Tell Me Who I Am 10
Tell Me Who I am
Part 1
~~~
“Yes,” he'd said. “Yes, father.” He'd willed a tedious smile to hide an incomprehensible swelling in his gut.
Where was that damned whiskey he'd stashed earlier? He cursed all the obfuscating books.
“I'm just a little... surprised it would all happen this quickly.”
“Well, is that not a good thing?” His father had given a suspicious frown. “Honestly, I thought you'd be a bit more enthused than this. After all, you'd always wanted to get into the best of schools. And I told you I would do anything to give you the best.” He'd approached Castiel and laid a hand on his shoulder, his expression unusually soft; it was one of those rare moments where Castiel could believe he meant it. Of course, what he hadn't said how he'd made Castiel and Jimmy conveniently gloss over each other in the process. “You deserve it more than anyone else.”
A book on geometry was sent flying against the wall, joining a couple more manuals on algebra and biology, which made a neat scholarly pile on the floor. Finally, he caught sight of a subdued brown sheen tucked away on the lowest row of his bookshelves, and reached out for it. He unscrewed the cap of the bottle and pressed it to his lips in hungry eagerness. But Dean's words from the night before echoed sharply through his mind and kept him from tilting his head back to lap at the promising strong liquor. I love you. How could he have said those words so easily? It wasn't natural. In fact, their whole attraction was unnatural. Perverted. He tightened his grip around the bottleneck and huffed. That... that delinquent had no idea what he was doing. Saying those words... Why had he even bothered showing him the stars? All he'd done was distract him the whole time anyway.
“Ugh...” He pressed the bottle against his brow. “Why me? What is so desirable in me?”
His mother had already let it be known to him how worthless he was... always letting Jimmy perform his violin in front of guests, always letting him have first choice in anything and everything... And Jimmy would be quite smug about it too, while Castiel would pretend to shrug it off and would hole himself up in his room, attacking the piano once more in silent rage. His musical skills were the only thing his mother seemed to enjoy around him, so he would constantly play and play and play if only for that glimpse of appraisal.
He rolled his eyes and groaned, thinking how like a reminiscing old man he looked. He pressed a clammy palm against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. Still... there was the matter of leaving Dean. Had he already made up his mind about that, then? Well, it wasn't as if he had a choice.
“Ah, dammit!” He ran a rough hand through his hair. “Why did you have to latch onto me? Why can't you mind your own business like everyone else?” He recapped the bottle of whiskey and sighed. Anyone else would do, right? After all, Dean could have any pick with his looks and charisma.
“Idiot.” He lay his forehead against his knees and tried to control his breathing. “You say you love me, but, in truth, it's merely a temporary side-effect of an infatuation, nothing more but a series of synaptic reactions in the brain.” Yet he felt that whichever way he rationalised it, it still left him with that ever itching feeling of dissatisfaction. Something was amiss. He curled his fists on the carpeted floor. It was useless. Did that boy ever stop to consider just how he might feel about their bizarre relationship? Was it a habit of his to go around forcing himself on others? Every time he was around that boy, he felt like the music in his head was going to finally burst out and frighten him away.
Did he crave being held in someone's arms that much? Would just about anyone have done? It was disgusting how worked up he was getting over a boy. A jolt shot through his stomach. What would his father think of him now? He took his face in his hands and groaned.
“Why won't you just leave me alone...”
- - -
Dean held onto Pamela for support as laughter unbalanced his body.
“You? Hunting a turkey? This I gotta see,” he said.
Chuck crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn't see why such an exploit would be so absurd for him. They had just finished classes and were walking over to the gates when Chuck had told them he'd wanted to prove his valour to Becky capturing his own turkey and offering it to her for Thanksgiving.
“Make sure she's not a vegetarian first,” said Jo. “Otherwise things would get awkward pretty fast.”
Dean sniggered. “Yeah. Also, make sure there are actually any turkeys around this area and in this freakish weather.”
Chuck turned red. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I knew I shouldn't have said a word to you guys; all you ever do is mock my ideas.” He stalked ahead of them.
“Aw, come on, Chuck.” Pamela suppressed a grin. “We're just teasing. I think it's sweet how you want to do this for Becky. But seriously, isn't that kind of thinking a bit... er... outdated?”
Chuck stopped in his steps and turned around, his lips pinched. “Then what should I do, huh?”
Pamela was about to answer when Jo cut in, her voice a little more hyperactive than usual.
“Isn't that Castiel over there?”
Dean felt his stomach drop at the words. Sure enough, Castiel was waiting a little way away from the gate in his waist-length white coat, hands deep in his pockets, and face buried in his turned up collar. It looked like something was really weighing on his shoulders.
“Uh, wait for me here, guys,” he rushed his words as he made his way over to the boy. “I'll go see what he wants.” His friends looked on, perplexed.
He walked over to Castiel not knowing whether his little outing to the school area was a good thing or not. Still, he couldn't help feeling a little bit happy that Castiel showed up to meet him in public... Then again, that could mean something bad.
“Hey.” He approached him nervously. “Uh...” He shifted his gaze around them in laboured nonchalance. “What's up? Didn't think you'd come around here again.”
Castiel stared at his feet and muttered, “I got private tutors...”
“Oh.” So that was why. Geez, did his father need to babysit him that badly? “So, uh... what's the occasion? If you have some more free time, you could hang out with me and the guys.”
“Dean.”
“Or you could even stop by my place for a snack or something, maybe even dinner.” He scratched the back of his neck and slid his eyes away from Castiel's. “In fact, my Mom hasn't stopped asking about you, so maybe you could get her to stop worrying. I know Sammy would love to see you again, too...”
“I'm moving,” Castiel chewed the words out forcefully.
“Huh?” Dean stared at the boy. He perked up as if he hadn't heard that correctly.
But Castiel's face was flushed as he kept glaring at the ground like he held some personal grudge against it.
A deep crease appeared on Dean's forehead. “What do you mean by 'moving'?” He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder to get him to look him in the eye. “Cas? What do you mean by that? Where are you going?” He didn't realise how high-pitched his voice was getting with each word.
Castiel flinched and backed away from the squeezing grip on his shoulder. “Let go of me.”
But Dean didn't seem to hear him, or didn't want to, and placed another hand on his shoulder as if he were trying to ground him back to his senses.
“Why, Cas? What the hell gives?” It was as if his peace of mind had been suddenly overwhelmed by a sort of hysteria that was triggered off by the idea of Castiel leaving him. Just when he'd finally found someone whom he could trust, whom he could open up to... It just wasn't fair. It had to be some joke... only he wished this were the punchline.
Castiel squinted his eyes shut and hissed. “Dean, quit it. You're hurting me.” He scrunched his hands in his shirt and tried to shove him away, but Dean automatically tightened his grip around Castiel's arm and easily overpowered the thinner boy's efforts. It couldn't be over yet. Grabbing the back of Castiel's neck, he pitched forward and mashed their lips together at an awkward angle.
Castiel gave a muffled cry and bit down on the boy's lips, causing Dean to grunt and back off as he was shoved out of the way. He staggered back a bit and looked at Castiel. The boy's breath came in short irregular gasps while his arms were pulled tight over his chest, much like a child. Only his eyes were so wide and livid...
“Cas...” Dean started but was cut off.
“I said quit it!” his voice quivered, though he tried to keep a firm stand. “And... and in public too.” He said in a constrained voice as he rubbed his lips with the back oh his glove.
“I... I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me just now.” He straightened himself up and turned his palms upward, hoping it would be enough to signal his harmlessness. Geez, he never thought he'd ever have to resort to that. “Just... just why? Is it something I did? I swear I'll make things right. Just tell me.”
Castiel seemed to ease a little at the pleading voice, but he lowered his head. “It's got nothing to do with you. My father found a recommended school in Switzerland for me; I'm leaving by the end of the week. I just wanted to let you know.” He gave a small bow and quickly turned on his heels.
Dean stared after him, still thoroughly confused and slightly dazed by the sudden news. He clenched his fists. “Is that how it's going to be then?” he yelled after the boy. “So you're just gonna let Daddy order you around for the rest of your life like a mindless tool? It's fucking pathetic! Make your own decisions, goddamit!” he spat.
Castiel paused in his tracks and muttered, “Just leave me alone.”
Dean slapped a hand to his forehead. Why couldn't the guy see he was just being used? It amazed him how he could have such blind, idiotic, meaningless faith in such a man. It was beyond comprehension. Did he really know that little about the boy and his family not to grasp the meaning behind his devotion?
He made a wry mouth. “You know what? Why don't you go on home to Daddy and tell him all about our little midnight trysts, see how much he likes you then.”
Castiel steadied his breath and continued to walk back to where George was waiting for him by the car. He hurried as students began to murmur and stare at Dean's open display of emotion.
“Yeah, that's right! I bet he'll find you real nifty then!”
Jo rushed over to him and cried, “Dean! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Dean shrugged and snapped, “Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.”
Pamela and Chuck soon hurried over but were immediately ignored as Dean mumbled something and stalked past them.
“Jesus,” said Pamela. “What the hell was all that about? Did they break up or something?”
Jo stared after Dean's receding figure down the street, her expression perplexed and worried. “Maybe they did.”
- - -
Preparations for Thanksgiving that day were sucked dry of any fun Dean might have had, and his usual anticipation for his mom's mouthwatering roast turkey was non-existent. Instead, he spent the rest of the day out in the scrap yard trying to get drunk off cheap, watery beer while sitting on the hood of an old car. It wasn't working. Plus now he really needed to take a piss.
“Bastard.” He groaned and crumpled the can in his hand before throwing it to the ground. Rich boy thought he could do anything... walking out on him like that 'cause his father wouldn't approve. Lame wuss.
“I thought you'd be here,” a small voice made him turn around. The lean frame of a young boy with a mop of unruly chestnut hair stepped forward.
“Sam? What're you doin' here? Go back home,” Dean muttered and loosened another can from a pack.
His brother climbed next to him and kept mum, like he was just waiting for him to talk. Dean tsked. That pretentious brat.
He frowned. “What're you doin' out here?”
Sam shrugged, making his brother bristle.
“Do I look lonely to you?” Little brat thought he knew everything just 'cause he was top of his class.
“Yes,” Sam said as he studied the horizon.
Dean squeezed the can of beer he had in hand. “Well, I'm not. So you can quit worrying your pretty little head and go back home to Mom.”
Sam stared straight ahead and rubbed a thumb against his against his fingers while his eyes glazed over. It didn't look like he was ready to go anywhere. Dean fidgeted with the can between his hands and sighed. It wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to.
“Sam. I think... I think I did something bad. With Cas I mean.”
Sam made a clicking sound in the side of his cheek, like he'd known this was what had been bothering him all along.
“Maybe I am the problem here... like Pamela said. But I don't know what I've done. He won't tell me. All he ever talks about is how his father's wishes are his top priority... Tch.” He opened his can and grudgingly swallowed the tepid liquor. He looked over at Sam who looked like he'd dosed off somewhere along his confession. “Hey, I'm talking here.” He jabbed his brother in the ribs.
Sam batted his hands away and sighed in exasperation. “You're hopeless.”
Dean scowled. “What?”
Sam crossed his hands behind his head and said, “From what I could glean on my own talking with Castiel and hearing what you've said, I think I can safely say that you're kind of a douche. Not that I didn't already know about that.”
“Come again?” He glared at his little brother. Where did he get off talking down at him like that?
Sam opened one eye. “Don't think I don't know about your little late night outings after curfew.” He closed his eyes and made a wry mouth. “It sounds like you're just using him as your private plaything.”
“Using him?” Dean echoed, horrified. “How?”
“Well, for one thing, you keep him a secret from Mom and Dad, you likely brag about him to your friends, and you feel like you can be yourself around him but never want to let him go because of that. It's like you've claimed him for yourself and want to replace his father. That's pretty sick if you ask me.”
Dean glowered at him, but couldn't find anything to answer back.
“But...” he croaked. “But I kind of love him.”
Sam nodded to himself, eyes still shut. “I'm sure his father is thinking the same.”
“I'm nothing like his father!” Dean snapped.
Sam opened his eyes and looked down his nose at him. “Why? Have you met him?”
Dean huffed. “Like I need to know him... Thanks, Freud.” He tilted his head back and gulped down more of the tepid alcohol.
“Moron...” Sam mumbled under his breath.
Dean stared at the can that was slowly growing warmer in his hand. Did being with Castiel really bring out the worst in him? Was the boy trying to run away from just another person who wanted to control his life?
His cell phone's ringtone broke him out of his thoughts as it wailed between him and his brother. He glanced at the caller ID and frowned. He hated unknown callers.
“Hello?”
“Mister Winchester,” the vaguely familiar voice buzzed in his ear. “This is George De Klerk speaking.” The steward's usual calm and collected voice sounded faintly rattled and hesitant. “I know it is not my place to interfere in the young sir's private life, but I still think you ought to be made aware...” He paused, making Dean all the more apprehensive.
The boy's eyes widened as the rest of the words unfolded. “He what?” he yelled into the receiver. He pressed the phone to his forehead, took in a deep breath and exhaled. “I'll be right over.” He shoved the phone into his back pocket.
Sam shifted his head. “Problem?”
“When is there not?” He huffed and climbed off the car. “Tell Mom something came up and that I won't be home for dinner.”
Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Wow, missing dinner. This must be serious,” he said after his brother who went rushing down the street.
- - -
It's better if he hates me, Castiel thought as the scenery whizzed by his car window. This way it'll be easier for him, and I won't need to bother anyone, so it's fine, really. He rested his head against the window and sniffed. Damn this cold weather... He rifled through his pockets for a tissue and sneezed. He was probably coming down with something, which would also explain why he was feeling so queasy recently. George had also stopped encouraging him on eating and had been much more withdrawn as well. Castiel turned the passing scenery and glared. Just as well, he thought bitterly, a steward should know better than to nag his master. He slumped back into his seat with a glum sigh. There it was again... that feeling. His fingers itched; he felt like playing the piano again.
- - -
During his biology lesson upon his return, Castiel felt incapable of concentrating on the anatomy pages displayed before him. His tutor's words had become background droning to what was on his mind. How angry Dean had been with him. He wondered if he still loved him now. Miss Ledger eventually took notice of his distraction.
She paused and frowned. “Castiel... Are you feeling okay? You look...” She hesitated on her choice of words. Was she going for zombie? He certainly felt like one. “... very tired.”
Castiel looked at her through heavy eyelids; she had become an inconsequential blur in his vision right then, when Dean's words kept turning over and over in his head. He could never be able to tell his father about what he'd done; he could bring himself to face him. His father was going to leave that evening. If he told him now... would he stay? Would he yell? Would any one of his actions bring him closer to making the music inside him finally burst out? No, he figured. Probably not.
“Castiel?” The tutor creased her brow.
A heavy slowness overcame his voice as he answered, “I think we should stop here for today. I'm... terribly sorry I made you come all the way out here. I'll be sure to pay you for the full hour.”
The tutor smiled nervously. “No, really, it's alright. We'll just add extra time on the next session.”
Castiel glanced to the side and mumbled, “Okay.”
Why was it that he felt so drained? He watched Miss Ledger leave through a mask of vague consciousness, a dazed daydream that cracked at the seams and splintered his surroundings in non-existent kaleidoscopic wisps. His body felt numb and heavy as he lumbered over to his bathroom and back to his room. He bent down to the floor and reached under his bed in search of solid glass, a beacon in the heavy ocean he felt weighted his limbs in murky lethargy.
He popped the cap off the translucent bottle of pills he'd retrieved from the bathroom and stared uncertainly between the pills and the liquor, not knowing which to down first. The two options soon blended into each other as he swallowed them both down eagerly, trying to fill himself up, to fill up the hollow frame of his body that widened every time someone tried to make him smile. He wished he could stab their smiles and watch the happiness slowly bleed out.
“Shut up... gotta shut that damn music up,” he muttered between hungry gulps.
The whiskey trickled smoothly down his throat, giving off a pleasant mild burn as it helped the pills along. The pills... He couldn't remember how many of them were in the bottle to begin with, and now the empty plastic cylinder had rolled off somewhere into the dark recesses on his room where lost objects forever veiled themselves from human sight.
Castiel couldn't make himself care anymore. All he would ever be was a disappointment. From start to finish. What happened between was none of his concern, and it would never be allowed to be his. The beginning of a pounding headache formed itself at the back of his skull and sliced through his mind. Castiel yelped and took his head in his hands.
He let out a long groan. “Damn fever.” He gripped the bottle and tried to hurl it against the wall to see if it would shatter beautifully, but he lacked the will or the force and instead gave it a pathetic shove to the side.
He sniffed and scrubbed his eyes forcefully like a raging sorrow had been unjustly thrust upon him. “Goddammit.” He sobbed. The fact that he couldn't understand his own body irritated him all the more. He tilted his head back against his bed and stared at the ceiling, his lips slightly parted. How many pills had he taken? He made a vague sound in the back of his throat.
He wondered what Jimmy was doing right now... He sniffed and hoisted himself over to his bedside table where his cell phone lay. The phone felt like a strange weight in his palm; he never liked to use it. He didn't even know what he was doing. He jabbed the call button and pressed the phone to his ears; the little electronic synapses whirred their long-distance tune in his ear.
“Yeah?” an impatient voice sounded in the speaker.
Castiel felt his heartbeat's rhythm accelerate tenfold, almost making him chuck the phone out window and bury his face in his hands. He hadn't spoken to Jimmy in so long... Why the hell did he have to call him up now? Jimmy didn't want to have anything to do with him again. A sudden flashback of Jimmy's mortified expression after the accident a year ago paralysed him. He gripped the phone tighter and sucked in deep gulps of air to keep calm.
The voice on the other end gave an exasperated sigh. “Cas, I know it's you. It's your number. Plus I can hear you breathing. Very loudly, in fact.” He paused. “Uh... is everything okay?”
“Jimmy,” Castiel breathed. He slapped a hand to his mouth to stop his lips from trembling. “Jimmy, you promised.” He sobbed. It was all he could manage to babble despite how much he wanted his brother to know how sorry he was for everything. But mostly, he wanted him to know the inexplicable anger that was welling up inside him. “Jimmy, you promised!” he yelled into the phone. “You bastard, you promised!” The room around him grew blurrier the more he spewed accusations.
A stunned silence hung tense on the other line.
“I'm sorry...” Castiel hastily amended. “Please don't hang up.” He palmed his forehead and winced; his headache was getting worse.
“Are you... are you drunk? Are you drunk dialling me?” Jimmy scolded.
“I... I think I did something bad, Jimmy,” Castiel murmured as he closed his eyes and slid to the floor, but suddenly shot up and retched on the carpet.
“Cas!” Jimmy cried. “What the hell's going on? Did you just puke? Dude, don't puke when you're on the phone with me.”
Castiel chuckled dryly. “Think I... think I had a bottle of pills too many, Jimmy. The room's all...” he splayed a hand in front of him and waved it around in droopy motions. “... blurry.”
“Cas...” Jimmy said carefully. “What pills? Listen to me, Cas. What pills did you take? Are they drugs? Are you doing drugs now? Jesus, Cas, answer me!”
Castiel lay on the floor on his side, loosely holding the phone to his ear while he breathed in heavily. He closed his eyes and gave a lazy smile, one that no-one but his brother could hear over the phone.
“Quit screwing around, you freak - ”
The dial tone abruptly stuttered to a halt and left Castiel vacantly wondering what Jimmy had been doing when he'd called. He couldn't keep his eyes focussed anymore so he squeezed them shut. He also wondered what his father's face would look like if he found him lying on the floor next to a pool of vomit. He'd surely get a heart attack then. He smiled to himself.
Ah, the music had died down.
- - -
A/N: Ugh, I was gonna make this longer and finish the story once and for all. But I'm splitting it into 2 chapters -_-;
Um... Jimmy will be much more present in the next one ^^; This was intro!Jimmy.
Also, yeah, I know this chapter is a bit slow, but things will come together in the next and there will hopefully be many happy sexy tiemz.
Part 11
smslån
Part 1
~~~
“Yes,” he'd said. “Yes, father.” He'd willed a tedious smile to hide an incomprehensible swelling in his gut.
Where was that damned whiskey he'd stashed earlier? He cursed all the obfuscating books.
“I'm just a little... surprised it would all happen this quickly.”
“Well, is that not a good thing?” His father had given a suspicious frown. “Honestly, I thought you'd be a bit more enthused than this. After all, you'd always wanted to get into the best of schools. And I told you I would do anything to give you the best.” He'd approached Castiel and laid a hand on his shoulder, his expression unusually soft; it was one of those rare moments where Castiel could believe he meant it. Of course, what he hadn't said how he'd made Castiel and Jimmy conveniently gloss over each other in the process. “You deserve it more than anyone else.”
A book on geometry was sent flying against the wall, joining a couple more manuals on algebra and biology, which made a neat scholarly pile on the floor. Finally, he caught sight of a subdued brown sheen tucked away on the lowest row of his bookshelves, and reached out for it. He unscrewed the cap of the bottle and pressed it to his lips in hungry eagerness. But Dean's words from the night before echoed sharply through his mind and kept him from tilting his head back to lap at the promising strong liquor. I love you. How could he have said those words so easily? It wasn't natural. In fact, their whole attraction was unnatural. Perverted. He tightened his grip around the bottleneck and huffed. That... that delinquent had no idea what he was doing. Saying those words... Why had he even bothered showing him the stars? All he'd done was distract him the whole time anyway.
“Ugh...” He pressed the bottle against his brow. “Why me? What is so desirable in me?”
His mother had already let it be known to him how worthless he was... always letting Jimmy perform his violin in front of guests, always letting him have first choice in anything and everything... And Jimmy would be quite smug about it too, while Castiel would pretend to shrug it off and would hole himself up in his room, attacking the piano once more in silent rage. His musical skills were the only thing his mother seemed to enjoy around him, so he would constantly play and play and play if only for that glimpse of appraisal.
He rolled his eyes and groaned, thinking how like a reminiscing old man he looked. He pressed a clammy palm against his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. Still... there was the matter of leaving Dean. Had he already made up his mind about that, then? Well, it wasn't as if he had a choice.
“Ah, dammit!” He ran a rough hand through his hair. “Why did you have to latch onto me? Why can't you mind your own business like everyone else?” He recapped the bottle of whiskey and sighed. Anyone else would do, right? After all, Dean could have any pick with his looks and charisma.
“Idiot.” He lay his forehead against his knees and tried to control his breathing. “You say you love me, but, in truth, it's merely a temporary side-effect of an infatuation, nothing more but a series of synaptic reactions in the brain.” Yet he felt that whichever way he rationalised it, it still left him with that ever itching feeling of dissatisfaction. Something was amiss. He curled his fists on the carpeted floor. It was useless. Did that boy ever stop to consider just how he might feel about their bizarre relationship? Was it a habit of his to go around forcing himself on others? Every time he was around that boy, he felt like the music in his head was going to finally burst out and frighten him away.
Did he crave being held in someone's arms that much? Would just about anyone have done? It was disgusting how worked up he was getting over a boy. A jolt shot through his stomach. What would his father think of him now? He took his face in his hands and groaned.
“Why won't you just leave me alone...”
- - -
Dean held onto Pamela for support as laughter unbalanced his body.
“You? Hunting a turkey? This I gotta see,” he said.
Chuck crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn't see why such an exploit would be so absurd for him. They had just finished classes and were walking over to the gates when Chuck had told them he'd wanted to prove his valour to Becky capturing his own turkey and offering it to her for Thanksgiving.
“Make sure she's not a vegetarian first,” said Jo. “Otherwise things would get awkward pretty fast.”
Dean sniggered. “Yeah. Also, make sure there are actually any turkeys around this area and in this freakish weather.”
Chuck turned red. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I knew I shouldn't have said a word to you guys; all you ever do is mock my ideas.” He stalked ahead of them.
“Aw, come on, Chuck.” Pamela suppressed a grin. “We're just teasing. I think it's sweet how you want to do this for Becky. But seriously, isn't that kind of thinking a bit... er... outdated?”
Chuck stopped in his steps and turned around, his lips pinched. “Then what should I do, huh?”
Pamela was about to answer when Jo cut in, her voice a little more hyperactive than usual.
“Isn't that Castiel over there?”
Dean felt his stomach drop at the words. Sure enough, Castiel was waiting a little way away from the gate in his waist-length white coat, hands deep in his pockets, and face buried in his turned up collar. It looked like something was really weighing on his shoulders.
“Uh, wait for me here, guys,” he rushed his words as he made his way over to the boy. “I'll go see what he wants.” His friends looked on, perplexed.
He walked over to Castiel not knowing whether his little outing to the school area was a good thing or not. Still, he couldn't help feeling a little bit happy that Castiel showed up to meet him in public... Then again, that could mean something bad.
“Hey.” He approached him nervously. “Uh...” He shifted his gaze around them in laboured nonchalance. “What's up? Didn't think you'd come around here again.”
Castiel stared at his feet and muttered, “I got private tutors...”
“Oh.” So that was why. Geez, did his father need to babysit him that badly? “So, uh... what's the occasion? If you have some more free time, you could hang out with me and the guys.”
“Dean.”
“Or you could even stop by my place for a snack or something, maybe even dinner.” He scratched the back of his neck and slid his eyes away from Castiel's. “In fact, my Mom hasn't stopped asking about you, so maybe you could get her to stop worrying. I know Sammy would love to see you again, too...”
“I'm moving,” Castiel chewed the words out forcefully.
“Huh?” Dean stared at the boy. He perked up as if he hadn't heard that correctly.
But Castiel's face was flushed as he kept glaring at the ground like he held some personal grudge against it.
A deep crease appeared on Dean's forehead. “What do you mean by 'moving'?” He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder to get him to look him in the eye. “Cas? What do you mean by that? Where are you going?” He didn't realise how high-pitched his voice was getting with each word.
Castiel flinched and backed away from the squeezing grip on his shoulder. “Let go of me.”
But Dean didn't seem to hear him, or didn't want to, and placed another hand on his shoulder as if he were trying to ground him back to his senses.
“Why, Cas? What the hell gives?” It was as if his peace of mind had been suddenly overwhelmed by a sort of hysteria that was triggered off by the idea of Castiel leaving him. Just when he'd finally found someone whom he could trust, whom he could open up to... It just wasn't fair. It had to be some joke... only he wished this were the punchline.
Castiel squinted his eyes shut and hissed. “Dean, quit it. You're hurting me.” He scrunched his hands in his shirt and tried to shove him away, but Dean automatically tightened his grip around Castiel's arm and easily overpowered the thinner boy's efforts. It couldn't be over yet. Grabbing the back of Castiel's neck, he pitched forward and mashed their lips together at an awkward angle.
Castiel gave a muffled cry and bit down on the boy's lips, causing Dean to grunt and back off as he was shoved out of the way. He staggered back a bit and looked at Castiel. The boy's breath came in short irregular gasps while his arms were pulled tight over his chest, much like a child. Only his eyes were so wide and livid...
“Cas...” Dean started but was cut off.
“I said quit it!” his voice quivered, though he tried to keep a firm stand. “And... and in public too.” He said in a constrained voice as he rubbed his lips with the back oh his glove.
“I... I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me just now.” He straightened himself up and turned his palms upward, hoping it would be enough to signal his harmlessness. Geez, he never thought he'd ever have to resort to that. “Just... just why? Is it something I did? I swear I'll make things right. Just tell me.”
Castiel seemed to ease a little at the pleading voice, but he lowered his head. “It's got nothing to do with you. My father found a recommended school in Switzerland for me; I'm leaving by the end of the week. I just wanted to let you know.” He gave a small bow and quickly turned on his heels.
Dean stared after him, still thoroughly confused and slightly dazed by the sudden news. He clenched his fists. “Is that how it's going to be then?” he yelled after the boy. “So you're just gonna let Daddy order you around for the rest of your life like a mindless tool? It's fucking pathetic! Make your own decisions, goddamit!” he spat.
Castiel paused in his tracks and muttered, “Just leave me alone.”
Dean slapped a hand to his forehead. Why couldn't the guy see he was just being used? It amazed him how he could have such blind, idiotic, meaningless faith in such a man. It was beyond comprehension. Did he really know that little about the boy and his family not to grasp the meaning behind his devotion?
He made a wry mouth. “You know what? Why don't you go on home to Daddy and tell him all about our little midnight trysts, see how much he likes you then.”
Castiel steadied his breath and continued to walk back to where George was waiting for him by the car. He hurried as students began to murmur and stare at Dean's open display of emotion.
“Yeah, that's right! I bet he'll find you real nifty then!”
Jo rushed over to him and cried, “Dean! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Dean shrugged and snapped, “Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.”
Pamela and Chuck soon hurried over but were immediately ignored as Dean mumbled something and stalked past them.
“Jesus,” said Pamela. “What the hell was all that about? Did they break up or something?”
Jo stared after Dean's receding figure down the street, her expression perplexed and worried. “Maybe they did.”
- - -
Preparations for Thanksgiving that day were sucked dry of any fun Dean might have had, and his usual anticipation for his mom's mouthwatering roast turkey was non-existent. Instead, he spent the rest of the day out in the scrap yard trying to get drunk off cheap, watery beer while sitting on the hood of an old car. It wasn't working. Plus now he really needed to take a piss.
“Bastard.” He groaned and crumpled the can in his hand before throwing it to the ground. Rich boy thought he could do anything... walking out on him like that 'cause his father wouldn't approve. Lame wuss.
“I thought you'd be here,” a small voice made him turn around. The lean frame of a young boy with a mop of unruly chestnut hair stepped forward.
“Sam? What're you doin' here? Go back home,” Dean muttered and loosened another can from a pack.
His brother climbed next to him and kept mum, like he was just waiting for him to talk. Dean tsked. That pretentious brat.
He frowned. “What're you doin' out here?”
Sam shrugged, making his brother bristle.
“Do I look lonely to you?” Little brat thought he knew everything just 'cause he was top of his class.
“Yes,” Sam said as he studied the horizon.
Dean squeezed the can of beer he had in hand. “Well, I'm not. So you can quit worrying your pretty little head and go back home to Mom.”
Sam stared straight ahead and rubbed a thumb against his against his fingers while his eyes glazed over. It didn't look like he was ready to go anywhere. Dean fidgeted with the can between his hands and sighed. It wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to.
“Sam. I think... I think I did something bad. With Cas I mean.”
Sam made a clicking sound in the side of his cheek, like he'd known this was what had been bothering him all along.
“Maybe I am the problem here... like Pamela said. But I don't know what I've done. He won't tell me. All he ever talks about is how his father's wishes are his top priority... Tch.” He opened his can and grudgingly swallowed the tepid liquor. He looked over at Sam who looked like he'd dosed off somewhere along his confession. “Hey, I'm talking here.” He jabbed his brother in the ribs.
Sam batted his hands away and sighed in exasperation. “You're hopeless.”
Dean scowled. “What?”
Sam crossed his hands behind his head and said, “From what I could glean on my own talking with Castiel and hearing what you've said, I think I can safely say that you're kind of a douche. Not that I didn't already know about that.”
“Come again?” He glared at his little brother. Where did he get off talking down at him like that?
Sam opened one eye. “Don't think I don't know about your little late night outings after curfew.” He closed his eyes and made a wry mouth. “It sounds like you're just using him as your private plaything.”
“Using him?” Dean echoed, horrified. “How?”
“Well, for one thing, you keep him a secret from Mom and Dad, you likely brag about him to your friends, and you feel like you can be yourself around him but never want to let him go because of that. It's like you've claimed him for yourself and want to replace his father. That's pretty sick if you ask me.”
Dean glowered at him, but couldn't find anything to answer back.
“But...” he croaked. “But I kind of love him.”
Sam nodded to himself, eyes still shut. “I'm sure his father is thinking the same.”
“I'm nothing like his father!” Dean snapped.
Sam opened his eyes and looked down his nose at him. “Why? Have you met him?”
Dean huffed. “Like I need to know him... Thanks, Freud.” He tilted his head back and gulped down more of the tepid alcohol.
“Moron...” Sam mumbled under his breath.
Dean stared at the can that was slowly growing warmer in his hand. Did being with Castiel really bring out the worst in him? Was the boy trying to run away from just another person who wanted to control his life?
His cell phone's ringtone broke him out of his thoughts as it wailed between him and his brother. He glanced at the caller ID and frowned. He hated unknown callers.
“Hello?”
“Mister Winchester,” the vaguely familiar voice buzzed in his ear. “This is George De Klerk speaking.” The steward's usual calm and collected voice sounded faintly rattled and hesitant. “I know it is not my place to interfere in the young sir's private life, but I still think you ought to be made aware...” He paused, making Dean all the more apprehensive.
The boy's eyes widened as the rest of the words unfolded. “He what?” he yelled into the receiver. He pressed the phone to his forehead, took in a deep breath and exhaled. “I'll be right over.” He shoved the phone into his back pocket.
Sam shifted his head. “Problem?”
“When is there not?” He huffed and climbed off the car. “Tell Mom something came up and that I won't be home for dinner.”
Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Wow, missing dinner. This must be serious,” he said after his brother who went rushing down the street.
- - -
It's better if he hates me, Castiel thought as the scenery whizzed by his car window. This way it'll be easier for him, and I won't need to bother anyone, so it's fine, really. He rested his head against the window and sniffed. Damn this cold weather... He rifled through his pockets for a tissue and sneezed. He was probably coming down with something, which would also explain why he was feeling so queasy recently. George had also stopped encouraging him on eating and had been much more withdrawn as well. Castiel turned the passing scenery and glared. Just as well, he thought bitterly, a steward should know better than to nag his master. He slumped back into his seat with a glum sigh. There it was again... that feeling. His fingers itched; he felt like playing the piano again.
- - -
During his biology lesson upon his return, Castiel felt incapable of concentrating on the anatomy pages displayed before him. His tutor's words had become background droning to what was on his mind. How angry Dean had been with him. He wondered if he still loved him now. Miss Ledger eventually took notice of his distraction.
She paused and frowned. “Castiel... Are you feeling okay? You look...” She hesitated on her choice of words. Was she going for zombie? He certainly felt like one. “... very tired.”
Castiel looked at her through heavy eyelids; she had become an inconsequential blur in his vision right then, when Dean's words kept turning over and over in his head. He could never be able to tell his father about what he'd done; he could bring himself to face him. His father was going to leave that evening. If he told him now... would he stay? Would he yell? Would any one of his actions bring him closer to making the music inside him finally burst out? No, he figured. Probably not.
“Castiel?” The tutor creased her brow.
A heavy slowness overcame his voice as he answered, “I think we should stop here for today. I'm... terribly sorry I made you come all the way out here. I'll be sure to pay you for the full hour.”
The tutor smiled nervously. “No, really, it's alright. We'll just add extra time on the next session.”
Castiel glanced to the side and mumbled, “Okay.”
Why was it that he felt so drained? He watched Miss Ledger leave through a mask of vague consciousness, a dazed daydream that cracked at the seams and splintered his surroundings in non-existent kaleidoscopic wisps. His body felt numb and heavy as he lumbered over to his bathroom and back to his room. He bent down to the floor and reached under his bed in search of solid glass, a beacon in the heavy ocean he felt weighted his limbs in murky lethargy.
He popped the cap off the translucent bottle of pills he'd retrieved from the bathroom and stared uncertainly between the pills and the liquor, not knowing which to down first. The two options soon blended into each other as he swallowed them both down eagerly, trying to fill himself up, to fill up the hollow frame of his body that widened every time someone tried to make him smile. He wished he could stab their smiles and watch the happiness slowly bleed out.
“Shut up... gotta shut that damn music up,” he muttered between hungry gulps.
The whiskey trickled smoothly down his throat, giving off a pleasant mild burn as it helped the pills along. The pills... He couldn't remember how many of them were in the bottle to begin with, and now the empty plastic cylinder had rolled off somewhere into the dark recesses on his room where lost objects forever veiled themselves from human sight.
Castiel couldn't make himself care anymore. All he would ever be was a disappointment. From start to finish. What happened between was none of his concern, and it would never be allowed to be his. The beginning of a pounding headache formed itself at the back of his skull and sliced through his mind. Castiel yelped and took his head in his hands.
He let out a long groan. “Damn fever.” He gripped the bottle and tried to hurl it against the wall to see if it would shatter beautifully, but he lacked the will or the force and instead gave it a pathetic shove to the side.
He sniffed and scrubbed his eyes forcefully like a raging sorrow had been unjustly thrust upon him. “Goddammit.” He sobbed. The fact that he couldn't understand his own body irritated him all the more. He tilted his head back against his bed and stared at the ceiling, his lips slightly parted. How many pills had he taken? He made a vague sound in the back of his throat.
He wondered what Jimmy was doing right now... He sniffed and hoisted himself over to his bedside table where his cell phone lay. The phone felt like a strange weight in his palm; he never liked to use it. He didn't even know what he was doing. He jabbed the call button and pressed the phone to his ears; the little electronic synapses whirred their long-distance tune in his ear.
“Yeah?” an impatient voice sounded in the speaker.
Castiel felt his heartbeat's rhythm accelerate tenfold, almost making him chuck the phone out window and bury his face in his hands. He hadn't spoken to Jimmy in so long... Why the hell did he have to call him up now? Jimmy didn't want to have anything to do with him again. A sudden flashback of Jimmy's mortified expression after the accident a year ago paralysed him. He gripped the phone tighter and sucked in deep gulps of air to keep calm.
The voice on the other end gave an exasperated sigh. “Cas, I know it's you. It's your number. Plus I can hear you breathing. Very loudly, in fact.” He paused. “Uh... is everything okay?”
“Jimmy,” Castiel breathed. He slapped a hand to his mouth to stop his lips from trembling. “Jimmy, you promised.” He sobbed. It was all he could manage to babble despite how much he wanted his brother to know how sorry he was for everything. But mostly, he wanted him to know the inexplicable anger that was welling up inside him. “Jimmy, you promised!” he yelled into the phone. “You bastard, you promised!” The room around him grew blurrier the more he spewed accusations.
A stunned silence hung tense on the other line.
“I'm sorry...” Castiel hastily amended. “Please don't hang up.” He palmed his forehead and winced; his headache was getting worse.
“Are you... are you drunk? Are you drunk dialling me?” Jimmy scolded.
“I... I think I did something bad, Jimmy,” Castiel murmured as he closed his eyes and slid to the floor, but suddenly shot up and retched on the carpet.
“Cas!” Jimmy cried. “What the hell's going on? Did you just puke? Dude, don't puke when you're on the phone with me.”
Castiel chuckled dryly. “Think I... think I had a bottle of pills too many, Jimmy. The room's all...” he splayed a hand in front of him and waved it around in droopy motions. “... blurry.”
“Cas...” Jimmy said carefully. “What pills? Listen to me, Cas. What pills did you take? Are they drugs? Are you doing drugs now? Jesus, Cas, answer me!”
Castiel lay on the floor on his side, loosely holding the phone to his ear while he breathed in heavily. He closed his eyes and gave a lazy smile, one that no-one but his brother could hear over the phone.
“Quit screwing around, you freak - ”
The dial tone abruptly stuttered to a halt and left Castiel vacantly wondering what Jimmy had been doing when he'd called. He couldn't keep his eyes focussed anymore so he squeezed them shut. He also wondered what his father's face would look like if he found him lying on the floor next to a pool of vomit. He'd surely get a heart attack then. He smiled to himself.
Ah, the music had died down.
- - -
A/N: Ugh, I was gonna make this longer and finish the story once and for all. But I'm splitting it into 2 chapters -_-;
Um... Jimmy will be much more present in the next one ^^; This was intro!Jimmy.
Also, yeah, I know this chapter is a bit slow, but things will come together in the next and there will hopefully be many happy sexy tiemz.
Part 11
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