28 Days, 6 Hours, 42 Minutes and 12 Seconds till the Apocalypse. Part 2/6
Title: 28 Days, 6 Hours, 42 Minutes and 12 Seconds till the Apocalypse
Author: ravensilverwing
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Castiel/Dean, Sam, Anna, Zachariah, Raphael.
Spoilers: Up to and including 5x03.
Warnings: Sex, nudity, swearing, character death. If you’ve watched Donnie Darko you’ll know what I mean. If you haven’t, don’t freak out too much. But this isn’t exactly a happy holiday movie.
Word Count: 22,800
Summary:
My prompt, given by devilyouwere, was: SPN/Donnie Darko fusion. Um, I really don't know :) I just want to see it badly. Approach it how you will. Would prefer Castiel as Donnie, though.
So... Donnie is Castiel. He’s hearing voices. Everyone thinks he’s crazy cause he burnt down Alastair’s house. Everyone except the new boy in town, Dean. Zachariah’s a smug bastard giving inspirational speeches about ‘accepting your destiny’. But Castiel doesn’t want to accept his destiny, he wants to figure out what’s going on and stop the world from ending.
Part One
Part Two
Dean, the new boy’s name is Dean. He’s still wearing his casual clothes. Either doesn’t have or refuses to wear the school uniform that the rest of us are wearing. Black pants, white button down shirt and dark tie. Even I’m wearing this uniform, even if my tie is pulled sideways from frustration and the top two buttons of my shirt are undone. He’s in a green undershirt today. A warm, soft looking flannel shirt, unbuttoned over the top. Same boots and jeans and a pendant hanging round his neck that looks like, squint, the bronze head of a Hindu? Feel the frown deepen as I try to figure out why he would be wearing something like that. Most of the people around here are Christian.
Flick my eyes up to catch him staring, sudden flash of heat and his eye brow rises. Tear my eyes away and back towards the TV screen. To the video we’re supposed to be watching. Freeze startled. It’s the guy from the golf course. The one who looked at me so strangely.
“People all over America have come to understand that human life is absolutely too important, too valuable and too precious to be controlled by fear.” He’s smoothly talking into the camera. Complete confidence. No hint of wavering. “Hello, my name is Zachariah. Welcome to Accepting Your Life.”
Glance hurriedly down at the hand-out that was given to us. This is the new syllabus for gym class? This is the guy they’re entrusting to teach us, what? Acceptance? Accepting your life? What if I don’t want to accept my life? What if my life is worth struggling against?
A life of whispered voices, which are back despite the medication. A life of worrying my family and sleep walking?
“Hey, do you have a pen?”
Stop my head shaking to notice the new boy, Dean, his name is Dean; is reaching over the empty seats between us.
“Sorry?” Stare at him in confusion.
“I forgot my stuff. Can I borrow a pen?”
His eyes are hazel. Base of green lit up by sunlight, flecked with gold and brown. Freckles have run riot over his nose and cheeks. Freckles so tiny that...
“Um...what’s your name?” He’s persistent. “I just need to borrow a pen.”
Heat, a wave of crimson. I can feel my face burning.
“Yeah. Of course. Sure.” Hand mine over and reach into my bag for a new one.
“I’m Dean.” He offers smiling.
“Yeah.” Blink at him baffled. “I know.”
He waits, staring at me expectant. Then finally grins and looks away.
***
Mom is trying to get Charlie to go to bed early tonight but she doesn’t like the strange hotel. Doesn’t want to sleep here. Keeps asking when we’re going home. Sam’s out at some friends house. Guess he doesn’t like the hotel either.
I find falling asleep here much, much easier. Just fall into bed, my head hits the pillow and I’m dreaming. Dreaming of water, of floods and buildings sinking.
It’s peaceful, even if Raphael is calling out again.
“Wake up Castiel.”
And I find myself following.
It’s not too far to the school grounds. Not too hard to find an axe. Easy to find the water main. And easier still to hack into it. Metal slicing into metal. Water spraying up.
Too easy. It’s all too easy.
Too easy to let the whispers wash over me. So easy to just stop holding my frustration back.
***
The bus must be running late. Not that that seems to bother Charlie, she’s more than happy to keep everyone entertained. She’s been writing again, for her English class I guess. Though I don’t know what kind of assignment leads to monsters. Maybe it’s for her writing challenge. She and her friends are trying to win a national competition.
“...and then he grabbed the shotgun and started firing the iron rounds as the shtriga...”
“What’s a shtriga?” One of her friends is asking.
Charlie is more than happy to explain.
“It’s a witch who feeds off human life force. Only it loves children. It’ll feed off you and put you in a coma and if the hunter doesn’t kill it then you’re never coming back!”
My sister has a vivid imagination. And when it comes to ghost or monster stories, she appears to be the best.
I’m glad someone in our family can be labelled as having a vivid imagination and not completely cracked. Not that Sam is cracked. Or Mom. Sam is going to Harvard. Very little chance he’ll miss out on that. My big, huge older brother is smarter than...
“Schools been cancelled! Someone flooded the school.”
Blink, turn my head slowly. I did not just hear that.
“Someone flooded the school so it’s cancelled.” Charlie’s best friend is practically dancing. “My Mom got a call. There won’t be any school today so you can come to my place and we’ll...”
But I...Raphael...dreaming. I was dreaming. Apparently not. Stand very still. Stare out across the road and remind myself to breathe.
“Can I?”Charlie is asking. “Can I go to Jessie’s place? Please Castiel?”
Look down to hopeful pleasure and nod slowly.
“Yeah.” Try to keep my voice from shaking. “I’ll call Mom.”
***
Why does this keep happening? I didn’t want to destroy the school last night. I remember dreaming it. And the voices, I remember the voices. Eager voices. I heard Raphael come back. Along with eager, happy voices. I guess the mourning has ended. No more crying, wailing, searching. All that seeking seems to have stopped. It’s like Alastair’s house all over. I don’t even remember doing that. I just dreamt it. It was a dream. A dream that turned out to be true. I just, I want it all to stop. I don’t want to destroy, or burn, or flood things.
Turn the corner and Uriel’s with his latest side kick, taunting Dean at the bus stop. Dean doesn’t seem to have noticed they’re there. Lounging comfortably again the sign post. One hand close to his front jeans pocket, the other scratching lazily at his neck. I want...I want him to notice me approaching. But I never have good luck.
“School is cancelled.” Tell them quietly. Eyeing Dean and trying to ignore Uriel, I don’t want his attention.
“Burn down any houses lately?” Uriel starts taunting.
I can only stand and stare at Uriel. If Dean hasn’t heard it all before, he’ll hear it all right now. Close my eyes and pray for deliverance. But I don’t know who I’m praying to.
“See this here’s the crazy kid.” Uriel swaggering closer. “Crazy Castiel.” He’s really relishing it this time, pushing inside my personal space. Waiting, just waiting for me to...
“Leave him alone.” Dean voice sounds lazy. Like he doesn’t care one way or the other.
Uriel just ignores him. He just moves in closer and starts to circle round to my back.
“Don’t you have something better to do? Ha? Someone else to bother cause I’m pretty sure he doesn’t give a crap. Cause let me guess. You circle round him, say the same inane shit, congratulate yourselves then fuck the hell off?”
Uriel’s finished his tight circle, slowly turning and showing me his back.
“Why don’t we skip the boring parts and get straight to the part where you go to hell? Ha? Just for kicks.” And Dean’s smiling. Cock sure, grinning.
He’s not scared of Uriel. Not scared of getting his arse kicked or his head shoved in a toilet.
“Come on Castiel.”Eyes sliding right past them and lingering on mine. “Why don’t you walk me home?”
And he’s finally pushing away from the sign post, striding towards me, blatantly ignoring Uriel. Uriel doesn’t stop him. Just lets him slide past and walk away. Blink at him a moment then turn to follow.
We’re half a block away before he speaks again.
“They bother you like that all the time?”
Nod silently.
“Ever considered just punching him?” He wants to know.
Stop and stare with wide eyes. He doesn’t know? Or doesn’t he believe them?
“Don’t look so freaked. Geez. Anyone would think I suggested you gank the guy.”
“No...I mean...” But the words get caught and I can’t seem to speak past the ball of hope stuck in my throat.
“Come on, you can spit it out.” Still smiling.
“I burned down a house.” Swallow hard. “This guy Alastair. He had a torture chamber but I didn’t know that, I just set his house on fire.”
“Yeah. And?” Impatiently waiting, like what I’ve just told him is nothing. Nothing at all.
“He was still in the house.” Barely a whisper.
“Dude.” His eyes suddenly wide. “You killed a guy?”
“NO! No, I...he got out. He woke up and he got out.”
“Well that’s...” He seems lost for words. “You’re just a regular little hooligan aren’t you?”
And he’s still smiling, even if it’s not as wide anymore.
“You’re not...You don’t think I’m crazy?” My eyes are wide and half pleading. No one, I mean...everyone thinks I’m crazy.
He starts walking again and I can’t help but follow.
“Well burning down a house with a guy still in it is a little unusual but I wouldn’t call you crazy. A little misguided maybe. I mean, my Dad. He’s awesome but some people think he’s crazy. Some people say he gutted my Mom and set her on fire to hide the evidence, which is complete bull crap. He was never convicted of anything but people still talk. You know?”
His Dad, he... Whoa. And people think I’m crazy.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” He’s shaking his head, rueful.
“Because you don’t think I’m crazy?” Offer hopefully.
“You don’t get that much do you?” Watching me as we walk, his eyes level and assessing.
“Get what?” Frown and stare right into his eyes.
“People not thinking you’re crazy. I mean, you’re a little weird and all but...”
“I hear voices.” Blurting it out.
Which makes him pause, look away a moment.
“My Dad, he says my Mom was killed by a demon. So...”A quick glance back, away, then he meets my eyes steady and certain. “I’m not going to throw stones here.”
We walk for awhile in silence.
“Look, I should go. Molotov gave me this physics thing. Best invention to benefit humanity.”
He makes it sound like a complete waste of time. Like all of this is a complete waste of his time.
“You mean Monotof and that would be antiseptics.”
“Come again?”
“Antiseptics. Before that there was no sanitation, especially in medicine.” Explain. I’m just trying to be helpful.
“You mean soap?” He looks like he doesn’t believe me, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like this is all just a big joke.
Nod.
“Alright then. Soap it is.” He stops and glances sideways across the street. “This is my place.”
“I’m glad the school was flooded today.” Blurt out then feel the rush of adrenaline, horrified embarrassment.
He just laughs.
“And why’s that?” His hazel eyes are smiling.
“Cause we had this conversation.” May as well continue my mortification.
“You are one weird dude you know that.” Still smiling. “But I still don’t think you’re crazy.”
He makes sure I understand that.
“Do you wanna, I mean, we call it...”
He’s patiently waiting. Then not so patient when I falter and just stare at him.
“Go with me?” I blurt out.
A tiny frown.
“Go with you where?” He looks confused.
“No, I mean. That’s what we call it here. Going with someone.” Try to explain it to him.
Sudden understanding then he’s nodding, quirked half smile on his face.
“This is my place...” One hand waving towards a house across the street.
“Oh. Okay.” Disappointed. He was just humouring me.
“No I mean, do you want to come in? Dad’s not home and we have all day.”
He must think I’m hesitating because the next thing he’s saying is, “I have beer.”
I’m startled out of speech.
“I...”
“It’s okay, you probably have other stuff...” And he’s kicking the curb and shifting.
“...haven’t had beer before.”
“Never?” He seems genuinely shocked.
Shake my head.
“Dude you’re gonna love it. Come on. We have plenty.” And he’s taking off across the street towards his front door.
“Won’t...” And I’m hopelessly trailing after him, pulled by an unseen force. “Won’t your Dad get angry?”
“Dad?” He scoffs as he digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out a key ring. “No.” Like it’s impossible.
But I watch the blush creep up from under his t-shirt. He checks over his shoulder to see if I’m still following, or if I actually believe him.
I must look uncertain because his previous grin is faltering, hands pausing with the key in the lock.
“You don’t have to have one.” He’s placating.
“No. No I want one.”
Which is blatantly untrue and probably a bad idea with my medication. But his eyes light up and the cocky grin is back.
“That’s the spirit.”
***
Dr Missouri seems a little calmer today. Not that she doesn’t always look calm but, today there’s something extra going on. Something more when she asks how my week has been. So it’s easy to tell her about Dean. How his Dad’s never home and we go out in the woods after school. Outside where it’s quiet. And private. Places no one ever goes. How he doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy, doesn’t call me crazy Castiel. How now he doesn’t call me Castiel at all. He calls me Cas like Sam does.
His arms are pale golden tan and there are more freckles over his face than numbers can tell.
And he doesn’t think I should just accept things. He thinks I have a right to rebel. Cause not everyone’s the same and even if I do hear voices, what’s the harm right?
I haven’t told him about the school. About how I burst the water main. I won’t tell Missouri either. I don’t want to go back to jail.
So I don’t tell her about the police at school. That they found graffiti on the ground below the school mascot. Axe lodged firmly in its bronze skull. Or that they made everyone write on the black board. Everyone scrawling in their own messy hand writing.
‘They made me do it.’
I don’t tell her that the police looked especially hard at me. Me and Uriel.
***
“So they make you go to therapy?” Dean seems openly horrified.
I’ve long since become resigned to the fact.
“It’s only once a week. For an hour. I just talk about random stuff.”
Dean is carefully cleaning his Dad’s rifles.
“Don’t they make you talk about...I dunno, your emotions?” He looks like he’d rather go to hell.
Quirk a sideways smile at him.
“They can’t exactly make me.”
He looks up, impressed.
“You know how to shoot one of these?” An obvious change of topic.
“No.”
“Seriously?” He seems genuinely shocked.
Nod.
“I think it’s time you got lessons.” Bright purpose filled smile.
***
His hands are warm and calloused, his chest warm against my back. I can’t focus. Even as he slowly brings the rifle up to my shoulder. It’s hard to remember to breathe let alone where I’m supposed to put my hands. Except his hands are guiding mine right back every time I move them.
“You feel that now, right?”
Nod numbly. All I can feel is his body. Hands. Heat. Chest and hips.
“Are you even paying attention?” A whisper of his lips brushing against my cheek.
Try to swallow but I’m too distracted. My mouth gone papery dry.
“Cas?” His hands removing the gun from mine. Fingertips stroking across my palms. “I thought we were here for a shooting lesson.”
“We are.” I assure him. I don’t want him to leave me here. I know my way back but...
“Uh ha.” He murmurs softly. “One you aren’t paying a lick of attention to.” Dry lips brushing trails up and down my neck, pushing the collar of my white shirt out of the way. One of his hands is still holding the rifle. The other is resting outside my school shirt, over my hipbone. So still, unmoving. Waiting.
“I...It’s hard to pay attention.” Try to remember to breathe whilst confessing.
“And why would that be?” Voice low, lips right against my ear.
“You.”Admitting it. “You’re distracting.”
“Is that so.” Teasing lightly. “And why is that?” His free hand sliding under my untucked shirt.
My breathing suddenly shuddering. I’ve never. No one has ever...
“Cas?” Soft and low.
“I haven’t...I’ve never...” Suddenly stuttering.
“Never shot a gun before?” Rough fingertips stroking absently. “Of any kind?”
“No.”
“Ever?” Suddenly shocked.
“No.” And already my legs are shaking.
“Wow. Are you for real?” Moving round to face me. “Seriously?”
Shame is a scarlet red blush.
“Who’d want to go with crazy Castiel?” Bitter anger. Meet his eyes and refuse to look away.
“Me, for one.” Hazel, direct. “You’re pretty for starters and I don’t normally do boys.”Glancing down then off sideways. “I mean, not normally. Sometimes. Mostly it’s just girls. But you...” Staring again, shrugging, a pink tinge that may be a blush. “I like you. So if you’ll just let me.” Tilting his head down and our lips brush. Soft breath of relief then another, slower brush.
I didn’t think kissing was supposed to be this careful. Step forward and press in harder. A moment of mutual moaning then tongues get bitten in the rush.
“Whoa. Okay. Slow down there.” Softly laughing. “Just.” Kissing softly. “Let me show you.” Lips pressing closer together. Quiet, slow glide then opening softly. Quick slide, gentle tongue stroke.
“There’s no reason to hurry.” His hand is back to trailing absent patterns. “I could do this all night and day.”
***
I might be floating a little. May have been turned into a girl. Slowly turned with lips and careful fingertips, calloused hands. Warm skin. I might be floating but I still baulk at my swollen lips in the mirror. Pills. My medication. Dean may make me forget about a lot of things. May make the voices fade out. But he can’t make me forget about this. About not wanting to do this. Take these. Take these useless tiny pills that refuse to fix my problems. I still hear things. I still sleep walk and destroy things. Do horrible things I barely remember. Things I do not want to do.
At least the voices made some sense before. Seeking, searching, wailing. But this, this is crazy, not even close to silence. And what I did to the school. Why the god damned school? I don’t want to go back to jail. I don’t want to...
“Don’t worry.”
Jerk my eyes upward and search for the bunny suit.
“You got away with it.” He assures me.
He’s not here. He can’t be here.
“Why’d you make me do it?” Ask desperately.
“I can do anything I want to you.”
But I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me. Stare at myself in the mirror, pale and desperate. Please don’t make me do it again.
“Why’d you make me flood the school?” I’m desperate to know.
“Do you believe in destiny?” He asks me.
Destiny? Who’s destiny?
There’s a sudden pounding on the bathroom door.
“Who are you talking to?”
It’s Charlie. Just Charlie. Not...nothing else.
“Castiel?”
“I’m just taking my pills.” Call back.
Taking my pills. Going to take my pills. Going to take them, and take them every day and this’ll be over. I’ll be normal again. It’ll all just go away.
***
We’re back to watching Zachariah’s insipid inspirational speech’s on video in gym class.
“Guy’s a total douche bag.” Is Dean’s only contribution before drifting off to sleep in the near dark of the classroom.
Today’s exercise is to take a scenario and put it on a two emotion scale. Like people are only capable of two possible emotions. Acceptance or Struggle. Accepting their lot in life and all it’s...
“What a pile of crap.” Dean is muttering now the video is over.
Accepting life’s hardships for the soul enriching experience it is as part of your destiny or struggling in fear and doubt and creating unhappiness in yourself and those around you. Putting struggling to be a better person and refusing to accept the problems life throws at you into the category of ‘you’re a selfish prick’. Preaching that it’s better to just accept your fate, your destiny and lay back and think of others. Even if by accepting a shitty destiny you’re endangering others and even yourself. Dean’s right, what a pile of crap.
“Castiel. Why don’t you come up here and read your card.”
I’d rather not but Mrs Farmer is a bitter and twisted woman who takes delight in tormenting my mother over her so obvious failure at both life, her marriage and raising her children. Which is not only unfair, it’s blatantly untrue. Mom isn’t to blame for me being crazy. She didn’t raise me to set fire to buildings and burst water mains.
“Castiel!” Her voice gets sharper.
Take the card she offers and stand in front of the class. Dean is sitting up straighter, suddenly more alert than he has been for the rest of the class.
“Well.” Stringent tones making my stomach roll. “Read it out.”
Whispers wrap around me. ‘Destiny. Failure. It’s over.’
“ ‘John discovers he has only five months to live, he has a rare and inoperable cancer. Rather than concern his family he decides to leave them each a letter explaining what has happened and why he can’t be there.’” Let the hand holding the card drop. “This is stupid.”
More than that it’s insulting. To insinuate that people can be reduced to two things. Just two. Nothing more than that. That struggling is a bad thing and acceptance, no matter what the cost is better.
“Just put a cross on the Struggle/ Acceptance line.” She explains.
“But you can’t just split things into two categories. Life isn’t that simple. And what about how his kids feel? He’s being a coward. He doesn’t tell them face to face because he’s afraid. What kind of father does that? How is just walking away and not trying to get treatment a better option?”
“Just put a mark on the line or you’ll get zero for the exercise.”
Is that all she can think about? Just a stupid exercise. In a stupid class. Created by some smug fuck.
“Is this so you can sleep with that Zachariah guy?”
Despite the fact I can hear Dean laughing it’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever said. As her face goes red and her eyes go wide I can see an endless future of detentions.
***
Dean hasn’t stopped laughing about my outburst. Mom was unsurprisingly horrified. Another thing for her to worry about. Sam was, well Sam actually choked on a laugh and had to look away. The construction to fix the destruction caused by the jet engine is finally finished. They still have no idea where it came from but I have my own bedroom again.
“I still can’t believe you said that.” Dean’s still smiling broadly “Not that I think you’re wrong. She seems the type that’d do anything for a chance to bang him.”
We found an old couch on the side of the road, it was worth the effort and time it took to drag it into our clearing in the woods. It’s small and sags in the middle but it’s better than sitting on rocks.
Dean slides closer when I just blush.
The sag in the middle brings us even closer. His thigh pressing into mine, his hand wrapping round the back of my neck.
“You know...” And he’s leaning in closer. He makes it hard to focus. Hard to follow the trails of conversation. Whispers softly distracting but Dean’s mouth is even more so. Slowly getting closer. Hot breath fanning across my mouth. Giving me suddenly sensitive lips. Making it hard to swallow. My mouth dry. My lips dry, chapped.
“Yes?” And I don’t even know what I’m asking.
“Hmmm?” His darting tongue catches the edge of my lips. “What?”
“You were saying...” My words drag his mouth against my lower lip. It’s a hard fight not to shake my head. “Something.”
I just want to kiss him, but his thumb is trailing little paths up and down the pulse point on my neck.
“Hmm. But what was I saying?” Lips catching, dragging, brushing.
I think I’m beyond caring. Push forward and open his mouth with mine, start instigating. Hot tongue sliding up against his, lips dry then slick and moaning. Both his hands sliding up under my white shirt, calluses drifting, counting rib bones till they glide around to shoulder blades and pull. Groan. Gasp, break off moaning. Thigh pressing up and against, between. My hands tugging insistent at his tucked in t-shirt till I can...skin. Warm, smooth, hot skin. His back, shoulders, down his sides.
He’s breathing hard, we’re both panting. Rough beginning of bristles inside my collar. Teeth, mouth, tongue...And we’re rocking. Thighs, hips, crotch growing. Insistent moaning.
“God Cas.” His hands won’t stop roaming.
Flat plane of chest, nipples. Christ! Bucking, groaning. Touch his nipples and his teeth sink into my collar bone. Panting breath then his soft tongue...slowly. Slowly rocking together whilst his fingers are nimbly undoing buttons.
“I just want to...” His voice deep against my skin.
Quick and sharp and jerking. Shoving at my legs and hips till he’s underneath me. My legs straddling his hips and his...his zip, my zipper, our cocks align.
“Just let me.” His mouth hovering over my bare skin, naked chest. Shirt hanging open, caught by my tie. He starts rocking. Grab his shoulders and I’m groaning. Breathless. Oh god. We’re really close now. His cock and mine. “I just want to do this.”
His lips painting patterns over my chest, trails of hot breath, kisses. I can’t...Close my eyes tight. I’m going to...Thrust down harder. Cry out as the pleasure starts building.
“Yeah Cas.” Panting moans encouraging. “Just like that.” His hands drifting down, they find my hips and starts me rolling.
“Oh fuck.” I’m suddenly whining. I can’t, it’s great, I’m coming. Hips jerking as he grinds up slowly.
And he’s moaning, slowly thrusting, shoving himself upwards, hands holding me down, pulling me harder onto him.
“Oh...fuck.” His eyes are open, green, brown. The colour barely showing. And I grind down slowly, deliberate and he’s finally coming. “Fuck.” He’s shaking.
Then after awhile. “Sorry.”
“For what?” I can’t help staring at him confused and frowning.
“I didn’t mean. I was just...” Sitting up and our eyes are suddenly level. “I didn’t plan that. That wasn’t my intention. I just...” He’s actually blushing. “It wasn’t my intention.”
“To do that?” Can’t help it if I’m smirking.
Bright, sly grin.
“I see you’re not complaining.” He’s confident again.
“No, not exactly.”
“Good.” Then his mouth is on mine again.
***
Part Three
Author: ravensilverwing
Rating: NC-17
Genre and/or Pairing: Castiel/Dean, Sam, Anna, Zachariah, Raphael.
Spoilers: Up to and including 5x03.
Warnings: Sex, nudity, swearing, character death. If you’ve watched Donnie Darko you’ll know what I mean. If you haven’t, don’t freak out too much. But this isn’t exactly a happy holiday movie.
Word Count: 22,800
Summary:
My prompt, given by devilyouwere, was: SPN/Donnie Darko fusion. Um, I really don't know :) I just want to see it badly. Approach it how you will. Would prefer Castiel as Donnie, though.
So... Donnie is Castiel. He’s hearing voices. Everyone thinks he’s crazy cause he burnt down Alastair’s house. Everyone except the new boy in town, Dean. Zachariah’s a smug bastard giving inspirational speeches about ‘accepting your destiny’. But Castiel doesn’t want to accept his destiny, he wants to figure out what’s going on and stop the world from ending.
Part One
Part Two
Dean, the new boy’s name is Dean. He’s still wearing his casual clothes. Either doesn’t have or refuses to wear the school uniform that the rest of us are wearing. Black pants, white button down shirt and dark tie. Even I’m wearing this uniform, even if my tie is pulled sideways from frustration and the top two buttons of my shirt are undone. He’s in a green undershirt today. A warm, soft looking flannel shirt, unbuttoned over the top. Same boots and jeans and a pendant hanging round his neck that looks like, squint, the bronze head of a Hindu? Feel the frown deepen as I try to figure out why he would be wearing something like that. Most of the people around here are Christian.
Flick my eyes up to catch him staring, sudden flash of heat and his eye brow rises. Tear my eyes away and back towards the TV screen. To the video we’re supposed to be watching. Freeze startled. It’s the guy from the golf course. The one who looked at me so strangely.
“People all over America have come to understand that human life is absolutely too important, too valuable and too precious to be controlled by fear.” He’s smoothly talking into the camera. Complete confidence. No hint of wavering. “Hello, my name is Zachariah. Welcome to Accepting Your Life.”
Glance hurriedly down at the hand-out that was given to us. This is the new syllabus for gym class? This is the guy they’re entrusting to teach us, what? Acceptance? Accepting your life? What if I don’t want to accept my life? What if my life is worth struggling against?
A life of whispered voices, which are back despite the medication. A life of worrying my family and sleep walking?
“Hey, do you have a pen?”
Stop my head shaking to notice the new boy, Dean, his name is Dean; is reaching over the empty seats between us.
“Sorry?” Stare at him in confusion.
“I forgot my stuff. Can I borrow a pen?”
His eyes are hazel. Base of green lit up by sunlight, flecked with gold and brown. Freckles have run riot over his nose and cheeks. Freckles so tiny that...
“Um...what’s your name?” He’s persistent. “I just need to borrow a pen.”
Heat, a wave of crimson. I can feel my face burning.
“Yeah. Of course. Sure.” Hand mine over and reach into my bag for a new one.
“I’m Dean.” He offers smiling.
“Yeah.” Blink at him baffled. “I know.”
He waits, staring at me expectant. Then finally grins and looks away.
***
Mom is trying to get Charlie to go to bed early tonight but she doesn’t like the strange hotel. Doesn’t want to sleep here. Keeps asking when we’re going home. Sam’s out at some friends house. Guess he doesn’t like the hotel either.
I find falling asleep here much, much easier. Just fall into bed, my head hits the pillow and I’m dreaming. Dreaming of water, of floods and buildings sinking.
It’s peaceful, even if Raphael is calling out again.
“Wake up Castiel.”
And I find myself following.
It’s not too far to the school grounds. Not too hard to find an axe. Easy to find the water main. And easier still to hack into it. Metal slicing into metal. Water spraying up.
Too easy. It’s all too easy.
Too easy to let the whispers wash over me. So easy to just stop holding my frustration back.
***
The bus must be running late. Not that that seems to bother Charlie, she’s more than happy to keep everyone entertained. She’s been writing again, for her English class I guess. Though I don’t know what kind of assignment leads to monsters. Maybe it’s for her writing challenge. She and her friends are trying to win a national competition.
“...and then he grabbed the shotgun and started firing the iron rounds as the shtriga...”
“What’s a shtriga?” One of her friends is asking.
Charlie is more than happy to explain.
“It’s a witch who feeds off human life force. Only it loves children. It’ll feed off you and put you in a coma and if the hunter doesn’t kill it then you’re never coming back!”
My sister has a vivid imagination. And when it comes to ghost or monster stories, she appears to be the best.
I’m glad someone in our family can be labelled as having a vivid imagination and not completely cracked. Not that Sam is cracked. Or Mom. Sam is going to Harvard. Very little chance he’ll miss out on that. My big, huge older brother is smarter than...
“Schools been cancelled! Someone flooded the school.”
Blink, turn my head slowly. I did not just hear that.
“Someone flooded the school so it’s cancelled.” Charlie’s best friend is practically dancing. “My Mom got a call. There won’t be any school today so you can come to my place and we’ll...”
But I...Raphael...dreaming. I was dreaming. Apparently not. Stand very still. Stare out across the road and remind myself to breathe.
“Can I?”Charlie is asking. “Can I go to Jessie’s place? Please Castiel?”
Look down to hopeful pleasure and nod slowly.
“Yeah.” Try to keep my voice from shaking. “I’ll call Mom.”
***
Why does this keep happening? I didn’t want to destroy the school last night. I remember dreaming it. And the voices, I remember the voices. Eager voices. I heard Raphael come back. Along with eager, happy voices. I guess the mourning has ended. No more crying, wailing, searching. All that seeking seems to have stopped. It’s like Alastair’s house all over. I don’t even remember doing that. I just dreamt it. It was a dream. A dream that turned out to be true. I just, I want it all to stop. I don’t want to destroy, or burn, or flood things.
Turn the corner and Uriel’s with his latest side kick, taunting Dean at the bus stop. Dean doesn’t seem to have noticed they’re there. Lounging comfortably again the sign post. One hand close to his front jeans pocket, the other scratching lazily at his neck. I want...I want him to notice me approaching. But I never have good luck.
“School is cancelled.” Tell them quietly. Eyeing Dean and trying to ignore Uriel, I don’t want his attention.
“Burn down any houses lately?” Uriel starts taunting.
I can only stand and stare at Uriel. If Dean hasn’t heard it all before, he’ll hear it all right now. Close my eyes and pray for deliverance. But I don’t know who I’m praying to.
“See this here’s the crazy kid.” Uriel swaggering closer. “Crazy Castiel.” He’s really relishing it this time, pushing inside my personal space. Waiting, just waiting for me to...
“Leave him alone.” Dean voice sounds lazy. Like he doesn’t care one way or the other.
Uriel just ignores him. He just moves in closer and starts to circle round to my back.
“Don’t you have something better to do? Ha? Someone else to bother cause I’m pretty sure he doesn’t give a crap. Cause let me guess. You circle round him, say the same inane shit, congratulate yourselves then fuck the hell off?”
Uriel’s finished his tight circle, slowly turning and showing me his back.
“Why don’t we skip the boring parts and get straight to the part where you go to hell? Ha? Just for kicks.” And Dean’s smiling. Cock sure, grinning.
He’s not scared of Uriel. Not scared of getting his arse kicked or his head shoved in a toilet.
“Come on Castiel.”Eyes sliding right past them and lingering on mine. “Why don’t you walk me home?”
And he’s finally pushing away from the sign post, striding towards me, blatantly ignoring Uriel. Uriel doesn’t stop him. Just lets him slide past and walk away. Blink at him a moment then turn to follow.
We’re half a block away before he speaks again.
“They bother you like that all the time?”
Nod silently.
“Ever considered just punching him?” He wants to know.
Stop and stare with wide eyes. He doesn’t know? Or doesn’t he believe them?
“Don’t look so freaked. Geez. Anyone would think I suggested you gank the guy.”
“No...I mean...” But the words get caught and I can’t seem to speak past the ball of hope stuck in my throat.
“Come on, you can spit it out.” Still smiling.
“I burned down a house.” Swallow hard. “This guy Alastair. He had a torture chamber but I didn’t know that, I just set his house on fire.”
“Yeah. And?” Impatiently waiting, like what I’ve just told him is nothing. Nothing at all.
“He was still in the house.” Barely a whisper.
“Dude.” His eyes suddenly wide. “You killed a guy?”
“NO! No, I...he got out. He woke up and he got out.”
“Well that’s...” He seems lost for words. “You’re just a regular little hooligan aren’t you?”
And he’s still smiling, even if it’s not as wide anymore.
“You’re not...You don’t think I’m crazy?” My eyes are wide and half pleading. No one, I mean...everyone thinks I’m crazy.
He starts walking again and I can’t help but follow.
“Well burning down a house with a guy still in it is a little unusual but I wouldn’t call you crazy. A little misguided maybe. I mean, my Dad. He’s awesome but some people think he’s crazy. Some people say he gutted my Mom and set her on fire to hide the evidence, which is complete bull crap. He was never convicted of anything but people still talk. You know?”
His Dad, he... Whoa. And people think I’m crazy.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” He’s shaking his head, rueful.
“Because you don’t think I’m crazy?” Offer hopefully.
“You don’t get that much do you?” Watching me as we walk, his eyes level and assessing.
“Get what?” Frown and stare right into his eyes.
“People not thinking you’re crazy. I mean, you’re a little weird and all but...”
“I hear voices.” Blurting it out.
Which makes him pause, look away a moment.
“My Dad, he says my Mom was killed by a demon. So...”A quick glance back, away, then he meets my eyes steady and certain. “I’m not going to throw stones here.”
We walk for awhile in silence.
“Look, I should go. Molotov gave me this physics thing. Best invention to benefit humanity.”
He makes it sound like a complete waste of time. Like all of this is a complete waste of his time.
“You mean Monotof and that would be antiseptics.”
“Come again?”
“Antiseptics. Before that there was no sanitation, especially in medicine.” Explain. I’m just trying to be helpful.
“You mean soap?” He looks like he doesn’t believe me, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like this is all just a big joke.
Nod.
“Alright then. Soap it is.” He stops and glances sideways across the street. “This is my place.”
“I’m glad the school was flooded today.” Blurt out then feel the rush of adrenaline, horrified embarrassment.
He just laughs.
“And why’s that?” His hazel eyes are smiling.
“Cause we had this conversation.” May as well continue my mortification.
“You are one weird dude you know that.” Still smiling. “But I still don’t think you’re crazy.”
He makes sure I understand that.
“Do you wanna, I mean, we call it...”
He’s patiently waiting. Then not so patient when I falter and just stare at him.
“Go with me?” I blurt out.
A tiny frown.
“Go with you where?” He looks confused.
“No, I mean. That’s what we call it here. Going with someone.” Try to explain it to him.
Sudden understanding then he’s nodding, quirked half smile on his face.
“This is my place...” One hand waving towards a house across the street.
“Oh. Okay.” Disappointed. He was just humouring me.
“No I mean, do you want to come in? Dad’s not home and we have all day.”
He must think I’m hesitating because the next thing he’s saying is, “I have beer.”
I’m startled out of speech.
“I...”
“It’s okay, you probably have other stuff...” And he’s kicking the curb and shifting.
“...haven’t had beer before.”
“Never?” He seems genuinely shocked.
Shake my head.
“Dude you’re gonna love it. Come on. We have plenty.” And he’s taking off across the street towards his front door.
“Won’t...” And I’m hopelessly trailing after him, pulled by an unseen force. “Won’t your Dad get angry?”
“Dad?” He scoffs as he digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out a key ring. “No.” Like it’s impossible.
But I watch the blush creep up from under his t-shirt. He checks over his shoulder to see if I’m still following, or if I actually believe him.
I must look uncertain because his previous grin is faltering, hands pausing with the key in the lock.
“You don’t have to have one.” He’s placating.
“No. No I want one.”
Which is blatantly untrue and probably a bad idea with my medication. But his eyes light up and the cocky grin is back.
“That’s the spirit.”
***
Dr Missouri seems a little calmer today. Not that she doesn’t always look calm but, today there’s something extra going on. Something more when she asks how my week has been. So it’s easy to tell her about Dean. How his Dad’s never home and we go out in the woods after school. Outside where it’s quiet. And private. Places no one ever goes. How he doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy, doesn’t call me crazy Castiel. How now he doesn’t call me Castiel at all. He calls me Cas like Sam does.
His arms are pale golden tan and there are more freckles over his face than numbers can tell.
And he doesn’t think I should just accept things. He thinks I have a right to rebel. Cause not everyone’s the same and even if I do hear voices, what’s the harm right?
I haven’t told him about the school. About how I burst the water main. I won’t tell Missouri either. I don’t want to go back to jail.
So I don’t tell her about the police at school. That they found graffiti on the ground below the school mascot. Axe lodged firmly in its bronze skull. Or that they made everyone write on the black board. Everyone scrawling in their own messy hand writing.
‘They made me do it.’
I don’t tell her that the police looked especially hard at me. Me and Uriel.
***
“So they make you go to therapy?” Dean seems openly horrified.
I’ve long since become resigned to the fact.
“It’s only once a week. For an hour. I just talk about random stuff.”
Dean is carefully cleaning his Dad’s rifles.
“Don’t they make you talk about...I dunno, your emotions?” He looks like he’d rather go to hell.
Quirk a sideways smile at him.
“They can’t exactly make me.”
He looks up, impressed.
“You know how to shoot one of these?” An obvious change of topic.
“No.”
“Seriously?” He seems genuinely shocked.
Nod.
“I think it’s time you got lessons.” Bright purpose filled smile.
***
His hands are warm and calloused, his chest warm against my back. I can’t focus. Even as he slowly brings the rifle up to my shoulder. It’s hard to remember to breathe let alone where I’m supposed to put my hands. Except his hands are guiding mine right back every time I move them.
“You feel that now, right?”
Nod numbly. All I can feel is his body. Hands. Heat. Chest and hips.
“Are you even paying attention?” A whisper of his lips brushing against my cheek.
Try to swallow but I’m too distracted. My mouth gone papery dry.
“Cas?” His hands removing the gun from mine. Fingertips stroking across my palms. “I thought we were here for a shooting lesson.”
“We are.” I assure him. I don’t want him to leave me here. I know my way back but...
“Uh ha.” He murmurs softly. “One you aren’t paying a lick of attention to.” Dry lips brushing trails up and down my neck, pushing the collar of my white shirt out of the way. One of his hands is still holding the rifle. The other is resting outside my school shirt, over my hipbone. So still, unmoving. Waiting.
“I...It’s hard to pay attention.” Try to remember to breathe whilst confessing.
“And why would that be?” Voice low, lips right against my ear.
“You.”Admitting it. “You’re distracting.”
“Is that so.” Teasing lightly. “And why is that?” His free hand sliding under my untucked shirt.
My breathing suddenly shuddering. I’ve never. No one has ever...
“Cas?” Soft and low.
“I haven’t...I’ve never...” Suddenly stuttering.
“Never shot a gun before?” Rough fingertips stroking absently. “Of any kind?”
“No.”
“Ever?” Suddenly shocked.
“No.” And already my legs are shaking.
“Wow. Are you for real?” Moving round to face me. “Seriously?”
Shame is a scarlet red blush.
“Who’d want to go with crazy Castiel?” Bitter anger. Meet his eyes and refuse to look away.
“Me, for one.” Hazel, direct. “You’re pretty for starters and I don’t normally do boys.”Glancing down then off sideways. “I mean, not normally. Sometimes. Mostly it’s just girls. But you...” Staring again, shrugging, a pink tinge that may be a blush. “I like you. So if you’ll just let me.” Tilting his head down and our lips brush. Soft breath of relief then another, slower brush.
I didn’t think kissing was supposed to be this careful. Step forward and press in harder. A moment of mutual moaning then tongues get bitten in the rush.
“Whoa. Okay. Slow down there.” Softly laughing. “Just.” Kissing softly. “Let me show you.” Lips pressing closer together. Quiet, slow glide then opening softly. Quick slide, gentle tongue stroke.
“There’s no reason to hurry.” His hand is back to trailing absent patterns. “I could do this all night and day.”
***
I might be floating a little. May have been turned into a girl. Slowly turned with lips and careful fingertips, calloused hands. Warm skin. I might be floating but I still baulk at my swollen lips in the mirror. Pills. My medication. Dean may make me forget about a lot of things. May make the voices fade out. But he can’t make me forget about this. About not wanting to do this. Take these. Take these useless tiny pills that refuse to fix my problems. I still hear things. I still sleep walk and destroy things. Do horrible things I barely remember. Things I do not want to do.
At least the voices made some sense before. Seeking, searching, wailing. But this, this is crazy, not even close to silence. And what I did to the school. Why the god damned school? I don’t want to go back to jail. I don’t want to...
“Don’t worry.”
Jerk my eyes upward and search for the bunny suit.
“You got away with it.” He assures me.
He’s not here. He can’t be here.
“Why’d you make me do it?” Ask desperately.
“I can do anything I want to you.”
But I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me. Stare at myself in the mirror, pale and desperate. Please don’t make me do it again.
“Why’d you make me flood the school?” I’m desperate to know.
“Do you believe in destiny?” He asks me.
Destiny? Who’s destiny?
There’s a sudden pounding on the bathroom door.
“Who are you talking to?”
It’s Charlie. Just Charlie. Not...nothing else.
“Castiel?”
“I’m just taking my pills.” Call back.
Taking my pills. Going to take my pills. Going to take them, and take them every day and this’ll be over. I’ll be normal again. It’ll all just go away.
***
We’re back to watching Zachariah’s insipid inspirational speech’s on video in gym class.
“Guy’s a total douche bag.” Is Dean’s only contribution before drifting off to sleep in the near dark of the classroom.
Today’s exercise is to take a scenario and put it on a two emotion scale. Like people are only capable of two possible emotions. Acceptance or Struggle. Accepting their lot in life and all it’s...
“What a pile of crap.” Dean is muttering now the video is over.
Accepting life’s hardships for the soul enriching experience it is as part of your destiny or struggling in fear and doubt and creating unhappiness in yourself and those around you. Putting struggling to be a better person and refusing to accept the problems life throws at you into the category of ‘you’re a selfish prick’. Preaching that it’s better to just accept your fate, your destiny and lay back and think of others. Even if by accepting a shitty destiny you’re endangering others and even yourself. Dean’s right, what a pile of crap.
“Castiel. Why don’t you come up here and read your card.”
I’d rather not but Mrs Farmer is a bitter and twisted woman who takes delight in tormenting my mother over her so obvious failure at both life, her marriage and raising her children. Which is not only unfair, it’s blatantly untrue. Mom isn’t to blame for me being crazy. She didn’t raise me to set fire to buildings and burst water mains.
“Castiel!” Her voice gets sharper.
Take the card she offers and stand in front of the class. Dean is sitting up straighter, suddenly more alert than he has been for the rest of the class.
“Well.” Stringent tones making my stomach roll. “Read it out.”
Whispers wrap around me. ‘Destiny. Failure. It’s over.’
“ ‘John discovers he has only five months to live, he has a rare and inoperable cancer. Rather than concern his family he decides to leave them each a letter explaining what has happened and why he can’t be there.’” Let the hand holding the card drop. “This is stupid.”
More than that it’s insulting. To insinuate that people can be reduced to two things. Just two. Nothing more than that. That struggling is a bad thing and acceptance, no matter what the cost is better.
“Just put a cross on the Struggle/ Acceptance line.” She explains.
“But you can’t just split things into two categories. Life isn’t that simple. And what about how his kids feel? He’s being a coward. He doesn’t tell them face to face because he’s afraid. What kind of father does that? How is just walking away and not trying to get treatment a better option?”
“Just put a mark on the line or you’ll get zero for the exercise.”
Is that all she can think about? Just a stupid exercise. In a stupid class. Created by some smug fuck.
“Is this so you can sleep with that Zachariah guy?”
Despite the fact I can hear Dean laughing it’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever said. As her face goes red and her eyes go wide I can see an endless future of detentions.
***
Dean hasn’t stopped laughing about my outburst. Mom was unsurprisingly horrified. Another thing for her to worry about. Sam was, well Sam actually choked on a laugh and had to look away. The construction to fix the destruction caused by the jet engine is finally finished. They still have no idea where it came from but I have my own bedroom again.
“I still can’t believe you said that.” Dean’s still smiling broadly “Not that I think you’re wrong. She seems the type that’d do anything for a chance to bang him.”
We found an old couch on the side of the road, it was worth the effort and time it took to drag it into our clearing in the woods. It’s small and sags in the middle but it’s better than sitting on rocks.
Dean slides closer when I just blush.
The sag in the middle brings us even closer. His thigh pressing into mine, his hand wrapping round the back of my neck.
“You know...” And he’s leaning in closer. He makes it hard to focus. Hard to follow the trails of conversation. Whispers softly distracting but Dean’s mouth is even more so. Slowly getting closer. Hot breath fanning across my mouth. Giving me suddenly sensitive lips. Making it hard to swallow. My mouth dry. My lips dry, chapped.
“Yes?” And I don’t even know what I’m asking.
“Hmmm?” His darting tongue catches the edge of my lips. “What?”
“You were saying...” My words drag his mouth against my lower lip. It’s a hard fight not to shake my head. “Something.”
I just want to kiss him, but his thumb is trailing little paths up and down the pulse point on my neck.
“Hmm. But what was I saying?” Lips catching, dragging, brushing.
I think I’m beyond caring. Push forward and open his mouth with mine, start instigating. Hot tongue sliding up against his, lips dry then slick and moaning. Both his hands sliding up under my white shirt, calluses drifting, counting rib bones till they glide around to shoulder blades and pull. Groan. Gasp, break off moaning. Thigh pressing up and against, between. My hands tugging insistent at his tucked in t-shirt till I can...skin. Warm, smooth, hot skin. His back, shoulders, down his sides.
He’s breathing hard, we’re both panting. Rough beginning of bristles inside my collar. Teeth, mouth, tongue...And we’re rocking. Thighs, hips, crotch growing. Insistent moaning.
“God Cas.” His hands won’t stop roaming.
Flat plane of chest, nipples. Christ! Bucking, groaning. Touch his nipples and his teeth sink into my collar bone. Panting breath then his soft tongue...slowly. Slowly rocking together whilst his fingers are nimbly undoing buttons.
“I just want to...” His voice deep against my skin.
Quick and sharp and jerking. Shoving at my legs and hips till he’s underneath me. My legs straddling his hips and his...his zip, my zipper, our cocks align.
“Just let me.” His mouth hovering over my bare skin, naked chest. Shirt hanging open, caught by my tie. He starts rocking. Grab his shoulders and I’m groaning. Breathless. Oh god. We’re really close now. His cock and mine. “I just want to do this.”
His lips painting patterns over my chest, trails of hot breath, kisses. I can’t...Close my eyes tight. I’m going to...Thrust down harder. Cry out as the pleasure starts building.
“Yeah Cas.” Panting moans encouraging. “Just like that.” His hands drifting down, they find my hips and starts me rolling.
“Oh fuck.” I’m suddenly whining. I can’t, it’s great, I’m coming. Hips jerking as he grinds up slowly.
And he’s moaning, slowly thrusting, shoving himself upwards, hands holding me down, pulling me harder onto him.
“Oh...fuck.” His eyes are open, green, brown. The colour barely showing. And I grind down slowly, deliberate and he’s finally coming. “Fuck.” He’s shaking.
Then after awhile. “Sorry.”
“For what?” I can’t help staring at him confused and frowning.
“I didn’t mean. I was just...” Sitting up and our eyes are suddenly level. “I didn’t plan that. That wasn’t my intention. I just...” He’s actually blushing. “It wasn’t my intention.”
“To do that?” Can’t help it if I’m smirking.
Bright, sly grin.
“I see you’re not complaining.” He’s confident again.
“No, not exactly.”
“Good.” Then his mouth is on mine again.
***
Part Three