Tell Me Who I Am part 7
Tell Me Who I Am
Part 1
~~~
The air burned his throat, scrubbed it raw inside out until even swallowing hurt. Cold wind whipped his collar up in a mean howl that threatened to deafen him as he trudged gingerly across the bleak expanse of ice, squinting through the blurry screen of his eyes while he desperately searched the horizon. But nothing more than a continuous strip of blank scenery cluttered his sight. Then, suddenly, he felt a dull thudding beneath his feet. With heavy apprehension and a sick churning in his stomach, he dropped to his knees to scrape away the thin layer of snow that coated the frozen water. When he finally cleared the slab of ice, his heart lurched in his throat.
Castiel stirred in his bed, gasping and moaning, his hands tightly fisted in the sheets. His eyes slowly blinked open into the calm, still darkness of his room, and closed again with a mixture of relief and hushed anxiety. He sighed and tried to shift into a more comfortable sleeping position. It didn't work. He grunted and threw the sheets aside as he swung his legs to the edge of his bed, rubbing his face in his palms. He coughed and noticed his throat itched like sandpaper.
Satisfaction still eluded him even after downing a glass of cool water. He would definitely be needing something stronger to forget the nightmare. He paused in front of the bar in the living room and briefly wondered if it was a good idea... he shivered at the memory of the cold from his dream; slowly, he could feel it claw its way through to him and lick an icy trail down the back of his neck. He took a breath and reached out to grab the fanciest bottle of Cognac his father thought to keep hidden behind all the other bottles. He poured his stout glass to the brim, enjoying the way the liquid clinked and sloshed satisfyingly against the glass. He brought it up to his mouth; the heady smell of the amber liquid made his head reel, but he dumped the drink down his throat anyway, slightly cringing at the sharp tang that assaulted his unaccustomed tongue.
After his third glass, his eyes began to swim while the walls around him seemed to warp in on themselves like those of a fun-house. And yet it still wasn't enough; the coldness was closer than it had ever been. He tried to drown himself so deep he that would feel nothing more than a delicious hot sensation burn a hole in his stomach. The cold finally went back to being an unpleasant memory.
- - -
A shattering of glass sailed all the way to George's room, effectively jolting him into full wakefulness. With a pounding heart, he turned the light on and reached his cell phone with all the calm he could muster. He dialled the police but did not press on the call button - rash decisions were never a sound idea. He slowly, cautiously made his way to the source of the racket. When he came close to the door frame, he could hear a low grumbling turn into a faint whine, muffled by a clatter of glass and a scraping of chairs. He held his finger over the call button at the ready as he peered into the dimly lit bar area in the living room.
“Castiel?” he said to himself, stunned, and switched the lights on, causing the poor boy to jump and fall off his stool with a startled grunt into the scattered shards of glass on the floor.
The man hastened over to the boy and hooked his hands under his arms, careful to hoist him away from the copper puddle of port wine and the jagged pieces of dark green glass that stuck out of his skin.
“S'okay...” Castiel slurred as George propped him up against the bar and went to search for a medical kit. “S'okay, George...” he reassured the man when he got back, sporting a severe frown. “George...” Castiel searched his eyes pleadingly. “S'fine... S'fine, George -” he clenched his jaw tight and swallowed roughly as he tried to hold his liquor. “Damn fine wine.” He smiled weakly at the thin-lipped George who rolled a bandage around his arms.
“Castiel.” George regarded him gravely. “This goes without saying that your father won't be happy to hear about this.”
“I said s'fine!” Castiel shrugged him off violently, then urgently twisted on himself and threw up on the side.
George flinched and covered his nose with his arm, his expression sour.
“You're being unusually irresponsible, Castiel. Mixing alcohol with antidepressants. Really? You should know better. I'm calling an ambulance,” he said and started dialling when a manic giggling stalled his thumb over the call button. He furrowed his brow. “What is it now?”
Castiel playfully fingered his soiled lips and crinkled his eyes at George like a child who knew a secret. George huffed and wiped the boy's lips with a piece of the rolled up bandage. The boy let him wipe the drool and vomit away as if he were a lifeless doll gazing at him through dopey eyes.
He then grabbed George's shirt and whispered hoarsely, “I didn't take the pills... Said it was okay, didn't I? Didn't I, George? Said ’twas okay...”
The man cringed at the strong breath in his face and gently disentangled the boy's hand from his shirt.
“Yes, of course it is.” He sighed. “Come on... let's get you cleaned up.”
Castiel let his chin loll to his chest, groaning when George tugged him to his feet and led him to the bathroom so he could douse his head under a shower. The boy let out a stiff cry as the cold water sprayed over his feverish skin while George held him steady, and was then practically carried back to bed. George pulled the covers over him and watched Castiel heave a sickly whine and nuzzle the pillowcase like he would a bottle of dry gin.
As he was cleaning up the wastage of expensive wines in the living room, it slowly dawned on George that perhaps this was the boy's way of acting out, that it was the rebellious streak that all adolescents eventually hit. Maybe. In any case, he thought it would be best if the incident remained between the two of them for now.
- - -
“Castiel,” Dean called out as he rounded a deserted street.
The unusual silence, except for the occasional car, was all the more unnerving for Dean; while admittedly his town was nothing like a cosmopolitan hub of activity, it never quite reached the levels of a ghost town. Castiel could be anywhere... He chewed his lip and fiddled with the bag of snacks they brought along.
He huffed. “This is useless. He probably gave George the slip and went out for a drink.”
“Alone?”
Dean gave a snappish half-shrug and readjusted the bag around his shoulder. “Sounds like him, don't it?”
Jo wrinkled her nose. “No. Not really.”
“Well... It's not like we have much to go on about him anyway. Goddamn it's cold out,” he muttered as he shone his light on a corner shop's insignia.
“You know...” Jo said as they continued down the street. “I don't think he'd be hanging around the town centre.”
Dean turned around and flashed his light in Jo's face, making her grimace and flinch backwards. “You don't mean like... in the woods?” he asked, alarmed.
Jo batted the flashlight away. “Well, he certainly didn't run away from home to sit in a bar nursing a Jack Daniels as he waits for us to come find him so he can cry 'Surprise! Hope you found the place okay; I had to fight for this seat like you wouldn't believe. By the way, how's Georgie-poo doing without me?'”
Dean paused and stared at her; then flashed his light in her face again. “He can't drink. Remember the pills?”
She slapped her hand against her forehead. “But of course! No, you're right. The beer totally makes it unrealistic.”
“That's not what I... Shut up,” Dean mumbled and turned away, trying very hard to forget how literally he had taken Jo's words. He wasn't thinking clearly, dammit.
He sighed. “Fine... Let's move on.” Then he suddenly cried out, “Cas, come out and we'll give you some Ice Tea! … And cookies!” He looked back at Jo who was cradling her forehead in her palm as if to obfuscate, if only temporarily, his brash moment of idiocy. He shrugged. “Eh... worth a try. Come on.”
She shook her head in disbelief as she followed behind.
- - -
Castiel sat back and watched.
The men in bright official colours came and dragged him away from the ice, both of them neither screaming nor breathing, and carried them faraway. They were each dealt with accordingly. Appropriate doleful faces were distributed equally among the family and loved ones. He remembered his mother was acting surprisingly appropriate at the time...
-
Come late evening, George walked into the kitchen in his polo shirt and slacks ready to fetch the dinner he asked Marie to prepare for Castiel... that was if the boy was actually willing to eat at all today. Honestly, if he continued like this he was going to have to call for a doctor... or a therapist. But Mr Bellamy had been final on that point: Castiel didn't need to waste time on therapy, he needed to focus on his studies. Perhaps he could suggest the boy read a book or watch some TV - anything to get him out of his depressive stupor; he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't study, he wouldn't even play his piano anymore, and the nightmares just kept getting worse. Though it wasn't as if he could force Castiel to take his pills either. He shook his head and sighed, and brought the platter up to Castiel's room. He gently rapped at the door and entered at the soft 'come in'.
The boy looked like he was scribbling down complex calculations from a maths or physics book with a severe air George hadn't seen on him for ages. He thought maybe studying was actually helping for once.
He deposited the platter next to the boy and said, “Marie made your favourite food today.” And nudged the platter a little his way in the hopes that he would take notice of the ham steak, fried egg, buttered toast and the fancy star-shaped cut tomatoes on the side.
Castiel finished jotting down the last of his numbers and finally glanced at the food with a slight frown as if it had offended him somehow. “But this is breakfast,” he said almost accusingly.
George smiled at the young man's instilled ability to categorise things. “Ah... but this is a special type of breakfast...”
Castiel made a wry mouth and turned back to his books like he didn't have time for jokes.
“No, really, it is,” George added quickly. “It's brinner.”
The boy stopped writing and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Ah, I see. It's a portmanteau of the words breakfast and dinner... very clever.” He returned to his books.
George's shoulders visibly slumped. “I take it you won't be eating, then?”
He stalled his pen over the page and stared intently at the scribbled equations, as if the answer to the question could be logically deduced if he could only find the appropriate algorithm. “Maybe...”
And that positively counted as a step forward in George's book as he left the room, proud of himself.
He certainly wasn't expecting to return to an empty room with a note that blankly explained the situation. More or less.
Don't worry. The brinner was nice.
- Castiel.
He tried to turn it over, around, upside down, and even poured lemon juice on it to see if there was a hidden ink somewhere that would explain everything to him. Don't worry? How long was he supposed to wait for? And where did he go? He decided to wait a few hours before calling Mr Bellamy.
It wouldn't have bothered him so much if Castiel knew the place well, but as it was, he'd ventured into an unknown and potentially frightening territory. He was never allowed to go outside by himself...
- - -
Dean groaned and clung to Jo's shoulder to keep from completely slumping to the soft earth as they exited their fifth clearing. A bed, he needed a comfy bed. He checked his watch: four AM. He groaned again.
Jo dug out a packet of chips and crunched on them thoughtfully. “Dean...”
He grunted his response.
“Do you know what Cedar Falls is popular for?”
“I didn't know it was popular in the first place...” He dug a hand in the bag and shoved a fistful of golden salty goodness into his mouth.
“Its falls, Dean.” Jo chided him. “Cedar Falls is known for its falls! Hence the name.”
Dean shrugged and continued munching on his chips. “And your point is...?”
“Well...” she drew the word out, trying hard not to lose her calm. “Have we checked out the falls?”
Dean let that sink in for a while while he considered the possibility. To be honest, he hadn't thought Castiel would be the type to hang around torrents of water at four in the morning... then again he didn't figure he would be one to give his butler the slip and steal away in the night. For a minute he imagined the slender boy fumbling over the craggy rocks and looking out over the crashing falls with but one fixed idea in mind... He shuddered and shook his head, seriously wondering how over-dramatic his mind could get.
He put the chips away and straightened himself. “Yeah... That was pretty stupid. Honestly, what would I do without you?”
“Piss all your money away on lottery tickets and cheap beer.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Christ, that does sound like me...”
She smiled and tapped him on the shoulder in an easy teasing that was all the physical affection he would get from her - at least at four in the morning in a cold, dank forest. “And I wouldn't have you any other way. Otherwise I wouldn't have anyone else to make me look good.”
“Ah... I always wondered why you hung out with me...”
- - -
He hugged his knees close to his chest as he watched the water beneath him rush by in a loud, ruthless race against itself. The reason he was here had yet to hit him; he had no idea what had pushed him to walk so far from home in the middle of the night and sit on some random wooden bridge that overlooked a flowing creek. But he just needed to get away from it all... the giant lifeless house, his overbearing father who still managed to keep a short leash on him even in his absence, George... Not that he minded George; in fact, he'd never given the man much thought. It always used to be just him and Jimmy. It was Castiel and Jimmy and the rest of the world... until his father had his twisted Darwinian idea that promoted only the smartest one fit for his time and devotion. Back then he thought nothing of it.
Until now, he'd always been so desperate to earn a good reputation within his family and gain their acceptance. Naturally, he thought this was something common in all families, like some rite of passage young ones went through in order to be accepted or ostracised from a successful merger with designated ideals. All were perfectly acceptable goals; some would call them honourable, others vain... But in the end it all boiled down to what Jimmy had always been trying to get: a simple encouragement, a nice word here and there.
“You idiot...” he muttered into his knees, his eyes closed, barely hearing his own words over the rush of water beneath him.
He shivered from the biting air that whispered back unwanted memories and let out a pained groan as he rubbed his forehead against his black denim jeans that did little to keep the penetrating night air out. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if Dean still thought about him, even after he simply took off and left him behind. He sighed and remained in that position, arms tightly circled around his legs, cheek pressed hard against his knee, like somehow he could fold in on himself and shut the world out for a while longer, and waited. He didn't exactly know for what... and it didn't really matter.
-
A small voice reached his ears in what he understood was a soft whine that eventually grew into a rougher growl. At first he couldn't tell if he was dreaming it or whether an actual fairy was squeaking obscenities at him. Or a rat. It could also be a rat. The thought of a rat clawing and biting through his clothes to finally get to the warm, squishy skin underneath made his eyes fly open. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting in that position, but he figured he'd somehow fallen over the course of the past few hours and sprawled over the wooden planks, a perfect sitting target for roadkill if a car were to pass through. He heard the voice more clearly this time, noting that it most definitely wasn't a rat's.
“Castiel!”
He squinted in the distance just in time for a flashlight to blind him silly.
“Don't do it! Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't do it! You have so much to live for!”
What? Castiel had to wonder why the person was shouting, and, more importantly, what in the world he was going on about.
“Dean?” He screwed his eyes up at the rapidly approaching figure.
“Jo! I found him! Thank God...” He trampled over to the boy and grabbed his shoulder. “Come on, Cas, let's get you back home.”
But Castiel remained fixed in his spot, refusing to be pulled back to a home he wasn't ready to return to yet. And why did Dean care, anyway? He was supposed to be long gone now, never to bother him again. His jaw clenched as he thought about how this boy could just waltz back into his life and think he could humiliate him all over again.
He ripped his arm away from his grip and snapped, “Leave me alone.”
Dean flinched, taken aback by the sudden outburst, and frowned. “Real cute, Cas, real cute. Jo and I scour the whole fucking town in the middle of the fucking night, worried sick about you, and you just turn us away like that without so much as a how do you do?” He ran a hand down his face.“This is fucking bullshit, man,” he said, exasperation weighting down every word.
“I never asked you to come look for me,” Castiel said tautly into the void before him.
“You never asked...” Dean glowered at the boy, his nostrils flaring like he might just pull out a penknife and make him a literal gift to medical science.
“Hey, you found him.” Jo ran up to both of them and paused, frowning at the sudden tension. “Uh... Guys?”
“No, it's fine, Jo; everything's perfectly fine and dandy. In fact, you know what? Why don't we just let the selfish prick freeze to death and wallow in his own shit, while we'll just be on our merry way back home to warm beds. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, 'cause it's not like he cares about anything anyway, am I right?”
“Dean?” Castiel asked softly.
Dean turned around and was promptly met with a sharp fist in his nose. Jo gasped as he stumbled back a few steps, his hands cradling his bleeding nose while he let out a few pained cries.
“Son of a bitch!”
Jo put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort and restrain him. “Let it go, Dean. You'll only make things worse.”
“Screw that shit,” Dean said and struck off in the boy's direction.
But Castiel was ready for him this time; this time he would tell what exactly he thought of the bumbling moron that thought he could control him just like everyone else. Even if he never learned how to fight or never even got into one his whole life, at least he was the one who made it happen and could take full responsibility of his actions... It sent an unexpected thrill surge through his stomach, but did nothing much to cushion the blow Dean dealt to his jaw.
He stumbled back; his mind was so fully focused on the sting in his jaw that he didn't have enough foresight to cover his stomach as another blow made him fold in on himself, cutting off his breathing for a second.
“Dean, quit it. You're hurting him!” Castiel heard Jo cry somewhere.
Dean lifted his head for a second at Jo which was all the time Castiel needed to grab onto the boy's sweater and drag them both to the ground. At least he thought they'd touch the ground, but his calculation was off and they both tumbled off the bridge and plunged into the creek in a roaring splash. Castiel lost his grip on Dean's shirt and was carried away by the current until his hip sharply connected with a rock. He hissed and grabbed onto the thing. After securing his hold on the rock, he tossed his head about, trying to find the other boy.
He felt a sudden fear grip him. “Dean!” he cried out. “Dean!”
“I'm over here, moron.” He heard the boy mutter from the bank. He gave a hacking cough and twisted his clothes to rid them of excess water.
The inexplicable fear was then replaced by indignant anger. “This is all your fault!” he threw at Dean.
Dean arched his eyebrows and scoffed. “Says the guy who threw us into the water.”
“Well, you shouldn't have punched me!”
“Well, you shouldn't have run off and acted like a complete jerkass!”
“Well, you shouldn't have left me!”
Castiel screwed his eyes shut and almost wanted to bang his head onto the rock to forget he just said that. He could feel Dean's confused glare on him even as they were separated by rushing water and semi-darkness.
“But... you told me to leave.” Dean furrowed his brow.
Castiel huffed. “Yeah, well, maybe I didn't mean it okay? I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I ever got you involved in my life, I'm sorry I'm so messed up, and I'm sorry I don't let people get too close to me.”
“Why not?”
Castiel groaned in frustration, wondering why Dean couldn't leave it alone. “Because then they'll just leave me again! Just like Mom and Jimmy did... No-one cares, so why should I?”
A pregnant silence hung between them, and in its hush the stream of water continued its ceaseless lapping against the rocks and its own body of waves.
Jo sniffed audibly from the bridge above. “We care, Cas! We really do!”
Dean cringed at the sudden mood breaker and slapped his forehead.
Castiel glanced up at her and said wryly, “I'm sure you do. Now could you help me out here?”
In the end, they managed to find a long and strong enough branch to haul him onto the bank. Castiel crawled onto the ground, hacking and panting, and finally sat upright, his arms on his knees. Dean dropped next to him and pursed his lips.
“You know,” he said, looking out at the water. “I'm here.”
Castiel's eyes grew watchful. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...” Dean turned to look at him and placed a hand on his. Castiel squirmed but didn't retract it. “I'm here.”
Castiel swallowed and looked down at the grass. “Yeah... I know.”
Dean lifted his other hand and brushed his frozen knuckles along his equally frozen cheek and splayed his fingers across his jaw. Castiel let himself, just this once, be carried away in the promise. They were both so close they were breathing the same air... And suddenly Castiel realised he was completely free from any obligation: he could stop everything right now and go back to the hermetic life his father had shown him was the only way to live, and save himself from making any scary decisions that would impact him more permanently than he would like. His heart raced as he lifted a hand and curled it around Dean's neck, pulling him in and tasting the soft quiver of his lips.
Dean keened into kiss like he'd been denied this for too long, and shifted between Castiel's legs, one hand steadying him while he deepened the kiss, the cold completely forgotten.
A shutter sound and a snap of light made him pause; a hushed squeal sounded somewhere close.
“Jo!” He sat back on his heels and glared at the hidden outline a few feet away. He sighed and turned back to Castiel. “Sorry, man. I think we should get you back before you get into any more trouble with your dad.”
Castiel's face closed in thought for a moment. “Not home, not yet,” he almost begged.
“Well, we can't very well stay in this mouldy old wood. I can only see one alternative...” He smirked.
- - -
AN: Concrit is more than welcome.
Part 8
Weblån
Part 1
~~~
The air burned his throat, scrubbed it raw inside out until even swallowing hurt. Cold wind whipped his collar up in a mean howl that threatened to deafen him as he trudged gingerly across the bleak expanse of ice, squinting through the blurry screen of his eyes while he desperately searched the horizon. But nothing more than a continuous strip of blank scenery cluttered his sight. Then, suddenly, he felt a dull thudding beneath his feet. With heavy apprehension and a sick churning in his stomach, he dropped to his knees to scrape away the thin layer of snow that coated the frozen water. When he finally cleared the slab of ice, his heart lurched in his throat.
Castiel stirred in his bed, gasping and moaning, his hands tightly fisted in the sheets. His eyes slowly blinked open into the calm, still darkness of his room, and closed again with a mixture of relief and hushed anxiety. He sighed and tried to shift into a more comfortable sleeping position. It didn't work. He grunted and threw the sheets aside as he swung his legs to the edge of his bed, rubbing his face in his palms. He coughed and noticed his throat itched like sandpaper.
Satisfaction still eluded him even after downing a glass of cool water. He would definitely be needing something stronger to forget the nightmare. He paused in front of the bar in the living room and briefly wondered if it was a good idea... he shivered at the memory of the cold from his dream; slowly, he could feel it claw its way through to him and lick an icy trail down the back of his neck. He took a breath and reached out to grab the fanciest bottle of Cognac his father thought to keep hidden behind all the other bottles. He poured his stout glass to the brim, enjoying the way the liquid clinked and sloshed satisfyingly against the glass. He brought it up to his mouth; the heady smell of the amber liquid made his head reel, but he dumped the drink down his throat anyway, slightly cringing at the sharp tang that assaulted his unaccustomed tongue.
After his third glass, his eyes began to swim while the walls around him seemed to warp in on themselves like those of a fun-house. And yet it still wasn't enough; the coldness was closer than it had ever been. He tried to drown himself so deep he that would feel nothing more than a delicious hot sensation burn a hole in his stomach. The cold finally went back to being an unpleasant memory.
- - -
A shattering of glass sailed all the way to George's room, effectively jolting him into full wakefulness. With a pounding heart, he turned the light on and reached his cell phone with all the calm he could muster. He dialled the police but did not press on the call button - rash decisions were never a sound idea. He slowly, cautiously made his way to the source of the racket. When he came close to the door frame, he could hear a low grumbling turn into a faint whine, muffled by a clatter of glass and a scraping of chairs. He held his finger over the call button at the ready as he peered into the dimly lit bar area in the living room.
“Castiel?” he said to himself, stunned, and switched the lights on, causing the poor boy to jump and fall off his stool with a startled grunt into the scattered shards of glass on the floor.
The man hastened over to the boy and hooked his hands under his arms, careful to hoist him away from the copper puddle of port wine and the jagged pieces of dark green glass that stuck out of his skin.
“S'okay...” Castiel slurred as George propped him up against the bar and went to search for a medical kit. “S'okay, George...” he reassured the man when he got back, sporting a severe frown. “George...” Castiel searched his eyes pleadingly. “S'fine... S'fine, George -” he clenched his jaw tight and swallowed roughly as he tried to hold his liquor. “Damn fine wine.” He smiled weakly at the thin-lipped George who rolled a bandage around his arms.
“Castiel.” George regarded him gravely. “This goes without saying that your father won't be happy to hear about this.”
“I said s'fine!” Castiel shrugged him off violently, then urgently twisted on himself and threw up on the side.
George flinched and covered his nose with his arm, his expression sour.
“You're being unusually irresponsible, Castiel. Mixing alcohol with antidepressants. Really? You should know better. I'm calling an ambulance,” he said and started dialling when a manic giggling stalled his thumb over the call button. He furrowed his brow. “What is it now?”
Castiel playfully fingered his soiled lips and crinkled his eyes at George like a child who knew a secret. George huffed and wiped the boy's lips with a piece of the rolled up bandage. The boy let him wipe the drool and vomit away as if he were a lifeless doll gazing at him through dopey eyes.
He then grabbed George's shirt and whispered hoarsely, “I didn't take the pills... Said it was okay, didn't I? Didn't I, George? Said ’twas okay...”
The man cringed at the strong breath in his face and gently disentangled the boy's hand from his shirt.
“Yes, of course it is.” He sighed. “Come on... let's get you cleaned up.”
Castiel let his chin loll to his chest, groaning when George tugged him to his feet and led him to the bathroom so he could douse his head under a shower. The boy let out a stiff cry as the cold water sprayed over his feverish skin while George held him steady, and was then practically carried back to bed. George pulled the covers over him and watched Castiel heave a sickly whine and nuzzle the pillowcase like he would a bottle of dry gin.
As he was cleaning up the wastage of expensive wines in the living room, it slowly dawned on George that perhaps this was the boy's way of acting out, that it was the rebellious streak that all adolescents eventually hit. Maybe. In any case, he thought it would be best if the incident remained between the two of them for now.
- - -
“Castiel,” Dean called out as he rounded a deserted street.
The unusual silence, except for the occasional car, was all the more unnerving for Dean; while admittedly his town was nothing like a cosmopolitan hub of activity, it never quite reached the levels of a ghost town. Castiel could be anywhere... He chewed his lip and fiddled with the bag of snacks they brought along.
He huffed. “This is useless. He probably gave George the slip and went out for a drink.”
“Alone?”
Dean gave a snappish half-shrug and readjusted the bag around his shoulder. “Sounds like him, don't it?”
Jo wrinkled her nose. “No. Not really.”
“Well... It's not like we have much to go on about him anyway. Goddamn it's cold out,” he muttered as he shone his light on a corner shop's insignia.
“You know...” Jo said as they continued down the street. “I don't think he'd be hanging around the town centre.”
Dean turned around and flashed his light in Jo's face, making her grimace and flinch backwards. “You don't mean like... in the woods?” he asked, alarmed.
Jo batted the flashlight away. “Well, he certainly didn't run away from home to sit in a bar nursing a Jack Daniels as he waits for us to come find him so he can cry 'Surprise! Hope you found the place okay; I had to fight for this seat like you wouldn't believe. By the way, how's Georgie-poo doing without me?'”
Dean paused and stared at her; then flashed his light in her face again. “He can't drink. Remember the pills?”
She slapped her hand against her forehead. “But of course! No, you're right. The beer totally makes it unrealistic.”
“That's not what I... Shut up,” Dean mumbled and turned away, trying very hard to forget how literally he had taken Jo's words. He wasn't thinking clearly, dammit.
He sighed. “Fine... Let's move on.” Then he suddenly cried out, “Cas, come out and we'll give you some Ice Tea! … And cookies!” He looked back at Jo who was cradling her forehead in her palm as if to obfuscate, if only temporarily, his brash moment of idiocy. He shrugged. “Eh... worth a try. Come on.”
She shook her head in disbelief as she followed behind.
- - -
Castiel sat back and watched.
The men in bright official colours came and dragged him away from the ice, both of them neither screaming nor breathing, and carried them faraway. They were each dealt with accordingly. Appropriate doleful faces were distributed equally among the family and loved ones. He remembered his mother was acting surprisingly appropriate at the time...
-
Come late evening, George walked into the kitchen in his polo shirt and slacks ready to fetch the dinner he asked Marie to prepare for Castiel... that was if the boy was actually willing to eat at all today. Honestly, if he continued like this he was going to have to call for a doctor... or a therapist. But Mr Bellamy had been final on that point: Castiel didn't need to waste time on therapy, he needed to focus on his studies. Perhaps he could suggest the boy read a book or watch some TV - anything to get him out of his depressive stupor; he wouldn't eat, he wouldn't study, he wouldn't even play his piano anymore, and the nightmares just kept getting worse. Though it wasn't as if he could force Castiel to take his pills either. He shook his head and sighed, and brought the platter up to Castiel's room. He gently rapped at the door and entered at the soft 'come in'.
The boy looked like he was scribbling down complex calculations from a maths or physics book with a severe air George hadn't seen on him for ages. He thought maybe studying was actually helping for once.
He deposited the platter next to the boy and said, “Marie made your favourite food today.” And nudged the platter a little his way in the hopes that he would take notice of the ham steak, fried egg, buttered toast and the fancy star-shaped cut tomatoes on the side.
Castiel finished jotting down the last of his numbers and finally glanced at the food with a slight frown as if it had offended him somehow. “But this is breakfast,” he said almost accusingly.
George smiled at the young man's instilled ability to categorise things. “Ah... but this is a special type of breakfast...”
Castiel made a wry mouth and turned back to his books like he didn't have time for jokes.
“No, really, it is,” George added quickly. “It's brinner.”
The boy stopped writing and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Ah, I see. It's a portmanteau of the words breakfast and dinner... very clever.” He returned to his books.
George's shoulders visibly slumped. “I take it you won't be eating, then?”
He stalled his pen over the page and stared intently at the scribbled equations, as if the answer to the question could be logically deduced if he could only find the appropriate algorithm. “Maybe...”
And that positively counted as a step forward in George's book as he left the room, proud of himself.
He certainly wasn't expecting to return to an empty room with a note that blankly explained the situation. More or less.
Don't worry. The brinner was nice.
- Castiel.
He tried to turn it over, around, upside down, and even poured lemon juice on it to see if there was a hidden ink somewhere that would explain everything to him. Don't worry? How long was he supposed to wait for? And where did he go? He decided to wait a few hours before calling Mr Bellamy.
It wouldn't have bothered him so much if Castiel knew the place well, but as it was, he'd ventured into an unknown and potentially frightening territory. He was never allowed to go outside by himself...
- - -
Dean groaned and clung to Jo's shoulder to keep from completely slumping to the soft earth as they exited their fifth clearing. A bed, he needed a comfy bed. He checked his watch: four AM. He groaned again.
Jo dug out a packet of chips and crunched on them thoughtfully. “Dean...”
He grunted his response.
“Do you know what Cedar Falls is popular for?”
“I didn't know it was popular in the first place...” He dug a hand in the bag and shoved a fistful of golden salty goodness into his mouth.
“Its falls, Dean.” Jo chided him. “Cedar Falls is known for its falls! Hence the name.”
Dean shrugged and continued munching on his chips. “And your point is...?”
“Well...” she drew the word out, trying hard not to lose her calm. “Have we checked out the falls?”
Dean let that sink in for a while while he considered the possibility. To be honest, he hadn't thought Castiel would be the type to hang around torrents of water at four in the morning... then again he didn't figure he would be one to give his butler the slip and steal away in the night. For a minute he imagined the slender boy fumbling over the craggy rocks and looking out over the crashing falls with but one fixed idea in mind... He shuddered and shook his head, seriously wondering how over-dramatic his mind could get.
He put the chips away and straightened himself. “Yeah... That was pretty stupid. Honestly, what would I do without you?”
“Piss all your money away on lottery tickets and cheap beer.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Christ, that does sound like me...”
She smiled and tapped him on the shoulder in an easy teasing that was all the physical affection he would get from her - at least at four in the morning in a cold, dank forest. “And I wouldn't have you any other way. Otherwise I wouldn't have anyone else to make me look good.”
“Ah... I always wondered why you hung out with me...”
- - -
He hugged his knees close to his chest as he watched the water beneath him rush by in a loud, ruthless race against itself. The reason he was here had yet to hit him; he had no idea what had pushed him to walk so far from home in the middle of the night and sit on some random wooden bridge that overlooked a flowing creek. But he just needed to get away from it all... the giant lifeless house, his overbearing father who still managed to keep a short leash on him even in his absence, George... Not that he minded George; in fact, he'd never given the man much thought. It always used to be just him and Jimmy. It was Castiel and Jimmy and the rest of the world... until his father had his twisted Darwinian idea that promoted only the smartest one fit for his time and devotion. Back then he thought nothing of it.
Until now, he'd always been so desperate to earn a good reputation within his family and gain their acceptance. Naturally, he thought this was something common in all families, like some rite of passage young ones went through in order to be accepted or ostracised from a successful merger with designated ideals. All were perfectly acceptable goals; some would call them honourable, others vain... But in the end it all boiled down to what Jimmy had always been trying to get: a simple encouragement, a nice word here and there.
“You idiot...” he muttered into his knees, his eyes closed, barely hearing his own words over the rush of water beneath him.
He shivered from the biting air that whispered back unwanted memories and let out a pained groan as he rubbed his forehead against his black denim jeans that did little to keep the penetrating night air out. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if Dean still thought about him, even after he simply took off and left him behind. He sighed and remained in that position, arms tightly circled around his legs, cheek pressed hard against his knee, like somehow he could fold in on himself and shut the world out for a while longer, and waited. He didn't exactly know for what... and it didn't really matter.
-
A small voice reached his ears in what he understood was a soft whine that eventually grew into a rougher growl. At first he couldn't tell if he was dreaming it or whether an actual fairy was squeaking obscenities at him. Or a rat. It could also be a rat. The thought of a rat clawing and biting through his clothes to finally get to the warm, squishy skin underneath made his eyes fly open. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting in that position, but he figured he'd somehow fallen over the course of the past few hours and sprawled over the wooden planks, a perfect sitting target for roadkill if a car were to pass through. He heard the voice more clearly this time, noting that it most definitely wasn't a rat's.
“Castiel!”
He squinted in the distance just in time for a flashlight to blind him silly.
“Don't do it! Whatever you're thinking of doing, don't do it! You have so much to live for!”
What? Castiel had to wonder why the person was shouting, and, more importantly, what in the world he was going on about.
“Dean?” He screwed his eyes up at the rapidly approaching figure.
“Jo! I found him! Thank God...” He trampled over to the boy and grabbed his shoulder. “Come on, Cas, let's get you back home.”
But Castiel remained fixed in his spot, refusing to be pulled back to a home he wasn't ready to return to yet. And why did Dean care, anyway? He was supposed to be long gone now, never to bother him again. His jaw clenched as he thought about how this boy could just waltz back into his life and think he could humiliate him all over again.
He ripped his arm away from his grip and snapped, “Leave me alone.”
Dean flinched, taken aback by the sudden outburst, and frowned. “Real cute, Cas, real cute. Jo and I scour the whole fucking town in the middle of the fucking night, worried sick about you, and you just turn us away like that without so much as a how do you do?” He ran a hand down his face.“This is fucking bullshit, man,” he said, exasperation weighting down every word.
“I never asked you to come look for me,” Castiel said tautly into the void before him.
“You never asked...” Dean glowered at the boy, his nostrils flaring like he might just pull out a penknife and make him a literal gift to medical science.
“Hey, you found him.” Jo ran up to both of them and paused, frowning at the sudden tension. “Uh... Guys?”
“No, it's fine, Jo; everything's perfectly fine and dandy. In fact, you know what? Why don't we just let the selfish prick freeze to death and wallow in his own shit, while we'll just be on our merry way back home to warm beds. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, 'cause it's not like he cares about anything anyway, am I right?”
“Dean?” Castiel asked softly.
Dean turned around and was promptly met with a sharp fist in his nose. Jo gasped as he stumbled back a few steps, his hands cradling his bleeding nose while he let out a few pained cries.
“Son of a bitch!”
Jo put a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort and restrain him. “Let it go, Dean. You'll only make things worse.”
“Screw that shit,” Dean said and struck off in the boy's direction.
But Castiel was ready for him this time; this time he would tell what exactly he thought of the bumbling moron that thought he could control him just like everyone else. Even if he never learned how to fight or never even got into one his whole life, at least he was the one who made it happen and could take full responsibility of his actions... It sent an unexpected thrill surge through his stomach, but did nothing much to cushion the blow Dean dealt to his jaw.
He stumbled back; his mind was so fully focused on the sting in his jaw that he didn't have enough foresight to cover his stomach as another blow made him fold in on himself, cutting off his breathing for a second.
“Dean, quit it. You're hurting him!” Castiel heard Jo cry somewhere.
Dean lifted his head for a second at Jo which was all the time Castiel needed to grab onto the boy's sweater and drag them both to the ground. At least he thought they'd touch the ground, but his calculation was off and they both tumbled off the bridge and plunged into the creek in a roaring splash. Castiel lost his grip on Dean's shirt and was carried away by the current until his hip sharply connected with a rock. He hissed and grabbed onto the thing. After securing his hold on the rock, he tossed his head about, trying to find the other boy.
He felt a sudden fear grip him. “Dean!” he cried out. “Dean!”
“I'm over here, moron.” He heard the boy mutter from the bank. He gave a hacking cough and twisted his clothes to rid them of excess water.
The inexplicable fear was then replaced by indignant anger. “This is all your fault!” he threw at Dean.
Dean arched his eyebrows and scoffed. “Says the guy who threw us into the water.”
“Well, you shouldn't have punched me!”
“Well, you shouldn't have run off and acted like a complete jerkass!”
“Well, you shouldn't have left me!”
Castiel screwed his eyes shut and almost wanted to bang his head onto the rock to forget he just said that. He could feel Dean's confused glare on him even as they were separated by rushing water and semi-darkness.
“But... you told me to leave.” Dean furrowed his brow.
Castiel huffed. “Yeah, well, maybe I didn't mean it okay? I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I ever got you involved in my life, I'm sorry I'm so messed up, and I'm sorry I don't let people get too close to me.”
“Why not?”
Castiel groaned in frustration, wondering why Dean couldn't leave it alone. “Because then they'll just leave me again! Just like Mom and Jimmy did... No-one cares, so why should I?”
A pregnant silence hung between them, and in its hush the stream of water continued its ceaseless lapping against the rocks and its own body of waves.
Jo sniffed audibly from the bridge above. “We care, Cas! We really do!”
Dean cringed at the sudden mood breaker and slapped his forehead.
Castiel glanced up at her and said wryly, “I'm sure you do. Now could you help me out here?”
In the end, they managed to find a long and strong enough branch to haul him onto the bank. Castiel crawled onto the ground, hacking and panting, and finally sat upright, his arms on his knees. Dean dropped next to him and pursed his lips.
“You know,” he said, looking out at the water. “I'm here.”
Castiel's eyes grew watchful. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...” Dean turned to look at him and placed a hand on his. Castiel squirmed but didn't retract it. “I'm here.”
Castiel swallowed and looked down at the grass. “Yeah... I know.”
Dean lifted his other hand and brushed his frozen knuckles along his equally frozen cheek and splayed his fingers across his jaw. Castiel let himself, just this once, be carried away in the promise. They were both so close they were breathing the same air... And suddenly Castiel realised he was completely free from any obligation: he could stop everything right now and go back to the hermetic life his father had shown him was the only way to live, and save himself from making any scary decisions that would impact him more permanently than he would like. His heart raced as he lifted a hand and curled it around Dean's neck, pulling him in and tasting the soft quiver of his lips.
Dean keened into kiss like he'd been denied this for too long, and shifted between Castiel's legs, one hand steadying him while he deepened the kiss, the cold completely forgotten.
A shutter sound and a snap of light made him pause; a hushed squeal sounded somewhere close.
“Jo!” He sat back on his heels and glared at the hidden outline a few feet away. He sighed and turned back to Castiel. “Sorry, man. I think we should get you back before you get into any more trouble with your dad.”
Castiel's face closed in thought for a moment. “Not home, not yet,” he almost begged.
“Well, we can't very well stay in this mouldy old wood. I can only see one alternative...” He smirked.
- - -
AN: Concrit is more than welcome.
Part 8
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