dean, Cas, Jo and Mary sat around the dining room table finishing off their second bottle of wine, when Sam came down the stairs, fresh from a nap. He looked more alert than he had when they had returned from Bobby and Ellen's, but his eyes still appeared slightly glazed.
"Something smells really good." He mumbled, taking a seat next to Jo.
"Mary and Dean made lasagna." Castiel said.
"Well if Dean made it, remind me not to eat it." Sam said, rubbing his eyes.
Dean started to retort when his mother interrupted him.
"Sam, it's after 5:30." Their mother said.
"God, I just woke up. I'll do it in a minute." Sam groaned. "One hour off isn't going to—"
"You need to be as prompt as you can be." Mary interrupted. "Come on. Now."
Castiel and Jo both looked confused. Dean felt embarrassed for his younger brother, because he knew exactly what his mom was referring to; Sam's medication schedule dictated a round of pills every 6 hours or so. Dean had seen him slip a handful of them in his mouth at brunch. Mary stood up and walked over to Sam. She patted him on the shoulder and gestured to the stairs.
"Goddamnit! I just woke up and you don't need to hassle me about this shit in front of guests!" Sam yelled. "I know, 5:30 every night, I know I need these injections or I'll go crazy. I don't need a goddamn reminder!"
Mary shuddered when he yelled. "I'm sorry, but punctuality is a necessity." She said, her voice trembling. Mary Winchester had never quite recovered from their father's drunken rages.
"I got it." Dean said easily. "Come on, Sammy."
Sam's face was red and he followed Dean up the stairs, Castiel and Jo watching them, their mouths slightly agape. Dean glanced at his mom and gave her a smile. She smiled back, her face tight, and sat down.
"You shouldn't yell at her." Dean muttered as soon as they entered the large bathroom that Dean and Sam had shared in high school.
"I know, but it's so embarrassing. She brought it up in front of Cas and Jo. So fucking embarrassing."
"She's trying. I didn't realize how hard she was trying. We shouldn't yell at her though. You know how she gets."
"She's babying me. I'm an adult, Dean. I'm 22 years old. Before all of this happened, I had a 4.5 GPA and I was on my way to the Ivies. I'm not mentally challenged. I'm mentally ill." Sam grumbled. He pulled open the medicine cabinet and pulled out the vial of Haldol, Dean washed his hands and pulled out the kit with the needles. It was almost mechanical for the two of them; they had done this so often when Sam had been at his worst.
"Any reason you can't do this yourself?" Dean asked.
"My hands shake too much. I can never find a vein. "He muttered. "I can't even give myself a fucking injection."
"Well, at least that'll prevent you from ever trying heroin." Dean muttered, trying his hand at inappropriate humor. "How much?"
Sam ignored his comment. "20 milligrams. "
Dean felt a little taken aback. He expected that Sam was taking it two or three times a day, but he didn't ask. 20 milligrams three times a day was a lot. No wonder he was so tired. He sighed, thinking about how Sam would have to do this every day for the rest of his life. Dean wordlessly wrapped the tourniquet around Sam's arm and prepped the needle. He glanced at Sam, who looked slightly nauseated. Despite receiving injections three times a day, for years now, Sam was still scared of needles.
"Don't watch it go in Sammy. It's always over quick."
Sam nodded and looked up at the ceiling. Dean found a vein easily and injected the Haldol. He still remembered all of this, clear as day. He could still take care of Sam like it was second nature. Sam opened his eyes and Dean released the tourniquet and tossed the used needle into the waste bin. They were probably the only family in Lawrence that had a "Hazardous Materials" trash can in their bathroom.
"Thanks." Sam muttered. "I know you hate doing that. I just… I don't know, having you do it is better than having mom do it. Somehow it's less degrading."
"I don't mind." Dean said. He didn't. He never really had. The injections were what kept Sam from spinning into space. Although he didn't say it out loud, he was glad that Mary Winchester was so adamant about the timing of the injections. One of the reasons Sam had relapsed so much since she came back was because she wasn't obstinate about his medication schedule. She had let Sam skip doses, or she would wait for Dean to come home from work because she couldn't stand injecting him with a needle either. A lot had changed in two years.
The two of them stood there for a minute. "Thanks for coming home." Sam said finally. "It means a lot. To me and to mom."
"I'm sorry it took so long."
"I don't blame you. If I were you, I would have run too. Your life is so much better now. Sometimes I envy you so much it makes me want to puke."
Dean nodded, understanding why, and wordlessly they went back downstairs. Dean remembered his thoughts about the domesticity of the scene and then thought about what he'd just had to do, and he had to remind himself that in this house, there was no "normal."