Tell Me Who I Am part 6
Tell Me Who I Am
Part 1
~~~
Wednesday passed, and Dean found that the empty spot by the window in biology class was proving more distracting than he'd anticipated. He was sure that he'd done it this time for good. And it was probably the way things should be: nothing was to disturb the tranquillity in his life he had come to appreciate. Everything had worked perfectly fine until now. So then why did he feel like something was... out of place? He idly scrubbed a nail on his skin, though the usual satisfaction from relieving an itch was absent, the itch having only momentarily dissipated with the promising feeling of a more vengeful return.
The boy heaved a bored sigh and stretched himself like a spent cat in the sun rays that filtered through the windows while Miss Feldt's voice droned on in an endless educational lullaby in the background. A buzz of growing mumbles, zipping pencil cases and clinking of pens indicated to him that class was winding to an end.
"For homework, I'd like you to go over the definitions we've seen today in class," the teacher strained her voice over the full-blown clamour of impatient shuffling.
"Shit, a test," someone muttered in the sea of moving bags and coats.
Crap. Just what he needed. Another test. He yawned and stepped out into the courtyard, squinting at the sudden assault of white light on his eyes.
"Hey, Dean," a voice popped up beside him.
Dean shrugged his bag securely over his shoulder. "Chuck. What's up?"
Their steps stuttered to a stop as Chuck trailed his gaze up uncomfortably to his eyes, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how or whether he should indeed say anything. "Just wanted you to know that I could help you with your literature essay." He gave a small smile that he hoped conveyed what he really meant without having to say the actual words.
Dean could guess what he wanted to say - he wanted to help, even Pam and Jo were acting antsy around him now. He bristled and wondered how they could think he wasn't able to take care of himself, or, for that matter, to get over an incident that happened to a strange boy he hardly knew anything about.
"I'm fine, Chuck," he said through his teeth. "I'll... manage the assignment on my own this time."
Chuck pursed his lips and frowned, not knowing how to get through to him after the first solid refusal. "Um..." He shoved his hands in his pockets and swayed slightly back and forth to fend off some of the cold. "By the way, how are you... uh... holding up?"
"I told you I'm fine, Chuck," Dean said coldly and resumed his pace.
Chuck caught up to him and said in an apologetic voice that made him sound like a persistent mouse, "I know, I know... It's just that... Well, it's been a week now and you've sorta been acting... aloof."
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Aloof?" he said with a hint of dry amusement.
"Withdrawn, actually," he said more seriously.
"I'm fine, Chuck," he repeated in clipped words. "Go... get some dirt on the Principal or whatever it is you do and stop worrying about me for Chrissakes."
Chuck watched with a heavy heart as his friend's back retreated farther into the grey yard, and sighed and turned around, wondering how long it would take before Dean ended up being a hermit for good.
- - -
Once in his room, Dean chucked his school bag into a corner and slumped onto the bed, his back against the wall. The cell phone in his pocket was starting to feel uncomfortable and heavy, so he dragged it out and flung it onto the comforter, watching it bounce unhappily into the folds.
But just as soon he couldn't look away from it. He didn't know why he couldn't let go, let go of the shame he felt every time he thought back to Castiel. No matter how much he tried to close his eyes and erase the boy's existence, he could never erase the look of hurt in the face that tried so hard to remain blank when he'd slapped him. Sure, Castiel probably couldn't even tell he was hurt himself, emotionally blunted as he was, but Dean knew. Dean knew Castiel had felt on some level that he should never have been so vulnerable as to think that a friendship with him was possible. He'd been pussyfooting around the issue for a week now, phoning him up on his cell, letting it ring twice before chickening out and ending the call.
Taking in a breath, he reached for the phone and scrolled through the contact list. After gazing at the name for a full minute, still debating his seemingly decisive choice, he finally pressed the call button.
One ring. Maybe he was still mad at him, but that didn't mean he had to skip school for a whole week. Two rings. Maybe he was just sick and didn't want to speak to anybody. Three rings. Okay, maybe if he hung up now he could still save himself from facing Castiel's accusations... Four rings. This was a stupid idea, Castiel will never answer if it's him. Five rings. Well, he's already gone this far, might as well go through with it. Six rings. Dean held his breath. Seven rings. Eight rings. Automatic voice mail. He let his breath out as his shoulders slumped pathetically against the wall with a soft thud and hung up.
So Castiel didn't want to speak to the guy that beat him up in his own home... he could understand. He had an essay to write anyway.
- - -
The day after Dean had left the Bellamy house, piano music drifted through the rooms all day long in an alternation between heated rhythms and indolent requiems. Some of the servants would shuffle uneasily past his room, not wanting to disturb the young master of the house. Even George had grown uncomfortable around the boy's unnerving glares that seemed to accuse the whole world of something even the boy himself couldn't put into words. Castiel was angry, but the worst part was that he didn't even know it. George let out a breath as he stopped outside the boy's door with a platter of his dinner, wondering if he would even hear him knock. He'd been hired by Michael Bellamy for six years now; thanks to his accounting and people skills, he made the ideal steward. But even he had difficulty getting through to the studious boy, especially after what had happened to his brother...
He knocked gently at the door, and was surprised to hear a gruff "come in" over the music. The room was in the same state as it had been yesterday, only now the clothes had been discreetly put away and the curtains were tightly drawn shut. George noticed the lunch platter he'd deposited earlier was still untouched except for the glass of water.
"Castiel..." George started, but faltered at the boy's deliberate increase in concentration over the piano. He lowered his head and changed the subject he had in mind. "Your father is aware of the incident and has ordered that you not leave the house until his return from Japan tomorrow night."
Castiel strained his eyes shut and doubled his force on the keys, making the tune sound more choppy and clangy than in harmony with the classical partition.
George was unclear himself on what exactly had occurred during the party, though it looked like the boy that was here the other day meant more to Castiel than he cared to show. He opened his mouth to say something comforting but stopped at the last moment, instead sighing and taking the lunch platter back to the kitchen with the hopes that things would work themselves out over time.
- - -
Michael Bellamy was the sort of person one imagined would look exactly like his reputation: a solid frame of a man with an equally solid ambition. He came from a reputable family and had inherited his father's company and helped steer it towards a future in technology, as well as developing an open market policy that struck down new-born opponents trying to make a name in the business. He was forty-six years old and was always off giving conferences and travelling hotel to hotel, office to office while his dutiful son stayed home and worked hard to earn his rightful place as heir to the family's prominent business.
Castiel figured that the news George told his father about him sneaking off and taking drugs - earning him a trip to the hospital - must have certainly come as a severe shock to him, for Castiel had always prided himself on being the serious and responsible type; his father would certainly think he would never have done such a thing of his own will... It would have had to have been an outside influence. His mind wouldn't allow any other way.
He scooted back from the piano and stretched his aching fingers. "A change of surrounding will do you good," his father had said. He wondered if he actually believed his own words. And how could he even think that it would change a thing? He let out a low growl and brought his fists crashing down onto the keyboard. No-one knew what it was like.
Be the perfect son, always the perfect son. You're destined for greatness, Castiel. You will be the leading force behind the world economy. A prodigy in capitalism, he was sure. And what about Jimmy? No-one cared about the simpler boy with lesser ideals, a boy who was not and did not want to be destined for greatness. Castiel was not that boy. He was respectful and devoted to their father, and he had been very careful to please Daddy dearest, even cringing at his twin's social faux pas which had earned him sour looks and ashamed scowls at dinner parties, important cocktails or other soirées. But Jimmy had been more of an inspiration to him than even their mother could have ever been. Not that she would have minded anyway, content as she was in her little inflated bubble of personal interest and gain. Their birthdays were virtually seen as a two in one celebration that served to further her social circle.
She was still practically a child when she and his father had met... On some of his more lucid days where their mother wouldn't come home until late after her secretarial job at his father's company, engorged in the ripe smell of expensive perfume and the thrill of late night shopping, he couldn't help but wonder with the same cold deduction that complimented his mother's personality so well, whether her pregnancy had been a mistake, or - better yet - deliberate. After all, he wouldn't put it past her to attempt entrapping his father in a reluctant marriage to serve her interests. But would she have preferred a daughter? Would it have made a difference? At least with his brother they could imagine benevolent phantoms that would welcome them in the uninhabited recesses of their various empty houses, distracting themselves long enough to dispel their imaginations' ephemerality that loomed above Castiel's head like an obsessed spectre.
Soon Castiel had grown impatient of Jimmy's failures that upset his father so, and became weary of the childish fun and games that consumed time he could better spend practising for his upcoming piano concerts. He had taken it upon himself to mature at the pace of his father's expectations and left Jimmy behind to figure out another way to busy himself with make-believe substitutes.
Well, it didn't matter anymore, and now Jimmy was gone. He stood up and walked over to the platter of food on his glass desk. The platter suddenly looked like an abhorrence of nature that was specifically garnered for his displeasure and put on grotesque display. He approached the cocktail of fancy foods and sent the loaded tray clattering to the ground, letting its contents drip and seep over the desk into the fitted carpet in a glorious mess. Castiel looked on with perplexed dissatisfaction. Why did he do that? It didn't make him feel better. It didn't make him feel better at all.
George knocked at the door.
"Mister Bellamy is requesting to see you now," he said and looked dismayed when he noticed the food spilled all over the floor.
"Thank you, George," said Castiel and followed George's gaze to the spoiled food. He pursed his lips and felt embarrassed; but instead of apologising or making up excuses, he hurried past him without a word. George sighed and went to get the cleaning products.
Castiel found his father sitting in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, his dark hair impeccably combed back and wreathed in the yellow lighting of the bare living room, his black business suit still looking freshly ironed even after an impossibly long flight from the other side of the world - though he bet first class was not too hard on him, either. The only sign that indicated that he wasn't in fact an android sitting in his father's place was the loosened tie around his neck - the ultimate detail that meant everything. Castiel took in a deep breath and smoothed his hair back before walking into the room and sitting down on the couch next to the armchair, erect and attentive like the perfect son his father destined him to be.
Bellamy solemnly contemplated him from above the criss-cross of his interlaced fingers that pressed lightly into his lips while his elbows were solidly entrenched in the leather arms of the chair, quietly judging and calculating him. Castiel barely managed to quell the itching urge to squirm or look away. To his relief, the immutable statue broke the silence as he heaved a sigh and lowered a hand to rest it on one of the bloated arms of the chair.
"Castiel..." he said, his gravelly voice both patronising and scolding. "Why have you been failing at school lately? Your grades are a disgrace, and this coming from a public school." He closed his eyes and shook his head in dismay. "You used to be brilliant, a veritable prodigy in mathematics. I thought a change in scenery would do you good, but instead you abuse my trust in my absence and almost get yourself killed. You must understand that I am simply looking out for you with the best possible interests. After all, I'll need someone I can trust to lead the company when I retire completely." He paused, expecting the information to sink into the boy's head and prompt a response.
Castiel gave a minute nod. "Yes, Daddy."
His father beetled his brow in a visible cringe. "Refrain from calling me by that term; it is far too familiar and inappropriate for your age."
But Castiel liked calling him that, it made his father that more tangible and human rather than an abstract entity that was commandeering his life. Then again, he might as well be...
"Yes, Father."
"And from now on you are no longer going to school as you will instead be taught by private tutors."
Castiel's eyes widened at the sudden radical decision his father had taken. But perhaps he should have expected such drastic measures if it would ensure the future stability of the company.
"Is that not a bit... extreme?" he ventured meekly.
"In what way, Castiel?" The man's eyes narrowed. "You are a year away from finishing high-school education; don't you think that you need an excellent level to pass the entry exams for a reputable preparatory school?" His voice gradually intensified. "Don't you want to attend prestigious universities that will grant you the surest route to success? Don't you care?"
Castiel lowered his head and said, "Yes, of course, Father."
Bellamy's face softened and then said, as if he were talking to a confused child who'd lost his way, "Don't be like your brother. You saw where his incompetence led him. I don't want the same thing to happen to you."
Of course not, he was nothing like his brother. He would never be a disappointment.
"No, Father."
"Good. I'm glad we had this talk. You may return to your activities."
Castiel gave a tight nod and stood up.
"Oh, and send De Klerk my way when you see him."
The boy stood up, but seemed to hesitate on a thought. He took in a breath and asked, "For... for how long will you be staying?" He bit his lip.
"I'll be gone in the morning," he said to a nondescript spot in front of him.
Castiel nodded curtly and headed back to his room, informing George who had just finished cleaning up his mess that his father had called for him. Once George had left the room, Castiel climbed onto the covers of his bed, still fully dressed in his evening clothes, and lay staring upward at the ceiling, one hand on his stomach the other under his pillow. If he closed his eyes he could still hear that keen beckoning that wanted him to play the piano.
He blotted out the ceiling and breathed through his nose.
The beckoning faded away.
- - -
"Dean, I think Lisa is checking you out." Chuck nudged him in the ribs.
Dean poured himself another cup of punch at the spread that was installed in the gym for the school Halloween costume party. The party was okay... well, as far as being thrown by the school and not being one of Gabriel's, he'd say it was doing pretty well for itself: the music was good, the art class put a lot effort in the décor, and people seemed to be having a good time. Dean shrugged and gulped down the spiked juice, trying not show that it actually flattered him that a girl like Lisa would be interested in a guy like him.
"Pam, what do you think?" he asked Pamela who was dressed as a sexed up Arabian fortune teller complete with bangles, foot bracelets and body jewellery.
She curled a finger around her chin and stroked it in wise contemplation. "Hm. I recall dat you had a crush on her," she said in an amalgamate of Indian and Arabian accents. "Mmyes, back in ninth grade, yes?"
"Yeah, but he waited too long and got shot down," Jo piped in from behind in her elf costume.
"He was just waiting for the right time. How was he supposed to know Adam was going to make his move?" Chuck defended him. "And anyway, I thought elves weren't due until Christmas."
"They're due whenever the hell they feel like it." She drank her cup as if she were chugging down a shot, topping it off with a murderous glare in Chuck's direction, which came off as a little cute from under her elfish make-up.
"What's your problem?" said Chuck. "Is Santa not giving you enough paid vacations?"
"I'll be sure to tell him to leave you a very special gift in your mailbox. And what the hell are you wearing anyway?" Jo jabbed a derisive finger at his costume. "A confused nun?"
Chuck looked down his nose at her and said, "My disguise, young one, is stealth." He bent at the knees and reached for a plastic sabre in his back and pointed it out in a dramatic rendition of alertness. "Warriors of the night do not fear little girls' threats."
Smirking, Jo placed her cup on the spread and clenched her fists. "Is that so?"
"Chuck." Pamela put her fingers to her temple and placed one hand on his shoulder. "I could tell you your future... but you won't like it."
Dean smiled and shook his head; at least it got their minds off him and Lisa. It was true that he'd had a crush on her, since seventh grade actually, captivated as he was by all the qualities that made her the incarnation of every boy's first crush. She was smart and funny, and she'd always shown him an unlimited kindness and a godly patience when it came to his inane remarks and quips. Of course she was perfect, but that was also what scared him. Maybe it was best if he left her alone with her friends.
Still, he sneaked a peek at her and noticed she was wearing a shredded white dress and a gossamer veil that lent her the allure of a scorned bride. And then it suddenly hit him how Castiel was sitting in his giant house, alone with his servants, not unlike a wronged lover. But Castiel didn't care, he didn't care about anything it seemed, so why was he wasting his time worrying about him so much?
"Go on, she's practically waiting for you," Pamela urged him on.
"You think so?" Dean was starting to think that if he actually had a second chance at this, maybe he could manage to forget about Castiel and get on with his life.
She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "Dean, please, I'm a fortune teller. Don't insult me. Now go get her before I curse you."
"No!" Jo squealed from behind after disentangling herself from Chuck's sweaty grasp around her arm as he'd tried to undo some of her decorative green straps. "He's supposed to be with Castiel!"
Dean cringed; Jo's undying romantic ideals would never cease to grate him in an embarrassing way.
"What are you talking about?" Pamela grimaced with one eye at the affront. "It's been two weeks! Castiel practically mouth raped him and never called back. At least Lisa is willing to give him a clean slate and build a healthy relationship."
"Lisa?" Jo cried out, surprised. "You got your healthy dose down alright, healthy enough to live well into your nineties and have hundreds of babies. Please, how much more vanilla can you get?"
Dean slapped a hand to his forehead. "Guys..." he said weakly. This was getting out of hand, not to mention incredibly embarrassing. After all, wasn't this kind of thing up to him to decide? Privately? Like in his own head? "I'm right here."
Pamela instantly hushed him. "It looks like the elf thinks she knows better than the fortune teller."
"Oh, I know it, gypsy."
Dean decided he would have no part in this and discreetly backed away from the squabble. Pamela and Jo were great friends, but when it came to fighting over his sex life, he felt the undeniable urge to eclipse himself and wait for it to blow over. It was pretty much a double standard, really. Talk about the girls' choices and you were sure to open bucket load of worms. Chuck seemed to have taken his cue to disappear before Dean, and was now inching his way over to Becky who was sitting alone at a table, her face in the clouds as she sipped a bright red juice - probably even unaware that people had left the table. They did kind of make a cute couple... good for them.
"Hey there, master Jedi," a voice interrupted his thoughts.
Dean jumped a little and swivelled round to see Lisa smiling at him. He looked around to make sure there wasn't a gaggle of girls not far off tracking his every move in a bet to confirm whatever suspicions they held in his regard. There was none - even Pam and Jo seemed to have moved on from their argument and were out of sight. It looked like it was just the two of them hanging like two bored butterflies pinned to the wall as the rest of the night life smoothed the rubber floor in the usual adolescent ardour.
"My respects, Miss Havisham." He bowed his head in the respectful Jedi custom.
Lisa cocked an amused eyebrow. "Should I be impressed by your gallantry or by the fact that you actually know who Miss Havisham is?"
"Please," he said in mock indignation. "I'm not one to brag the depths of my knowledge to any commoner."
Lisa crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. "My, my, Dean Winchester. It looks like the costume has disguised you in more ways than one."
"That hurts my feelings, it really does."
Lisa gave a more gentle smile and looked around. Dean wondered whether she was already getting bored with him and wondered if she thought it was a bad idea to have come over here and talk to him. Which made him seriously question why exactly she had decided to talk to him; and why *now*?
"You wanna take this outside?" she asked, more hopeful than rhetorical.
Dean's mind reeled with the possible hidden meaning behind the apparently simple question. Was she testing him? If he said yes, where would this lead to? He chewed the inside of his cheek and willed a casual smile.
"Sure."
She smiled back, instantly making Dean feel both relieved and apprehensive. They walked out into crisp air; the skyline had already coiled into a navy-tinged dusk that spoke of a clear night ahead while the last rays of sunlight wrought their dying iridescence on Lisa's white dress, making her costume come to life and glow with all the tragic radiance of those brides in nineteenth century sentimental novels.
She sighed and stepped forward to the railing that encircled the exit stairs they were on. "It could've worked, you know," she said ruefully.
"What could've worked?" Dean asked dumbly, refusing to stumble into any sticky assumptions.
"Don't tell me you never thought about it," she said and was suddenly invading his personal space, pushing him up against the railing. Dean swallowed a lump in his dry throat. "We could still try," she suggested in a shy hopefulness that betrayed her intimidating stance.
It was a second chance, a chance to date the girl that graced his dreams since middle school. He could easily imagine founding a stable family with her, a happy family, the one that came with a two car garage and a white picket fence. And yet... and yet something didn't feel right. He couldn't help the feeling that something was missing, something critical, something, something...
He lowered his head to the side and screwed his eyes shut. "I don't know, Lis."
She frowned, having least expected a rebuttal from Dean. But soon her face smoothed into sad understanding. "You've found someone else, haven't you?"
Dean shook his head. "It's not like that." Not that even he knew what it was like at all. Only now did he begin to understand the meaning of the phrase 'It's complicated'.
Lisa gave Dean room to breathe as she backed away and said in a small voice, "Do I know her?"
"No... no you don't," he said gently. He never wanted to hurt Lisa in any way.
"Then how... ?"
A corner of his mouth twitched up in a sour half smile. "No, it wasn't at summer camp or anything. But it doesn't matter anyway. I've probably blown it for good, like I always do. These things just come naturally to me."
Lisa curled a hand around his jaw and leaned in to lay a chaste kiss on his lips. Dean followed the softness even as she pulled back. "Just do what you feel is best, Dean; I won't hate you for it."
He croaked out a chuckle. "Talk about wrong place, bad time, huh?"
She smiled. "Something like that."
The tight ball he didn't know he'd been carrying around in his stomach for a while slowly unwound at her acceptance.
"Thank you."
She rolled her shoulders in an aborted shrug while her eyes voiced the tones of an uneasily masked regret. "Don't mention it. As long as you're... you know... happy." She gave one last tight smile and headed back inside.
Just the wrong fucking time. He breathed in the crisp air through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. The sun had now completely vanished under the smoked horizon while the people inside the gym still vibrated in an endless celebration of life that thrived to the beat of their internal rhythms rather than to the limited spectacle of the seasons.
Dean sighed and wandered back into the party, the festivity effectively shrivelled from his mood.
"Hey!" Pamela called out to him and joined him at the spread. "Is this dire excuse of a buffet like your resident waterhole or something? Come dance!"
Not wanting to give the impression of a typical broody teenager, he offered his most convincing smile and stepped onto the dirty gym floor.
- - -
1 Voicemail.
Dean kicked off his shoes and divested himself of his Han Solo costume while his phone blinked insistently on his bedside table. The boy frowned as he swiped the object from the table, wondering who could have left him a message right after the party. Did someone forget to tell him something? He stuck it between his shoulder and ear while he sat on the edge of his bed and rolled off his socks.
Hello, this is George De Klerk speaking, the steward of the Bellamy house...
He let go of his socks and gripped the phone, his frown deepening into further confusion. Why was George calling him?
This may seem a bit... unusual, but I have become quite concerned on the matter of Castiel's whereabouts. I am calling to know whether you may have seen him around, and if so, if you could let him know that his father would be quite aggrieved to learn of his unplanned disappearance. There was a hesitant pause. In case you're wondering, I obtained this number from Castiel's cell phone which he left behind... It's getting quite dark now, and Castiel doesn't know the environs all that well. Any help would be greatly appreciated. Thank you.
Dean discarded the message and stared uncertainly at his phone for a long while. Castiel was missing. His heart raced and made his head ache a little at the sudden news. Had he run away? That didn't sound like something he would do. The more dramatic part of his brain imagined a kidnapping and hostage situation... He shook his head; that was something Chuck would suggest. He tried to imagine what Pamela would say... like he probably got sick of staying under house-arrest and went for a midnight stroll as a take that to his father. He made a wry mouth. No, it didn't sound like Castiel either. What would Jo say...
"It's okay, Dean," Jo's voice came through groggy on the phone's speaker. She had probably just gone to bed, but didn't mind reassuring Dean. "Do you want me to come over and help you find him?"
"What? Now?" Dean asked, surprised and touched at the same time that Jo would actually do that for him.
"Well, yeah," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Seriously, Jo... You don't have to if -"
"Dean..." she cut him off. "Jesus, you can be so thick sometimes... I want to help you because that's what friends do. Not because one day I wish to have your babies or blackmail you with compromising photos from your salad days."
Which... okay, made Dean feel eternally grateful, but also very much guilty that he couldn't tell whether he could guarantee her the same sentiment.
"I love you too, Jo."
"And anyway," she continued, "you and Castiel are like forever, man. No matter what Pam thinks."
"Yeah..." he drew the word out awkwardly.
Knowing his luck, it would probably be more like five minutes. That is, if they managed to find him first.
- - -
Part 7
sms lån
Part 1
~~~
Wednesday passed, and Dean found that the empty spot by the window in biology class was proving more distracting than he'd anticipated. He was sure that he'd done it this time for good. And it was probably the way things should be: nothing was to disturb the tranquillity in his life he had come to appreciate. Everything had worked perfectly fine until now. So then why did he feel like something was... out of place? He idly scrubbed a nail on his skin, though the usual satisfaction from relieving an itch was absent, the itch having only momentarily dissipated with the promising feeling of a more vengeful return.
The boy heaved a bored sigh and stretched himself like a spent cat in the sun rays that filtered through the windows while Miss Feldt's voice droned on in an endless educational lullaby in the background. A buzz of growing mumbles, zipping pencil cases and clinking of pens indicated to him that class was winding to an end.
"For homework, I'd like you to go over the definitions we've seen today in class," the teacher strained her voice over the full-blown clamour of impatient shuffling.
"Shit, a test," someone muttered in the sea of moving bags and coats.
Crap. Just what he needed. Another test. He yawned and stepped out into the courtyard, squinting at the sudden assault of white light on his eyes.
"Hey, Dean," a voice popped up beside him.
Dean shrugged his bag securely over his shoulder. "Chuck. What's up?"
Their steps stuttered to a stop as Chuck trailed his gaze up uncomfortably to his eyes, like he wanted to say something but didn't know how or whether he should indeed say anything. "Just wanted you to know that I could help you with your literature essay." He gave a small smile that he hoped conveyed what he really meant without having to say the actual words.
Dean could guess what he wanted to say - he wanted to help, even Pam and Jo were acting antsy around him now. He bristled and wondered how they could think he wasn't able to take care of himself, or, for that matter, to get over an incident that happened to a strange boy he hardly knew anything about.
"I'm fine, Chuck," he said through his teeth. "I'll... manage the assignment on my own this time."
Chuck pursed his lips and frowned, not knowing how to get through to him after the first solid refusal. "Um..." He shoved his hands in his pockets and swayed slightly back and forth to fend off some of the cold. "By the way, how are you... uh... holding up?"
"I told you I'm fine, Chuck," Dean said coldly and resumed his pace.
Chuck caught up to him and said in an apologetic voice that made him sound like a persistent mouse, "I know, I know... It's just that... Well, it's been a week now and you've sorta been acting... aloof."
Dean cocked an eyebrow. "Aloof?" he said with a hint of dry amusement.
"Withdrawn, actually," he said more seriously.
"I'm fine, Chuck," he repeated in clipped words. "Go... get some dirt on the Principal or whatever it is you do and stop worrying about me for Chrissakes."
Chuck watched with a heavy heart as his friend's back retreated farther into the grey yard, and sighed and turned around, wondering how long it would take before Dean ended up being a hermit for good.
- - -
Once in his room, Dean chucked his school bag into a corner and slumped onto the bed, his back against the wall. The cell phone in his pocket was starting to feel uncomfortable and heavy, so he dragged it out and flung it onto the comforter, watching it bounce unhappily into the folds.
But just as soon he couldn't look away from it. He didn't know why he couldn't let go, let go of the shame he felt every time he thought back to Castiel. No matter how much he tried to close his eyes and erase the boy's existence, he could never erase the look of hurt in the face that tried so hard to remain blank when he'd slapped him. Sure, Castiel probably couldn't even tell he was hurt himself, emotionally blunted as he was, but Dean knew. Dean knew Castiel had felt on some level that he should never have been so vulnerable as to think that a friendship with him was possible. He'd been pussyfooting around the issue for a week now, phoning him up on his cell, letting it ring twice before chickening out and ending the call.
Taking in a breath, he reached for the phone and scrolled through the contact list. After gazing at the name for a full minute, still debating his seemingly decisive choice, he finally pressed the call button.
One ring. Maybe he was still mad at him, but that didn't mean he had to skip school for a whole week. Two rings. Maybe he was just sick and didn't want to speak to anybody. Three rings. Okay, maybe if he hung up now he could still save himself from facing Castiel's accusations... Four rings. This was a stupid idea, Castiel will never answer if it's him. Five rings. Well, he's already gone this far, might as well go through with it. Six rings. Dean held his breath. Seven rings. Eight rings. Automatic voice mail. He let his breath out as his shoulders slumped pathetically against the wall with a soft thud and hung up.
So Castiel didn't want to speak to the guy that beat him up in his own home... he could understand. He had an essay to write anyway.
- - -
The day after Dean had left the Bellamy house, piano music drifted through the rooms all day long in an alternation between heated rhythms and indolent requiems. Some of the servants would shuffle uneasily past his room, not wanting to disturb the young master of the house. Even George had grown uncomfortable around the boy's unnerving glares that seemed to accuse the whole world of something even the boy himself couldn't put into words. Castiel was angry, but the worst part was that he didn't even know it. George let out a breath as he stopped outside the boy's door with a platter of his dinner, wondering if he would even hear him knock. He'd been hired by Michael Bellamy for six years now; thanks to his accounting and people skills, he made the ideal steward. But even he had difficulty getting through to the studious boy, especially after what had happened to his brother...
He knocked gently at the door, and was surprised to hear a gruff "come in" over the music. The room was in the same state as it had been yesterday, only now the clothes had been discreetly put away and the curtains were tightly drawn shut. George noticed the lunch platter he'd deposited earlier was still untouched except for the glass of water.
"Castiel..." George started, but faltered at the boy's deliberate increase in concentration over the piano. He lowered his head and changed the subject he had in mind. "Your father is aware of the incident and has ordered that you not leave the house until his return from Japan tomorrow night."
Castiel strained his eyes shut and doubled his force on the keys, making the tune sound more choppy and clangy than in harmony with the classical partition.
George was unclear himself on what exactly had occurred during the party, though it looked like the boy that was here the other day meant more to Castiel than he cared to show. He opened his mouth to say something comforting but stopped at the last moment, instead sighing and taking the lunch platter back to the kitchen with the hopes that things would work themselves out over time.
- - -
Michael Bellamy was the sort of person one imagined would look exactly like his reputation: a solid frame of a man with an equally solid ambition. He came from a reputable family and had inherited his father's company and helped steer it towards a future in technology, as well as developing an open market policy that struck down new-born opponents trying to make a name in the business. He was forty-six years old and was always off giving conferences and travelling hotel to hotel, office to office while his dutiful son stayed home and worked hard to earn his rightful place as heir to the family's prominent business.
Castiel figured that the news George told his father about him sneaking off and taking drugs - earning him a trip to the hospital - must have certainly come as a severe shock to him, for Castiel had always prided himself on being the serious and responsible type; his father would certainly think he would never have done such a thing of his own will... It would have had to have been an outside influence. His mind wouldn't allow any other way.
He scooted back from the piano and stretched his aching fingers. "A change of surrounding will do you good," his father had said. He wondered if he actually believed his own words. And how could he even think that it would change a thing? He let out a low growl and brought his fists crashing down onto the keyboard. No-one knew what it was like.
Be the perfect son, always the perfect son. You're destined for greatness, Castiel. You will be the leading force behind the world economy. A prodigy in capitalism, he was sure. And what about Jimmy? No-one cared about the simpler boy with lesser ideals, a boy who was not and did not want to be destined for greatness. Castiel was not that boy. He was respectful and devoted to their father, and he had been very careful to please Daddy dearest, even cringing at his twin's social faux pas which had earned him sour looks and ashamed scowls at dinner parties, important cocktails or other soirées. But Jimmy had been more of an inspiration to him than even their mother could have ever been. Not that she would have minded anyway, content as she was in her little inflated bubble of personal interest and gain. Their birthdays were virtually seen as a two in one celebration that served to further her social circle.
She was still practically a child when she and his father had met... On some of his more lucid days where their mother wouldn't come home until late after her secretarial job at his father's company, engorged in the ripe smell of expensive perfume and the thrill of late night shopping, he couldn't help but wonder with the same cold deduction that complimented his mother's personality so well, whether her pregnancy had been a mistake, or - better yet - deliberate. After all, he wouldn't put it past her to attempt entrapping his father in a reluctant marriage to serve her interests. But would she have preferred a daughter? Would it have made a difference? At least with his brother they could imagine benevolent phantoms that would welcome them in the uninhabited recesses of their various empty houses, distracting themselves long enough to dispel their imaginations' ephemerality that loomed above Castiel's head like an obsessed spectre.
Soon Castiel had grown impatient of Jimmy's failures that upset his father so, and became weary of the childish fun and games that consumed time he could better spend practising for his upcoming piano concerts. He had taken it upon himself to mature at the pace of his father's expectations and left Jimmy behind to figure out another way to busy himself with make-believe substitutes.
Well, it didn't matter anymore, and now Jimmy was gone. He stood up and walked over to the platter of food on his glass desk. The platter suddenly looked like an abhorrence of nature that was specifically garnered for his displeasure and put on grotesque display. He approached the cocktail of fancy foods and sent the loaded tray clattering to the ground, letting its contents drip and seep over the desk into the fitted carpet in a glorious mess. Castiel looked on with perplexed dissatisfaction. Why did he do that? It didn't make him feel better. It didn't make him feel better at all.
George knocked at the door.
"Mister Bellamy is requesting to see you now," he said and looked dismayed when he noticed the food spilled all over the floor.
"Thank you, George," said Castiel and followed George's gaze to the spoiled food. He pursed his lips and felt embarrassed; but instead of apologising or making up excuses, he hurried past him without a word. George sighed and went to get the cleaning products.
Castiel found his father sitting in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, his dark hair impeccably combed back and wreathed in the yellow lighting of the bare living room, his black business suit still looking freshly ironed even after an impossibly long flight from the other side of the world - though he bet first class was not too hard on him, either. The only sign that indicated that he wasn't in fact an android sitting in his father's place was the loosened tie around his neck - the ultimate detail that meant everything. Castiel took in a deep breath and smoothed his hair back before walking into the room and sitting down on the couch next to the armchair, erect and attentive like the perfect son his father destined him to be.
Bellamy solemnly contemplated him from above the criss-cross of his interlaced fingers that pressed lightly into his lips while his elbows were solidly entrenched in the leather arms of the chair, quietly judging and calculating him. Castiel barely managed to quell the itching urge to squirm or look away. To his relief, the immutable statue broke the silence as he heaved a sigh and lowered a hand to rest it on one of the bloated arms of the chair.
"Castiel..." he said, his gravelly voice both patronising and scolding. "Why have you been failing at school lately? Your grades are a disgrace, and this coming from a public school." He closed his eyes and shook his head in dismay. "You used to be brilliant, a veritable prodigy in mathematics. I thought a change in scenery would do you good, but instead you abuse my trust in my absence and almost get yourself killed. You must understand that I am simply looking out for you with the best possible interests. After all, I'll need someone I can trust to lead the company when I retire completely." He paused, expecting the information to sink into the boy's head and prompt a response.
Castiel gave a minute nod. "Yes, Daddy."
His father beetled his brow in a visible cringe. "Refrain from calling me by that term; it is far too familiar and inappropriate for your age."
But Castiel liked calling him that, it made his father that more tangible and human rather than an abstract entity that was commandeering his life. Then again, he might as well be...
"Yes, Father."
"And from now on you are no longer going to school as you will instead be taught by private tutors."
Castiel's eyes widened at the sudden radical decision his father had taken. But perhaps he should have expected such drastic measures if it would ensure the future stability of the company.
"Is that not a bit... extreme?" he ventured meekly.
"In what way, Castiel?" The man's eyes narrowed. "You are a year away from finishing high-school education; don't you think that you need an excellent level to pass the entry exams for a reputable preparatory school?" His voice gradually intensified. "Don't you want to attend prestigious universities that will grant you the surest route to success? Don't you care?"
Castiel lowered his head and said, "Yes, of course, Father."
Bellamy's face softened and then said, as if he were talking to a confused child who'd lost his way, "Don't be like your brother. You saw where his incompetence led him. I don't want the same thing to happen to you."
Of course not, he was nothing like his brother. He would never be a disappointment.
"No, Father."
"Good. I'm glad we had this talk. You may return to your activities."
Castiel gave a tight nod and stood up.
"Oh, and send De Klerk my way when you see him."
The boy stood up, but seemed to hesitate on a thought. He took in a breath and asked, "For... for how long will you be staying?" He bit his lip.
"I'll be gone in the morning," he said to a nondescript spot in front of him.
Castiel nodded curtly and headed back to his room, informing George who had just finished cleaning up his mess that his father had called for him. Once George had left the room, Castiel climbed onto the covers of his bed, still fully dressed in his evening clothes, and lay staring upward at the ceiling, one hand on his stomach the other under his pillow. If he closed his eyes he could still hear that keen beckoning that wanted him to play the piano.
He blotted out the ceiling and breathed through his nose.
The beckoning faded away.
- - -
"Dean, I think Lisa is checking you out." Chuck nudged him in the ribs.
Dean poured himself another cup of punch at the spread that was installed in the gym for the school Halloween costume party. The party was okay... well, as far as being thrown by the school and not being one of Gabriel's, he'd say it was doing pretty well for itself: the music was good, the art class put a lot effort in the décor, and people seemed to be having a good time. Dean shrugged and gulped down the spiked juice, trying not show that it actually flattered him that a girl like Lisa would be interested in a guy like him.
"Pam, what do you think?" he asked Pamela who was dressed as a sexed up Arabian fortune teller complete with bangles, foot bracelets and body jewellery.
She curled a finger around her chin and stroked it in wise contemplation. "Hm. I recall dat you had a crush on her," she said in an amalgamate of Indian and Arabian accents. "Mmyes, back in ninth grade, yes?"
"Yeah, but he waited too long and got shot down," Jo piped in from behind in her elf costume.
"He was just waiting for the right time. How was he supposed to know Adam was going to make his move?" Chuck defended him. "And anyway, I thought elves weren't due until Christmas."
"They're due whenever the hell they feel like it." She drank her cup as if she were chugging down a shot, topping it off with a murderous glare in Chuck's direction, which came off as a little cute from under her elfish make-up.
"What's your problem?" said Chuck. "Is Santa not giving you enough paid vacations?"
"I'll be sure to tell him to leave you a very special gift in your mailbox. And what the hell are you wearing anyway?" Jo jabbed a derisive finger at his costume. "A confused nun?"
Chuck looked down his nose at her and said, "My disguise, young one, is stealth." He bent at the knees and reached for a plastic sabre in his back and pointed it out in a dramatic rendition of alertness. "Warriors of the night do not fear little girls' threats."
Smirking, Jo placed her cup on the spread and clenched her fists. "Is that so?"
"Chuck." Pamela put her fingers to her temple and placed one hand on his shoulder. "I could tell you your future... but you won't like it."
Dean smiled and shook his head; at least it got their minds off him and Lisa. It was true that he'd had a crush on her, since seventh grade actually, captivated as he was by all the qualities that made her the incarnation of every boy's first crush. She was smart and funny, and she'd always shown him an unlimited kindness and a godly patience when it came to his inane remarks and quips. Of course she was perfect, but that was also what scared him. Maybe it was best if he left her alone with her friends.
Still, he sneaked a peek at her and noticed she was wearing a shredded white dress and a gossamer veil that lent her the allure of a scorned bride. And then it suddenly hit him how Castiel was sitting in his giant house, alone with his servants, not unlike a wronged lover. But Castiel didn't care, he didn't care about anything it seemed, so why was he wasting his time worrying about him so much?
"Go on, she's practically waiting for you," Pamela urged him on.
"You think so?" Dean was starting to think that if he actually had a second chance at this, maybe he could manage to forget about Castiel and get on with his life.
She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "Dean, please, I'm a fortune teller. Don't insult me. Now go get her before I curse you."
"No!" Jo squealed from behind after disentangling herself from Chuck's sweaty grasp around her arm as he'd tried to undo some of her decorative green straps. "He's supposed to be with Castiel!"
Dean cringed; Jo's undying romantic ideals would never cease to grate him in an embarrassing way.
"What are you talking about?" Pamela grimaced with one eye at the affront. "It's been two weeks! Castiel practically mouth raped him and never called back. At least Lisa is willing to give him a clean slate and build a healthy relationship."
"Lisa?" Jo cried out, surprised. "You got your healthy dose down alright, healthy enough to live well into your nineties and have hundreds of babies. Please, how much more vanilla can you get?"
Dean slapped a hand to his forehead. "Guys..." he said weakly. This was getting out of hand, not to mention incredibly embarrassing. After all, wasn't this kind of thing up to him to decide? Privately? Like in his own head? "I'm right here."
Pamela instantly hushed him. "It looks like the elf thinks she knows better than the fortune teller."
"Oh, I know it, gypsy."
Dean decided he would have no part in this and discreetly backed away from the squabble. Pamela and Jo were great friends, but when it came to fighting over his sex life, he felt the undeniable urge to eclipse himself and wait for it to blow over. It was pretty much a double standard, really. Talk about the girls' choices and you were sure to open bucket load of worms. Chuck seemed to have taken his cue to disappear before Dean, and was now inching his way over to Becky who was sitting alone at a table, her face in the clouds as she sipped a bright red juice - probably even unaware that people had left the table. They did kind of make a cute couple... good for them.
"Hey there, master Jedi," a voice interrupted his thoughts.
Dean jumped a little and swivelled round to see Lisa smiling at him. He looked around to make sure there wasn't a gaggle of girls not far off tracking his every move in a bet to confirm whatever suspicions they held in his regard. There was none - even Pam and Jo seemed to have moved on from their argument and were out of sight. It looked like it was just the two of them hanging like two bored butterflies pinned to the wall as the rest of the night life smoothed the rubber floor in the usual adolescent ardour.
"My respects, Miss Havisham." He bowed his head in the respectful Jedi custom.
Lisa cocked an amused eyebrow. "Should I be impressed by your gallantry or by the fact that you actually know who Miss Havisham is?"
"Please," he said in mock indignation. "I'm not one to brag the depths of my knowledge to any commoner."
Lisa crossed her arms over her chest and smirked. "My, my, Dean Winchester. It looks like the costume has disguised you in more ways than one."
"That hurts my feelings, it really does."
Lisa gave a more gentle smile and looked around. Dean wondered whether she was already getting bored with him and wondered if she thought it was a bad idea to have come over here and talk to him. Which made him seriously question why exactly she had decided to talk to him; and why *now*?
"You wanna take this outside?" she asked, more hopeful than rhetorical.
Dean's mind reeled with the possible hidden meaning behind the apparently simple question. Was she testing him? If he said yes, where would this lead to? He chewed the inside of his cheek and willed a casual smile.
"Sure."
She smiled back, instantly making Dean feel both relieved and apprehensive. They walked out into crisp air; the skyline had already coiled into a navy-tinged dusk that spoke of a clear night ahead while the last rays of sunlight wrought their dying iridescence on Lisa's white dress, making her costume come to life and glow with all the tragic radiance of those brides in nineteenth century sentimental novels.
She sighed and stepped forward to the railing that encircled the exit stairs they were on. "It could've worked, you know," she said ruefully.
"What could've worked?" Dean asked dumbly, refusing to stumble into any sticky assumptions.
"Don't tell me you never thought about it," she said and was suddenly invading his personal space, pushing him up against the railing. Dean swallowed a lump in his dry throat. "We could still try," she suggested in a shy hopefulness that betrayed her intimidating stance.
It was a second chance, a chance to date the girl that graced his dreams since middle school. He could easily imagine founding a stable family with her, a happy family, the one that came with a two car garage and a white picket fence. And yet... and yet something didn't feel right. He couldn't help the feeling that something was missing, something critical, something, something...
He lowered his head to the side and screwed his eyes shut. "I don't know, Lis."
She frowned, having least expected a rebuttal from Dean. But soon her face smoothed into sad understanding. "You've found someone else, haven't you?"
Dean shook his head. "It's not like that." Not that even he knew what it was like at all. Only now did he begin to understand the meaning of the phrase 'It's complicated'.
Lisa gave Dean room to breathe as she backed away and said in a small voice, "Do I know her?"
"No... no you don't," he said gently. He never wanted to hurt Lisa in any way.
"Then how... ?"
A corner of his mouth twitched up in a sour half smile. "No, it wasn't at summer camp or anything. But it doesn't matter anyway. I've probably blown it for good, like I always do. These things just come naturally to me."
Lisa curled a hand around his jaw and leaned in to lay a chaste kiss on his lips. Dean followed the softness even as she pulled back. "Just do what you feel is best, Dean; I won't hate you for it."
He croaked out a chuckle. "Talk about wrong place, bad time, huh?"
She smiled. "Something like that."
The tight ball he didn't know he'd been carrying around in his stomach for a while slowly unwound at her acceptance.
"Thank you."
She rolled her shoulders in an aborted shrug while her eyes voiced the tones of an uneasily masked regret. "Don't mention it. As long as you're... you know... happy." She gave one last tight smile and headed back inside.
Just the wrong fucking time. He breathed in the crisp air through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. The sun had now completely vanished under the smoked horizon while the people inside the gym still vibrated in an endless celebration of life that thrived to the beat of their internal rhythms rather than to the limited spectacle of the seasons.
Dean sighed and wandered back into the party, the festivity effectively shrivelled from his mood.
"Hey!" Pamela called out to him and joined him at the spread. "Is this dire excuse of a buffet like your resident waterhole or something? Come dance!"
Not wanting to give the impression of a typical broody teenager, he offered his most convincing smile and stepped onto the dirty gym floor.
- - -
1 Voicemail.
Dean kicked off his shoes and divested himself of his Han Solo costume while his phone blinked insistently on his bedside table. The boy frowned as he swiped the object from the table, wondering who could have left him a message right after the party. Did someone forget to tell him something? He stuck it between his shoulder and ear while he sat on the edge of his bed and rolled off his socks.
Hello, this is George De Klerk speaking, the steward of the Bellamy house...
He let go of his socks and gripped the phone, his frown deepening into further confusion. Why was George calling him?
This may seem a bit... unusual, but I have become quite concerned on the matter of Castiel's whereabouts. I am calling to know whether you may have seen him around, and if so, if you could let him know that his father would be quite aggrieved to learn of his unplanned disappearance. There was a hesitant pause. In case you're wondering, I obtained this number from Castiel's cell phone which he left behind... It's getting quite dark now, and Castiel doesn't know the environs all that well. Any help would be greatly appreciated. Thank you.
Dean discarded the message and stared uncertainly at his phone for a long while. Castiel was missing. His heart raced and made his head ache a little at the sudden news. Had he run away? That didn't sound like something he would do. The more dramatic part of his brain imagined a kidnapping and hostage situation... He shook his head; that was something Chuck would suggest. He tried to imagine what Pamela would say... like he probably got sick of staying under house-arrest and went for a midnight stroll as a take that to his father. He made a wry mouth. No, it didn't sound like Castiel either. What would Jo say...
"It's okay, Dean," Jo's voice came through groggy on the phone's speaker. She had probably just gone to bed, but didn't mind reassuring Dean. "Do you want me to come over and help you find him?"
"What? Now?" Dean asked, surprised and touched at the same time that Jo would actually do that for him.
"Well, yeah," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Seriously, Jo... You don't have to if -"
"Dean..." she cut him off. "Jesus, you can be so thick sometimes... I want to help you because that's what friends do. Not because one day I wish to have your babies or blackmail you with compromising photos from your salad days."
Which... okay, made Dean feel eternally grateful, but also very much guilty that he couldn't tell whether he could guarantee her the same sentiment.
"I love you too, Jo."
"And anyway," she continued, "you and Castiel are like forever, man. No matter what Pam thinks."
"Yeah..." he drew the word out awkwardly.
Knowing his luck, it would probably be more like five minutes. That is, if they managed to find him first.
- - -
Part 7
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