First of all, i would like to thank Book-genius and Hiwatari-Winchester addict.
Thank you for your support and your reviews, they're my rewards
I would to thank all of the people for reading or following this fic or adding her to their favorites…That's touched me a lot…
CHAPTER 15 : INDEFFERENCE
Days were passing by and one day looked like the next… every day. Leyla warned him but he didn't prepare for that… he actually didn't want to prepare for it.
He had so much faith in this, especially after that special moment when Castiel finally made a move and touched him!
Dean put his pen back on his desk and leaned in his chair. It's been ten days already… he sighed.
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He was eating breakfast, lost in his mind, when Leyla approached him quietly. He looked at her sitting in silence, and she put a book on the table.
"Hello, Dean."
He didn't answer… he just wasn't in the mood for a talk. Talk to say what? That Castiel wasn't reacting to his presence anymore? That he was standing all day behind his damn window without moving away? That he was even avoiding looking at him and that it was killing him more and more every day? To say that he wanted to cry his soul out every time he left his room because he had the feeling he lost him forever? Or maybe to say Castiel's move touched him and gave him so much hope but now he was seeing it as a farewell?
He kept visiting him though. He came the next day, the day after, and the days after that too, and each day was harder because he lost a piece of hope each time he left the room. He was full of doubt and disillusion.
Then he tried to not visit him for a few days, thinking it would disturb Castiel and make him react next time he'd see him, but when he came back it was even worse. He played guitar, he sang but nothing seemed to work. He searched for his look in the window's reflection but he didn't find it.
He started to wonder if Castiel finally made his choice: he chose his prison instead of Dean's world. Music can't save the world, but Dean really hoped he could've saved him.
He stayed less at each visit, Garth or Armand didn't need to remind him when it was time to leave. Why would he stay longer if Castiel wasn't willing to react? Even his look was gone. Something in him broke.
Dean was always using the same ritual not to disturb him though: he was entering, greeting him, standing by his side a few minutes and talking to him persuaded he was listening. Then he was taking his guitar to relax a few minutes, his voice filling the corridor and resonating like a lullaby.
Patients seemed to love his music, and he ended up singing only for them since the one he was supposed to sing for wasn't paying attention anymore.
Then he was putting his guitar on the bed and was going back to the window next to Castiel without a word, trying to catch his look but it was always empty.
Castiel was definitely gone.
Missouri thought she was wrong since the beginning, and she was now scared to see Dean giving up too after finding a new meaning to his life. Mary was right: this story would destroy both men and destiny probably wanted to break them apart.
When she left Castiel's room that day, she cried. There were no exchanges anymore but she still could feel the pain in his eyes when he was staring at the walls like he wanted to melt in them to disappear.
Castiel gave up and nobody knew how or why. They knew he was a unique case and a real puzzle even Dean couldn't solve. He was their last hope, they saw Castiel choosing him.
Missouri closed the door and put his half eaten meal on the cart… he wasn't eating that much either.
Leyla pushed the book toward Dean.
"What is it? Psychology for Dummies?" he grumbled.
"No… open it please." She replied ignoring his bad mood.
He put his mug down and looked at it: it was a book with a fake-leather cover. He laid his hand on it to bring it closer to him, and then he opened it with one fingertip.
Nothing… white empty pages. He looked at her confused.
"I want you to write down everything you feel, Dean. Anything that comes to your mind… I want you to evacuate everything that bothers you."
"Bite me. That's for teenage girls." He said pushing the book back to her.
She stared at him leaning her back against her seat, and broke the heavy silence that settled.
"Dean… we warned you." She said softly but firmly.
"I know." He sighed.
His shoulders crashed like he was carrying the world on them. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hands and exhaled before leaning his elbows on the table.
"If only I could find a way for him to express what he feels… but I have the feeling I don't even exist anymore for him."
"You need to keep believing in him. Always believe, Dean. We'll try something else and we'll finally find the key." She reassured him.
"It's not because you think he's not here that he's actually not."
"He doesn't look at me anymore. He just stands behind his fucking window all day long, his eyes are lifeless!" He looked down… "I have the feeling I screwed everything again and I can't stop wondering what I did wrong."
"Don't blame yourself. Keep in mind he's here because he's sick, Dean. He's not just a John Doe we take care about. Do you understand?"
"Yeah… I know but… he's not like them." He said pointing at the door to indicate he was talking about the other patients.
"Each case is different. I think your problem is you don't realize Castiel is here to be cured, he's a patient."
"He's not sick damn it! He's not one of your autistic boys or one of your psycho-pedophile guys!" he raised his voice without noticing it.
"As long as you won't admit it you won't be able to progress."
She was about to stand up but he caught her hand, raising a bit from his chair.
"Are you giving up on me?" he asked begging with his eyes.
She settled down and he mumbled some apologies she could barely hear.
"You don't see the obvious even when it's right in front of you." he affirmed.
"Castiel is a victim and he's stuck there because he's absolutely certain he will stay a victim forever. He thinks he's guilty for a crime he didn't commit. I'm just asking you to help me proving he's wrong." He sounded like he was talking to himself. "When you look at him like he's sick you make him feel even more guilty, problem is he doesn't know for what. SHE was guilty, SHE was sick… not him. His soul in just broken in a million pieces and he's still a boy lost in a man's body. How do you want to help him if you're unable to understand that?"
He sank in his chair.
"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know how it is to live in hell, a hell worse than beating and blood, worse than words eating you up from the inside, the hell of indifference… the one that makes you feel it's all your fault and you're the one who's guilty. You deserve all the beatings because of that! That disregard from the people around you makes you believe it's your fault, and when you look in the mirror you only see the piece of crap you've became! Your face reminds you of your guilt and you say to yourself you deserve all of it, but in your guts you know it's not fair and you want to shout it out but you can't!… and there is a 'Sam' to tell you you're not guilty…"
He couldn't breathe anymore, his chest was painful, and Leyla was listening without adding a word.
"Who was here to tell Cas he's not guilty?" he asked pointing at the door.
"You? He doesn't want your pity. He doesn't want you to cure him, he's just asking why… why nobody heard him scream for 30 years… why you let him rot in an attic in total indifference. Why would you want him to quit his world for ours? For that?" he showed the room.
"Tell him! Tell him why and maybe you'll have a chance to save him but don't count on me anymore. I'll always be by his side but I won't force him to do anything anymore. He suffered enough."
At that moment he realized Mary was standing next to Leyla. He stood up, greeted her with a nod and walked away leaving the plate and the book on the table.
He would not go to visit Castiel today, he had no strength. He was drained by all this. He needed to admit it: Castiel was not him and not Sam either. Leyla was right: Castiel was a victim but he was a sick patient first and he needed to accept it before trying to help him.
That day he cleaned the West quarter without a word, greeting the patients only with a weak smile.
He left without eating lunch, avoiding every looks he could meet.
When he walked toward his car he lifted his eyes on the third floor… tomorrow he would tell him… he would tell him he wasn't guilty for anything.
He felt a bit sad… What if Mary cancels the authorization? What if yesterday was the last time he had seen Castiel?
He opened the car's door and turned around to wave at Castiel. He leaned his hand on his heart and extended it in his direction.
Even if she could separate them, he would always be here, even if they could only share waves. He would not be the indifference that killed his brother and forgot about the attic boy.
He stopped the car in front of Gaby's apartment, hesitated and turned the engine back on. He drove quietly, with no music, just silence and emptiness.
The horn and the lights of a truck woke him up and brought him to reality. He stopped the car on the side of the road and stayed here for a while.
When he decided to go back it was almost 7 pm. He turned around and drove back. He directly went to his place, he didn't want to meet anyone. When he arrived he saw the leather book against his front door. He took it and opened it.
"For Dean.
May indifference not be a truth
and may truth not be indifferent.
Leyla Fredges."
Sitting behind his desk, he couldn't find the words, so he closed the book and left the pen.
"It's been 10 days Castiel is gone."
That's all he managed to write.
He stood up and went to the shower a long time, trying to blow the tension away from his muscles.
Once again he stared at his naked reflection in the mirror a long time. He extended his hand and wiped the steam away, following his scars with his fingers.
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He was staring at the yard, the Impala was shinning under the sun reflecting its light on the dew that was on it. The rain stopped as soon as it started falling down.
He loved leaning his fingers on the window and try to catch the rain drops from behind. He liked following the thin rivers blurring the view. He liked the sound of rain against the window, thrown by the wind like it wanted to die piercing the invisible glass.
His forehead leaning against it, he turned his eyes to the sun… Dean… would he come today? He felt he was more distant and sadder and he knew it was his fault. He shouldn't have touched him, he had no right, he was not pure enough, he was dirty and damned. Even she couldn't purify him. He corrupted Dean with his touch.
But when night was coming and he had to close his eyes to sleep, when he was falling into the darkness of her kingdom, he couldn't help but was dreaming about him. She was beating but his green eyes were easing the pain. She was raping but his voice was comforting him, and his smile was forgiving him.
He was then holding his hand out toward him, brushing past his face and the warmth was making him peaceful. He was his light in the darkness.
What was this world he was waking up in every morning? Where was he? Was it the world she was always talking about? That hell full of fake smiles?
What if it was just an illusion? Maybe Mary, Missouri and all those people were fake too… that's why he touched him, he needed to make this mirage disappear because he missed his world, his birds, his blue sky.
Dean and his music, Dean and his voice were making him lose his reason, but when he touched him he didn't disappear… and the fear that came then was unbearable.
The attic, the white walls, the birds, his freedom… in what world was he alive? He was lost among crossing destinies.
He wanted to yell to hear his voice echoing between the brick walls, but he screamed so many times without receiving an answer to his pain that he ended up screaming only in his head… he was screaming so loud… to death.
But in his silence he was also feeling things, he was also living, hurting, crying and talking.
His eyes became the only door he had toward those unknown worlds. But for now he had to keep them shut and quiet because they were betraying him.
The rain and the sun were the only things he could find in both prisons, not like all those faces and those looks.
He wanted someone to shout for him, he wanted Dean to be real so bad!
Was he?
The door opened and he looked down. He didn't have to look to know he was here, his body knew, he could feel his presence and he could smell him, he could also hear his breath.
He closed his eyes waiting for him to come by his side, he needed his illusion back at its usual place for a few hours… but he didn't come even if Castiel knew he was here.
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Dean glanced inside through the small window. Today it would be only him, he left his guitar in his place.
He wrote in the book: "Even when the wound heals, the scar stays." It was from Syrus.
He entered and stayed in front of the door, silent, without looking at the reflection. The endlessly moans of patients were weak compared to his deep sigh.
They were alone… just the two of them.
Dean stared at Castiel's heels, his pajamas were too long and were touching the floor. He never wanted shoes because he liked feeling the coldness of the floor.
Dean suddenly wondered how many scars those pajamas were hiding. The only one he could see was the one on his eyebrow. But he knew the deeper scars were the one the eye can't see.
He was lost in his thoughts and barely noticed Castiel had moved. He felt the weight of his heart growing. He couldn't see his heels anymore but his toes… he was facing him.
He looked up and their eyes met… at last! His last hope was to break the ritual and it worked. He couldn't help but smiled and Castiel tilted his head. It was a long quiet exchange and Dean tried to keep it the longest he could.
He slowly stepped forward putting his hands out of his pocket and prayed with all his faith for Castiel not to run away. He was staring at him and didn't want to look away to not lose their special connection. He stopped right in front of him, invading his personal space, and he felt Castiel tensing but he had to go on.
Dean lifted his hand slowly, showing his palm to make him understand he had no intention to harm, and he noticed Castiel was shaking.
"Shhhh…. Cas, it's just me… Dean."
His hand was too close and Castiel slid down against the wall, curling up and putting his head between his knees. It looked like he wanted to melt inside the wall to disappear.
Dean crouched down.
"Cas…" he whispered.
"Cas, please… look at me." He pleaded kneeling in front of him.
"Cas?"
Castiel tensed and started to sway. Dean bent slowly raising his hand, trying to catch his look back. He laid his hand on Castiel's head the slowest and softest he could to not scare him and not lose him one more time, and for the first time Dean heard a sound coming out of Castiel's mouth… a tiny moan… a distant groan, like he was suffocating in his awful fear.
Dean's heart broke. For a second he even thought it was coming from the corridor, another patient moaning as surreal as it sounded.
"Cas I'm begging you here… look at me."
He caressed his hair with gentle moves.
"I will never let anyone hurt you anymore… ever. You hear me, Cas? Ever."
He pulled his hand back from his head and leaned against the wall, sitting next to Castiel, and he stayed here for a while with his forearms on his knees, head against the wall. He was just listening to Castiel breathing.
"My dad started drinking after Sam's birth… not that he was a sober saint before, but he could find moderation and wasn't violent… just aggressive. That dick couldn't handle alcohol well. I don't remember those years that much to be honest. I've never been close to him and he never did anything for us to be anyway. We were our mother's kids, not his. He never wanted us."
He closed his eyes and sighed.
"I remember the first slap though… not the one to punish but the one that fall without you to expect it. I was almost 5. I remember the last blow too… I was 15. I lived 10 years in hell and it haunted me for years, like a shadow running faster than me, passing me and eating me… that shadow killed my brother."
He opened his eyes and stared at the door in front of him… he felt sad thinking about Sam.
"Fear was the worse. The sound of his footsteps in the hallway… his hoarse voice… the screams… the evil laughs broken by coughs because of cigarettes… the sound of glass bottles clinging… not knowing what to say or what to do to avoid beatings even if he needed no excuse to break our bones. That fear still wakes me up some nights… I'm scared he would come back and all of this would start again. I know he's dead, I saw him dead but I can't help it… his ghost haunts me. I would like to erase him from my memory but each scar on my body reminds me of him, each footstep makes me jump in my bed. He haunts me even in my dreams… beating me over and over again, and it hurts as much as it did years ago."
He looked down.
"Ten long years of hell and I still have to fight today to win this… because I actually did win this. He wanted to break me but he made me stronger."
He turned his head to look at Castiel who still hadn't moved.
"You saved me, Cas… You and St Gerry Hall… you both saved me."
They stayed here a while, silent. Time was frozen.
Dean opened the white pages book.
"Eleventh day… Cas came back.
I'm here for 2 months, my life will never be the same again."
He closed the book and put it back.
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He came back to visit him the next day, he hadn't told Mary or Leyla about what happened. The book was the only witness and it was enough. There were moments he just wanted to keep for himself. One day he could talk about it with Leyla, he had to, for Cas.
He typed the code after glancing inside as usual. Of course Castiel was standing at the window and Dean felt sad when he realized he lost weight. He suddenly looked terribly thin in his big pajamas.
He decided he would change the way he comes to him: no ritual to make him feel safe because it was influencing Castiel to stay in his world. He needed to disturb the vision he had about the reality. The reality that brought habits: eating, washing, sleeping, waking up at the same hour every day, doing the same things…
For most patients it was a necessity but for Castiel it was like showing him an endlessly repetition of his illusion. Dean changed that.
Castiel ended up hoping he would come instead of waiting for him, and each time the door opened it was his moment of relief when he was seeing Dean's face. He discovered a new emotion, something he never knew before… happiness. It didn't matter if it was an illusion. From all the illusions he had, this was the most beautiful one because it brought meaning to his life.
And there was this hand in his hair… he felt the warmth again. He didn't dare looking up fearing it would end and he would be abandoned one more time. His voice… his words… those words had a deep meaning to him. The pain in his speech was running through him. He could feel the pain but he also could feel the strength Dean had. He could feel him next to him.
Illusions don't have a soul but the man next to him had one. He was just too scared to look up.
He found his way: this reality was the same than his attic. He was alive in both. He ran from this hell a long time ago, and now he was so scared to come back.
But Dean's look… it could lead him through those crossing ways.
He searched for Dean's eyes in the window's reflection. He needed them to bring him back to reality. Dean could now step close to him, he gave him permission. Castiel wanted him to touch him again to prove him he didn't make the wrong choice and all of this was real… just real.
He was walking his Stations of the Cross but hadn't reached the top yet. He could go back to his blue kingdom and let the birds bring him with them beyond the walls but something was attracting him toward the door, those green eyes and the white walls.
Life was calling him, it was screaming he was alive.
He turned around and looked at the door that wasn't closed. He looked down and turned to Dean like he was asking for something.
Dean hesitated… he didn't know what to answer. He felt Castiel was screaming inside but he couldn't understand what he meant. He needed to do something.
He stepped forward and extended his hand. Castiel held on his gaze and on his smile. He wanted to believe the illusion coming to life and he wanted to have hope.
Dean pulled slowly his hand on his face like a mom would do to comfort her child, just to let him know he was here and would always be.
Castiel closed his eyes and Dean saw a tear rolling down his cheek.
Castiel just woke up.
End of chapter XV