A/N: This chapter was originally part of six, but I cut it for length. Also wanted to toss in a warning there this chapter contains some intense violence and homophobia. Thanks for reading!
Two weeks passed after 'the incident' and though the two found themselves gravitating towards each other more and more, Castiel barely spoke to Dean. Castiel didn't mind much, because there wasn't anything really to be said. After Dean had calmed Adam down from hysteria and tucked him away in his own bed, the eldest Winchester had grabbed Castiel firmly by the shoulders and asked him very plainly to never mention what had happened. Not even to Sam.
"Why?" Castiel had asked, confused and still shaken as he watched Dean nail the window in Adam's room shut once more. "Shouldn't you tell your parents?"
Dean shook his head. "What am I going to tell them, Cas? That Adam somehow got his nailed-shut window open and tried to take a swan dive off the roof? That's gonna open way more cans of worms than I can deal with right now." Castiel had to wait while Dean banged the final nail in to reply.
"You have to tell someone, Dean. You can't handle this alone."
Dean looked up at him, something thoughtful passing across his face and then gone in an instant. He threw the hammer back in the tool box. "I told you, didn't I?"
Castiel nodded slowly and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Fair enough."
Dean brought his fist to his mouth, biting hard on a knuckle as if he was trying his best to refrain from saying something. He continued to glare at the window. Castiel waited, his breath caught in his throat as Dean opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, decided not to, and closed his mouth again, turning to face the bed.
"I don't know what to do."
Castiel watched with a pang of sympathy as Dean's shoulder shook once and then slumped.
"I don't know what to do, Cas," he repeated in a hoarse whisper. "I'm not cut out for something like this."
Slowly Castiel inched forward, his hand outstretched. He pulled it back once in hesitation before firmly planting it on Dean's shoulder and giving a reassuring squeeze, not sure if it was what Dean really needed at the moment. Dean tensed visibly for a long second, but then immediately sank in to the touch, relaxing under the grip.
"You'll be alright, Dean," Castiel murmured, letting his grip loosen and his hand fall away. "I'll help you. You don't have to do everything by yourself."
Before Castiel had time to register it and step back, Dean had rounded on him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. For a brief second Castiel panicked, wondering if Dean was going to strike him or blame him for Adam's bizarre actions. But Dean just bore down into him with his gaze before jerking him forward into a warm, tight embrace.
Stunned, Castiel did not have any idea how he should react. Dean definitely did not come across as a hugging type of person, and Castiel had never been very receptive to them either—not to Camille, his parents, or even to Mary—but this embrace, it felt so needful, so incredibly needful, and Castiel soon found himself lifting up his hands and winding them around Dean's back, returning the action.
Perhaps it worked so well because it was so foreign to the both of them.
Dean himself seemed to relax at this, whatever trepidation at the action he had melting away when Castiel seemed to reciprocate it. The seconds seemed to tick by at a crawl, and it felt like an hour at least had passed before Dean finally added a preemptive and defensive warning,
"I don't normally do this, you know."
Castiel placed his palm firmly on the small of Dean's back. "I know."
"I don't do chick flick moments."
"I know, Dean."
"If you tell anyone, I'll deny it."
"Of course, Dean."
A long silence loomed over them, Dean's arms still firmly wrapped around Castiel, showing no sign of letting up any time soon. Eventually he opted for dropping his forehead to Castiel's shoulder, emotionally exhausted. "I almost—" he choked out, having to start over. "I almost lost my brother back there."
Castiel did not respond, only brought his hand up to place it on the back of Dean's neck in what he hoped was a soothing touch. Dean did not seem to mind it.
"I think about him, just—just lying there, Cas. Dead. My fault. And I just," Dean trailed off.
"It wasn't your fault," Castiel replied, his voice suddenly firm and grave. He pulled away slightly from Dean then, forcing Dean bring his head up from Castiel's shoulder. The anguish hidden just beneath the surface of Dean's hard features still apparent despite his best efforts to hide it. "Dean, in no way was this your fault. Don't think something like that."
Dean gave him a look, one that was impossible to read. Dean's left hand came up to clamp down on the junior's shoulder with more pressure than necessary, but Castiel welcomed the grounding touch. He offered up a gentle smile as reassurance, and Dean's breath visibly hitched.
The senior's thumb began massaging feather light circles in to Castiel's collarbone, something that caused a fluttering feeling deep in the pit of his stomach.
"You're really weird, Cas, you know that?" Dean whispered in something that resembled a low and repressed growl. He didn't leave Castiel time to answer as he slid his hand up towards the juncture between the younger teen's neck and shoulder, where he noted that his hand seemed to fit perfectly like the space was molded to his very touch.
Castiel held his breath, confused and ecstatic and completely terrified all in one crazy emotional tidal wave that washed over him. He watched as Dean stared with an almost predatory glare at his neck, where the older teen's hand began rubbing with a little more audacity.
It was when his hand crept up a few inches higher, his hand hooking behind Castiel's ear and thumb brushing across Castiel's cheek that Dean's name fell from the junior's lips in a pleased hiss, and instantly Dean's hand was gone, the senior reeling back and pulling away like he'd caught fire.
Castiel wanted to snatch his hand and place it back where it was, but he was frozen in his place, something that was not quite embarrassment manifesting in a flush on his face.
"I'm—I—" Dean started, fumbling over his words as he wiped his palms nervously on his jeans. He closed his eyes, regaining a shred of composure and finally saying, "I think I should just drive you home; shouldn't make you have to deal with all of this crap with Adam. Rain check on Die Hard?"
Castiel was too stunned in to silence to speak, only nodding his head and silently agreeing that it was the best course of action at that moment. "I'll walk," he croaked, clearing his throat and trying again, a little firmer. "You need to stay with Adam."
Dean made to protest, but Castiel shook his head once with finality. "Dean, stay with Adam. I'll be fine to walk home this once. I promise."
The senior found himself nodding in agreement; he scrubbed his face with one hand and was horrified to find his face hot and sweaty. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds alright. Just be uh—just be safe."
"I will," Castiel responded quietly, making his way towards the bedroom door. Dean did not make a move to follow him.
"Hey, Cas," Dean suddenly said from behind him. There was a long pause as Castiel turned to face him with a very fake, reassuring smile, a troubled look plastered all over Dean's features. "We'll uh—we'll watch it tomorrow. Sound good?"
Castiel's face fell just a fraction of an inch. He could tell Dean had meant to say something else entirely, deciding at the last second to steer his thoughts in a different direction.
"Yes, Dean. Tomorrow." Without another word, Castiel hauled himself down the stairs, hastily donned his jacket and shoes, and was out the door without a glance back.
They did not watch Die Hard the next day, nor the next weekend, even.
That was two weeks ago, and though neither boy spoke of what had occurred in Adam's bedroom on a late, warm Friday afternoon, it obviously loomed between them heavily.
Dean had not been avoiding him like Castiel had honestly expected. In fact, Dean had seemed to be a step behind Castiel during period breaks, and had even begun to claim a spot at the lunch table he shared with Camille. Granted, there was little conversation to be had—Castiel did not have much to talk about, and Camille and Dean seemed to either glare at each other or competitively race to finish their food first. Castiel was positive that Dean would be having much more fun over at his table with his more sociable friends, but Dean seemed at least somewhat content and it made Castiel content in return. Happy, even.
Castiel would throw a quick glance at Dean in math and catch the senior staring right back, and both would immediately look away, blaming coincidence and nothing more. Dean would race off of the field early in gym to get to the showers first, catching small glimpses of Castiel running laps in the gym with his class.
Today Castiel had finally worked up the courage to stay behind after Sam had left the car that morning, Jess waiting for him by the building's entrance, and ask him how Adam had been fairing.
"He's doing alright," Dean had said, avoiding Castiel's eye contact like he might catch fire if he looked. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Doesn't remember much."
Castiel nodded. He was about to say that it might be for the best, but he was beginning to wonder if it really was.
Dean did not follow him in to the building, and when Castiel arrived at his locker he found the same pretty blonde he'd seen in passing by Sam's side talking with the younger Winchester excitedly. Castiel was about to turn around, give Sam some privacy, but was caught before he could melt away in to the crowd.
"Hey, Cas, wait up! Have you met Jess?"
Castiel turned back to face them, Jess had one hand on her hip and a broad, bright smile that was too infectious for Castiel to not immediately reciprocate.
"Jess, this is Castiel. Castiel, Jess," Sam offered, gesturing between the two of them.
"Hi, Castiel," she said in greeting, giving him a small wave. "I like your name. Castiel was an angel, right?"
Castiel was surprised; he'd never encountered anyone who had recognized his name before. "Yes, the angel of Thursday."
"Bible school," Jess said, smiling and rolling her eyes in a way that didn't seem offensive in the slightest. "My parents made me go every Sunday. Still remember a few things." She shifted her book to rest on her hip. "Castiel got the boring job if I remember correctly. Didn't he just… watch Earth all the time?"
Castiel let out a breathy laugh, impressed by her knowledge. "Maybe he liked it. Watching humanity. Could be nice."
Jess grinned. "Yeah, the way you eye Sam's older brother like a hawk it would seem your namesake would be proud."
Castiels jaw fell open, a very inhuman noise fighting its way out of his mouth as Sam bit back a laugh that still made its way out a least partly through his nose in a snort.
"Jess!" Sam scolded, but it didn't sound very convincing. Castiel's ears were on fire, and his eyes wide in mortification.
"I kid!" Jess laughed, patting Castiel on the shoulder. "Your secret is totally safe with us, Castiel. Scout's honor." The bell signaling the beginning of class rang loudly through the crowded hall, and before Castiel had proper time to think up a response, Sam and Jess were already making their way down the hall, Jess calling fondly after him, "It was nice meeting you, angel of Thursday!"
Castiel smiled after them, watching as the two locked arms, Jess gesturing and laughing about something he couldn't hear, and Sam looking down at her like she was the sun in the center of his universe. He felt his chest ache as he watched them go, and a strange, sudden sad feeling washed over him that he couldn't even begin to place.
He turned back to his locker, quickly turning the dial and pulling open the locker. Before he could reach for his math book, the metal door was immediately slammed closed.
"Heya, Cassie."
Castiel didn't have to turn to know who was looming over him, the breath hot on his shoulder.
"Hello, Connor," he sighed as he began turning the dial again. Connor reached over and placed his hand firmly against the door, keeping the junior from trying to reopen it.
"I'm gonna cut right to the chase today, Cas," Connor spat out. Castiel turned slightly towards him, his eyes level with Connor's. "So here's what's gonna happen. Today at lunch, I'm gonna be out on the field, right by the bleachers, and you know what you're gonna do, Cas?"
Castiel's face remained blank. He did not answer.
"You're gonna meet me out there, and we're gonna have a nice talk. Just a little chat."
"Forget it, Connor," Castiel replied, his voice low in warning. "I'm not playing your games anymore."
Connor leered down at him. "I thought you might say that, so I've set up a little incentive for ya. You'll find I'm pretty persuasive, Cas."
"It's Castiel," the junior hissed in reply, finally wrenching his locker open by force. "And I don't know what you have planned, but I'd rethink it if I were you."
"See, that's the feisty Cassie that I want today at lunch." Connor patted him roughly on the cheek and Castiel slapped his hand away fiercely. "Tell that pussy boyfriend of yours Dean fucking Winchester that he's invited too. It'll be a party."
Castiel did not ask what Connor had planned—did not respond in any way as the older teen left except a giving him glare that did not leave dissipate even as Connor rounded the corner with an audible laugh. Castiel slowly pulled out his math book, his features still hardened even as he closed the locker and headed to class, late.
When he walked him, Mr. Schwartz barked at him for his tardiness, and Castiel simply replied with a cold, "Sorry, sir," before he took his seat.
Dean had noticed the sudden change in Castiel's mood, silently mouthing "You okay?" when he finally caught Castiel's eye. Castiel just nodded curtly once, doing the same when Camille asked again from behind him.
For the first time, both Dean and Camille exchanged a mutual glance that was not of dislike, but worry.
It was right after gym, as Camille and Castiel headed from the locker rooms to lunch, that it happened. Castiel was smiling at something Camille had told him just as they passed the main office when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.
"Is that—is that Sam?"
Castiel's face scrunched up in confusion, his head whirling around to pinpoint what she was looking at. His eyes landed on a figure sitting in one of the chairs by the principal's office. Castiel's heart twisted in a knot when he recognized exactly who it was.
Sam was hunched over, elbows on his knees, and holding something up to his face gingerly.
"Sam?" Castiel called warily, his jaw falling slack in surprise when Sam heard his name and looked up at the two standing in the doorway of the office.
The right side of his face was bruised purple and red, his eye swollen and getting puffier by the second. His lip was split too, and also present on his hands were what looked like defensive bruises.
"Sam," Camille said, horrified as she walked over to him. "Sam, what happened to you?"
Castiel stood in the doorway, his mind already doing the math.
"It's nothing," Sam said, attempting to smile but grimacing at the discomfort is caused him. "Just a misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?" Camille said incredulously. "Sam that's ridiculous. What happened?"
Sam didn't answer, opting instead to look up at Castiel, who had still not come any further in to the office. Castiel was looking down at him, his stare icy and a million miles away. Sam gave a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Cas," he said quietly. "He came out of nowhere, I tried to fight him but I was caught off guard."
"What did he say to you?" Cas bit out behind clenched teeth, ignoring the confused looks Camille was giving the two. "Sam, what did he say?"
"Just that he was waiting for you. By the bleachers. That's all he said, Cas. I'm so sorry."
"Don't," Castiel hissed. "Don't you dare apologize, Sam. This is not your fault." He looked behind him and noticed that the crowd in the hall was thinning out. "Does Dean know?"
"Not yet, I don't think." Camille took the ice pack Sam was nursing when he pulled it away from his face. "And it sucks too, Dean's going to fly off the handle for sure and get kicked out. Dad said if Dean got kicked out one more time he was going to send him off to military school, and I don't doubt Dad's threats." Sam shook his head, exasperated. "I thought I could handle him. I did. But he had two other guys there, they held me down."
"Dean's not going anywhere," Castiel said suddenly, walking over to the chairs and dropping his bag in one right by Sam. The furious look on Castiel's face gave Sam pause; he had never seen Castiel anywhere near this upset. "When he gets here, tell him it's taken care of."
"Cas, what are you thinking? You can't go—"
"Camille, stay with Sam, and when Dean gets here keep him busy."
Camille handed Sam back his ice pack. "I hardly think that trigger happy oaf is going to listen to anything I have to say, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out there."
"Just do it!" Castiel said more firmly this time, and Camille did not respond this time. He was livid. Beyond livid.
He left without another word, his belongings still sitting beside Sam as the younger Winchester nursed his eye. Camille watched him go with an unreadable mood clouding around her.
The blood was pumping so hard in Castiel's ears that he didn't hear the bell ring for the start of lunch. He pounded down the hallway and threw open the door leading out to the football field, swept up in his own hurricane of blind rage.
When Dean left the lunch line and turned to join Castiel and Camille at their now usual spot, he was surprised to find the table empty and deserted. He briefly glanced around the lunchroom, wondering if they had simply found another spot, but the two were nowhere to be found.
He was pulling out his phone to check for any missed messages when there was a hand grabbing on to his arm. Startled slightly, he flinched and whirled around to find Anne, wide eyed and on the brink of what looked like crying, looking up at him.
"Did you hear?" she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper.
"Hear what?"
"About Sam!"
Dean did a double take. "Wait, what about Sam?" he grounded out, not liking the terrified expression in Anne's eyes.
"Dean—Dean he's hurt."
Dean's brain short circuited at the last word. All his mind seemed to comprehend was 'Sam' and 'hurt'.
"What do you mean hurt?" he demanded, taking a step forward. "What happened?"
Anne quickly fished her phone from her pocket, rapidly pressing buttons until she turned the screen to him. It was a text message—from someone named "Grace":
U kno Dean's kid brother? Just saw him taken 2 the office. Sum1 beat him up bad.
Dean's grip tightened on the phone, and he ripped it from Anne's hand quickly to re-read the message, hoping he had somehow read it wrong.
Sam. Hurt. Sam beaten up.
Dean was suddenly seeing red.
Before Anne could say anything else, Dean was pushing her phone and his forgotten tray in to her hands before tearing out of the cafeteria like a bat out of Hell. He ignored a hall monitor screaming after him to slow down and even forcibly pushed another student out of his way when he rounded the corner and saw the sign for the main office.
He skidded to a halt in the door way, and what he saw made his blood boil.
Sam was sitting in a chair, his head tilted back as he applied an ice pack over a now very swollen eye. Camille stood next to him, her arms crossed and face blank.
"Sammy?"
Sam's head snapped up and he looked more horrified at Dean's presence than relieved. "Dean," he began, standing up to meet his brother. "Dean, I'm okay."
"You don't look like you're fucking okay. What the hell happened? Who did this to you?" He demanded, his voice icy cold. He ignored the receptionist when she glared at him warned him about his language.
"Dean, it's nothing. I'm fine, and I'd like to just forget about it."
"I'm not gonna ask again. Who did this to you?" Sam looked away from his older brother then, his gaze dropping right to the floor.
Dean's lips formed a tight, straight line. "It was Wachowski, wasn't it?" When Sam didn't answer, Dean grabbed his brother's shoulders firmly. "It was that fucker? Oh, I swear to God I'm going to rip his fucking throat out," he hissed, resisting the overwhelming urge to punch a hole in the wall next to him. Camille stood away from the two figures, watching silently.
Dean clenched his fists and it took every last inch of his self-control to keep from strangling the next person he might come in contact with. Finally he spat, "Where is he?"
Sam shook his head violently. "No, Dean. I'm not going to let you get expelled over this; it's probably what he wants. And I'm already scared he's gonna take Cas down with him, I don't want you to also—"
"Cas?" Dean stared at Sam incredulously. "What about Cas?"
Sam grimaced, wanting to kick himself at how he'd already said too much. "Cas went to go find him; he didn't want you to get involved. Connor did this to get to him." He rubbed his arm across his nose, sniffling audibly. "We need to tell someone. I think Cas is going to get seriously hurt."
"Where is he?"
"Dean—"
"Where is Cas, Sammy? Where is he?" Dean began to raise his voice, his emotions were strung out and about to snap—the thought of Sam being ambushed by Connor and his buddies and now Cas about to have the same happen to him—he was past the point of rage. "Sammy, tell me where he is. Right now."
Sam held his ground, shaking his head firmly once. "We need to tell a teacher. Anyone. Please, Dean."
"Cas is going to get beaten to a fucking pulp, Sam. Or worse!" His hands snaked up to tangle in his own hair, distraught. "You saw what Wachowski did to him last time, Sam. Fuck, just look at what he did to you!"
Sam sunk back in to this seat, holding his eye tenderly. He opened his mouth, as if about to say something, but closed it again just as quickly.
Feeling utterly defeated, Dean fell upon his last resort. He trained his eyes instead on Camille, who was still standing farther away from them, eerily quiet. When she felt his eyes on her, she glanced up, her brows furrowed and her mouth forming a hard frown.
Dean hunched over, pleading silently with the girl as he felt the precious seconds tick by, every second that Castiel was with Connor, having God knows what done to him. "Please," was all me managed to choke out.
Camille stared at her feet for a long minute, her features hardening even more for a split second before she relaxed, her arms coming down to her sides as she gave what sounded like a defeated sigh.
"Bleachers, by the field," she said simply, her voice quiet but the word still reaching Dean's ears. Sam's head snapped up to gape at her.
Camille ignored the look and her gaze leveled with Dean's; and her voice was dripping with venom when the last words she uttered were, "Run fast."
Dean gave her a look of pure gratitude, lasting only as long as it took to turn on his heels, fleeing the office as fast as his feet would carry him, drowning out Sam's cries after him.
When he burst through the exit doors and out in to the blinding early afternoon sun, he was chanting Cas over and over like a mantra in his head,hoping to whatever God Castiel still believed in that he wasn't too late.
At last the bleachers were in Castiel's sights, and he was able to make out three figures standing beneath them; tall, hulking silhouettes blacked out by the sun behind them. He knew he should back down, knew he should not go looking for trouble, but the thought of Connor having his lackeys hold Sam Winchester down while he beat him only served to make Castiel more livid.
Connor was the first to notice him, a cigarette hanging between his fingers and his hand obviously toying with something in his coat pocket. As he gained on them, Castiel was able to recognize the other two teenagers. One was Tad Cooper, a sophomore who must have been held back at least three years to be the size that he was, and he had the brain to prove it. The other was another senior whom Castiel did not know the name of, but had seen following in Connor's footsteps ever since his freshman year.
Connor nudged his buddies, nodding in Castiel's direction with a wicked smile on his lips.
"Knew you'd come, Cassie! How's little Sammy Winchester doin', huh?" Connor called, the other teens with him laughing in unison with him. He took one last long drag of his cigarette and then threw it on the ground, squashing it under his heavy foot.
Castiel did not answer, but instead increased his pace, something Connor was obviously not expecting by how he stood stock still when Castiel nearly collided with him and landed a well aimed punch directly to his nose. There was a commotion and suddenly Castiel found two pairs of hands pulling him back and grappling him, keeping him in place as Connor lifted his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Oh, Cassie," he laughed, wincing with a toothy grin at what might as well have been a broken nose. "You are so in for it."
"You win, Connor," Castiel bit back, out of breath from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "You got what you wanted. I'm here. Now why don't we all man up and finish this for good?"
"Where's your boyfriend? Thought he would never let something happen to his little princess."
"Dean is not coming because he has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me. It always has been." Castiel struggled slightly, testing the strength of the brutes towering over him.
"Well, at least that little brat could deliver my message, I almost gave up on you showing."
The hairs on the back of Castiel's neck stood up, anger spreading like electricity through him. "Sam Winchester is my friend. And I don't like people hurting my friends."
Connor stared at him incredulously for a moment, a smile dancing on his lips before he tossed his head back and let out a roar of laughter. "Oh, God Cassie. You little whore! You're head over heels for those two fucking Winchesters. Why don't you go home and have one big gay fucking threesome? Would you like that, Cassie? The two Winchester brothers fucking you?" Castiel jerked away from his captors but did not budge far. He tried to lunge at Connor with his feet but was dragged back before he could reach.
"Yeah, I bet you'd like it," Connor rasped, pulling out whatever was in his pocket from earlier. Castiel caught a glimpse of metal. "You'd take it like the little faggot you are, Cassie, and you would beg for it."
Castiel responded by spitting at Connor's feet.
Connor reeled back, disgusted, and whipped the object he was holding in front of him. Castiel could finally identify the flash of metal as a switchblade. Connor then lunged for him, grabbing a fist full of Castiel's hair and yanking the junior's head violently back.
"I am tired of your shit, Castiel," Connor hissed, low and coarse. "You're a fucking disease. You corrupt wherever you go. You're abnormal; you make people do things, think things." He emphasized the last sentence by flicking open the switchblade, the sharp edge making a hiss in the air as it flew open, and Connor pressed it right up against Castiel's throat.
Castiel swallowed hard, but he kept his face stoic even as he felt the blade press hot against his skin.
Connor stared in fascination at the blade, and he slowly trailed it down Castiel's throat, stopping at his Adam's apple.
"We're gonna play a game, Cassie," the older teen breathed, pure excitement evident in his voice and his blown pupils. "You want to?"
Castiel did not respond, but he did hear a laugh from behind him.
The knife trailed down slightly further, Connor pointing the knife harshly in to the middle of Castiel's chest. "I'm gonna see just how many times I can carve faggot in to your pretty skin until you're screaming. Then everyone is gonna know exactly what you are."
Despite the threat, despite the fear that Castiel was most definitely feeling at that moment, he still managed one last retort. "I'd like to see you try."
Connor quickly brought the blade up to Castiel's face, trailing the sharp edge over his cheek roughly, breaking the first few layers of skin. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel noticed for the first time strange symbols marked one side of the blade. He didn't have time to examine them further when Connor commanded, "Keep him quiet," and suddenly a sweaty palm was slapped over his mouth. He attempted to dislodge it, jerking his head this way and that, but it was firmly in place.
He felt his shirt tugged up roughly. "Hold him still," Connor said huskily he placed the tip of the blade against Castiel's skin, just below his ribcage.
"I wanted to like you, Cas, I really did," Connor said, as casually as if he was talking about the weather. The pressure of the blade increased, and it was suddenly cutting in to his skin. Castiel tipped his head back, screwing his eyes shut as he felt the blade drag and slice down his stomach. He didn't cry out. "But then—well—then you had to go and ruin it. You forced yourself on me," the older teen whispered, almost gentle, as there was more pressure. Castiel opened his eyes again, glaring at Connor intensely and never breaking eye contact. "Made the whole school think I was sick fag like you. You know how that felt?" He pushed in a little deeper, making Castiel squirm slightly. Castiel was breathing hard through his nose, trying above all else to keep his composure.
Castiel managed to force his gaze down, watching as the blade went deeper still as Connor cut, and noticed the first symbol on the blade sink in to his skin. Instantly Castiel felt like he was set on fire and was burning alive from the inside; a scream ripped right from his mouth and muffled by the hand covering it. He jerked back violently, head thrown back in excruciating pain. His mind was fogged; baffled by what was happening to him and why he felt like every cell in his body was having a nuclear metldown.
It apparently alarmed Connor as well, who was not expecting such a reaction. He yanked the knife away in surprise, and Castiel immediately fell limp in the two teens' grasps, panting and breaking out in a sweat.
"What the—" Connor began, his face slack with shock. Castiel managed to open his eyes at the sound and follow Connor's gaze to his stomach. Castiel's eyes widened in alarm.
He watched with growing horror as the skin on his stomach, sliced open by the blade, slowly began stitching itself back together, leaving no trace of what had been there before on his flesh.
Connor looked like a wild animal that had been startled, his eyes darting from the knife in his hands to Cas and back again. "You—you fucking freak! What the fuck is wrong with you!" he screeched, his hands trembling as he took a step back.
Castiel continued to stare as the last incision closed in on itself and only smooth skin was left in its wake. Castiel balked, and he could feel the two teenagers holding him doing the same.
That was when he felt the first blow connect with his right cheekbone and he gasped in surprise. Then Connor swung again, harder, and Castiel could feel something crack. But the blows stopped as quickly as they had started, and the junior could still feel the bones and broken skin sliding right back in to place.
"Holy shit," Tad whispered above him, his grip loosening a fraction. Castiel stiffened, anticipating.
"Cas!"
The three teens snapped their head towards the school, where they could just make out a flash of leather and a figure sprinting down the hill towards the bleachers. Castiel heard his name, his cloudy mind processing it slowly when he lethargically lifted his head to watch as Dean Winchester bounded towards them at full speed.
"Dean, was all his mind managed before he felt both grips on his arms loosen.
It was the perfect opening, and Castiel took it for all it was worth. He yanked down on his right arm, the one in Tad's slack grip, and pulled free with relative ease, immediately hooking his elbow behind him and right in to the teen's face. Tad fell backwards in to the metal of the bleachers, crying out in surprise.
Castiel's heart was racing, confusion and terror still pulsing through him, but the adrenaline was controlling his actions and decisions, and the only thing on his mind was Dean.
He vaguely felt fists gripping him by his shirt and pushing him backwards, but they were immediately yanked away, and he could hear a cry from the unnamed teen that had been holding him as Dean collided with the boy and dragged him to the ground.
Castiel sensed more than saw the blade coming right at him, and he ducked out of the way just in time, knocking Connor off balance. He skidded to the ground, the blade flying out of his hand. Then Tad's arm was around his throat, but a nicely aimed elbow to the groin and the oversized figure was falling away. Castiel turned and shoved him away so violently that Tad's skull snapped back and slammed against the metal of the bleachers with a loud crack, and he slumped to the hard ground immediately, unconscious.
The third teen wriggled his way from under where Dean had him pinned, his eyes wide in terror as he noticed Tad on the ground. Dean made a grab for him, but the boy managed to evade the grip easily. Before Dean could stop him he was taking off down the field, fleeing the school, not having signed up for that kind of ambush.
Castiel watched as Dean got to his feet in one swift motion, a burning anger apparent in him that even Castiel had to take a step back from. Dean was silent, but his shoulders were squared and his fists clenched so tight they were shaking. He made his way towards Castiel, who wondered for a split second if Dean was coming after him, before Dean brushed his way past, his eyes locked on Connor.
"You sorry son of a bitch," he spat as he reached down and grabbed Connor by his collar, yanking him to his feet with ease. "You are going to be in such a world of hurt, you little fucker." Castiel slumped against a supporting beam on the bleachers, panting hard and lacking the energy to intervene. Dean balled his hand in to a fist and pulled back, landing a punch to Connor's jaw that elicited a sickening crack. Castiel winced. "You think you can mess with my baby brother? I will fucking end you," Dean said, and the way he said it so nonchalantly sent a shiver down Castiel's spine and he watched on. Connor's head lolled back at the impact. Another blow landing over his eye had him crying out and going limp in Dean's grasp. He pulled his fist back once more, ready to land another blow.
"Dean," Castiel said, quiet but firm. Dean's hand stilled, but he did not look up at Cas, his murderous gaze still fixed on Connor's swelling face. "Dean, it's over."
"Not until I say it is," Dean growled, his fist still hovering over Connor. "This fucker deserves everything he's got comin' to him, Cas."
Castiel pushed off of the beam, slowly making his way over to the enraged teen. He placed his hand in the crook of Dean's elbow on the arm holding Connor up. Dean's eyes were wild. "Dean."
Dean seemed to argue with himself in his head for a long moment, Connor whimpering in his grasp beneath him. Eventually he exhaled deeply, his fist unraveling and he dropped Connor to the dirt as if throwing away a piece of trash. Some of the feral look in his eyes faded at Castiel's touch; he was beginning to resemble Dean Winchester once more, not a caged animal.
But then he was rounding on Castiel, anger dripping in his tone, but a genuine speck of fear audible as well. "And just what the hell were you thinking, Cas, coming out here by yourself? How stupid could you fucking be!"
Castiel did not waver. "You would have done the same, Dean. For Sam."
"But Sam is my brother! You had no reason to be a hero, Cas!"
The juniors eyes darted to the ground. "You don't understand."
Dean threw his arms up in the air in exasperation. "Don't understand what?"
"You and Sam," Castiel said simply, wiping an arm across his face now dirty face. "You are the first friends I've had in a long time. Maybe even… Maybe even the first good ones. I would do anything for Sam, because he's my friend. That's what friends do for each other." Castiel waited for Dean to react. "I would have done the same for you, Dean."
Dean's breath hitched in his throat. He turned away from Castiel and ran a hand through his hair anxiously. The statement rang in his ears.
"You stupid son of a bitch," he mumbled, but the venom in his voice had completely dissipated.
"Dean," Castiel brushed his hand against his stomach through his shirt, remembering where there used to be deep gashes cut in to him, but now was just smooth, unblemished skin. "I need to talk to you."
Dean stepped over Connor's body, brushing past Castiel again as if he was about to walk back up to the school. He brought his fist up to his mouth, then turned back to face Castiel. "No, Cas. It's my turn right now. You did a stupid fucking thing. You could have ended up seriously hurt, or—or—fucking worse. And how do you think Sammy would feel if something happened to you? He already feels guilty enough that you went off to confront this grade A douchebag alone," Dean said, disappointment clear as day in his tone as he gestured to Connor vaguely.
Castiel did not respond; his hand fell away from his body.
"And...And what about—what about—" Me. Dean swallowed hard; his voice was hoarse."What about everyone else, Cas?"
"What about them?"
"Your parents?"
Cas shook his head, laughing bitterly. "They are the least of my worries right now." He turned to look down at the two unconscious boys on the ground and raised his eyebrows at Dean. "I'm more concerned about what to do with them."
"Well, I for one would love to ring their fucking necks," Dean answered, his sour mood beginning to soften. "Just leave them there. I think their pride has been thoroughly beaten out of them today. I doubt they'll show their pathetic faces for a while."
"I suppose you're right." Castiel looked back at Dean, who was already climbing the hill back up to the school. "Where are you going?"
Dean stopped to turn to him. "Home. Just gonna go get Sammy. And you're coming too."
"What about school?"
The senior shrugged. "I don't know about you, but recent events have definitely put me in the mood for some Die Hard right about now, so you comin' or what?" he said, giving Castiel a lopsided grin.
"I'm starting to think we're never going to get to see that movie," Castiel deadpanned. Dean wasn't sure if Castiel was being completely serious or trying to make a joke in a sense of humor that really only made sense to the junior, but Dean couldn't help but toss his head back and a snort of laughter escaped him anyways.
But then something behind Castiel grabbed Dean's attention, his face falling dramatically and the smile gone in an instant. His eyes were blown wide open as he took a step forward and a strangled "Cas!" erupted from his throat.
Castiel only had time to whirl around and catch Connor's swollen, wild eyes level with his and a flash of silver metal, and then he was watching as Connor plunged the open switchblade straight in to his chest, right over his heart.
The metal seared in to his skin, and Castiel emitted a startled cry as it burned inside him and blood immediately began pooling on to his shirt.
Connor reeled back, as if snapping out of a trance. He appeared terrified, completely in horror at what he had just committed. He watched as Castiel slumped hard on to his knees, took a timid step back, and then turned right on his heel and began running in the opposite direction as fast as his legs could possible carry him, off in to the woods of behind the school.
Dean was by Castiel's side in a heartbeat.
"Cas!" he cried as he skidded to the ground right beside him and caught him when he fell backwards. His eyes roamed over his chest, halting right over the blade "Cas, no," he breathed. "No, no, no."
Castiel's head rolled back on to Dean's arm, his eyes unfocused as pain danced over every single nerve in his body. The knife seemed to literally shut him down; words were muffled and his vision blurry, all of his attention focused on the blade that was burning him alive. His breathing began to go ragged and his body jerked involuntarily.
"No God, please," The older teen rasped in disbelief at the sight before him, his hands hovering over Castiel's body as if he had no idea where to touch or what to do. Finally he opted to push his hand to Castiel's chest, covering the wound around the blade, staunching the blood flow as best he could as he gripped the back of Castiel's neck. "Cas, you gotta—you gotta stay with me, man," he managed to say in a low, broken voice as he pulled himself to his feet, dragging Castiel's limp body with him. "You have to—you're gonna be okay, Cas. You're gonna be okay, promise. I'm going to get you out of here, you hear me? I'm gonna get you to—to a hospital."
Castiel's eyes rolled up in to the back of his head, feeling his mind starting to go cloud up and darken, and he reached for the blade in his chest; but a hard smack to his jaw made his eyes flutter open again and pulled him back.
"Come on, Cas, stay with me. Stay with me!"
He vaguely registered his arm being thrown over Dean's shoulder as he was dragged up the hill, his feet catching on stones and uneven patches of dirt as he attempted to ground himself to no avail. He groaned as the flames inside him seemed to now turn to ice, his body going cold and limp. If he could—if he could just—
A door flew open and Castiel was being lowered in to the front seat of the Impala, Dean somehow dragging Castiel all the way to the parking lot, a trail of dripping blood left in their wake. The blood had soaked nearly the entire front of Castiel's shirt now, and it only continued to seep out faster when Dean removed his hand and raced to the driver's side, wrenching his door open violently.
The Impala roared to life, ready and willing, and Dean was tearing out of the parking lot with a loud screech, leaving behind nothing but smoke and burnt rubber.
Castiel slumped to his side, panting heavily as he felt his fingers slowly start to go numb. He coughed, his mouth filling with the heavy taste of copper; he choked on the liquid and a few drops were spattered on to the dashboard. Dean pushed harder on the gas pedal, blazing past the speed limit in a matter of seconds.
"Cas, you're gonna be okay, just hold on. Please." He took a sharp left, running a red light with little thought, leaving honking horns and cars' screeching breaks behind him. He wracked his brains as he tried to remember where the nearest hospital was. He looked over to see the mess on the dashboard and clenched his teeth. "I'm not gonna let you die, Cas. Do you hear me? You better not—" he choked back a sob. "You better not fucking die on me you bastard!"
He flipped his phone open, fumbling over the buttons as he mashed three keys, his eyes darting from the road to Cas and back to the road again.
Castiel could feel that he was dying, having lost too much blood much too fast. Dark circles danced in his vision and his breaths were growing shallower with each gasp for air, and the strange part was that it felt oddly familiar—and that strange almost-memory in his head told him to yank the knife right out of his burning chest. He lifted his hand up, burning every last drop of strength he had left in him and fumbled for the handle of the blade, his bloody fingers slipping on it twice. The weapon sent another shock through him and he groaned in pain.
Finally he got a better hold of it. If he could just pull the infernal thing out of him… If he was going to die, he was not going to do it drowning in a sea of agony.
So he began to pull.
The 911 operator had just answered the call, asking for the emergency, when Dean glanced over at Castiel and immediately dropped the phone to the floor of the car, grabbing for Castiel with his free hand.
"Cas, stop it! Cas, no!" He quickly forced himself to look back at the road, swerving just in time to avoid going in to oncoming traffic. "Don't pull it out!"
But Castiel was already pulling with all of his might, the blade slowly releasing its grip, the friction tearing at him even more. It seared his flesh as it went, and Castiel grit his teeth in pain, shrieking in agony as it became too overwhelming for him; he barely heard Dean shouting his name in the back ground.
And then it was out, the Hellish thing pulled free from his chest at last. It might have been the shock that was wrecking his body, but Castiel was positive that when the knife was gone he felt no more pain. He went limp at once, the blade falling from his hand to the floor with a muted thud; the color had all but drained from his face. The pain finally subsided, Castiel tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
Dean scrambled to pull over to the side of the road, slamming on the breaks as hard as he could. He fumbled for the phone he had dropped, thanking his lucky stars that the operator was still on the other line. He jammed the gear stick in to park and held the phone between his shoulder and ear as he pressed both hands firmly over Castiel's wound.
"I need an ambulance," he said, finding his voice at last as his words fell out of his mouth rapidly. Castiel's eyes began to close again. "I'm on—God what road am I on—"
He jerked his head around, searching for a sign, for anything. "My friend, he's b-been stabbed, he needs—he needs—"
Dean's voice faltered when he turned back to the junior slouched limply in the passenger seat. There was no blood pumping from the wound on to Dean's hands; Castiel was completely still, his chest no longer moving in shallow breaths. His eyes had fallen shut.
Dean let the phone slip out of his grip again, his hands shaking as he leaned forward; his breath ghosted over Castiel's lips, watching for any sign of life coming from the now pale teen.
"Cas?" The whisper escaped him as a broken sound, echoing through the car along with the soft rumble of the Impala's idle engine.
Castiel did not stir.
"Cas." Dean said his name more firmly in a desperate panic as he placed his palm on Castiel's face, his other hand searching frantically for a heartbeat or any sign of life. Dean slid his hand up and over Castiel's clammy forehead, pushing back a mess of black hair matted with sweat.
Dean gripped the younger teen's shirt, his knuckles white with the force of it. "Castiel," he ground out through clenched teeth, blinking away stinging moisture gathering in his eyes. "Castiel, you listen to me, you bastard. You are not allowed to die, you hear me?" He shook Castiel roughly, ignoring how Castiel's head lolled limply to the side when his body was shifted. Dean leaned in, pressing his forehead to Castiel's. It was a gesture he had wanted so badly to do back in Adam's room, but at the last second he'd dropped his head to Castiel's shoulder instead, afraid of the consequences of such a rash action.
And he hated himself for it.
Suddenly Castiel's body jerked brutally and Dean barely had time and the mind to pull back before Castiel was gasping for air like he'd just surfaced from a long dive in the water, his eyes torn open as he struggled for oxygen. Dean jumped back in his seat in shock, his head colliding with his window with a sharp crack.
"Cas," was the first thing he managed to get his mouth to finally form the word for. "Cas, what—" Dean watched as Castiel gaped right back at him, his hand coming up to fumble over his chest where the knife use to be. He palmed at it tentatively, his breathing erratic and seeming to grow more and more alarmed as he began rubbing over it. A choked noise escaped from him.
As his eyes locked on the older teen's, he slowly pulled down the collar of his shirt, stretching it to reveal his wound—or rather, where the wound should have been, Dean thought. Dean watched in disblief as Castiel moved his hand, revealing a chest that was slathered in blood, but otherwise completely unblemished.
The car was deathly silent for what might as well have been an eternity, the air thick with the stench of blood and sweat as Dean stared at Castiel's chest with a wide, unblinking gaze. Castiel let go of his shirt, his stare now planted firmly at the dashboard.
"It… it happened before," he whispered incredulously, like he couldn't believe his own words. Dean could barely hear it even in the silence. "With Connor. I—I don't know."
Dean shook his head. "You—your—how—"
"I don't know."
The next thing Castiel knew, Dean was grappling for his door handle, half stumbling half falling out of the driver's seat and vomiting on the pavement below him. Castiel winced at the sound.
It went on for nearly ten minutes, Castiel all the while slumped in the seat, his hand over his chest and trying to breathe normally once more.
Eventually he found the strength to extricate himself from the car, the bile rising in his throat as he saw the mess or now drying blood he'd left in the passenger seat and on the dashboard.
"Dean," Castiel whispered quietly as he slowly stumbled around the front of the car. He was about to reach for the senior, who was still on his hands and knees retching violently, before he thought better of it. Dean looked like a caged animal that was easily startled in to violence. "Dean, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Dean gasped for air. "How are you even alive? How, Cas?"
"Dean, come over here. You'll get hit by a car."
Finally the older teen leaned back on his knees, wiping his mouth with one hand. "Doesn't matter," he said, hoarse from the vomiting.
"What?"
"It doesn't even matter. You know why that is, Cas?"
He glanced at Castiel, something like distrust in his stare. Castiel cautiously shook his head.
"'Cause I know what this is, Cas. This whole thing, it's just a dream. Just a fucking dream."
Castiel wished it was; he desperately wished this was a dream—that the last few weeks were one long dream and that the Winchesters had never entered his life; had never made his life start to make no sense.
Confused, Castiel's brows furrowed. "Dean, this isn't a dream. Why would you think it was?"
"Of course it is, Cas!" he said, giving a laugh that was on the verge of hysterical. "I mean, look at you. Look at this—this whole situation!" He got to his feet. "It's the same as last time. You show up in my dream, shit gets weird. First by the lake, now here—"
"Lake?" Castiel interrupted, his heart jumping at the word. "A dream by a lake?"
"Yeah, I was—" He paused, watching at the growing panic in Castiel's face.
Dean's face suddenly grew dark.
"Oh, no you don't," he suddenly said, pointing an accusing finger at Castiel. "Don't you dare say what I think you're about to say. Don't you dare say you had—"
"That I had the same dream?" Castiel was stunned. "Dean, I had the same dream. You were in it. I swear on my life."
Dean shook his head, stomping away in the opposite direction.
"I did! Dean—listen to me!"
"You're lying. This isn't real. You aren't real."
Castiel followed as Dean avoided him, walking farther down in to the bank by the road. Castiel suddenly was hit with a memory, and he stood still.
"You were fishing!"
Dean stopped, frozen on the spot as he listened.
"You were fishing," Castiel said again; he did not approach Dean, afraid to startle him further. "You were… you were older."
Dean slowly turned to face him. "How did you know that?"
"Because I was there," Castiel nearly cried, the memory of the entire dream washing right back over him like a tidal wave. "I tried to tell you something, but my voice—I couldn't speak. It was like some kind of wall! And then you said my name. You called me Cas."
The older teen continued to stare, trying to see some sort of lie in Castiel's words, or waiting for Sam to jump out of the trees and call it all an elaborate prank. Something. Anything.
"I don't know what's going on, Dean," Castiel said finally, throwing down his arms in exhaustion and looking utterly drained. "I don't know what's happening. But whatever it is, it has something to with you, and it has something to with me."
Dean's stood rooted to his spot as his fists clenched and unclenched. He processed Castiel's words. Images were firing off rapidly in his mind—of Adam and his sickness, of the fleeting feeling of a much deeper recognition when he looks at Castiel, of a lake and a blue tie and stubble on a familiar chin—
Somewhere in the car, Dean's phone was suddenly ringing loudly, making both teens jump.
Dean ignored it, the awkward silence filled by the tune of muffled rock music. He watched as Castiel glanced down at his hands covered in dried blood as though he was just seeing them for the first time. The ringing stopped.
Tentatively, Dean took a step forward. "Cas—"
"What am I, Dean?" he whispered, his head snapping back up to stare at Dean pleadingly, like someone else may have the answer.
Dean opened his mouth, about to say something—You're Cas. Just Cas.—when his phone began to ring once more.
"That's probably Sammy," Dean said cautiously. "He's worried."
Castiel nodded, as if giving permission, and slowly hunched over towards the ground, his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his fists. Dean watched him for a minute, just watching as Castiel's fingers fisted his own hair in frustration and fatigue.
Finally he broke away, walking back to the Impala and reaching in on the passenger side, careful to avoid the blood on the seat. He grabbed his phone and snapped it open, the name 'SAMMY' appearing on the screen.
He pulled out of the car and clicked the green button, observing Castiel's back rise and fall with each long breath he took.
"Sam."
"Dean!" Sam's voice was a low whisper, his tone laced with obvious panic. "Dean, where are you?"
Dean still could not locate a street sign. "I'm with Cas," he opted to say instead. "We're alright."
"You didn't do it, right? Please tell me you didn't do it!"
His eyes narrowed. "What? Do what?"
"They think you and Cas did it! I told them I didn't know where you were but it's only a matter of time that they check my phone. If they see I warned you—"
"Sam; Sam slow down." Castiel was now looking at Dean from his position on the ground, the alarm in his eyes growing with every word Dean spoke. "Sam, what are you talking about? Are you alright? What do they think Cas and I did?"
"…You don't know?"
"Know what?"
There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line and then Sam's voice was even quieter. "Dean," he hissed, "the police are looking for you. For you and Cas both. They think you did it." Another pause. "Dean, they found him by the creek in the woods right behind the school. Someone slit his throat!"
Dean had to lean against the Impala for support, the breath knocked out of him as he gave Castiel an apprehensive stare.
"He's dead, Dean. Connor's dead!"