Chapter 8: Secrets and Concerns

When they returned to the bunker, laiden down with bags of food, medicine and clothes. Castiel had come out and started helping to unload and put everything away. John leaving to put his clothes in his room. He put them on the bed before going back to help with the groceries. But stopped before getting into the kitchen, if only because he'd never heard Castiel link so many words together at once.

"How's Dean doing?" Sam had asked Castiel as he put a pot on the stove to warm up some soup.

"He's clear again. The ice bath seemed to have done him some good. But he's still very agitated. He mentioned something about a headache, and he was looking nauseous. I think the affects are going to get more severe soon." Castiel stated, John hearing bangs, indicating he was putting things in the cabinet.

"You've been working with him right?" Sam asked, his voice slightly muffled.

"Yes, but I'm afraid the sparing is only doing so much to alleviate the stress, and the symptoms are getting worse." Castiel was answering, the rustling of bags making his voice hard to hear. "It's only going to be so long before he starts to get desperate."

"Ugh." Sam groaned. "Why are we doing this again? Wouldn't locking him in a panic room help, why didn't we do that again."

"Well, for one, he is your brother, and you don't want to do so. You know how difficult that was for you, and Dean." Castiel stated. "Two, that would be very hard to explain to your father after he showed up. Three, Bobby's house burned down and the panic room is no longer available. If he gets too bad, there is always the dungeon. But, I'm working on a way to help this, without coming to that."

"You haven't found anything?" Sam asked, grabbing a spoon and stirring the soup.

"Not yet..." Castiel stalled. "Well, one. But I heavily doubt Dean would be willing to do it. It could be quite painful, for both him and myself."

"Then we won't do it." Sam said, John turning the corner slowly. He could see them now, but they seemed to enthralled in there conversation to notice him.

"It's more of a last resort, I wouldn't think of doing so unless the situation was absolutely dire." Castiel added, continuing to put things away.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that then." Sam sighed. "We need to find a way. We don't want to do anything too dangerous. I know it's hard on Dean, but he'll get through it eventually. Until then, he's better with you around, so stay. Give your support, it's all he really needs. He's actually really happy that your sticking around for once. Though he won't admit it." He finished, putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder, and bending down to look him in the eye.

"I will stay." Castiel said, nodding his head. "I will always stay, for Dean." He said, looking up at Sam, John could see the guy had a sad look on his face.

"Good." Sam said, turning back to the stove. "Because, that's all he really wants."

John turned back down the corner and returned to his room. Where they really talking about Dean's alcoholism. That made no sense. They where talking as if there was something more going on. Where they really keeping things from him, this was his son, he needed to know everything. Especially when it involves one of their well-being.

There was something going on, and they where definitely keeping it from him for a reason. He just needed to know what it was.

Dean woke up from his dream, looking down at his hands in fear, expecting them to be covered in blood. He could not believe what he'd just seen. He'd killed people, and he liked it, had fun with it. What's more, it was the people most important to him. Slaughtering them with a smile on his face, whistling.

He took a couple shuddering breathes before a wave of nausea hit him and he leaned over the bed. Castiel had the foresight to put a bucket there last night. Wiping his mouth, he took a moment to regain his composure before lifting himself out of bed. He stopped to steady himself, when the room started spinning, holding a hand to his head. He needed a hot shower, and something to eat. The soup Sam had brought him last night was no longer in his system.

He walked down the thankfully empty hall, quietly, to the bathroom. He quickly divested himself of his clothing, and turned on the shower. Waiting for the water to warm up, he took a moment to look at himself in the mirror. Cringing at what he saw staring back at him.

His skin was at least three shades paler then his usual shade. He had dark, purple circles under his eyes, they made him look like he'd been in a fight. He had lost weight, barely noticeable, but he noticed. He hair had lost any semblance of style, or neatness he'd usually kept it in. He actually smiled about that, it reminded him of Castiel's hair.

When he noticed the steam, he stepped into the shower. He sighed as the warm water cascaded down his body. The streams messaging his back, working away the stress he'd built up over the days. He relaxed against the wall, letting the water rush over him as he closed his eyes, thinking.

Castiel had taken care of him yesterday. Dean had to admit, he'd had to work to calm down his body when he'd left. Dean knew that Castiel undressing him had been purely to prevent sickness. He hadn't done it to excite Dean or make him want more, but that was what he'd accomplished. Dean noticed he'd started to grow just remembering it. The way Castiel's hands had slid over his skin, taking off his shirt, how he'd bent down on his knees to pull off his pants.

The way Castiel had taken such care in removing his shirts, purely clinical in objective, but carefully as to not hurt him. His face had stayed calm the entire time, making his objective clear. But then he'd bent down and started to work on his pants. Dean had stopped him, knowing that if he continued, he would have had quite a bit of explaining to do.

He groaned as he came, looking down at his soaped hands, holding his waning member. He gave himself a few more pumps to work through his orgasm, and then finished with his shower. Blushing furiously, he quickly dried off. Had he really just jerked off to a memory of his best friend? Well, it wasn't like he hadn't done so before. In fact, Castiel had been the star to quite a few of his sexual fantasies for the past couple years. He'd long since come to terms that he was not exactly one-hundred percent straight. Course he didn't really stop and examine his feelings around the time. There had been an apocalypse going on, his mind was otherwise occupied.

He quickly redressed and walked to the kitchen, looking around corners, still pretty embarrassed about his actions. He did not want to talk to anybody right at the moment. While he knew there was no way they would know what he'd done, he was still determined to not think about it.

He looked around the kitchen, trying to see if there is anything he could eat that wouldn't make him nauseous. Finding oatmeal, which was easy and plain, he put a pot on to boil the water. Looking through more of the cabinets, he found one filled with medicines for him. Sam had evidently gone all out, with the shear amount of anti-nausea and fever reducers.

He felt a twinge of anger for that. He wouldn't need these precautions if they hadn't decided among themselves that he needed to be locked up. They could very well just let him go on hunts. But no, the chance of him killing an innocent, even though he could control himself despite what they thought, was apparently too high. He looked down at his arm, scrutinizing the mark. It had become red and inflamed, around the edges, it looked like bruises where starting to form. He was going to need to kill someone soon. But how could he? With his bloodhound best friend, nurse Winchester, and drill sergeant father on his case. Before he could come up with some sort of plan, he heard footsteps.

"Morning Dean." John said, walking into the room.

"Sir." Dean answered back curtly, turning to pull down his shirt sleeve and cover the mark. He then grabbed his breakfast and sat down at the table.

"Are you feeling better?" John asked, pouring himself a bowl of cereal.

"Sure." Dean said, before taking in a few spoonfuls of the clumpy liquid. John giving him a raised eyebrow.

"So no." John answered for him, sitting himself done. "Well, I'm glad your out here. I've been meaning to talk to you about this." He said, gesturing at the oatmeal and medicine on the counter.

"Oh, no Dad don't." Dean started to ask. The last thing he wanted was a lecture about alcoholism.

"I just wanted to say that there is no shame in it." John started, trying his best to give his son a comforting voice, but it seemed to come out more gruff.

"Dad, please." Dean begged, covering his face with his hands.

"Look, I know it's a hard life we lead. It's understandable to look for comfort in a bottle. Hell, I've made the same mistakes. I know I did, and you where the one to see most of it. As a kid you did a real good job of keeping your brother away from that." John started, Dean groaning and putting his head down on the table. "But there is a thing called taking it too far. You just gotta know when you've hit that point."

"Oh, like you did, right." Dean said sarcastically. "Cause you did such a good job of keeping it under control. All those night where I cleaned you up. Though of course you wouldn't remember in the morning cause you where too hungover. All those time you drink yourself to the point of passing out, while Sam and I sat in the room, hungry but too afraid to say anything about it. Cause we knew how you would react. You where an angry drunk who didn't want to hear anything from your children." Dean snapped, getting up from his seat and walking away. "Don't bother telling me when you decided it was enough, cause I don't wanna hear it." He shot back walking out of the room.

John sat there in silence, watching his oldest walk out of the room. Something about what he'd said had it a cord. He was right, he had no right to talk. He'd done so much worse then this, and he'd refused to see the problem. At least Dean was taking responsibility for his actions. Trying to do something about it. How many times had Dean had to take responsibility for his own actions. All those nights he'd drank and forgotten he'd had kids, that they where hungry or needed some attention themselves.

But, John had made the promise to do better by his children. Right now, Dean didn't want to talk, but he might. John was going to make sure he was here when his son was ready to do so. He was going to keep a cool head when they did finally tell him that it wasn't just alcohol that he was detoxing from. John suspected that it might have been harder drugs as well, with as bad as he was yesterday. Dean did experiment when he was younger, though he thought John hadn't known about it. Odds are he'd picked the habit back up. Whatever it was, John wasn't going to let him go through this alone, and he did not trust that new friend of his to do everything. He seemed to distant emotionally to be of much help in the right areas.

Dean walked to his room and turned on the music, putting his headphones on, he laid down in the bed. He was in a foul mood. Where did his father get off, lecturing him about taking his problems too far. He was the one who couldn't control himself. He might be able to tell that cock-of-bull to Sam. But he knew better. He had been the one to clean his father up, he had been the one to make sure that the duties that he'd skipped out on, laying in a drunken stupor, had been taken care of. He's the one who bared the brunt of his drunken rages while he kept Sam in the other room. His father may have never hit him, but that didn't mean he hadn't had to take a lot of bullshit from him.

It wasn't helping Dean's foul mood that he was under constant surveillance from the others. He needed a break, some time alone to think. Maybe go to a bar and pick up a quick lay or something. That might help his bad mood. Maybe he should find Castiel and get a quick spar. Then sneak out. There was no way they would let him out on his own if he suggested it, they would follow him to make sure he didn't act up too much. Which would just be weird, having his brother tail him if he got lucky.

Of course, if Castiel went with him, it might not be as weird. Of course, then he would be focusing his energy on cornering Castiel in the bathroom. Which actually seemed like a good idea, but he would never go for that. He's had a wife, and he'd slept with that chick that turned around and killed him. Castiel was straight, of that Dean was fairly certain. Of course, then again, he's had his family convinced he was straight.

He'd never explored that part of his sexuality until he was in his senior year of high school. Which he kept exclusively at school, in the boys locker rooms, once everyone else was gone. He was able to pick out the questioning and interested in a second, and he'd gotten quite a bit of fun, but it may have led to his dropping out. He had missed a lot of classes after gym. He'd gotten a bit more experience once Sam had gone to college and his dad had sent him on hunts alone. Then he had no one to answer to except himself, and he'd liked it that way. It was a lot easier picking up guys in gay bars then girls in night clubs. But he had never breathed a word to anyone about this. Especially not his father.

Dean shuttered to think of what would have happened had he come home and told his dad he was going out with a boy and not a girl. John had never been openly homophobic, but he was raised in a different time, and was pretty closed minded in that aspect. But John was quick enough to throw out any hunter who had an interest in men, and keeping them away from their rooms afterwards. But he was friendly with people, so long as they weren't hunters. That never really made sense to Dean, but then again, a lot of John's actions barely made any sense in Dean's and Sam's early teens.

He sat up rolled his neck. The mark burning a hole in his arm, or at least that's what if felt like. He looked down again seeing the red and swollen skin. He needed some kind of relief, and quickly. His hands seemed to have developed a continuous trembling. He watched as they shook, no stopping in sight. He sat up, stopping to regain his composure as the room suddenly spun. "Too fast." He thought to himself, walking to the door. "Now, where did Cas decide to sleep?" He wondered, going down the hall, thinking the Angel would choose a room close to himself, just in case anything happened.

He found him two rooms down. Apparently thinking now was a good time to consider personal space, and give him some room. He leaned on the door way, watching his friend pour over a book who's title he couldn't read. Castiel had shed his customary trench coat, and gone for a pair of regular jeans, a size to big, and one of Dean's t-shirts. Giving him a nice look at the body Castiel had been hiding all these years. Jimmy was a swimmer, and a runner from the looks of him.

"Don't you usually yell at me for doing the exact same thing?" Castiel asked, not looking away from his books, but smiling slightly. Dean coughed, he'd been caught.

"That because it's creepy when you do it." Dean stated easily.

"And it's not when you do it?" Castiel asked, turning to look at Dean with a raised brow.

"Yeah, it is." Dean admitted. "Consider it payback for all those times you've done it." He said smiling. "So." He started, looking at that the book again. "What are you looking at?"

"I'm trying to find another way of removing that mark. Hoping to make things easier on you." Castiel answered, shuffling his notes.

"You mean outside of this crazy detox you got me on?" Dean asked, walking inside Castiel's room. Castiel nodded, looking at Dean. "You find anything so far?"

"Not yet." Castiel answered, turning his head back down to the book.

"That sucks." Dean said, going over to the notes. "But in the mean time. Do you have time for a quick spar? I've got some energy I need to work off." He asked, looking to his friend who stood up and looked him in the eyes.

"Of course." Castiel agreed, closing his books and putting his notes away. "Would you like to go to the gym?" He asked Dean who had not yet made a move to leave.

"Actually, I was kinda hoping that we could go outside." Dean answered, looking at Castiel in what he hoped was a good pass for Sam's puppy eyes. It had been awhile since he'd gone outside.

"Alright." Castiel said, smiling. "There's no harm in that."

Not my greatest, I'll admit, but it's a bit of set up. Next chapter you'll get some action. I'm hoping that'll make up for it. Until then...

Have a nice day.