This chapter contains a flashback to Chapter 3. Skip the words in bold towards the end if you are easily triggered.

A/N: Most of my stories I write very late at night/early in the morning when I am sleep deprived. Please point out the plot holes and spelling/grammar mistakes if you spot them.

Chapter 4

Castiel's POV

I've lived at the Road House for two years now. My identical twin brother, Jimmy, and I were separated when I was moved here. Nobody could tell the difference between us and it caused much trouble. I miss him, but I've never been happier since our parents died in a car crash when we were eight. We're twelve now. Social services separated my entire remaining family. Gabriel, Anna, Hanna, and Samandriel. There are just too many of us Novaks. My heart aches with emptiness, devoid of my siblings.

At least I have the other foster children. Benny, Lisa, Jo, Dorothy, Charlie, Meg, and Ash are all very nice people. Ellen is the woman who fosters all of us. She's too much like a real mother. My mother, Naomi, was a cold, non-caring person. My family was religious and stiff. Ellen's family is loving, caring, and wild. Family doesn't end with blood.

The doorbell rings, startling me. That'll be the new foster kids! Two brothers lucky enough not to be separated. Sam and Dean Winchester, I believe.

"I got it!" I shout, racing for the door. I open it and say, "Hi! Welcome to the Road House Foster Home. Ellen Harvelle is in her office. My name is Castiel, and I'd like to welcome you to our home." I smile shyly at the two boys standing on the porch. I step aside to allow the constipated-looking social security worker in. She walks to Ellen's office. I notice the boy's luggage. "Want some help?"

"Yes, thank you," the younger-looking boy says. "I'm Sam by the way. This is my big brother Dean. It's nice to meet you, Castiel."

As we carry their luggage to their room, I tell them about the other foster kids.

"Ash is the oldest. He's the one with the mullet. He's fifteen. His dad died in a bar fight. Benny is fourteen, he's the one with an accent and always wearing that hat. He's here because his family kicked him out for being transgender. He's female to male. Lisa is his girlfriend. She's fourteen, too. Her dad murdered her mom when she was a baby.

"Charlie is twelve. Her dad left when she was a kid and her mom's in a coma. Dorothy is twelve. Her sister got knocked up by her boyfriend and couldn't take care of her anymore. Charlie and Dorothy are dating. Jo has been here the longest. She's ten. She was left in a basket on Ellen's doorstep when she was just a baby. I'm thirteen.

"I'm here because my siblings and I got separated since there were so many of us. Meg has the worst back story here. She's thirteen. Her dad got shot when he was caught molesting her best friend. She saw the entire thing." By the time I'm done talking, we are in the brothers' new bedroom.

A strangled noise comes from Dean, his green eyes widening and filling with tears. Guilt and concern rush through me. I apologize profusely, rushing over to give him a hug. He flinches away from my touch and looks at me with fear-filled eyes before running out of the room. His brother runs after him. I don't bother. I'm too shocked. His eyes, the way he looked at me… It was like he thought I was going to kill him. He looked shattered. I numbly shuffle from the room, my movements slowed down by an anvil in my stomach and tingling in my legs. What happened to that kid?

1:53 AM

Gabriel, Anna, Hannah, Samandriel, and I sit on a giant blanket with an array of food before us. We're laughing at stupid jokes, throwing food at each other, and having fun. I'm the middle child who gets teased by two older siblings and who gets to tease two younger siblings. Pieces of food fly out of mouths as we laugh at an ant that struggles to carry a sausage of the brand "Diestel" to its colony.

I close my eyes and let the sunshine hit my face. The light turns the inside of my eyelids a bright red. I smell an assortment of breads, cheeses, meats, and sweets. I have a lingering taste of hamburgers on my tongue. I feel a gentle breeze cause my hair to dance on my head, the grass tickling my hands. I expect to hear my siblings laughing but instead hear silence.

I frown and open my eyes. My family is gone. In their place is a boy who looks about my age. He has buzz-cut golden hair that shimmers in the light. He has freckles speckled across his nose and cheeks. He looks sad. I look at his eyes and am met with the sight of deep green pits of misery. I gasp. It's Dean. He needs my help.

My eyes snap open. It was a dream. But it felt so real. For a few precious moments, I was with my family again. Dean. Why was he in my dream? I rub sleep out of my eyes and glance at my alarm clock. The glowing red numbers are bright enough to make me squint when I look at them. One fifty-six. Why am I up over four hours before my alarm is supposed to go off?

It takes my tired brain to process anything. I am not a morning person. I dampen my chapped lips with my tongue and realize that I am thirsty. I should probably get some water. I groan at the thought of getting up. My bed is so warm and comfortable, why should I get out of it? My dry throat ceases to stop bugging me. I let out a sound of defeat and sit up.

I hiss when my bare feet touch the cold carpet. I'm very happy I slept in long-sleeved pajamas. I shuffle toward the door, an unhappy guttural sound leaving my mouth. I hate moving my body in the morning. I hate mornings. I grumble about waking up so early under my breath. I hunch over as I stumble my way to the kitchen. Stupid, unfaithful, early-rising body. I get my water and drink the entire cup, satiating my thirst. I am going to have to pee very badly later in the morning.

I drag myself back into the hallway. In the dark, I see a curled-up figure that's making whimpering noises. I want to cry, too. It's to early to be awake. I squint to see who it is. It's Dean. I instantly wake up. I rush over and kneel in front of him.

"Are you all right, Dean?" I ask in a whisper while placing my hand on his shoulder. He freezes. I take my hand off and mumble an apology.

"It's okay." Dean's whisper is hoarse from crying. "Just bad experiences making me a crybaby." He looks up at me. I am glad it's too dark for me to see his eyes.

I sit down next to him and hesitantly put my arm around his shoulders. He stiffens for a few moments before relaxing. I gently pull him closer so I'm hugging him. He buries his face into my shoulder and sobs. I pat his back awkwardly in an attempt to comfort him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Want to? No. But my stupid shrink says I should 'come to terms with what happened to me.' And here I am taking her advice, about to spill my deepest, darkest secret to a complete stranger." He lets out a dark chuckle.

"You don't have to tell me," I say. I am very concerned and mildy curious, but I'd rather be curious than this poor boy have to relive something bad.

He waves my comment away. "It happened two years ago, the scars are healed now, and my brother didn't get hurt. Just promise you won't tell Sammy or anybody else. The only people who know what happened are me and my shrink."

I promise him I won't utter a word of what he says to anybody. He hesitates before saying, "I'm really sleep-deprived. Nightmares. That's why I'm crying and not running away from you right now. You're easy to trust when I'm tired."

"Thank you?" I say.

Dean takes a deep breath before starting. "When I was four years old, my parents died in a house fire. Sammy was only six months old. I saved him from the fire and raised him by myself on the streets until I was nine. Someone found us and put us in the system..."

He continues his story of sorrow. I learn that he watched his old foster parent impale himself on a desk and get paralyzed from the waist down. About how they took him and his brother away and placed them into a foster home run by a man named Alastair. He starts shaking violently and I feel hot tears soaking into my shirt. I ignore the wetness and instead focus on his almost unintelligible words.

"I-I was there a w-w-week before h-he… b-before h-h-he… b-before i-it happened. I was asleep a-and h-he p-pulled me by my h-hair a-and m-m-murdered a w-woman I-in front of me s-since I-I-I w-w-w-wouldn't."

I seem to absorb all of Dean's emotions. Now I'm the one shaking and crying. He seems to have gone numb. He continues in a monotone.

"He said that I had to be punished. He pinned me to his bed and took his and my clothes off. He said I deserved what I got. I fought, but I was only nine and he was in his thirties. I was fucking nine years old. He raped me, Cas."

My heart sinks. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. He has to be lying. He has to be! He's not. Nobody would make up a story like this. White-hot anger flashes through me. What kind of sicko would do that to a child? To anybody? I'm trembling too much to notice the nickname he Dean gave me. Dean. I'm so, so, so sorry Dean, I want to say. He keeps talking. There's more. Oh, God. There's a lot more and it only gets worse.

"He kept raping me for three months. Multiple times a day. He would shove his dick up my ass and make me bleed he was so rough. He kept asking me why I wouldn't break, why I wouldn't stop fighting. I didn't tell him, but it was to protect my brother. If he kept trying to break me, he wouldn't hurt Sammy. That's the only thing that kept me from giving up. Then on my tenth birthday he brought in knives. I remember every second of it. Ever goddamn second. He broke me."

I'm too shocked to say anything. I'm frozen. No, I'm dreaming. This is just a nightmare, it has to be. It's not. Of course it's not. I don't even realize that I'm still crying. I feel so selfish for thinking that I had it bad. I have it good. Dean doesn't. He was fucking raped. He let it happen to protect his brother. He raised Sam until he was nine. This boy has been through too much. His parents are dead, something he witnessed. He watched a man get paralyzed. He was raped for three months non-stop. I pray for the first time since my parents died. I pray for my friend to have a happy life, for him to heal, for him to always be with his brother, for this to be the end of his hardships.

"He had dead blue eyes and dread locks. He never showered so he was filthy. He never ate so he was disgustingly skinny. He was still stronger than I was, and smarter. I asked him to stop and let me and my brother go. He was about to cut me with a knife. He told me he would fuck my brother harder than he fucked me. He said he would put a knife inside of Sammy and fuck it into his intestines." Dean starts shaking again. I can hear his teeth chattering.

"He said he'd kill my brother if I didn't stop fighting him. So I stopped. He gave up. He sat on my cock and bounced up and down. It hurt so much. He used a blood-stained knife to cut ten stars into my stomach. He said it was a birthday present. Then his cum got into the cuts and it stung so bad. He said I was a good boy. He raped me more after I broke. At least he never touched Sam," Dean says.

He stops talking and I can tell that he's finished. He starts crying again. All I can do is hold him closer to me and offer comfort and a person he can trust and feel safe around. I can't help but yawn. He yawns a few seconds after I do and stands up. I get up after him, swaying I'm so tired.

"We should go back to bed," I mumble.

"Is it okay if I sleep in your room tonight? I don't want to wake Sammy up if I have another nightmare." The tone of his voice breaks my heart.

"Of course." I give him a gently hug so he doesn't feel trapped. I lead him to my room. "You want to share the bed or do you want me to sleep on the bean bag?"

"Sharing the bed is fine. It's too cold for anything else."

I climb into my bed and lay down close to the edge. I feel his weight push his side of the bed down, creaking. He snuggles closer to me, something I find surprising. He must really feel safe around me. I smile softly and wrap my arms around him. I can feel his warm breaths on my neck, irregular at first and then long and even. He's asleep. I close my eyes and join him.