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Thursday Storms

Chapter Text

It wasn't every day that Castiel woke before dawn. Usually his activities of the day before left him exhausted and he would sleep well past the milk man’s round.

But today was different, today was Thursday.

The boy stared as the yellow flickering light of the sunrise splashed colour over his tiny bedroom walls, and listened to the unplanned tune of the larks and sparrows.

He knew by now his parents would have left and his brothers and sisters would be out and about, leaving the family home completely bare of people.

A slow grin upturned his lips and he slipped out of bed. The only sound down the unlit hall was the pad of his feet as he made his way to the washroom, anxious to remove the stench of teenage sleep from his body.

He ignored the aching hardness at his groin that he woke up to, slipping his shirt off and letting it slip to the floor with a soft flop.

The taps were cool under his long, sculpted fingers; Castiel watched the water pour into the tub until it was full. Then, slipping his boxer briefs off, he clambered in. His head sank back against the cool porcelain and for a long moment he just listened to the lapping of the water against the tub.

"So much for being the good Christian son," he murmured as he palmed his hard cock, his morning wood twitching delightfully beneath his rough callused palms.

"What are you gonna do, beat me for touching myself? Is God watching me right now? Fucking hypocrites,"

He huffed at no one in particular as he stroked his cock. He shaped his hand into a fist and dragged his foreskin lazily, his breath hitching as he tilted his head back and rolled his hips into his fist.

Today was going to be his day.
Every Thursday his parents left to go preach at schools, his brothers and sisters all dedicated followers of Christ went to their local youth church and served hot food to the homeless.

When Castiel was younger he would join them, thinking that being a celibate young devotee was his purpose in life.
His mother Naomi, who owned the church, was proud of him for "discovering the way of the Lord" and his father Chuck, who was the town Reverend, let him care for the church.

Castiel would clean the altar and the organ, make sure the bibles remained stocked, and prepare the holy water for the church-goers.

Everyone expected the youngest Novak to become a priest.

They couldn't be more wrong.

When the water turned icy and goosebumps formed over his pale skin, almost translucent from spending too much time inside cold shadowy churches.

He slipped out. Watching droplets fall onto the ugly tiles as he towelled his body off.

Castiel had always known that he was leaning towards being too thin, but in the privacy of his room he worked out, the faint outlines of muscles on his stomach and arms were testament to his hard work.

He faced his reflection, slightly obscured by cracks and dirt in the old mirror. It was the only one in the house as vanity was a sin and Naomi would rather walk out of her home with birds nest hair then defy the Lord and sneak a peak at herself.

A sad smile turned the corners of his full lips. Castiel had no problem in admiring himself, he was a vain man. He admired his reflection and he knew he was attractive to both women and men.

Running a hand up his flat stomach trailing over the dusting of dark hair that started at his groin and made its way to his belly button and chest.

He saw the heated stares that followed him when he danced to his favourite song in the night club. He'd taken lovers of both sexes to his bed and let them worship his body. He made no attempt to hide from their appreciative glances.

Letting the curtain drape over the mirror where no one would see it he strode over to his bedside table, pulling out several fake tattoos.

Picking out a large scrawling design that was made for the neck, two full sleeves and a chest tattoo.

Sticking them against his naked skin he dabbed the wet sponge against each one. Peeling away the paper once they were stuck on, the boy smiled, turning over his outstretched arms to assess them. "Perfect" he whispered to himself.

Spraying a setting spray over them to make them last until tomorrow morning he pulled on a deep black shirt with a pink Floyd logo adorning the chest.

He stepped into his favourite torn jeans, a faded black pair that hugged his ass just right. Then came his favourite pair of combat boots and finally, a bomber jacket.

Knowing that if his mother ever found his beloved secret closet she would erase him from life itself he kept them locked in a safe under the pristine floorboards.

Lastly he slid on a black choker with a single cobalt blue gem that made the striking hue of his eyes even more alluring, he added to this his piercings that he wore only on Thursdays. He grabbed his trusty wallet and keys and headed out of his tiny, dark room, his phone in hand.

The hallway was dingy and full of shadows, as the curtains were drawn. Basic furniture lined the hall and the absence of family ornaments made it seem colder than it was.

Sandy coloured, wooden floorboards lead him to the front door of their four bedroom house at the end of a quiet, pretty cul de sac. Castiel huffed as he thought to himself:

"who even lives in a cul de sac?"

Castiel's step didn't falter as he strolled to the small, unattached garages that littered the cul de sac.

This one in particular belonged to his Grandfather, Balthazar, who had spent his whole life teaching Castiel to be himself and live a little. The old man had left him the greatest gift he'd ever received.

The rusty red door squealed in pathetic protest as it was shoved upwards, shuddering pitifully as he entered the dusty garage.

He sauntered over to a bulky shape covered by a blue tarp, tracing a palm over the old and battered material, he smiled to himself.

“Hello baby, I missed you” he closed his hand into a fist, gripping the tarpaulin, and yanked it off. In its dusty wake stood his pride and joy, a 1967 Triumph Bonneville T120 motorbike in all it's shiny glory, although it hadn't always looked this good

. When he had first stumbled across this as a child, his grandad had left it to deteriorate. But Castiel fell in love with it at first sight and restored it to its original self, though finding the parts had been hard to do without being caught by his parents, but eventually he succeeded.

Castiel wheeled her outside, whistling a simple, spontaneous tune that echoed around the trees that shielded the garage from first glance.

After he'd locked the door to his hideaway, he straddled the bike. Feeling the smooth cool tank between his knees, he looked down at it while slipping his fingerless gloves on.

The supporting leg was soon kicked up to rest against the bike, the initial sputtering then slid into a thunderous purr as he started the engine, shot juddering vibrations right down to his groin.

This sexy bike did things to his knees, he'd never experienced anything that quite compared to riding his bike.

Except maybe sex.

Chapter Text

Hours later the purr of his bike filled up the streets of Wilcox, Arizona. Castiel enjoyed the night life here, but that's not why he came.


Parking his bike in a shady spot on Main Street he meandered into the old part of town, where the streets were mostly made up of dirt and dust. Trailers and tiny houses littered the side of the road.


This was nothing like Castiels home town, the streets consisted of winding dirt roads, fields wedged between properties where mindless cattle grazed none the wiser. Laundry was hung higgeldy piggeldy on porches, out of windows and in tiny gardens. Faded signs hung on walls that had essentially given up.


The residents themselves were no better. Rednecks born and raised in this southern town with the drawl to prove it. Most of them never made it past high school and wouldn't make it in the real world even if they got there.


So they ended up in this backwater, smudge-on-the-map, town enjoying simple lives with each other.


With dusk only just falling, Castiel knew he had plenty of time to burn before the clubs opened. On Sunday the holy communion would take place again, and he wanted to make sure he could deal with the bullshit. He would have to play happy families with his siblings and parents, making sure the church members felt welcome.


He shuddered.


Not now, he couldn’t think about that right now. He had an entire day to spit on his family name and enjoy his little secret before he went back to being the youngest Novak, and he was not going to waste it.


He slipped into his favourite tavern and quickly made his way over bar. He sat on one of the creaky metal stools and absentmindedly twisting one of the steel hoops in his ears.


He hadn't been there long before the bartender slid him a margarita, little umbrella and all. Glancing around the dim-lounge filled with the usual crowd he spotted a well dressed man at one of the booths, also drinking a margarita. The man offered him a shy smile.


His feet carried him over to the table and he quietly slipping into the booth, joining the man,


"Not my usual drink but the good tequila sure makes up for it." He offered his million dollar smile"


On the other side of the table the man pushed the umbrella around his glass, amused.


"Ah, you prefer stiff drinks? I can resolve that-"


"You could always take me for a stiff drink later to make up for it?" Castiel whispered, watching the man over the sugar coated rim of his glass. His foot ghosted up the other man's calf.


A smouldering look slipped into the strangers eyes as he caught Castiels´s gaze.


"Less talking, meet me outside by the mercedes." Slapping down some cash he left a smirking Castiel, who followed him out soon after.


All thoughts of Sunday were swept out of his mind as he climbed into the car, ready to have him fuck his worries away.


————Three days later————


Castiel held the silver platter with the sacramental bread, watching the church-goers line up to take part in the holy communion. The wafers lay pale and anaemic, waiting to be eaten.


As usual, his white shirt was buttoned all the way to the top, slacks without a single crease, a pale blue bow tie and a black jersey to fend off the bitter May winds. Impeccably shiny brogues that squeaked indignantly with every step and, much to his parents dismay, his dark wild hair refused to be tamed, keeping to its usual unruly mass.


Loud organ music fills the echo belly of the church, the candles did not ease the gloom as he slipped a wafer between the lips of the first lady. She smelled like cat piss.


The line continued to surge forwards one by one. After eating the hostias the Reverend gave them wine.


Castiel stared at the feet of the congregation, not wanting to make unnecessary eye contact.


He would glance up slightly to make sure that he wouldn’t miss their mouths when he found a pair of beautiful hazel green eyes staring back and his mind went blank. Deep crystals like beautiful green forests, a curious stare lined with something indescribable.


Gentle fingers grasped his wrist to draw his hand closer to luscious, pouty lips that waited, slightly parted. He could feel the warm breath of this stranger against his trembling fingers.


He stared into the strangers eyes, the sermon nothing but a muffled rumble, the shuffling of church goers just fading until there was nothing.


The wafer touched the other boy's lips, a whisper of a kiss against his fingers had Castiel's breath hitching.


Castiel felt him lick the pad of his digit, taking the hostia into his mouth before releasing his hand. On his finger the warm dampness was quickly cooling.


The clear hazel green eyes were gone by the time Castiel could think straight again. In their place an older man who's very presence was chilling.


The man's blue eyes gripped his stare with a fierce hold. A polite smile, that didn't quite reach his eyes, decorated his lips. Castiel was being spoken to.




“I said, are you going to stand staring all day or may I have the bread and move onto the wine?”


Castiel flushed slightly, realising that he must have zoned out. He slipped the hostia into the stranger's mouth and glanced around to see if he can see the green eyed boy.


There was a rustling as the Reverend stood up.


“Thank you for coming today, it would not have been the same without such a beautiful following. Today I would like to introduce two new members to our flock. Dean Winchester and Cain Marked. They've moved into our neighbourhood and decided to join our church.”


Castiel's eyes fix on the young boy he guessed was Dean. He was glad he had a name to those eyes and knew he would dream of them for nights to come.


Once the sermon and ceremony were over some of the church goers stayed behind for a chat and cake.


Castiel lingered beside the lunch table as his father instructed him, it's not long before he spotted Dean and Cain.


He squinted at how close Cain is standing behind Dean. One hand on his shoulder that was possessively gripping the flesh beneath. He caught Dean's eye and quirked his mouth in a friendly smile and watched as Dean excused himself to go grab a drink, and proceeded to walk right up to Castiel.

“Hey.” Dean grabbed a glass and smiled shyly, his cheeks flushed.


“Hello Dean.” Castiel, who was distracted by being the sole focus of Deans eyes, found himself stumbling over himself as he went to fill his glass up, splashing some on Deans pristine white shirt, he gasped.


“Oh my gosh I am so sorry-“


“That'll do, I'll clean my boy up.” Cain's cold voice cut though the moment. Castiel noticed Dean flinch at the man's words and he frowned.


“We have towels in the back, I'll go get you one…”


"No need we were just leaving.” Cain put his hand on Dean's shoulder.


“Be seeing you, young man” Cain growled warningly, as he stared at him with a cold look as though Cas were an old piece of chewing gum.


“Yeah. See you next week” he said looking at Dean, he wanted to know that Dean wasn't mad at him.


The boy in question finally looked up from his shoes, a blank expression on his face, one that Castiel recognised all to well as a poker face to hide fear.


“See you then Cas.”


Cain steered Dean to the exit and they left as quietly as they had arrived. As silent as shadows.

The Novak boy knew for a fact something wasn't right with the new comers.


Who was that Castiel?” He flinched at his mother's voice right in his ear.


"Father introduced them, Mother. They are new to the neighbourhood and have decided to join our church.” He mumbled offhandedly as he poured a church member some punch.


“I expect them to feel welcome, you should take some meatloaf over tomorrow after school.” His mother had the habit of making requests that weren't requests.

“Of course, anything you say, Mother.” Castiel wrinkled his nose at the smell of her bitter perfume but smiled politely as he poured some punch into her glass.

She walked away, casually conversing with the flock. He watched her with a well hidden resentment. His mother had always appeared civil and friendly, however when her own children were concerned she was ruthless, deceptive and manipulative.


Using her motherhood over her offspring to keep them all on a tight leash. Their house was ruled under her iron fist and resembled a military base more than a home.


She never let Castiel out of the house unless one of his brothers and sister were with him. She had never beaten her children, no of course not that was a sin, but she hadn't stopped others from hurting her ´beloved´ children.


Naomi was an important player in the church, always had been for as long as Castiel could remember, but she would sacrifice her sons and daughter if it meant she could have more influence.


At 17 the youngest Novak not only had to deal with his Parents scrutinizing gaze, but also the constant prodding from his siblings.


The second youngest Novak, Gabriel was only two years older then him, but unlike the rest of his family, he was quiet. Castiel remembered the sarcastic, grinning side to his brother that disappeared when their father started belting him for his childish pranks.


Then came Zachariah, at age 23 he was an arrogant individual. With his sharp wit and cheerful exterior he was able to talk his way out of anything he wanted. Beneath it all Zachariah was a cruel bastard whose eyes shone with unbridled glee at the thought of hurting someone, physically or emotionally. Castiel made sure he was never in the same room alone with him.


Lucifer and Michael the twins, both aged 26, and could do no wrong in his father's eyes. They were inseparable and never left each other's side. Michael had practically raised his cheeky brother and he loved him the most.

Michael was as loyal to his brother and parents as Lucifer was problematic. Lucifer had an illness of the mind, schizophrenia, but his parents refused to give him any sort of medication, they simply prayed for salvation whilst poor old Lucifer would rock himself whispering and mumbling, deep in conversation with himself as Michael cared for him.


Raphael at age 30 believed himself to be their father's second in command. He was a carbon copy of Chuck and already had church camp, the seminary under his belt and was nearing his final years as the churches deacon. He was only a couple months away from becoming a priest, and then his dream and only goal in life would come true.


And finally, there was Castiel's beloved Anna. His sweet eldest sibling who, at age 31, had not spoken a word to anyone except Castiel since her suicide attempt. His seven year old self had been sitting outside the bathroom listening to her cry, retching at the intense fear he felt. Fat salty tears streamed down his cheeks as he banged on the door for hours, before crumpling against the hard surface, sobbing hoarsely for her to come out. The phone he had dialled 911 on still clutched in his pale hand.

Eventually, she had unlocked the door and led him over to the bathtub, climbing inside with him. Wrapping him up in her bloody arms, the stench of blood and vomit filling his sinuses as they held eachother.

He was not even aware he was still sobbing for her to not die. The police had later extracted his weak body from her pale almost lifeless one, taking her to the hospital where she was placed in intensive care.


She had only spoken to him since that day.


Yes, they looked like the perfect family portrait, all mingled between the church goers, smiling and laughing at mindless small talk.


That night Castiel dreamt of green eyes when he slipped into bed. Cain´s hold over Dean unnerved him, he made up his mind to talk to the boy tomorrow afternoon, whilst he delivered the meatloaf.

Chapter Text

Dean wished he could move, he really did, but he had been told to stay still. So still he would stay, the routine deeply imbedded in his psyche.
The pattern always started with Cain demanding that he kneel, his back straight and his shoulders were relaxed, the boy would stare straight ahead.
He had tied his arms behind his back, taking care to be extremely gentle, and then lowered him carefully onto his front.
Cain slipped the rope around his ankle, tying it once before wrapping and securing the rope into to the groove between the hip and the thigh. He then wrapped it up four times evenly spaced towards the knee, following the rope with soft caresses.
Cain then slid the rope tails under the band closest to the knee and did a munter hitch on each band working his way down. Wrapping the rope around the lowest band he started knotting his way up the other side. Tying a lock knot on the band nearest to his thigh. Cain sat back to test if it was secure, before repeating the process on the other leg.
Dean found himself distracted as Cain worked silently, his experienced hands skimming over his leg, every time he closed his eyes he was greeted with the memory of those orbs full of glorious blue, oceans and lakes and skies. He revelled in this safe haven, away from Cain, behind his closed eyelids. Soon to join those pictures were waves of soft black hair, wild and unmanageable.
Dean wanted to run his fingers through those rebellious locks.
His fingers twitched against his shoulder blades where they lay bound, encouraging that thought.
Dean was pulled roughly out of his reveries by the harsh voice of Cain, commanding him to test if his arms were secure.

It was in moments like these Dean could relish in his daydreams, while outside his little sanctuary Cain did whatever he wanted to his body. His life sucked so why not give himself something nice to dwell on, an escape from reality. Otherwise being Cain's chew toy piece of ass would drive him insane…

Castiel, the boy's name was Castiel.

The owner of those sharp blue eyes and wild sex hair. The face behind the deep gravelly voice that to Deans ears sounded more like a caress. He shuddered.

When the Novak boy had looked into his eyes Dean had felt brave. No one had ever looked at him in such a way before, he had felt... needed.

Cain wanted him, but it was possessive and wolfish. Meanwhile Castiel's gaze screamed need, it was a natural and innocent desire that had satisfaction pooling in his gut, it ignited a longing within him to be brave and daring, to rush to the shorter boy's side.

Dean suspected that the stranger's story wasn't much different to his, why else would he see so much recognition in his eyes?

His fingers had grasped the other boy´s wrist of their own accord and moved the delicate hand attached to it to his lips.

With those agonisingly blue eyes blown wide with shock he had felt daring, taking Castiel's fingers between his lips, the sensations made the rest of world disappear around him until it was just the boys left.

The focus of those wide ocean blue eyes on him burned as he dragged his tongue slowly over the pad of his finger, before he released his grip on those slender digits and moved to one side. His heart was beating a million a minute at the adrenaline rush he had just put himself through. The danger and excitement of defying his guardian undetected.

He´d loved every second of it.
His mind was with Castiel as he heard Cain moving somewhere behind him, out of sight because his face was planted in the pillow. Cain was probably lighting his favourite candles, wax play day was coming early then, huh.

Dean felt Cain prop him up so that he was kneeling with his legs parted,
unable to stretch them out, wincing at the strain.

His arms were pinned on his back so his hands lay palm up between his shoulder blades and his chest was against the bed with head to one side, wincing as a drop of wax landed between his shoulder blades.

Often Cain would make him hold this position for hours, with the most vulnerable parts of his body on display, until Dean begged the older man to release him.
Dean leant forwards slightly to alleviate the pressure on his muscles that were starting to cramp, as Cain let another burning droplet of wax land lower on his spine causing him to yelp.
"I thought I told you not to move." Cain's smooth voice pierced the silence.
Dean uttered a muffled apology through the pillow. He felt the bed dip under the other man's weight, a light hand ghosting upon his hip. He fought to keep his body from tensing. He knew better than to disobey his guardian. Dean felt Cain's fingers sink into his sweat spiked hair before he was roughly pulled up against the older man's body.
"You know you should really stay still, it was painting such a beautiful image Dean, but now you’ve ruined it. So selfish Dean." Cain's hot breath was on his ear. The harsh whisper clouded his mind, the smell of stale breath assaulting his senses. He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the sensations.
"My legs were cramping badly sir, I'm sorry-"
"No excuses boy. I don't want to hear them." He released the boy, tracing the half hardened droplets of wax that ran down his back from his ass to the back of his neck, the after effects of having been displayed on his knees, his chest flush with the bed with a lit candle hanging above him. Cain untied the black rope that bound him yet Dean remained silent.
"Go get cleaned up and then we shall take a walk out to the beehives boy, what do you say?" Cain was watching him with a tender smile, the anger of Dean's disobedience no longer in his eyes as he spoke of his beloved bees.
"Yes sir." Dean mumbled as he hurried, naked, out of the master bedroom. His back was sore from the now cooling wax that cracked as he made his way to the bathroom. He rubbed the red lines that covered his body, the tingles making him shiver as the blood flooded back into his flesh.
Closing the door and sliding the lock home helped Dean clean his thoughts as he got to removing the wax from of his tender skin.
Today was Sammy's birthday.
Dean's little brother Sam was 14 today. He would probably be celebrating with some of his dorky friends at home, or even at his favourite diner with Mom and Dad. He wouldn’t even wonder where his big brother was.
"Happy birthday Bitch." He whispered to the empty room.
There was a time when the Winchesters were the cereal box family. Successful parents that owned their own business, the handsome older brother who after one rummage around under the hood of a car would know exactly what was wrong with it. The smart youngest member of the family who was really going places.
That was them, a happy, successful family.
That was until John and Mary Winchester began travelling, taking their business around the globe, spending months away from their family home and their sons. Never staying in one place for more then a few nights. They entrusted Cain with looking after their boys, much to Deans horror.
Sammy had been young enough to be none the wiser about Cain's visits, the goofball was only four at the time of Cain's first drop in at the family home in Laurence, but Dean was a cheeky eight year old who always looked out for his little brother and saw far too much. At his young age Dean thought Cain was just being cuddly, always petting him, Cain would even help Dean bathe.
But Dean remembered in agonizing detail, the older man's stays. The petting of his hair, the way he always found himself in Cain's lap, even when he got older. The older man insisted on giving him what he thought were simply friendly touches...
Dean was a troubled teenager and lost his way, he never told anyone about Cain and therefore suffered in the comfort of his sheets, his tears making the pillows damp night after night.
He never asked for help, never cried in front of his family and never let them know what was going on. The pent up storm of anger and frustration was too much on him and he started fighting, bullying other students and disappearing from their house for days on end to release some steam. He was not a victim no matter what Cain put him through.
Dean was a mess. His life was out of sync with his mind, he felt like he was on a fucked up trip making the world pass him by in a muffled vivid swirl of colour. He was the mouse in the cat's jaws, being shaken till he threw up.
When Dean was 12, he told his younger brother all about Cain. How he was a bad man and that Sammy should stay away as much as he could. The floppy haired boy's bottom lip trembled, but seeing this Dean swore to protect his baby brother for the rest of his life, no matter the cost.
At the age of 16 he was, what the many schools he had been kicked out of called, a 'problem child'. He had been arrested for stealing and fighting and for his parents that was the last straw.
John and Mary Winchester were worried Sam would turn out like the mess his older brother so that night, on the drive home from the police station, their parents told a battered and bruised Dean and a wide eyed Sammy that, as they were both underage, they were going to be sent off to a religious reformatory boarding school. Ignoring their protests they sent off the application forms the minute they got home.
Naturally, Sam was immediately accepted, but Dean was refused. That was when they had sent him off to live with their close family friend, Cain.
Sometimes the only thing that kept him going was knowing Sammy was safe in the school. Living contentedly far from Cain's clutches.
Shuddering, he turned the shower on and stepped under the spray.
Once he was done cleansing the memories off his skin, Dean made his way out into the hall where Cain was waiting by the front door, umbrella in hand and a long black jacket making the intimidating man seem even more so.
The way his chiselled figure blocked the light that filtered through the open door, showing off every sharp angle of his silhouette, reminded Dean of an eclipse.
"Let's go. It may rain so wear your rain coat." Cain uttered softly, eyeing him. He constantly treated Dean like a doll, dressing him how he wanted him to be dressed, feeding him the exact food and portion sizes that Cain wanted. Not that he forced the boy, there simply was no choice.
Dean never gained, nor lost, weight or changed much at all, still with the hairstyle he had had when he was twelve. Cain liked him to look young.
The familiar crinkle of plastic that was his coat was the only noise as Dean got ready to go.
It was like this every Monday morning. Dean would wake up to firm arms around his middle, he would wait for Cain's alarm to wake the slumbering mass of hair and muscle, and then, after a joint or solo shower, he would let the older man tie him up in a new, intricate way.
Cain would then take photos, simply caress Dean's skin or use his body. Sometimes the older man would take advantage of the bondage and other days he would ask Dean to initiate it. Dean knew that Cain enjoyed his discomfort.
But there would always be the pictures. Photos that he would store in a photo album, all dated and named and kept in Dean's room, both as a reminder and as a humiliating dig that left him squirming in his seat each time he had one of those rare visitors.
Then they would go for a walk to the beehives, where they would gather honey for breakfast.
Coming back to the present, Dean zipped his coat all the way up to his chin snuggly.
"Take my arm Dean, and let's go." Cain waited until Dean had slipped his hand in the crook of his arm before opening the door for them both and locking it behind himself. The taller man smiled contentedly.
The whole way to the beehives the Winchester boy stayed silent, listening to Cain's polite small talk and nodding when spoken to.
It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining brilliantly in the sapphire sky, the flowers were blooming and all sorts of creatures were happily enjoying one of the rare beautiful days of May.
Some time later, at the beehives, Dean watched Cain turn the faucets on his modern miniature sheds that he was so proud of.
The sweet nectar flowed freely from them into the jars Cain placed beneath them. His guardian was fond of bees, he had once said they were noble creatures and always visited them in the early morning when the dew still covered the grass in a silvery blanket.
Up here between the many flowers, bushes, and trees Dean didn’t feel like he was in Wilcox. Cain had made the dry land bloom under his touch, the fruits and vegetables were always delicious and the other products of the harvest were crisp, juicy and sweet.
He could forget for a moment the shit storm his life had become when he was here in the garden, it flourished so happily under Cain's gentle touch and for a moment Dean wondered why he couldn't have the same respect, the same feeling of being cherished.
Blinking away those thoughts as Cain waved at him, the box filled with his honey made from wild sweet clovers, raspberry flowers and alfalfa, the jars clinking musically together.
The walk home is shorter and once home he busied himself with making lunch for them both.
___Couple hours later___
The doorbell rang, pulling Dean out from his thoughts. He had been staring at the stained glass window of a bee for a while now as he stirred a glaze for the vegetables he was preparing on a low heat.
"Were you expecting visitors?" Cain asked from where his salt and pepper head bent over the daily newspapers he loved.
"No, I'll get it."
His feet carried him over to the door, opening it slightly to peer out at the visitors. His mind lost all train of thought when he spotted Castiel standing there, a dish in his hands.
"Hello Dean." A shy smile played on his lips as he lifted the dish in offering.
"Hey... Castiel, I wasn’t expecting you." The Winchester opened the door wider to see a smiling Naomi was standing just behind Castiel.
"Hi Dean, I'm Naomi Novak, Castiel's mother. We made you and your father some Meatloaf, it's my own recipe.” The dish was pushed into his line of vision. “May we come in and say hello to Mr Marked?”
Dean smiled politely but his eyes were conflicted. “I'm afraid he may be busy.“ Dean stiffened as a rough palm weighed his shoulder down.
Cain chuckled and shook his head at Naomi knowingly. “I can talk for myself Boy, why don't you go make the lovely Mrs Novak and her son some tea or coffee?” Cain smiled patronisingly down at Dean, his voice layered with false charm that oozed off of each word.
Before he could run off to the kitchen Naomi butted in, stopping him in his tracks.
“Castiel, go help him. I would like to talk to Mr Marked about his view on the sermon he attended.” Castiel's mother was practically purring.
The Winchester glanced warily up at his guardian, only he would know the look of displeasure Cain is wearing. He had grown accustomed to the fleeting changes that were barely noticeable under his calm composure.

“What are you waiting for Dean? Make the lovely Mrs Novak a beverage.” Cain was definitely not a happy camper.

Grasping Castiel's sleeve he dragged the boy towards the kitchen.
“Please, call me Cain.” was the last thing he heard before he and Castiel were out of earshot. He closed the kitchen door. “You shouldn't be here Castiel. Cain doesn't like surprises.” He rubbed his face and sighed.
Castiel popped his hip out and rolled his eyes exasperatedly.
“Since when does it matter what he thinks? Anyway it wasn't even my fault. Mother forced me to.” It was hilarious to see the composed facade he'd seen Castiel wear, slipping away, he was acting like a toddler. " Plus, I wanted to see you again." Wait what?
"Oh yeah? And why's that?" Dean mused as he dumped the coffee granules into the mugs, leaving the spoon by the sink as he turned to the kettle that was boiling dutifully.
Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose: "I don't know man, you're new in town, I bet you don't have any friends and your dad is a creepy guy-"
The Novak boy never got to finish his sentence.
Dean's fist connected to his jaw and stars burst behind his eyes. He doubled over holding his jaw groaning. "What the fuck man?" He stilled at Dean's expression of barely contained fury.
"Cain is not my father, he is not of my blood, don't you dare assume..." Dean made a frustrated noise when he stopped and stared at Castiel's jaw. "What.. What is that...?"
Dean could see a smudged black mark on Castiel's chin, almost like a flower...
Before Dean could take a closer look Castiel's hand clamped over the mark, his cheeks flushed both from the punch and also embarrassment as he levelled his gaze at Dean. "You'd better not tell anyone."
Looking down at his own fist Dean smudged the foundation over his knuckles before grabbing Castiel's hand. "Come with me."
Soon Dean is dragging a confused Castiel through the kitchen and quietly tiptoeing through the hallway. The deep blue walls were almost claustrophobic despite being a large space. Castiel's attention is everywhere as they made their way through the dark and somehow empty house. Dean knew the Novak boy was seeing a very 'Cain' space, devoid of any evidence of Dean´s existence. Like Dean is a guest in his own house.
The house had always reminded Dean of a bachelor pad. All of Cain's houses did, they were like show houses, cold and barren.
Kinda like a prison.
They raced up the winding stairs before reaching the landing. The deep blue paint followed them, keeping the entire house clinical and rich.
Dean pushed through the doors, into the large room he called home. It was always tidy in here, sterile almost.
Books sat quietly on their shelves, all colour coordinated, naturally. His plaid shirts all hanging side by side in his closet were the only homely luxury he was allowed. Everything else is all Cain.
His bedspread is a soft grey, his shelves bare of knick-knacks and the walls were bare of posters. This did not mean that he didn't keep a box under his bed, full of his things from home. It was probably dusty with disuse by now.
Large windows let the light in, partially covered by sweeping curtains that boxed the windows in.
Yeah, this was home to Dean. Note the sarcasm.
He let Castiel's arm drop to his side. His nose wrinkling at the smell of Febreze.
“Sit on the bed.” Dean told Cas as he grabbed a small box from the closet. Returning to sit beside him, he removed the lid which held his make up inside the container.
Castiel snorted. “Why do you own make up?”
“Why are you wearing make up?” Deans eyebrow quirked in challenge.
“Touché.” Castiel nodded at him, a grin that didn't quite reach his lips, a sparkle in his eyes.
Castiel didn't speak while Dean applied foundation to his jaw. Blending it so that it matched his first layer.
“So.” Castiel finally spoke, Dean could see his jaw clenching slightly as he worked on it. “We both either watch too much Jeffrey Star or we both have secrets.” Castiel's strong fingers gripped Deans jaw making him look at him. “Which is it?”
Scoffing, Dean pulled himself away from Castiel's grip. “Definitely the first. You think these lips are natural? More like nude.” Dean pouted mockingly, pulling out Vaseline from the box and applied it like it was Mac lipstick.
Both of them giggle and grinned at each other.
“Nice to know you can actually laugh. You generally look like you're constipated.” Dean retorted.
“Oh yeah? Well you look like someone stole you're sweet roll!”
“Is that a video game reference??”
Castiel's jaw dropped. "You've never played Skyrim??"
"I only have my phone..." Dean looked down at the battered iPhone.
Castiel stood up. "Next Thursday come to my place and Ill show you how frigging awesome Skyrim is."
Dean smiled up at his new friend. He´d never had a friend before. This thought was interrupted as Cain's cool voice called up the stairs.
"Dean, will you please finish the drinks? It's very rude of you." Dean sighed, rubbing his chest. "Yeah, coming."
In an instant Dean was on his feet rushing out the door, leaving Castiel in the solitude of his room.
When entering the kitchen Dean heard Naomi laugh at something Cain said. His top lip curled in disgust.
Cain was vile man who could work his magic on people with his charisma. It disgusted Dean to his core the way people stumbled over each other when he smiled.
As the boiling water was poured into the matching aquamarine mugs, Bible quotes peppering the faded sides, Dean watched the steam rise with the warm smell of coffee. He sighed softly to himself.
He pushed the door open with his foot and walked into the living room with the tray of drinks sitting heavily in his hands. Purposely avoiding eye contact with them both.
The mugs clinked as he set the tray down. He added sugar and cream to Cain's coffee, before holding it out for his guardian. "Would you like any cream or sugar Mrs. Novak?" Cain's hands gripped the mug tightly, his fingers catching Dean's and before either of them can react the bitter contents slosh out, splashing Cain's white shirt.
Dean can only stare. He knew what this meant, he was going to be punished and the prospect scared him shitless.
"Oh my. Sir, I-I am so sorry... I am so so clumsy." He winced when Cain's level stare forced his eyes up.
Cain smiled, but in his eyes venom swirled stormily amongst the clear blue of his irises. "Oh Dean that was my favourite shirt." He scolded playfully, but it was all a show, he didn’t want to make a scene.
It was when Cain's hand rested on his belt buckle that he swallowed hard. No, anything but the belt. Trembling slightly his eyes flickered back up to the older man's.
Naomi clicked her tongue and shook her head from where she was perched in the armchair, mug between her palms steaming softly. "Kids, so cute when they're little... Then they grow up and the party's over." She shrugged and smiled patronizingly at Dean.
Cain pushed Dean gently towards the doorway. "Go to your room Dean, you’ve left Castiel alone. You know that’s rude."
The words from Cain's lips were all Dean needed for him to run to his room. He didn't stop till the door slammed behind him and he had a chair pressed up against the handle. Taking deep breaths he leant his forehead against the wood for a moment, knowing his ass would hurt for weeks after tonight. "Hey man, I'm so sorry for ditching you that fast-" As he turned his heart stopped.
Castiel was holding his photo album. The one that whose outside was a soft cream colour, lace flowers decorate the binding, the word "Family" was printed in a flouncy scrawl. The same book that held all the wretched photos of Dean tied up, Dean after being fucked with semen on his ass, Dean's raw wrists from the ropes, Dean in humiliating positions that Cain loved to put him in, there were pictures of Dean gagged, Dean on his knees with Cain's dick in his mouth.
God. Everything he wanted to burn and rip from his life was in. That. God. Damn. Book.
Castiel didn’t notice Dean's return, his expression was blank and the book was slack in his hands. Dean could feel the intensity radiating off of his friend and he was terrified.
This was his worst nightmare.
"Cas..." He croaked weakly, his voice had forgotten how to work and the words choked and stuck in his throat.
After what felt like an eternity Castiel looked up. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he simply stared at Dean blankly and whispered:

Chapter Text

"You don't know me Castiel."

He was choking, seeing the animosity burning so brightly in Dean's eyes, he could do nothing but look at the floor. "You come to this house, into my room. You see me at church but you don’t know me. You don’t know me at all. Don't pretend and for fucks sake!"

Dean slammed his fist against the bookcase making it shudder, a soft cloud of dust flying up into the air between them. "Do not pity me." His voice was dangerously low.
In a few short strides Dean was across the room. Yanking the damned book from his slack grip and slamming it close. Both of them flinched at the sound. Dean slid the album back on the shelf where is nestled snuggly between the other books, seemingly innocent.

"I.. Dean I don’t."

Cain was a paedophile. He couldn’t even think about how young Dean had been in the first picture, eight? Ten? The fear in the green eyes, that Castiel was just getting to know, had been agonisingly clear to see. A small boy that should have been hugged and told bedtime stories having to go through all that. Where were Dean's mom and dad? Why was he here with Cain? Why hadn't he escaped?

Dean dropped to his knees in front of Castiel so they were the same height. The sharp grip on Castiel's chin was enough to wrench him from his darkening train of thought. This was wrong, this was perverse, this was a whole other level of fucked up.

"I can see it in your eyes, you think I'm some 'victim', something you gotta save. I don't break that easy and I am fucking fine."

Castiel snapped, he grabbed Dean's arm where he was holding his jaw tightly between his fingers and yanked it off him. He stood up and knocked Dean back on his ass as he did so.

A huff of surprise is wrenched from Dean's lips as Castiel towered over him, a thunderous look on his face and his fists clenched tightly to his side.

"First off, shut the fuck up." It came out as more of a growl but Cas wasn't really in control of himself right now. "You don't think you deserve to be saved you idiot? And who said anything about saving? You're not some Princess Peach!” He took a shaky breath in a futile attempt to calm down. He knew he was lying to himself.

"Just.. tell me one thing, Dean. How long? How long have you been with Cain or how long have you been kept here?" The beautiful boy in front of him winced at the choice of words.

"You don't want-" Castiel's eyes were on the bookcase, on that wretched book. God he hated those pictures. "You don't want this right?" He searched Dean's eyes for a sign, anything would do.

Then there was nothing but silence. The ticking of a wall clock and soft breaths trying to even out were a loud contrast to the hollow silence.

Dean shook his head ever so slightly, a barely noticeable movement.


Hardly a whisper, but it was an answer, and that was enough for Castiel. He, himself was no stranger to sexual abuse, but seeing this boy that couldn't escape, or at least didn't seem to know how to, rotting in the shell of his own secluded mind behind Cain's mahogany doors pristine walls.

It made his blood boil.

Cas? Castiel listen to me. Forget you saw that okay? Fuck.. stay with me dude. You can't tell anyone please... Please!" Dean's voice broke under the strain of his emotions.

"Hey..." Castiel made himself focus on Deans eyes. "I promise. Okay? I want you to meet me the Thursday after next. Will you be free?"

Dean scratched his scalp with his blunt nails. The rims of his eyes were red and misty. "Y-yeah, Cain will be at work but it'll be time controlled."

Castiel nodded, that was better then nothing. "Meet me in town, outside the church." He brushed his fingers over Deans short, spiked hair gently.


“Dean I'm so sorry..”

Resisting the impulse to press his head further into the other boy's touch, Dean sighed and rubbed his cheek. Sitting back on his heels he stared at the floor between them. “Please, don't pity me.”

-------Next Thursday-------

Castiel knew he was way too early, but it was waiting in front of the church for an extra hour or two, or spending that time organising Lucifer's medication into his pill boxes. As much as he loved his brother he knew if the other twin saw him, Michael would bully him into taking on the task of convincing Luci to drink water. The poor soul said it tasted funny and that it was contaminated by the church, he resolutely refused to drink it unless it was by Gabriel or Michael's hands.

A rustling to his left caught his attention and he watched as Dean came closer, hands deep in his pockets, eyes down avoiding his gaze. Looks like you're early too.

"Hey. So what are we doing here?" He nodded pointedly at the church he family owned.

"We're here to talk Dean, it's empty today so we can be alone. Plus." Cas slipped the key inside the lock and opened the heavy door, a chilly gust of air from inside the church had him shivering and longing for the sun to rise already.
"There's someone I want you to meet. I know you asked me not to tell anyone but she isn't just anyone. I promise it'll be worth it. Please, just trust me?"

Deans eyes flick on him nervously but he nods after a second. "Fine."

They made their way through the pews to the front where the altar glistened behind the pulpit.

The Novaks had spent so much on this church, it was his mother's pride and joy. A sanctuary for the flock, a place of work for her husband the preacher, a home to her children to always live with God, a place for them to be nurtured under his blessings and love.

It made him want to throw up.

The hollow belly of the Novak church was cold. Stone walls and a high ceiling prevented warmth for ever settling between these walls. It was dreary even under the glorious altar that stood tall and proud, the statues and images climbing up the northern wall, like a fountain stemming from the ground up.

It was an impressive sight. The large cross, made from an old oak tree, carved to perfection and polished lovingly by Zachariah. The tapestries were woven by Anna, the detail in each one so perfect and minimalist. They hung gracefully from the walls telling the bible stories the Novak children grew up on.

Each and every Pew had been hand carved by both Zachariah and Raphael. It had taken them ages to make enough for the large hall, but after many months of back breaking work they had produced the sturdy benches for the behinds of the church folk to abuse.

Michael encouraged Lucifer to care for the gardens that surrounded the church, precariously tending for the primroses, the violets and the roses. It was the only time they ever saw him smile, he would even relax and for a few blissful hours there was not a sign of a panic attack or the suspicious glares they had all learnt to deal with.
Lucifer had surprised them all by taking his wheelchair out there and refusing to go back inside, often staring at the petals for hours until his neck was red from the sun. He often had to be dragged back inside screaming.

Both Gabriel and Castiel had helped with the construction of the church itself. Layering stone after stone with mortar and working alongside the constructors.

It was a church built by the family, for the family. Every corner of this place held a memory of Castiel's siblings or parents. There were dents in the benches from where lucifer had a tantrum and punched the seat. There was a flagstone that had tiny colourful flowers drawn on a corner that he and Anna had drawn one night when they snuck back inside after hours.
He loved his siblings dearly, he hated how controlled they were.

His thoughts came to focus on Dean. The quiet boy stood behind him staring at the altar, he could practically hear the buzzing of the boy's thoughts. Why should he pray to a God that never helped him? Why should he sacrifice everything for the Lord when, after all the shit in his life, nothing has ever been fixed?

“This is my family's church. I've lived here my whole life in the house upstairs, it's cold and gets damp really easily but.. it's home.”

Deans curious yet anxious gaze settled on him. “You live in a church?” They sank onto a bench close to the front.

“We built the church to have an upstairs home. It's pretty high up and we generally take the fire escape down into town but yeah. I guess we do… keeps us ‘close to God’ apparently.” He huffed.

Dean made a noise of acknowledgment, but after that neither of them really spoke for a while. They settled into each other's company and just stared up at the alter and the many paintings and tapestries that decorated the wall behind.

“I didn't see you Sunday, what happened?” He fiddled with his hoodie strings nervously. Not realising Dean is doing the same.

“Cain wasn't very happy that I ruined his shirt.. He decided to stay in." Deans eyes were downcast, looking at his feet.

"Ah..." He decided he was going to pretend he couldn't see the bruises that littered Deans soft features. The purple blue marks mottled his cheekbone, like a galaxy marbling over his tanned skin. "I... get scared of what could happen to you."

Deans entire body went suddenly rigid. His eyes were icy as they turned their heat on Castiel. "I'm not some wilting flower. I'm fine."

Castiel felt himself take a shaky breath. "Shut up and listen to me. This whole thing? Not your fault, and I want to be here for you. I know what it's like to be told to keep quiet about things people shouldn’t be doing. You wanna talk? I'm here for you. You wanna sit in silence till we're kicked out? That’s cool too. You know that what Cain is doing isn't right, you aren't blind to what's wrong or right, that much I know. In.. In those pictures..." He rubbed his face exasperated and struggling for words. "You didn’t want to be there and you were scared, hurt too. But I have no idea what's really going on. So please, tell me what's going on?" He didn't touch Dean, didn’t place his hand on his shoulder although that was exactly what he wanted to, so very badly.

It was well over five minutes before Dean spoke again. "Buddy, I ain't got a clue why you think this is your business..." The green eyed boy shook his head and gathered himself to stand up. Cas put a hand on his arm, halting the movement and drawing his gaze.

"You don’t deserve this. I can't sit back and mind my own business, I don’t want to sit around being useless when I can help." He winced at the desperate edge to his voice but didn’t let go of Dean.

Dean ripped his arm from the other boy's grip and growled darkly. "Cain may hurt me from time to time but he's given me a home, he feeds me and gives me clothes. I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for how stupid I was as a kid! Yeah? This is my fault and it could be so much worse." You can take your 'help' and shove it where the freaking sun don’t shine. Back off!"

"All I'm asking is for you to meet a friend of mine-"
The words were ripped from his mouth as he was shoved back hard against the pew in front. Gasping he held his chest looking up at Dean, his wild hair in his eyes as he stared at the boy from behind his lashes.

"FUCK YOUR FRIEND! I don’t know why I came why I bothered." He had to stop Dean before he left this church, before he could help him.


It was no more then a soft whisper and Dean shouldn’t have heard it but he did.

It had him turning to face Castiel, the hurricane of hatred barely raging behind those impossibly green eyes subsiding to make way for curiosity.
Cain had hurt the gentle soul behind those eyes. A soul that reminded him of his beloved sister.

"W-What?" Dean let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"My sister Anna. I minded my own business, I backed off because she "had it", because I was meddling in things I "didn't understand". Then one day her boyfriend hurt her so bad she tried to... tried to kill herself." Castiel's shoulders straightened and he was proud of how deceivingly even his voice was. "I will not make that mistake again."

By the look on Dean's face Cas knew that was all he needed to say. A secret for a secret.

They both sat in silence, nothing was heard inside the belly of the church. Eventually, Dean nodded.
“Fine, I'll meet this friend.”

Castiel couldn't stop the soft smile that reached his lips. “Okay.” He was going to save Dean Winchester.

As they left the cold gloom of the church that he knew so well, he dug his hands into his pockets. Fleeting memories of the douchebag Anna had loved. It hurt knowing that she thought he was something she could fix. Although It had ended up breaking her.

Castiel lead them both to a small diner that opened its doors on the corner of the Main Street. Its sign was rusty and sun had eaten away at most of the colour, but everyone knew that Donna's Diner served the best pie in town.

The door opened with a clanging of the bell, this place was heaven to Castiel. Directing Dean to a booth on the corner, he smiled fondly at Donna, a cheery woman who took care of all her customers. Fresh pie, free refills, an extra helping of chicken and waffles, anything you could ever want, Donna had. Donna was like the aunt he never had and he knew she would look after Dean.

“Hi Castiel, it's been forever.” Kevin, the waiter, set two glasses of water on the table.

He grinned back and gave his friend hug.

"Hello Kev. It's good to see you."

Kevin Tran was the smartest kid Castiel knew. He was in chess club, math club, history club, language club, the peer tutoring club and the music club. He worked part time here at Donna's Diner and still had time to ace all his classes. He was even going onto Advanced Placement next year.
The nerdy pansexual Asian was also a good friend of Castiel's, he would sneak out to Kevin's place on Thursdays and play Legend of Zelda under pillow forts or watch the Dark Knight movie, searching for plot holes and always ending up shoving popcorn down eachother's shirts in fits of giggles.

Kevin had also been his first kiss with a boy.

He tried to dismiss the slight blush that rose to his cheeks. He and Kevin had grown up running around the church yard together. They'd been best friends most of their lives as Castiel's parents thought Kevin was a good influence, not to mention the boy was a sweet innocent studious little guy.
They'd been hanging out at the Tran house because Linda wasn't as strict as his parents and let them stay up well past 10pm, watching Spartacus in Kevin's room. When the Agron and Nasir kiss scene started getting a little heated Castiel was confused that two men were getting frisky. Kevin then suggested maybe they could try out the kiss and the rest, as they say, was history.

"This is Dean, he's new in town." Castiel sat back down, what if Dean was still mad at him or not comfortable? Maybe he shouldn't have pushed him to...
He discreetly sent a text.

"Heya Kevin, Dean Winchester." Deans sticking his hand out to shake, smiling with a shy twist of his lips that had Cas's breath hitching slightly.

Kevin shook the offered hand with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. "Gotta say Castiel, this place may be pretty cool but its not first date material. You shoulda taken this cutie outta town, somewhere fancy." Kevin was leaning on the table with his elbows bent, looking between them both waggling his brows.

Dean choked on his drink, spluttering water down his chin and soaking the front of his plaid shirt. "W-what?"

Castiel didn't think his cheeks could get any redder. "Um Kev this isn't a date... We're waiting for someone." He sipped his water looking at everything except Dean.

Kevin actually pretended to be surprised. "Oops, sorry dude, you and guys and... well yeah I guess this doesn't add up to two.." Dean carded his fingers through his hair. "Anyway what are you guys having?"

Castiel ordered them both some apple and pecan pie, plus a vanilla milkshake for himself and a mocha one for Dean.

Kevin wandered off to serve another table.

He knew Dean's eyes are searching his face with the obvious question. "You're gay?" Ah there it was.

"Yeah. Tried girls but it's not the same. I'm a dick kind of guy." He snorted as Dean's jaw dropped like a stone.

"But your family..." Dean shook his head. "Your dad is the pastor and your mom owns the church.. How are they okay with.." He waved his hands about wildly. "That."

Castiel shrugged, sipping his water and watching Donna potter around behind the counter. "Well for starters they have no idea. They'd probably have me exorcised if they knew half the stuff I do..."

"Oh." Dean looked like he wanted to ask a million questions but settled to messing about on his pone.
Cain may be abusing him but in the eyes of this rightious little boy homosexuality was still an 'issue'. Interesting.

"Can I give you my number Dean? Incase you ever need anything. Anything at all."

The green eyes flicked up almost commically wide with surprise, he looked cute. "This isn't a gay.. You're not.. Trying to ask me out... right?" Ouch, Dean.

He shook his head, resisting the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. "No Dean." He scribbled his number down on the corner of a napkin and stuffed it in Dean's pocket. "Not making a move. I like to think I'm a little bit smoother than that."

When two steaming hot plates of pie were placed before the boys they both dug straight in, obscene sounds coming from both their mouths at the mouthwatering taste of fresh apple pie. The pastry was crisp and flaky, not too heavy that they wont be able to move later, but with the right amount of stodge to fill them up. The delicious filling of sharp apples, sprinklings of cinnamon and nutmeg, a perfect drizzle of lemon juice and sugar to counteract the tart flavours of the fruit. A heavenly synphony of flavours danced across their taste buds, all polished off with a soft vanilla icecream, melting into a sweet puddle on top of the pie.


Kevin, being the sweetheart he was, had done a friend discount and slipped Dean some fries as an apology, ruffling Castiel's hair as he walked back to the kitchen.

They were elbow deep in their food, occasionally coming up for air and a sip of the scrumptious milkshakes when the little bell above the diner doorframe rang and the door was pushed open. Dean spotted a black haired shorty sashay into the diner. Her heeled boots clicking against the floor, sharp in contrast with the drawl of country music.

The soft black ringlets that fell aound her face like a halo, bounced when she moved. She perched on a barstool with one leg on the floor, tapping her well manicured nails on the side. She still had her shades on and flashed him a devilish smile. Pearly whites cushioned by deep red lips. She offered him a curled finger wave before turning back to pick up her cup of coffee.

Dean's attention behind him made him glance up in time to have a leather encased arm thrown around his shoulders and a kiss planted on his cheek. He knew there was going to be lipstick on his cheek now.

“Hey there Clarence, how's it hanging?” Meg arched an elegant eyebrow over her shades as he rubbed the crimson lip mark on his cheek.
“Hello Meg.” he huffed. “Waterproof Mac? Really?”

That earned a delighted chuckle from Meg and she aimed her amused grin at Dean. “I'm way more fun then this party pooper. You must be Dean, good looking. Call me Meg, or you can just call me.” She slid her shades down her nose and winked. Amusement and challenge quirked her brow and sparkled in her eyes.

“I think Meg's fine for me, thanks.” Funnily enough Dean returned the challenging brow.

“Anyways.” She sipped her coffee, licking the droplets off her lips. “Sorry I'm late I was ah.. a little tied up.” Meg drawled out the 'tied' and waggled her brows. Castiel found himself looking at Dean who was busying himself with his straw.

“Thanks for coming Meg.” He turned to face Dean and cleared his throat, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Meg helped me when my sister Anna tried..” he couldn't push the words out. They were still so raw. “And she can help you too. This is a really difficult situation, we are in over our heads. She is qualified to help with this sort of thing.”

He reached out to gently stroke the bruises blooming on Dean's cheek, the tender broken skin soft beneath his fingers. Dean's eyes fluttered closed, leaning his cheek into Castiel's palm like he'd never been touched gently before.

Meg raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything about the gesture. “I'd like you to answer some questions Dean, it's just procedure. You okay with that?” She pulls out an Ipad setting it on the table beside their plates.

Dean nodded, clenching his fists in his lap. “Yes.”
“Alrighty, we can stop at any time, okay? You just say the word kid.” she eyed him expectantly, it was obvious Dean would rather eat glass, but he was trying.

“What happened today?” Dean seemed to relax at the open question.

“Uh today? I um... I woke up at 7, Cain was still asleep so I took a shower. When I went back to the bed he was awake, reading the morning news.” He chewed his lip nervously.
“He then.. we then um.. fucked. I made breakfast and we walked to his beehives… then he left for work. I'm even not supposed to be here right now.”
Castiel nodded, pressing his knee against Dean's under the table, earning a grateful glance.

“Has he ever used a weapon to threaten you or use against you? Made you feel scared for your life?”
Castiel's eyes were fixed on his plate but he was listening intently, the bastard…

Meg typed it all up on her iPad. “Okay, is he… older then you sweetie?”
A nod again from Dean set her ruby red lips in a thin line.

“Does he have access to a gun, or some other weapon?”

“No. He only ever uses… belts, ropes. And-and restraints..” Dean hunched his shoulders and stared blankly at the menu.

Castiel couldn't help but study Dean, he'd seen him smile, seen him angry and hurt. But nothing compared to this scared, child-like expression. The dusting of freckles across his nose moving with his skin, angel kisses that Castiel found himself committing to memory.
Castiel shook himself out of those thoughts, so what if this guy was cute, they had bigger fish to fry right now.

“How do you know Cain? And how long have you known him for?” Meg typed and spoke at the same time.

“I've known him since I was 8. He's a family friend and works with my parents at headquarters for their company. He used come over and babysit when my parents were traveling… I didn't know what it was back then.” He rubbed his eyes. “I made sure he never went after my little brother Sammy, so I let him do stuff to me. I went through a rough patch, drank, took drugs and fought myself into hospital beds almost weekly. They wanted to send me to a reformatory boarding school but only Sam got accepted. Cain just.. snapped me up.” He shrugged as if to say 'what you gonna do about it.'

Castiel growled. Both Meg and Dean turned sharply to look at him but he was so angry his blood was boiling.

“Easy there tiger.” She rolled her eyes but took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Dean, did he start with sexual intercourse straight away?”
“No, at first he was touchy, when I was younger there were long hugs. He would always be holding my hand or picking me up… then when I was a little older he'd make me bathe in front of him, then he would touch me.. in places I didn't want to be touched. It went from there... tying me down in weird bondage positions… he didn't start actually fucking me until I moved in with him.”

Cas felt the breath being punched out of him. He was going to kill Cain.

“We're almost done Dean, you're doing great. Does he monitor your daily activities, let you go out, dress however you want.. does he get jealous of other people close to you?” Meg's usually amused, sarcastic behaviour has completely dropped and in its place was a professional, caring expression.
“He doesn't like it when I don't tell him where I'm going, who I'm going with or why. He monitors my phone but I've found a way to text without him reading them… He always keeps me close when we are in public.” Dean sighed.

Meg closed her iPad and looked up at Dean. “Thank you Dean. I can't imagine how hard this was for you, but with all this information we can start building a case and put Cain behind bars. I promise.”

“Behind bars?” Dean was paling rapidly. “Building a case? You're a cop?"

Meg smiled, pushing a lock of black hair behind her ear. “Yeah sweetie, I'm a cop. I specialise in sexual abuse protocol but I'm trained as a therapist too.” Meg sipped her coffee grinning at Dean.

When Castiel turned back to look at Dean he was greeted with a murderous look.

“You told a cop.” The words are spat at him with venom. “I fucking trusted you, Cas.” He was on his feet swiftly and storming out of the door of the diner before either Castiel or Meg could react, crashing into a waitress as he went, but he didn't bother to stop.

Both Meg and Castiel watched him leave before she kicked his shin. "Make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble."

Fuck. “DEAN!” Castiel shoved some bills on the table and ran out, apologising to the waitress who was on her knees picking up glass and ignoring the confused stares of the diners.

He rushed into the alley next to the diner, spotting a certain leather jacket turning the corner, the pavements are slick with water. It must have rained while they were inside and it was already getting dark.

As he ran his feet slapped on the sidewalk. His heart was slamming in his chest and his breath billowing out in short puffs.
Dean was halfway down the alleyway when Castiel caught up to him, grabbing his shoulder to stop him going any further. Castiel was panting hard and trying to catch his breath. “Dean, please let me explain!”

A cry ripped its way from his lips as Dean grabbed handfuls of his shirt and coat, shoving him up against the damp wall. “I trusted you. I let you take me to your friend. A cop?!” He sneered. “Do you have any idea of what a dick move that was? Getting the frigging police involved!”

Each of his words was punctuated by a crack as Castiel's body slammed against the wall, Castiel’s ears were ringing. Warm breath fanning across his cheeks in soft clouds, hard hands on his body, the blood humming in his veins, it was all overwhelming him.

Dean’s cheeks burned in shame. His voice was a cruel knife in his ears.

“All your dirty secrets on the line. How do you know Cain doesn't have contacts in the police, hmm? He's gotten away with shit before! That Meg girl might even think I'm taking the piss. Looking for attention!” He leaned right in Castiel’s face, their eyes never leaving the others. “You think you can storm your way into my life and tell me what to do?” Dean dug his fingers into the other boy’s flesh.

“Dean you have to believe me, Meg can help you leave him. It can all be over-“

Castiel gripped his stomach and stumbled back hard against the wall, smacking his head against it as Dean’s foot landed squarely on the tender flesh of his stomach, punching all the air out of his lungs, leaving him winded and gasping for breath. His head was spinning.

“Shit.” He gasped. “Dean... I-I want to-to save... you.”

Dean grabbed a handful of the wild black hair, his hands sinking into the softness before he yanked, hard.

A scream of pain slipped from his lips as Dean twisted Cas’s head to face him. He looked deep into the blue eyes that writers would write novels about and painters would paint masterpieces in honour of.

Dean punched Castiel in the nose, sending the other boy reeling back, blood spurting from his nose like ink, the dark crimson bringing a discreet metallic scent between it. Blood leaked into his mouth and he sputtered, sending droplets spattering all over Dean's shirt. Castiel sank against the wall. He could feel his eye swelling up and his rib was probably cracked. It hurt like a bitch.

Castiel groaned, aiming a hit at Dean’s eye, kneeing him in the stomach and shoving him onto the sidewalk. "Fine, I should have told you she was a cop! I'm fucking sorry!" Cas looked down at the boy splayed out in front of him. Just walk away, don’t let it escalate.

Dean wrapped his fingers around his ankle, punching behind Castiel’s knee to knock him down. The blue eyed boy hit his head against the trash can, falling into a crumpled heap with a grunt. Dean dragged his nails down Castiel's cheek, ripping thin gashes down the soft skin, earning a cry from the boy. Cas grabbed Dean’s arm and twisted it painfully till he heard a crack, a strangled yelp squeezed from between Dean’s lips.
Stars burst behind Castiel's eyes. Dean had seized his throat, cutting of the sweet night air he needed so badly.

He kicked and threw punches at Dean, trying to knock him off. The other boy released him and Cas sucked in the cold air, drinking it like water in harsh gulps, clutching his bruised throat.

Dean hit him, over and over again until Castiel stopped fighting, laying there in a puddle of dirt and blood. His shirt was torn and filthy with blood and grime from the street. He could barely feel his face anymore, it was so numb with pain and had even started swelling up. His mangled nose was mess of blood and bruises, but he just lay there and took it, there was no fight left in him. There were shadows swirling at the edge of his vision. Blood that had dripped into his eyes made Dean’s shape nothing more then a dark blur, slowly drawing him into a gentle oblivion.

"If you ever try to talk to me again, Novak." Dean spat blood onto the gravel beneath them, dragging himself up clutching his bloodied arm. "I'll fucking smite you."

Castiel let the darkness's sweet embrace claim him, leaving his agony behind for the lush lull of sleep.
And with that, Dean dusted himself off and left.

Castiel didn’t know how many hours he had been lying there fading in and out of consciousness, the blood that once flowed freely from his nose and gashes had now dried, clotting thickly around his wounds. He must have been dead. There was no noise, no light... His body was numb and he didn’t know if he was breathing or not.

His cerulean eyes stared at the dark sky that lay so wide above him and there was a soft dripping noise from the gutter beside his head.
In the dark, everything around him had lost its detail to the shadows, but Castiel only had eyes for the scattering of stars. So bright in that pool of darkness, as if they shone only for Cas and no one else. What a fitting way to die, beneath the stars, bleeding out in a dark alleyway with only the rats for company, having tried to save someone.

How fittingly tragic.

Castiel started shivering not long after that. It may have been May in Wilcox, Arizona, but the nights were still cold.

In his dazed state it occurred to him that he was being moved. Strong arms were picking him up off the floor, one arm under his knees and other around his back, bridal style. Cas could feel the heat of a warm chest against his arm, the rhythmic movements of the person who carried him rocked him in and out of consciousness.

“As much as I love you Cassie, I don't think you're helping by being a deadweight.” A strained voice hissing by his ear urged him to open his eyes. The sharp flashes of streetlights through the perpetual darkness made Castiel wince.

He made a noise, a hoarse croak that burned his throat like he'd been gargling gravel.

“Good, you're awake baby brother, I thought he might have ganked your ass.” The breath that accompanied the voice stirred his hair, the arms around him tightened slightly. He pressed his face against the firm chest.

“Meg called.” His older brother took him inside the church, supporting him as they made their way silently past the sleeping family in each of their rooms, until they reached Gabriel's chamber. The soft snap of the lock instantly made Castiel relax.

“She was checking to see if you made it home okay, when I said you hadn't she told me where she'd last seen you, would have gone herself but she was on call at the station.” Gabriel spoke softly knowing that Cas was hurting badly. He took the battered body of his brother into the bathroom, propping him up with his body on the sink counter. He sagged forwards but Gabriel steadied him with his chest and Castiel leant his chin on Gabriel's shoulder.
“You gonna tell me what happened later? I thought you were dead.” Castiel nodded weakly in answer to his brother's question.

His head was pounding, everything ached and his muscles were stiff beyond belief. Every time he took a breath his lungs felt like they were tearing themselves to pieces. Rasping for air he watched his brother carefully stripping away his bloodied shirt, washing away the crimson stain on his skin and testing for broken bones.

Gabriel finally reached his face and he wiped at the clotting blood, gently swiping iodine over his cuts and gashes. He clutched weakly at Gabriel's shirt. His older brother took cautious dabs of the cloth.

Dean left him to die… he probably wouldn't have survived if Gabriel hadn't of find him. He shouldn't have pressed Dean, shouldn't have made him expose himself like that and talk to a cop. What was he thinking?

Now Dean hated him and all because he was a stupid asshole that couldn't mind his own business.


“Hey buddy, you awake?” Gabriel rubbed his back gently, trying to avoid the bruises and his broken arm. “Who hurt you kiddo?”

Castiel shook his head and croaked out. “It had to be done. I deserved it. I pushed him too far and he snapped… don't hurt him Gabe… please.”
“Him?” Gabriel was curious but he didn't ask anymore. He carefully picked up an incredibly tired Castiel, walked through the door and over to Castiels room. Laying him between the crisp sheets on his back he whispered: “Sweet dreams Sunshine.” Then he ran a careful hand through Castiel's damp hair before leaving the boy in the silence and blissful darkness of his room.

As Castiel lay there he could feel the echo of Dean's fists, the pummelling of shouts and angry words that broke his mind and body. Pain from the green eyed soul and even though he knew Dean was probably seeing Cain instead of Cas, it killed him to see it. Everything was mixed into one big mess, one that had caught him on the way out the door.

His door creaked open and the gentle patter of bare feet across the wooden floor pulled him back to full consciousness.

“Castiel?” Anna's soft voice floated like a warm breeze across the room, the bed dipped and thin, cool arms wrapped themselves around his middle as he sighed comfortably.

“Hi Anna.” He snuggled back into the delicate body of his sister as she hugged him. He could hear her sniffling.

“I was so worried little one, you were gone and no one knew where you were. And you're hurt?” Her distress was obvious.

“I'll be okay. It was a rough day but I'm home now. I'm safe with you, Gabe took care of me sis.” He told her, taking her hand in reassurance.
“Gabriel and I talked to Mother and Father. We told them you were spending time with Kevin. They did not suspect a thing, little one.”

“Can I tell you something?” His lips ached as he spoke but his sister was the only person that knew him better then he knew himself.
“Anything child.” She stroked his hair gently for comfort.

“I made a new friend... But he's being hurt like you were. He doesn't want my help and I don't know what to do..” He could feel warm tears escaping down his cheeks and he clenched his eyes shut against the pain as the swollen one stabbed painful daggers into his skull.

“Give it time. Time heals everything Castiel.”

Chapter Text

Deans eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. He was simply listening to the pattering of the lazy rain on that early Thursday morning. 

The water droplets were soothing, running downwards like the tiny rivers they were. He chased them with his gaze whilst the clamour of thunder brewed in the background, watching them roll down the glass with no particular hurry. The wind rustled the sleeping trees outside the window. 

He slid his feet out of the warm blankets that had kept him toasty all night. There was a nip in the air that only the rain could bring with it, he’d left the window open. Damnit... 

The wood of the floor, polished to a shine by years of footsteps crossing over it, felt cool under the soles of his feet. Dean shuffled over to the large window that took up the most of the wall. The floor in front of it was shiny with wetness where the rain had come through the open maw. The beautiful scent of damp earth filtered through the opening and for a second Dean just drank it in, stretching his bare arms out of the into the cold light of dawn, watching the droplets spatter against his honeyed skin and outstretched fingers. There was a certain laziness with which they fell, large and soft as if the summer storm was half asleep. 

A flash of lightning crackled with glee, making Dean glance up as the streak ripped through the clouds like it couldn’t hold itself back anymore.  

The street beneath him glittered with a sheen of water, the puddles rippling joyously every time a droplet made them grow.  

He had left Castiel on a wet sidewalk not unlike this one.  


I should have stayed, how long was he out there until someone found him? What if no one found him? 


He retreated from the window, leaving it open, and sank to the damp floor in front and stared up and out of the wet glass to the storm. Castiel had been barely conscious when he’d left him, the Novak boy's blood diluted by the inky water on the sidewalk. There was so much blood... 

Dean had heard a crunch when his fist had connected with the boy's nose. He hadn’t held back, not once. Not after the screams of pain, the flood of fear that overflowed, unbridled and unchecked, through those ocean eyes. There was no restraint even when Castiel had crumpled to a heap on the gravel after hitting his head against the trash can.  

Regret tasted bitter in the back of his throat, it ate him up from the inside out like acid. 

 Castiel had only been trying to help. 

 He hadn't seen or heard from Castiel in two weeks, not even when Cain took him to church, or when the oblivious man had taken him to the town's only high school to be enrolled after summer. There had been no sign of him. The Novak's continued to serve mass with their painted on smiles that were faker then Kim K's ass and polite small talk. It honestly felt like Cas had dropped off the face of the planet. 

A quiet and unwanted whisper echoed like a persistent mosquito at the back of his mind. 

You could always text him..

Really not helping, brain. 


Dean could've done it too, he had the boy's number after all. And he almost had, he'd opened the "New Message" bubble countless time, his fingers hovering over the screen with uncertainty.  

 But what could he say? "Sorry I beat you up when you wanted to help me. I swear it won't happen again!" Not likely 

As these thoughts chased each other round his head, the ambrosial scent of buttery pancakes wafting through the window from the kitchen below roused him from the darkness. If Cain had made pancakes then he must have been in a good mood.  

At least that was something to be thankful for.  

Dean pulled on a white shirt and padded out of Cain's master bedroom, jogging down the stairs towards the kitchen and running a lazy hand through his short hair as he walked through the door.  

"Good morning Dean, how did you sleep?" Cain's voice was a deep, soft rumble. 

"I slept well, Sir." He hated how quiet his voice was. 

 The salt and pepper hair didn't look up until the last fluffy pancake had been plated up. When he finally glanced over at Dean he simply clicked his tongue. "We've talked about this, no clothes at the breakfast table. No pancakes until you've stripped." 

Shit. He'd completely forgotten about that rule, what with nothing but flashes of a broken Cas appearing every time he closed his eyes. 

"Take your clothes off, fold them neatly and leave them on the floor under your chair." Cain's voice was, as usual, calm yet commanding, he knew Dean would never say no. 

He did as he was told, shivering even though the kitchen was fairly warm. 

"Good Dean, now sit and let us say grace." The chair was cold against his bare ass, too hard to be comfortable, so Dean perched on the edge of the seat trying his best not to grimace. 

Cain smiled, no surprise there, Cain was always pleased to see Dean uncomfortable. "Thank you Lord, for blessing the earth with animals and plants that provide us with food. Thank you for blessing us with your eternal, unconditional love and for our friends, families and all of our loved ones. Amen."  

Deans eyes were closed, listening to the prayer that ,just like every other piece of furniture in the room, he had heard a hundred times over. His hands were clasped tightly under his chin and Dean would deny to this day that it gave him comfort. Digging into his breakfast seemed like the only way to shut off that train of thought. 

The older man was totally not being subtle about glancing over at Dean between mouthfuls of pancakes and syrup, but Dean just kept shovelling them in at a blurred speed. 

When his fork scraped against a syrup drenched but pancake-less plate, he set his fork down, finally looking up before freezing under the man's gaze. Cain was smiling at him with a sadistic sparkle in his blue eyes. A blue that couldn't be further from that of Castiel's. 

"Sir?" Dean winced at his own voice. He sounded pathetic

"You can wash the dishes Dean." ...That’s all?  

Cain worked like clockwork. From day one he had always worked in a set way, routines to keep Dean on track. If he behaved himself he was rewarded with food, bath time, clothes, walks or even going to church. If Dean defied him or forgot do something then he was punished, and Cain was as imaginative with his punishments as Willy Wonka.  

Defying him usually came in the form of Dean forgetting to adhere to one of Cain's rules. Dean must never wear clothes at breakfast unless in the company of guests. He must stand up straight at all times. He must shave daily, always look clean and tidy, speak politely and always share Cain's bed on a night, every night. They would eat together if Cain wasn’t working, Dean would keep the house tidy and respectable while Cain was out and have dinner ready for when he returned. 

They would bathe or shower together, Dean should always be prepared for when Cain wanted sex, sometimes with less then 15 minutes to get himself stretched enough.  

It wasn't that Dean felt like Cinderella or anything, he just knew it was him or Sammy and that was a no brainer.  

If Dean so much as breathed over the line, he had to do something to "make it up to Cain." He had already finished breakfast so they technically weren't eating together, but washing the dishes? Cain was never that vanilla. 

"Sure, I'll get right on it Sir." Dean stood up, plate in hand. Shivering as the drafts made his nipples turn to pebbledash, he walked to the sink. Turning the faucet on and rinsing the plate under the hot stream of water, he watched the sink fill up slowly. 

Would Cas ever get to enjoy a hot bath again? 

He didn’t notice the sound of a chair scraping, not even the plate's clink as another was set on the counter beside him. He did, however, notice Cain's arms wrap around his waist, the fabric itchy against his naked skin. 

Dean shuddered as a hand slithered down his back to cup his buttock and squeeze it hard. 

The air was tight, making him feel like he had swallowed broken glass and it had got stuck in his throat. He wanted to gag. No, he wanted to scream.  

"S-Sir..." Cain's hand was over his mouth in a split second, stopping any more words coming out, Dean could feel the thick heat clad in demin at the cleft of his ass.  

He felt sick

"Shh Dean.." He drew out every syllable of the word, his name a praise of unspeakable adoration. The revulsion pulsing like a drum beat in his blood. “Just wash the dishes.” 


To his credit, Dean tried. His hands were shaking as Cain pawed at his skin. It felt like acid burning blisters on his flesh and soul. 

Cain unzipped his pants. The sound loud and mocking, promise of what was to come. 


Dean whimpered. “Sir please. I-I'll get ready. Right now…” he started to move. Lube, lube and his fingers would be all he needed. 


But Cain had other plans. He gripped Dean's wrists hard, brushing the tender skin there with soon to be purple and blue imprints. The marks of Cain were like a gallery on his skin. “Stay.” Cain was on his ass, parting his buttocks and exposing the puckered rim that the older man loved so much. 

Then there were fingers. Fingers inside him, hard and dry forcing their way to his core. He gasped and shook with shock and blinding pain, gripping the sink with white knuckles.   

They thrusted mercilessly inside him, sharp nails tearing at the tender channel. The actions wrenched sharp cries from Dean as they are driven deeper and harder. He shut up, Cain liked him quiet.  


“Good boy Dean. Take it like the whore you are. Whore for my cock. My little slut.” Cain's breath was a furnace against his ear. The vice around his waist suffocating, the fingers inside him like shards of glass.  


When Cain removed the three fingers from inside him there was an obscene sound. He felt raw, slick with probably his own blood, he heard Cain spit and slicked his already solid cock up, while Dean’s still hung soft against the sink.  


He collapsed forward against the sink with a scream. Cain was shoving himself in, a vicious grip on Dean's hips to help force himself in. Make it stop make it stop make it stop…  


 Dean's eyes stung with tears as Cain started a hard and fast rhythm that made the sink dig into his tender stomach. Whimpers escaped his lips as he begged Cain to stop, the soap suds on his hands making it hard for Dean to hold on.  


Cain's breathing was ragged, soft moans punctured by thrusts that were louder than Dean's whimpers.  

It didn't take long for Cain to find orgasm, he sank his teeth in Dean's shoulder, wrenching a scream from his lips, sweat pricking at his skin and his muscles quivering, hair damp both from the soapy water in the sink and sweat. His skin was crawling.  


The final spurts of Cain's cum were inside him and the warmth spattering his channel reminded him of bird shit. Cain patted his ass and slid out, leaving a trickle of semen pulsing slowly out of his reddened and raw, used hole. 


“You might want to change the water, it'll be cold by now.” He whispered as he left Dean to the rapidly chilling room.   


Dean felt shell shocked. He couldn't stop trembling or gulping for air.  


Cain was gone but Dean could still feel him. The stench of his cum was stronger then the air freshener plugged into the kitchen wall, it took all his strength to shakily finish washing the plates, forks and knives. He slowly returned them to their homes, two by two into the cupboards and drawers, so biblical.. 


He sank to the floor, back against the cabinets, and curled up on himself with his knees against his chest and his head on his knees.  

He deserved this. 

He didn’t feel like a man, he felt like a chew toy made to be abused by the teeth of dogs.  

This was because of Cas, more specifically it was because of what he did to Castiel. Dean deserved everything Cain did to him, maybe this way he would earn the universe's forgiveness...  

Dean looked at the door, maybe he could forgive himself. 


He rose from the floor, bones creaking in protest from the cold tiles. The kitchen was clean now, would be a shame if... 

Cain was upstairs, probably in his office preparing his leather satchel for work. Dean looked at the clock, he had ten minutes precisely. 

Wouldn't want to make him go to work mad, let him stew all day in that mindset and then Dean would be the brunt of his rage when he came home. 

He smiled to himself, this was the first step to justice. 


Dean opened the cabinet under the sink, there were some mundane bottles of detergent collecting dust, some cloths and scrubbers. He pushed them out of the way and felt the cool bump of wood against his fingers. Bingo. 

Once it was out he could fully appreciate the steady weight of the baseball bat he had gotten from high school. Dean sat back on his heels, admiring the sturdy smoothness of the bat that he'd loved as a kid, he used to be on the high school team, a proud Ram once and forever. 

Zeroing in on the plates and dishes he grinned. Two by two my ass. He raised the bat over his head and smashed it into the unsuspecting dining set, wreaking havoc on the plates Cain had chosen. 

The sound of shattering chinaware rang through the room, it was only the first but already so loud, it had Dean swinging his bat again and again. Every time it connected with a dish or a plate his heart leapt higher in his chest. He loved every second of it. 

Cain steps came thundering down the stairs, he was shouting about something but Dean couldn’t hear him over the sound of the destruction he was spreading through the room. Each blow was so liberating

Dean shoved the mahogany table against the door a second before Cain's fists hammered against the other side. His voice was like a storm behind the door, and if voices could break doors down Dean would be on his ass. 

As Dean turned with his back to the trembling door, he noticed the gaping darkness that was the entrance to the garage standing wide open. Today was his lucky day. 


The garage was home to Cain's two sleek classic cars. A sexy hunk of a car that Dean had drooled over for a long time was the 1967 Chevy Impala, a gift from John Winchester himself. This particular car made him weak in the knees and his breath hitch when she purred, only he could make her purr like that.  

The other car was a jubilee gold '78 Lincoln Continental Mark V - A.K.A the pimpmobile. The car was icky and was something that belonged outside an old people's home. The hunk of crap that Cain preferred to use was a tribute to his horrendous taste and a sign of how evil he truly was. 

The Impala was the first to suffer a blow, the jolt that travelled up his arm as it connected with the hood stung in his used muscles. A nasty dent now marring the once perfect hood of the car.  

Sorry baby... I'll get you out of here one day. 

He hated vandalising the beautiful machine, but a vivid image of Castiel's blood smeared face provoked him to raise the bat again, and again, and again until the beautiful vision of the Chevy was as broken as Cas was. 

He then turned on the disgustingly golden car and beat the shit out of that too. He didn’t feel even a tiny a pang of regret at that. 

Dean stood back to assess his work, knowing the minute Cain saw this he was a dead man walking. These two cars were the man's pride and joy. 

There was a clatter behind Dean pushing him to turn and face a pale looking Cain. The older man stared at his favourite things in the world, now mangled and broken to behold, courtesy of Dean naturally. He turned back to face the mess he had just made when he heard Cain take a shaky breath. "You'll pay for this."  

Stars burst behind his eyes as Cain's fist connected with his temple, the force of the impact had him stumbling forwards and reflexively dropping the bat. He braced himself on the hood of the Impala as his brain tried to process what just happened.  

Cain moved up behind him, grabbing his head and bashing it against the once lovely hood of the Impala. Then suddenly an all encompassing darkness swallowed Dean whole. 

Dean came to what could have been minutes or even hours later, and judging by the way he was bound it was more likely to be the latter. The black ropes that bound him to the table were the ones that Cain used for his kinkier nights. Dean lay there shivering in the cold, it was not the cold that came from shade or ice, it was the cold that simmered deep in his bones. 

If the flickering of the microwave clock was right then Cain would be home in a couple minutes. 

Dean lay splayed out on the table like someone's dinner, each of his limbs tied to one of the table legs like a sacrificial lamb.... 

He pulled against the rope that was a harsh vice against his chest had him gasping for air. Dean tried wriggling but the cords was too tight, keeping him down even with every attempt to move. He glanced around, no knives were in sight, just shards of the plates and dishes he had broken,. None were in reach, they just lay there scattered around him teasingly. Fucking Cain, always leaving glorious freedom in his sights but just out of arm's reach. 

By arching his back he managed to rub the rope binding on his left leg against the edge of the table, the friction making the rope fray. 

At that moment the familiar jangle of keys announced Cain's return home.  


“Honey, I'm home.” Cain's voice rang out through the entrance hall. The front door closed with a thud behind the hulking figure as the dreaded lock slid home, locking him in with Cain. 


“Dean you little fucker…” Dean looked over and spotted Cain, he was leaning against the doorframe watching him with that predatory glare Dean knew so well. “I gave you everything a boy could want. So what if I asked you to do a little something for me sometimes, you're a little slut you like it. I'm your guardian angel Dean, I made you in my image and I shower you with love because that's what you deserve."  

Cain moved at a dangerously slow pace towards the table, placing his palms on either side of Dean's head and gazing down at him with a suspiciously calm expression. Dean was scared. Licking his lower lip Dean looked away hurriedly from the unwaveringly blue stare above him. He swallowed the fear that bubbled up inside him like a swarm of bees. He knew he was doing the right thing for Cas but he still couldn't stop the trembling that wracked his body. It was no surprise that Cain has this hold over him as from a young age he has been taught to fear and obey, disobedience did not come easy to Dean.  

"Whatever did I do wrong Dean? We both know you're spoilt on luxury and attention. You wouldn't survive under a bridge or laying in a gutter, begging on the streets. You wouldn't survive at all because you're a spoilt brat. All your life you've gotten everything you could have needed." Cain stroked Dean's blonde hair gently and sighed. "I guess that was where I went wrong, maybe I'll throw away all your clothes, your phone, not let you shower... so you can see what living on the streets is like, maybe you'll like it better hmm? Being a whore on the streets because you can't pay for food? Maybe you'll come running back when you see just how good I've been to you."  

Cain was right, Dean had a home, a bed a shower and clothes. Cain had even been so generous to give him a phone when he didn't have to. He was being spoilt... he should have just been grateful instead.  

"As much as I hate ruining your perfect body I will have to teach you a lesson. May this never happen again Dean."  

Cain looked down at the boy splayed out on the table with a piteous glance as Dean let the tears flow, he couldn't hold them back and he couldn't stop them even if he tried. He wailed and sobbed and shook, begging Cain to stop, apologies flowing like water from his lips. But Cain wasn't hovering over him any more, Cain was at the stove with his back to Dean, his sobs and apologies were left to fall on deaf ears. He stood there a while, not acknowledging Dean in the slightest.  

When Cain finally turned to face him, Dean looked pathetic, he knew he did. There was snot running from his nose and his eyes are red from crying, he was babbling like a toddler who knew he was going to be told off. The freckles stood out like ink on a white page against his flushed face as he gasped for breath.  

There was a fire poker in Cain's hand, the type that was used for barbecues and camping. It was a long and sharpened bar or metal that was rarely used in the house because Cain never used the fire place. The enamelled handle was a bright cheery red that seemed so out of place between the two men. The metal itself was also a glowing orangey-red, Cain must have heated it on the stove till it was hot enough to burn and sear. 

The smile on Cain's lips felt so wrong, like a misleading hand in a dark place, the smile of a predator. The light seemed to dim in the room until all Dean could see were Cain's pearly whites approaching slowly through the shadows. 


Cain let the piping hot iron hover over his chest, the burning heat rolled in waves over his flesh, the scalding bar turned into a weapon flushed the skin of his chest and he could feel sweat pricking at his pores. "Sir, please, I'm begging you, I was crazy out of my mind! I never meant to upset you, I-I don’t even know why I did it!"  

A blood curdling scream ripped it way from his lips as Cain smacked the burning hot poker against his chest. Dean can hear his flesh sizzling, almost as loud as his mindless screaming. He bucked and he wriggled but he couldn't escape. The pain seared through every fibre in his body, stemming from the point of direct contact. Deans jaw was slack from screaming and his eyes rolled back in his head to reveal the usually concealed whites.  

Cain used he tip of the poker as a pen of sorts and started to gouge a shape in the perfect olive skin. He ripped the once innocent prong from the boy's chest, leaving an ugly scar in the shape of a C, its edges bloodied and the surrounding skin left lumpy, bubbling and melted. It looked disgusting and Dean was reduced to a whimpering mess of what used to be a boy. His blood burned with shame.  

What was wrong with him? First he wound up a snotty mess of a boy completely useless and pathetic, not even trying to fight back or battle the urge to cry. Then he had begged, Dean Winchester begged.  

He felt sick with himself. 

Was this how Castiel had felt? Useless, weak, pathetic... Less than human. 

Maybe. Maybe he had. 

The ropes around his ankles and wrists went slack and the blood rushed euphorically back into his numb limbs, but it wasn't only his extremities that felt numb. Dean himself felt empty and detached, his body was moving but he certainly wasn’t behind the wheel. 

Cain's figure disappeared out of the kitchen door and up into the house. When he returned Dean was in the exact same position, staring dumbly at the stained glass window that pictured a cheerful bee and some delightful flowers.  

How ironic... 

Cain had his leather satchel slung over his shoulder and his face didn't look like he just branded his legal child, instead he looked more like a man who was ready for a day at the office, impeccably smart and dashingly handsome. "See you when I get home Dean." And with that Cain left without another word to him.  

As Cain walked through the main door and locked it behind him, he left a darkness behind that seeped into every corner of the room, it invaded Dean and sucked the very soul out of him. 

Dean wanted to forget, he wanted to feel good knowing he had justice for Cas, but it didn’t show. Instead he slowly found himself sinking into an all devouring depression. He slid his naked ass off of the table and very slowly pattered over to the living room, making a beeline for the liquor cabinet. He pulled the door open, surprised at how he could still move and studied the insides. Dean slung his hand inside and pulled out the first bottle he touched. The weight of it made it slide of the edge and hang loosely in his grip as he slammed the door and walked back to his room, the bottle a cold weight keeping him grounded. 

It didn't take long for him to get to Cain's room, the mark on his chest blistering and excruciatingly painful. It was an ugly reminder that he is nothing but a possession, a trinket that Cain could draw his name all over so that no one else would be able to claim him. That would be all he ever was, Cain's plaything. 

Dean felt himself drop on the bed in a sitting position, the bottle nestled snugly between his hands, the unsympathetic liquid sloshing around in its container. He pulled the little wire cork cover off and tossed it down by his feet, not waiting to see where it landed. Ripping the cork out with his teeth he spat it into the trashcan. Within the next few seconds the bottom of the bottle was facing the ceiling and he was swallowing the booze feverishly. It ran down his chest, stinging the blistering burn on his chest, but Dean didn't stop until the entire bottle was empty. 


It was early evening when Dean woke up, he had managed to drag another bottle out of the cabinet earlier and he had drained that one too. He was convinced his brain was sloshing from side to side in his skull like a rubber ducky in a tub of alcohol and his mental processes were moving so much slower than his body. Sluggishly he rose from the bed, lurching towards the trash can and regurgitating the strong liquid. It stung his nose and throat and everything, even the air, tasted like vomit. 

Dean really, really needed to pee but the bathroom seemed further away than he remembered. When he stood he was still holding onto the trash can for support, but finally he staggered away from it and made straight for the bathroom to pee. 


He eventually made it to stand at the toilet and held his dick, wiggling it as he peed and giggling slightly.  

When he reached for the handle to flush it Dean missed completely and fell forwards onto the toilet, his head on the porcelain top. Grunting seemed to be the only form of communication he could manage as he pulled himself upright, weak arms threatening to give out on him. 

The green eyed boy walked gingerly out of the bathroom, wobbling like a weeble toy, swaying as if the room was a ship's deck, as he made his way back to his bed.  

He wanted to see Cas, he needed to know he was still alive and his alcohol soaked mind thought that was a brilliant idea. It was like his brain was saying: Hey, lets walk all the way to the other side of town while drunk off your face to see the boy you beat up and left in the gutter. 

Great idea, Dean. 

All his favourite shirts felt scratchy and too small. The jeans were worse, claustrophobic and rough on his skin, the wound on his chest started sticking to the shirt he did choose but he didn’t notice. 

Dean vaguely remembered walking, there were a lot of lights and someone must have honked at him, but soon enough he is standing outside the stone church, only a little worse for wear. He still had his partially intact dignity. Some of it anyway. 

He squinted. Which room was Castiel's? He circled the house slowly and found a drainpipe behind the church. As far as he could see it would take him to a flat plane of roof where the windows started. He grabbed it with both hands and pulled himself up, grunting and yelping the entire way. His hands were red from the rust and stung horribly from the sharp edges. He slipped several times and he had fallen right back on his ass once, but after what seemed like hours he finally managed to pull himself over the ledge. 

Dean peeped in the windows. I am stealth, I am a ninja. His mind seemed to babble. 

 He stared inside, not realising half his head was over the barrier. He squinted as he saw two men, one was in a wheelchair. Whoops! Wrong room.  

He peered through the next one and saw a familiar tuft of black hair sticking out of the covers on the rumpled bed. The room was tiny yet clean, with space enough for a small bed and a tiny set of drawers.  

A grin perked at the corners of Dean's mouth, and he fist bumped himself, almost loosing balance again. Super enthusiastically he floundered forwards, placing both palms against the window, he yelps as they push open and Dean pitched forwards onto the wooden floor of Castiel's bedroom, landing in a crumpled awkward heap. 

There was a disgruntled cry from the bed that grabbed Dean's attention. Castiel was sitting up in bed with his crazy sex hair even wilder than normal due to being smashed against the pillow. Dean smiled to himself, thinking of how adorable Cas looked, ignoring the flitting expressions over the other boy's face. 

"Dean? How did you even... what?" Castiel looked totally dumbstruck.  

 "How're you?" Dean asked through his slurred speech, trying his best to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.  

Dean successfully pulled himself up into a standing position, stumbling over to Castiel's bed before clambering onto it on his hands and knees.   

Up close he could see Castiel properly,  the bruise on his eye had a greeny-blue hue just below the skin, it reminded Dean's murky brain of a pool he had seen on a commercial about holidays in South America. 


Dean leant  closer and pressed his lips against the slowly fading bruise, a soft kiss that carried an unspoken apology and so much more. “Cas…” 


Castiel shoved him away, wiping his forehead. “The actual hell Dean? You smell like a fucking liquor store!” The Novak boy hissed angrily in Dean's ear.  


Dean shook his head. “I gotta make you better. Mom said kisses heal… I wanna heal ya Cas.” Dean mumbled, pushing against the hands on his chest. “I need your forgiveness. I really, really do.”  


Castiel looked away, his hands clenching in the sheets with indecision before he sighed in exasperation.  

“Fine. Do what you gotta do and then shut the fuck up and sleep." Castiel looked tired and annoyed but curiosity sparkled in his azure eyes. 

Dean crawled into Castiel's lap, his hands fumbling at the hem of his pyjama shirt before he pulled it up, he gazed down at Cas' torso seeing the washed out bruises and cuts that marred the beautiful planes of pale skin. 

One by one he released the buttons and proceeded to lean down, softly kissing each painful reminder of his sin. Castiel watched him silently, the quiet breathing of both boys filled the room. It was dark, a slit of moonlight seeping through the window helped guide Dean to the marks.  

In the storm that was Dean's life he felt sheltered here with Castiel. Dean felt his anger and pain unravel until he heard himself stifle a sob. The boy under him slipped his arms around Dean's waist crushing him to his chest. He didn’t want to cry because he thought he had already cried enough, but his body had other ideas. 

"It's okay Dean, you'll find a way out, but you gotta rest now, catch some shut eye and we can talk tomorrow." Castiel's voice was quiet and soft, it had Dean's lips twisting in a sad smile. 

"Okay. Night Cas." He slipped off of Cas' lap and burrowed his face in the pillows, nuzzling them while he took in how much they smelled like Cas, like home. This felt like home. 

Sometime later in the night the boys had gravitated towards each other. Legs were tangled between the sheets and arms were around each other. 

They both slept better then they had in years.  



Chapter Text

Cas knew exactly who was behind him when he woke the next morning. He had managed to fall asleep soon after Dean's little drunken adventure through his window, quite a while after the sun had set. It had felt surreal and insane when the boy had stumbled into his room and over to bed, falling into his lap.  

He really should have listened to his mother and closed his window... 

The sun was shining its first gentle rays through the pane and in the fresh light of dawn he could see just how much destruction his room had suffered. The carpet had slid up against the wall and the soft blue curtains were slightly torn. Dean must have held onto them as he pitched forwards through the opening behind and there was dried mud flecked over the wooden floorboards in a chaotic little trail from the window to his bed. 

His mother would be furious with him for the mess, but right now Cas didn’t care. He was warm and cosy and he hadn't realized just how much he had missed having someone's arms around him at night. Maybe the next time he brought home one night stand he shouldn't kick them out straight away.  

As he glanced around the devastation his gaze came to rest on the clock on the bed side table, which reassured him he still had another hour to dispose of Dean, have breakfast, shower off the party vibes and rush down to early morning service before school started. Easy as pie.  

Dean's hot breath on his neck interrupted his sleepy thoughts as it melted through his hair, making him shiver. He could almost ignore how it stunk of stale alcohol and morning breath for the sake of having a strong warm body wrapped around his, but this was Dean

Cas eased himself out of the covers and stood up, his cotton boxers clinging lovingly to his hips. He felt a little self conscious, the stray thought put him slightly off balance. He never normally felt self conscious around people. 

He scratched his stomach as he pattered over to the closet, trying to ignore the fact that the guy that had beaten him to a pulp and left him to bleed out only a week before, was lying metres away, in his bed, under his sheets, having spent the night with him. He didn’t know if he wanted to hit something or scream. 

There came more grunting from the bed, and from the way Dean had been slurring the night before, he knew the Winchester was going to suffer. Good. 

"Get your ass up. You need to leave." Castiel's voice rang through the room coldly, after all the dude could handle a taste of his own medicine. 

This week had been hard on Cas. He'd awoken to an empty bed the morning after his sister's visit and it had been even colder in the room than when he had fallen asleep. The air smelt like antiseptic and it burned his sensitive nose, Castiel felt like a bad case of road kill. 

He hadn't been able to open his mouth or even squawk out a word or two, the adrenalin that had been shielding him from most of the pain had worn off, leaving him naked to the throbbing ache. Gabriel had cleaned his body of the clotted blood, covered his gashes with band aids and disinfectant, and had applied ice to the worst of the bruises. He had also checked for other broken bones, apart from the bruised ribs and his mangled nose. Gabriel had had to reset it, the pop it made in the process would haunt Cas forever. 

His body was swollen in places it never had been, all of it achy and tender from the horrid beating he had taken just the night before. It hurt to breath, so Castiel just listened to Anna reading him bible stories until he drifted off. He had woken at many odd times and just laid there. 

Castiel had gotten his ass kicked, he had lain there, punch after punch. If he could have curled up into a  foetal position to cry he would have. He couldn't stop it and his ego was as bruised as his body. Even after the cuts and bruises were starting to heal Castiel had nursed his broken ego for the rest of the time, he'd thought he was strong and he'd thought he was a good fighter, but Dean had pummelled him like he was a steak and Dean a meat tenderizer.  

He was ashamed of himself, how could he have let that happen? From the moment Dean had grabbed his shirt and shoved him up against the wall, he hadn't even tried to fight back, sure he had thrown a couple pathetic punches, but Dean had taken out all his fury on the nearest object of interest. Cas. 

The therapeutic walks with Meg and Charlie had been helping him heal both mentally and physically, but it was a slow process. Castiel had grown bitter and snarky, in an attempt to make people back off, he thought they would be able to smell the shame rolling off him in waves. In a particularly bad moment he had snapped at Charlie, who had only rolled her eyes at him and said he was 'being a drama queen'. It was not that she was wrong, it was just that he wanted to sulk. 

Castiel's hand found the simple white button up he usually wore for church. He would have worn his shamrock green letterman jacket but he kept it in his locker at school where his parents couldn’t find it, along with the text books he had stolen. His parents didn't give him money for clothes, let alone school supplies. 

He found his trusty pair of jeans and slid them on, they were acceptable in most of his daily activities so they were usually his first option. 

Castiel moved about his room, he was determinedly trying to ignore Dean. 

His options were limited, he could either go out there and face Dean like a man or stay hiding in his closet all day.  

Then again his closet did have snacks in it... 

He shook his head, taking a deep breath, and walked out to the bedroom where the short haired boy was just awakening to nurse a horrific hangover.

"Fuck.. M-my head.. Splitting open.." Dean could barely string a sentence together. He was face down in the pillows, probably avoiding the light. Just to be a bitch Castiel yanked the curtains open even wider, letting in more of the dazzling golden sunlight. He was duly rewarded with a pained moan from the miserable heap of human in his bed. 

"Time to get up, Princess." He needed to get the Winchester boy out of here now. Gabriel would be passing his room soon and would come in to wake him up. 

There was another pathetic attempt from Dean to get up. He must have been suffering the worlds worst cotton mouth, judging by the grumbles that accompanied his attempts. The boy had managed to slide up the bed into a sitting position, but he was clutching his stomach and was pale in the face. "If I move.. Throw up."  God, just how much had he drunk? 

Castiel marched over to Dean and forced the boy to face him with a hand under his chin. The beautiful green eyes were puffy and blood shot, his honeyed skin pale in contrast to his freckles, and blotchy around his jawline. He looked awful, but not as bad as Castiel had when he was brought home. 

"You want an aspirin?" When Dean nodded eagerly, only to wince at a jolt of pain through his skull and going a little green in the face from the jerky movements, he grinned. "You can stop off at the store on your way to class." 

Cas was really enjoying this. 

"Can.. Can I take a shower please?" Castiel gave a sigh and nodded relentingly, Dean had stunk like sweat when he got in bed yesterday, but Cas had been too tired to care. "Sure. There are towels in there." Castiel indicated the bathroom door and walked over to the open window, looking down at the busy street where Gabriel was picking up the post from the mailbox. He caught Castiel's eye and waved before disappearing into the house. Now that Gabriel had seen that he was awake he had a couple more minutes to spare. 

Cas closed the blue curtains so they blocked out the sun and leant against the wall. Would he have to push Dean out of the window or would he be able to sneak downstairs undetected? With a household of nine the latter would be virtually impossible. 

Castiel was jolted out of his contemplations when a loud bang sounded from the bathroom. He rushed over, wondering if Dean had slipped on the tiles, he should have warned him how slippery it got. 

When he pulled the door open he saw Dean in his boxers, clutching his jeans. His legs were sticking up out of the bathtub where he had fallen backwards into it, his eyes wide with shock, staring at the other side of the room. "Dean?!" Cas was confused, was Dean still drunk? 

Dean shook his head violently and pointed at the space between the sink and the corner of the wall making choked noises of fear. 

When he looked at the corner he saw his older brother, sitting squished between the two hard surfaces. Lucifer's face was a contorted in a stricken expression, his hand were raised and clenched in front of him in white knuckled fists, he wasn’t moving except for the tremors. 

Castiel approached him quietly and knelt in front of him, ignoring Dean's squeak of alarm. 

 "Hello Luci." Castiel took the quaking man's hand in his and gently moved it in small circles to loosen the stiffness, he knew Lucifer wouldn’t be able to comprehend his presence completely, he released his hand. "Did you come to visit me?" His voice is soft and quiet as if he was talking to a flighty animal, it was what Anna and Lucifer both called his special voice because it made them feel safe. 

"Visit me..." Lucifer echoed him in a quiet voice. Castiel could see that his eyes were blood shot and his hair was sticking up where he had pulled on it when he was hyper or scared.  

"You saw Dean didn’t you? That’s why you got scared, because you didn’t  know who he was?" Lucifer whined quietly in response. He seemed to be calming down. "I'm going to put my hand out, but I don’t want you to shake it, you got that? Don’t shake it." Cas whispered and, like clockwork, Lucifer's hand shot out like a snake and grabbed his in a tight, vice-like grip, shaking it with uncontrollable tremors. It usually worked to reach him and pull him out of the semi-catatonic state. 

Lucifer smiled faintly, the cheeky sparkle in his Novak blue eyes returning. Sometimes he was so far gone into his psychosis he would loose himself for a long time, trapped in the cage that was his mind, lost to the demons in his head. 

Castiel looked over his shoulder. "That's Dean. He.. goes to our church and my school." Lucifer blinked up at Dean, who had slowly been pulling himself out of the bathtub.  

Lucifer eyed him with the all too familiar suspicion he showed any new person. "What's your favourite colour kiddo." The older man questioned. 

Dean pushed a hand through his hair, hesitating for a second because he thought this was a test. He wasn't wrong. 


Lucifer smiled contentedly. "Good. Pleasure to meet you." Just like that his snarky, witty voice was back instead of that god awful whisper he used when talking drained him too much.  

"Nice to meet you too." Dean replied, though it sounded more like a question. Cas knew Dean was confused by this, but it was something Lucifer did to find out who was real and who existed only in his perception of the world. 

The bathroom wasn't well lit, there was a glimmer of light that struck the mirror, which was stashed behind the curtain, and echoed around it. The dim lighting made the quietness that descended upon the room all the more eerie. Lucifer was still grasping Castiel's hand, probably because his limbs were be stiff after being in the cramped corner for so long. There were pained lines around his eyes that could easily be mistaken for laugh lines. Lucifer had gained them over years of ignoring the voices without the aid of medicine. Their parents believed it was a demonic illness and could be cured through a regime of strict prayer. 

Castiel helped him up, letting his older sibling lean heavily against him. He brought his fists up to his chest again, like he had when he was sitting squeezed in the corner, but he seemed lucid enough. "Mother and Father aren't going to appreciate this Castiel. Michael will find out and tell them, he's watching us Cas he knows what goes on." Lucifer may have muttered those words, but his sharp eyes darted around the room as if looking for non-existent cameras. 

"Yeah, he's a nosy ass, but you can't tell anyone. You know how badly Mother will react and as for Father..." Cas shuddered, remembering Gabriel's punishment for a simple prank. Their father did not like to be humiliated. Their mother said that they were her mission, so disobedience was not tolerated in the slightest. 

Naomi had seen disobedience and defiance as a corruption of the soul and banished it from their young minds very early on, along with the ability to rebel. Then Lucifer had fallen sick and Anna had been left traumatized, Mother Novak had seen it all as a calling from God. She believed she was blessed with sons ill of the mind, possessed with demons that she could eradicate in a service to her Lord. 

It was a vile reason for being a mother. 

Lucifer's health had declined over the years, starting from seventh grade when the hallucinations first started. Castiel had only been a bright eyed three year old at this time, but he had heard all about it from Raphael, who naturally hadn't said it was their parents fault, but the Devil's. 

It had started with hearing pings or static buzzing, Naomi thought he had been lying, but soon after it had progressed to hearing a quiet voice, almost like an angel on his shoulder except then the angel had started to tell him to kill himself. 

Lucifer had suffered all the way through his high school years. There had been more voices, male, female, low and deep or high pitched and frantic, some would whisper to him about how he was worthless, others would scream at him to run to hide, to fight his way out of the innocent gas station where he bought himself candy. They would over lap and interrupt each other while he talked to people, he fought to keep the yelled or whispered commands in the back of his mind. There was a particularly scary voice that would make Lucifer go stock still the moment he heard it. When watching Harry potter he had screamed at the basilisk saying that was his voice, that was  the voice that haunted him, the voice that wanted him to hurt his family. 

Even after all he had gone, and was still going through Lucifer continued to smile, he still made Gabriel laugh when they had all shared a bedroom as kids. He had patched up Castiel's knee when he had fallen on the church cobble stones and scraped the exposed skin. He had beaten up some bullies that had stolen Zachariah's lunch and always spared time to do Bible Study with Raphael and do drawing with Anna. He had even held his tongue so he didn’t fight with his twin so much. So even as he suffered Lucifer cared for his siblings, while mother Novak continued on with her Godly devotions as if none the wiser.  

Lucifer had a beautiful heart, even though he didn't know what was wrong with him he knew he had been deteriorating. He became withdrawn from the people he loved the most because the voices inside his shadowed mind screamed at him to kill them, torture them and skin them alive. For a long time he only ever talked to his twin, refusing to acknowledge the other members of his family. Food also became difficult, he would only drink juice boxes because glasses could be made into weapons and he didn't want to stab anyone.  

On a good day he would smile and laugh at the animal hallucinations that ambled around in his mind's eye, talking about the  cats that would laze at the corners of his consciousness. He would burst out laughing if someone stepped on one of his hallucinations and shake his head, calling them idiots. On bad days he would lock himself in his room, barricade the doors, windows and closet and burrow under his sheets, chanting prayers to get him away from the black eyed creatures that haunted him. Some were humanoid, half smoke and half human creatures would fade in and out of his vision, showing him his family murdered brutally,  and others were spiders with eyeballs that would crawl towards him and get under his skin. Beasts that would bark like dogs but had red eyes and claws sharper then his mother's kitchen knives. They'd circle his bed and paw at the sheets and in the morning the crumpled fabric would be torn from his own hands, but he would always believe it was the hell hounds. 

At that point Lucifer had been so weak and drained from having to suffer through the hallucinations without the aid of medication that he would stop eating, loosing so much weight that he became nothing more then a coat hanger for his clothes. 

Under the dim light of the bathroom Castiel could see the blue print of his older brother's bones. His once strong arms couldn’t even support his own measly weight now. 

"I won't say a thing brother, even the voice says we can't hurt Dean." Lucifer turned his head to face a dishevelled Dean, his eyes glinting with an ancient intelligence of a much darker reality. "He already has a demon of his own."  

At this Dean shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. "I can do without the shower. I think I'm going to leave before I embarrass myself anymore."  

Dean glanced down at his undeniably reeking body. There was a stain, the colour of rust, blooming on his shirt, but there was a bold crimson flowering at the edges of the mark, he knew it was blood. Castiel grabbed the wrist attached to the hand had broken his nose only a week ago and he looked at his brother. 

"Lucifer you should go find Michael, let him know I'll be down soon." He patted his brother's shoulder and turned to Dean as the man swiftly exited the room, taking with him the eerie chill that had painted the walls. 

Dean shook his head, his voice a rough sound from the abuse of the whiskey. "Is your brother autistic?" Cas pushed Dean against the sink.  

"Catatonic Schizophrenic, take your shirt off." Dean blushed, the freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks so clearly defined. Cas tilted his head slightly and rolled his eyes. "Dean you're fucking bleeding, I have no interest in seeing your scrawny body." 

"The hell did you just say to me? I'm scrawny? You look like a limp noodle, jackass." The blonde boy huffed and crossed his arms rolling his blood shot eyes. 

Cas growled in frustration and grabbed the rim of Dean's shirt, yanking it above his head. He ignored Dean's protests and attempts to fight his actions as he balled up the clothing, leaving it in the sink.  

Dean's cheeks burned a shade shy of scarlet. On his chest was a nauseating sight, a blister shaped like the letter C was oozing sticky blood. Dean must have disturbed the healing when he fell in the tub. The edges were an angry, swollen red with charred and blacked skin surround the raw and stinging wound. 

Castiel looked up at Dean. "We need to clean this, it could already be infected." He crouched in front of the sink and pulled out a tiny first aid kit that he used whenever he got hurt in street fights. He rummaged through the supplies, looking for the antiseptic and some fresh bandages. He promised himself he wasn’t going to bring up the fact that the bastard who was supposed to care for Dean had actually taken a hot piece of metal and burnt his mark right in the centre of Dean's chest This must have been the reason he had crawled into Cas' bed drunk, he had been looking for comfort. Castiel soaked a cotton pad in the fluid and dabbed it carefully around the horrific mark. 

Dean winced and grunted, but apart from that they were both silent. Castiel carefully cleaned the wound and covered it with a pad, asking the other boy to hold it in place as he wrapped his arms around Dean to reach the bandage in his other hand, ignoring the fact that his face was pressed against the Winchester's collarbone and he could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against his cheek. Cas rolled the bandage around and secured it in place with a pin, snipping off the leftover bit. 

 "I have to go attend breakfast. Stay here and don’t leave my room until I get back, and for God's sake, don't do anything stupid." Cas waited just long enough to see a nod from Dean before he left the room. 

Downstairs his family was seated at the table Like every morning there was a plate of freshly cut fruit, muesli and tea. The head of the table was crowned by Chuck himself, dressed in a crisp black shirt and blue chinos, to his left sat Naomi, her hands clasped before her waiting to say Grace. Opposite her sat Raphael, who chatted politely to Zach, who sat on his right, about how his 'priest scout club' bullshit was going and Zachariah was just lapping up every one of his words. In front of Zach sat Anna, who stared wistfully at the beautiful springtime bouquet that was the centre piece to the table, Castiel knew she loved to smell the flowers, they made her happy. To her left Gabriel was sharing the morning paper with Michael, they were discussing the weather or some other crap that was allowed at the table. In front of Michael was the empty space left for Castiel. He hated the fact that to his left he could hear Zach's  vile remarks about the church's choir group, but he was grateful he had Lucifer at the end of the table, to his right. 

Castiel sat in his assigned seat, silent as the grave. Gabriel offered him a smile before they all closed their eyes and clasped their hands in front of their hearts, like the good little Christians they were. 

"I wish to say Grace today Mother, Father, if you'll allow." Raphael's cool voice slid through the air like a charmed snake. Their mother smiled proudly and nodded at her eldest son.  

"Go ahead Raphael." 

He recited a particular piece that was dedicated to how a family was a blessing, but Castiel zoned out until the clap and the 'Amen Lord' roused him from his thoughts. 

All he could think about was how he was going to get Dean out of there. 

Anna was watching him, he could feel the questions heavy in her dark hazel eyes, so uncharacteristic of the Novak family. Of course she would know something was up, she knew him better than anyone else. 

Castiel had to pace himself to eat breakfast slowly and not raise suspicion. It took all of his willpower to offer polite small talk to his family. His father's word of dismissal could not come soon enough for Cas, but eventually it did. 

After escaping from the table and making sure no one was going to ask about his behaviour, he rushed up the stairs two at a time and into his bedroom, spotting Dean lying on the floor, his legs crossed, looking up at the ceiling, his face covered in the soft black fabric of a V necked shirt. 

"Uh, why have you got my shirt on your face?" Castiel walked into the sun lit room and pulled his bag off the floor where it sat beside his bed. 

"Migraine. Do you have some sunglasses I could borrow?"  

Cas shook his head. "Dean we aren't friends, you do know that right?"  

There was silence from under the shirt. Dean slowly sat up, letting it fall to his lap as he squinted at Cas. "I've been trying to find a way to say I'm sorry, but... Nothing I can say will make what I did any less horrible, Cas." 

Castiel shrugged as he busied himself with searching through his backpack for his keys. "Sure, 'cos saying 'sorry' suddenly makes all the trauma go away, right? For you." He knew he was being bitter, but he didn't care. 

Dean stayed silent for a while then whispered. "Y-you're right." 

Cas turned and gave him a look that made Dean freeze where he sat. "So you're not even going to try?" 

 "Cas look, I beat you up when you were trying to help me. I don't really know what I can say to make it better." Something inside Castiel snapped. He wanted Dean to say something, anything, to actually try to make it better, but the fucktard was too righteous for that. 

"Dean, fuck's sake, you're such an ass! Do you have any idea what you put me through?" His voice cracked under the pressure of pent of anger, hurt and incredulity.  

"Why don't you just hit me back? Take a shot, cowboy, come on." Dean stood up to full height and walked closer to Cass, yanking the bag out of his hands. "Get mad, take it all out on me. I've been told I'm a good punch bag." Dean's voice was snarky, the leer on his face a vicious twist of his lips. Cas wanted to hit him. He did. 

"Is that all you're good for? A fucking punch bag? Cain's little bitch?" Hands were at his throat and he was shoved up against the wall like he was a week ago. This time he wasn't going to go down so easy. Castiel's knee shot up in a well aimed kick to Dean's crotch, he smacked his fist into the boy's stomach and shoved him back, watching as the assbutt before him stumbled and fell to the floor with a thud. Dean started scrabbling to get back on his feet, but Cas straddled his stomach and connected his fist with the beautifully cut freckled jawline. His fist complained at the impact and he shook it as Dean's head was thrown back, the sound of teeth clacking together audible over his heavy breathing.  

He glared down at Dean. He wanted to leave him in the bloodied mess he had been. An eye for an eye, an ego for an ego. He wanted to teach this kid a lesson, but this was also the guy he has bandaged and cuddled last night. So he hesitated. Dean shifted their weight so fast he didn't have time to register. Then he was under Dean, looking up into his spring green eyes. Dean gripped his hands and held them above his head, pinning him down with his hips. Cas struggled and wriggled frantically, biting his lips when his groin rubbed against Dean's.  

He looked away ashamed at himself, but not before noticing Dean was turned on too. "Lets call it a truce, even Stevens." Dean growled, his breath was hot against Castiel's cheek as he forced himself to face Dean once again. Putting on his best murderous glare Castiel quipped. "You're not getting off that easy." Cas drove his hips up and rocked them, watching the confusion and lust flit across Dean's face.  

The hot line of the hard arousal of the boy on top of him pressed against his. It looked like he wasn't the only one turned on by the bickering. "You were saying?" Castiel actually smiled at Dean with an 'eat shit' smile.  

"Fuck you." Dean grunted. Castiel tried to kick the other boy off but he spat at him instead. "What would Cain think of this?" He stared back at Dean, matching his fiery expression.  

Dean's eyes darkened a few shades from apple to forest leaves, but he pulled off of Cas, holding his hand out for him to pull him up. Castiel took the proffered grip and pulled himself up, dusting himself off and ignoring the flushed cheeks and ragged breathing they both possessed. 

"Don't ever do that again Dean." Castiel turned away and grabbed his bag. "Window. Now." He pushed Dean through the opening and closed the pane, locking it before he left his room. As he walked through the hall to the stairs he kept his head down, listening to the faint shuffling sounds behind his siblings' doors as they get ready for church. 

 Castiel walked out through the front door and around the house to the back, where a worn out looking Dean was leaning against the whitewashed wall, his arms crossed and a pained expression on his face. Cas slipped his hand in his bag and pulled out a simple pair of sunglasses, he held them out for the boy before he slung the bag over his shoulder. "I'm going to church. See you at school." 

He didn’t bother waiting to see if Dean would try to say something, he was already marching around the yard to the front and into the church part of their home. 

As always the hollow room was cold, early morning worshipers shuffled to the pews, the quiet sound of sleepy chatter floated around the room. It would have been peaceful if Castiel wasn’t still worked up about his fight with Dean, what had that been? Surely he hadn't imagined Dean's erection or his own, even though he'd wanted to punch him. He settled into the familiar hardness of the pew and rested his forehead against the front pew, he wanted to be back in bed. Anywhere but here. 

The pew dipped slightly under the weight of someone sitting close to him, the heat of a thigh pressed against him, making him sigh. If it was their neighbours' kids again he would scream. 

The familiar shuffle of a bible being opened would have been fine, it was a church after all. Except for the fact that this person was being extremely loud, the pages crinkling obnoxiously, brushing against each other. It was incredibly irritating  

With a frustrated noise Castiel sat up and faced the noisy intruder.  

"Could you try to be a little more quiet-" He stared at Dean. "What are you doing here? If Cain finds out...."  

"He won't." Dean's voice didn’t quite back up his words, but his mouth was set in a determined line. 


 For the rest of the service Castiel mostly ignored him. He kept his eyes down at the bible and he would mutter an 'Amen' every now and then.  

When it was over he simply got up and walked out, no need for Dean to see the bitch face he was harbouring. He walked out and down the street, pulling out his phone and connecting his headphones to it. He was so engrossed by the task that he missed a lady with a push chair coming straight at him. 

It never hit him, he was yanked out of the way by a fist crumpling in his shirt. Castiel yelped indignantly when he was crushed against Dean's body. "Why can't you just leave me alone?!" He wriggled out of his grip and straightened his rucked up shirt. 

"I just wanted to ask you something, plus, we're going the same way..." Dean held up his hands in surrender, which calmed Cas down a little. Only a little. 

"What do you want then?" He picked up his backpack from where it slipped off his shoulder and pulled away, starting to walk in the direction of the school. 

"Why uh... Why did it feel good." Dean scratched his neck awkwardly as he followed Castiel to the school, falling in step beside him. 

"Gonna need you to be a little more specific." Castiel stared at the monotonous concrete under his shoes as they walked, sometimes a piece of colourful gum would highlight the boring expanse, but that was it.  

"When we were on the floor and you.. You, uh, did that thing with your hips..." Dean's face was beet red. Absolutely hilarious. 

Castiel took his time to think. "You maybe think the reason Cain fucks you is because it feels good? Sex is great." He glanced over at the Winchester, whose face was pensive. "Rape isn't." 

Dean's eyes flicked up and caught his own.  

"I want you to show me." 



Chapter Text

Hi guys,
Last week I said Thursday Storms was going to be updated biweekly because of how busy I've been.
Well Between chapter 6-7 a big mess just kind of f*cked my family up and now I'm trying to deal with it.
I have tried writing for you guys but I absolutely refuse to turn out anything that isn't to the story's standards.
Thursday Storms has been an amazing experience so far, I never even expected to get more then one kudo (probably mine) or for it even to have people reading it and wanting more.
This story is filled with very personal experiences that have either happened to me, happened to someone I know... of course not exactly how they happened but it's all there. It's a raw story full of hurt and pain and suffering because at the time of writing this story it's how I've been feeling. I do have a happy ending planned for it though.
The story is going on a hiatus because I cannot write at the moment, there's too much going on and they're just words on a screen without meaning.
I'm sorry.

With love TheImpalaBoys.

Chapter Text

“I want you to show me.”


Those were the words that wrenched an incredulous laugh from Castiel.


This boy that barely week ago had used his body like a punching bag and left him on the sidewalk in the rain. This boy that had drunkenly clambered into his bedroom in the belly of the night to ask for forgiveness. This boy was... asking Cas to show him what sex was really like?


Castiel found himself sighing. If he was going to start listing facts about Dean that he would rather ignore, then he should also list off the ones that he knew were true. Dean; the boy who’d grown up in the cage like palm of his abuser to spare his brother the same tragedy. The boy whose body wasn't his own, and had been eaten up and chewed rigorously before being spat out, time and time again.


A boy who thought sex was meant to be painful, restrictive and feared.


Deans expression, hopefully teasing on desperate, had flinched at the explosive laugh.


Of course what had he been hoping for? Sure, the good little Christian in him was begging him to forgive and forget. Castiel may hate that side of him, but someone who grew up with religion finds it hard to just throw it away. Even if he would rather chew gravel, than say the Lord's prayer one more time.


“That's pretty brave of you.” Castiel's tongue was sharp like ice. Even he winced at his tone as he met the emerald eyes, unchanged from the first time he'd seen them.

Dean was visibly out of his comfort zone, Cas might have even thrown him a helpline but he wasn't feeling all that generous.

“We both know I don't have any other friends to ask. Cain is friendly with Naomi and....” his voice trails off, the realisation of what he'd done to Cains house sinking in. Plus now he'd escaped, so Cain would come home to an empty house.

He was no longer a boy and he had to own up to his own behaviour. Dean would let Cain settle it however he wanted to and then maybe things could go back to normal.

Did he want them to go back to normal? Was the pain both he and castiel trudged through in every day of their puny lives normal? Perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps there was more out there somewhere.

In Deans silence, Castiel had been watching him with a burning curiosity, even knowing he should just drop the Winchester and wash his hands of the tornado of shit that came with knowing this boy. “What.” Cas quipped, wondering if he really wanted to know.


“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Anyway I've gotta get to class and so do you.” Without another word Dean steps off the doorstep they'd been standing on and heads towards where the school stood a couple blocks away.

Castiel, with his mind like a whirlwind, followed the blonde-freckled boy into the school.



The dingy hallways were bustling quietly, students that could barely keep their eyes open shuffled to their classes like zombies. First class was English and he’d rather stab himself with a moldy dildo than do that right now, so he decides to take the stairs to the art room. It would be empty until lunch so he had plenty of time for a nap. 

Cas curled up on one of the tables, using his backpack as a pillow, and shut his eyes.


Precalculus was the last class of the day, so Castiel snuck into the dingy room that smelt like a combo of the entire track team and desperation. As his ass dropped down onto the standard blue chair, which scraped back with an annoyed squeal, a shrill beeping and buzzing shrieked inside his pocket. He leaned forward over the desk and let his head rest against the scratched up surface.


The precal classroom was dreary, with the appeal of a holding cell. It was a fitting blue grey, the type that could only be found in hospital wards or funeral homes. The thought was fitting, he mused as he pulled out the trusty flip-phone, that dreams came to die in Wilcox high school and at least the decorators knew that.


An unsaved number glared at him, lighting up on his screen. It could have been any one of his one night stands or bar adventures since the only numbers he had bothered to save were Meg’s, Gabriel’s, the number for the chinese takeout downtown and the sex health clinic. The rest he would guess. This wasn't any of his family's numbers so it could only be someone he's fucked who’s gotten a little clingy.


One glance up at the teacher confirmed that she was way more interested in her crosswords then actually teaching the precal bunch. Even if Cas collapsed and died, he wouldn't get much more then a grunt from her, old hag.


He pressed the green button and lifted it to his ear, the static on the side heavy with the callers breath.


“Hey baby, never thought I'd hear from you again.” Castiel's voice was a sultry purr, his feet were up on the desk and he was leaning back in the seat, no idea which guy it is on the other side.


“Angel… I've missed you so much, I didn't expect you to pick up but thank you. I want to see you again.”


Castiel's nose wrinkled in disgust. He had only given this guy his number because he was loaded and liked to spoil Cas, he’d buy him stuff that he had to hide under his floorboards as there was no way a teenage boy could explain owning a Rolex. He sighed the way you do when you wish you hadn't picked up. This guy gave him the creeps.


“Im free right now, wanna meet?” He knew that he wouldn't be missed until he was due home in the afternoon, and there was plenty of time between now and then. He could get some well needed dick and maybe earn himself some pocket money.


The breathing on the other side hitched. He cant see the other guy, but he knew that his fingers will be curled around the phone and he was probably palming himself through his jeans.


The phone call ended with Cas blowing a kiss. His eyes focused onto the blonde girl sitting a couple rows ahead who was sitting facing the back staring at him. Pretty slip of a girl but just another plain blonde Jane to Castiel. All the girls were the same to him.

He stuck his tongue out at her not really caring if she overheard at all. Hate to break it to ya kid but gays exist, so do sluts and he just happened to be both.

Only room for one gay slut in Wilcox.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and strolled out passing her desk with a stony glare. Castiel didn’t want assholes getting involved with his shit, and this blonde bitch looked like she might have the balls to try.

The classroom door slammed behind him, hinges groaning like a pathetic attempt of asking him not to leave. He ignored it and strolled down the empty hall. The intelligible scrawling over the lockers and flickering lights guided him out of the school into the parking lot.

Out here the air was fresh. He gulped it down greedily as he made his way across the street into a block of offices. If you could call them that.

They were old. To say the least, had seen better days. Like everything else in this town, the signs were faded. Windows open to let in a flutter of the air. His feet carried him inside, ignoring the receptionists shout. He goes straight up to the office with the ‘do not disturb’ sign hanging off of its knob. As if it wasn’t suggestive enough .

Castiel exhaled sharply. He’d never hesitated for a good fucking but here he was like a nervous date at prom. The gods of self control had left him all alone.

But he didn’t have to open the door, as it opened before he could even knock.

“Angel, so nice to see you again.” a cold voice greeted him with the smooth charm oozing out, he felt sick to his stomach.

“Hey baby,” brown eyes stared him down from the doorway. This man unnerved him, the way his eyes followed him and never once lost his calm, balls deep into Castiel's ass and he was a quiet fuck. The man in question lowered his head in a polite nod. Stepping aside so Castiel could enter the room leaving his dignity at the door.

Instead of his coy smile, Castiel pulled his bottom lip with his teeth, hands clenched into his pockets. Why was he nervous? He had been doing this for the longest time. Castiel sighed and sat up on the desk of Roman enterprises. watching Dick tilt his head, regarding him like a piece of meat.

“I’m surprised you’ve come, little angel. You seemed like you’d just.. fly away.” Roman strolled over to the desk and stood, staring Castiel down from hooded eyes that betrayed his games, trailing his fingers under the younger boys jaw to make him face him. “But you’re not that stupid. Smart little kitten that you are, always landing on your feet.” Said Dick, pulling Cas closer to the edge of his desk by his belt loops.


He lay back against the cool glass, even though he now lay on top of Romans documents and pens. There was a twinge against his ribs as the nameplate dug into him but he ignored it. Arching his back as Dicks gaze ate him up. The shiver that ran through him wasn't from pleasure.


Richard Roman. Preferably called Dick. Owner of Roman enterprises and worlds best douche bag. Unchanging smirk and knowing brown eyes he’d made it rich in Washington, after a minor scandal involving two young boys and some white lines, he’d been sent to Wilcox as a “time out” or at least until people moved onto the next big thing.

The man in question w alked back over to his seat behind the desk. The leather crisp under his suit. Without a word he pointed under the desk and took out his laptop.

Castiel slipped under it. His knees twinging at the grey carpeted floor, clean except for a couple suspicious stains. Here he unbuckled the belt in front of him and began mouthing at Romans boxers. Closing his eyes.

Did Dean like to be teased?


Castiel's eyes flew open at the stray thought. Why was he thinking about that asshole now when he had some guys dick in his mouth. He entertained the thought. Blue eyes fluttering closed as he imagined the Winchester boy gasping at the feel of his lips around his cock.

Would he be rough and yank Cas’s hair? Would he be writhing under his tongue like a girl getting her clit sucked. Would his forest eyes be dazed and plump lips parted, freckled cheeks flushed as he came down his throat.

Castiel blushed suddenly realising he was sporting an erection. He shuddered at the friction of his jeans against his leaking cock when he shiftted back on his knees. Fuuuck... he hadn’t been this hard since he’d discovered his prostate and had a little fun with it.

Castiel moaned as he pulled Romans boxers down, tucking them under his balls and licking the tip. He couldn’t focus, all he could think about was Dean, how he’d look splayed out with his cock standing to attention. Smearing precum against his belly.

He had to stop. It wasn’t the right time or place to think about Dean. He began sucking lightly at the veiny dick in front of him. Castiel would have choked if his gag reflex hadn’t disappeared a long time ago. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of expensive cologne. Who sprays cologne on their dick?

It didn’t take long for Cas to work his way down his cock, humming as it nudges the back of his throat. As per usual, Dick didn’t have any response, he idly worked through his documents and occasionally shifted in his seat. Sneaking his fingers up the pant covered legs that boxed his shoulders,Castiel found the telltale lump of a wallet. He carefully snuck it out and stuffed it in his back pocket.

That was when he heard the office door click open. He froze, eyes wide and started pulling back until he felt a hand on his nape, pushing him forwards until his nose was buried in the trimmed coarse hair. He shuddered feeling Roman’s dick twitching  down his throat. Deep and stretching him till he was struggling for breath.

“Ah Mr. Roman, so this is where you’ve been hiding? I’m sure you must’ve heard the fax go through.”

That voice, he knew that voice. Cold and sharp... Cain? What was he doing here? It dawned on Castiel that he must work for Roman enterprises. Fuck.. he was on his knees under the desk sucking Di ck Roman’s cock while Dean’s abusive asshole of a guardian stood at the doorway.

Was Dean okay? The last time he’d seen him was this morning when he’d been leaving precal and peeped into economics, Dean had been taking notes with a frustrated expression.

A smile curlsedhis lips, he’d started noticing that when Dean was focused on something, he nibbled the pen lid, eyebrows pushed together in a frown. It was kinda cute.

Realising what he’s doing, he angrily waved the thoughts away. Sluts don’t think people are cute.

“Well Mr. Marked, I’m sure you would have realised that if I hadn’t answered yet, there would be a good reason why.” Romans smarmy voice slithered.

He could hear the testosterone in Dicks voice, Castiel had to swallow a snort at the thought of Cain and Dick in the toilets, comparing dick sizes at the urinals.

There was a rustle, and a husky chuckle. Castiel was still sucking and working his tongue wondering if the man was going to cum down his throat with his coworker in the room.

“I suppose so... ah, before I forget. Will I be seeing you at Alastair’s place? He’s bragging about a new plaything he’s procured. Both him and I own one so I should see if he can get one for you too.” Cas misses the childish way he says plaything,he missed the nonchalant wink and smirk. But he doesn’t miss the fact that they’re talking about Dean.

Maybe Dean wasn't the only one. Maybe it was like a pedophile ring of sickos, kidnapping or adopting boys and keeping them as human chew toys. Castiel frowned as Dick had pushed him closer again, leaking cockhead nudging the back of his throat.

This was bigger than both of them. A shiver trickled down his spine as he realised he had to get out of there as soon as he could.

Roman smiled lasciviously, his fingers curling in Castiel's wind swept wild hair as he huffs a laugh. “Daaww that’s so sweet of you Mr. marked. But you see, I already have one. He just needs a little training.” He punctuates his words by placing his hand on the boys throat. Squeezing slightly until all his air is completely cut off. Cas grabed at the hand frantically as he tried pulling back with no avail.

Cain left with a hint of honey scented cologne and the click of the lock. When he’d gone Castiel shoves himself away until his head smackd into the wooden back of the desk. He was gasping and glaring up at Dick with teary eyes. Not because he’s a pussy but because he started choking.

“Asshole, you trying to cross that fucking line again?”

He stood up wiping his mouth bristling, daring Roman to lay a finger on him.

“Come on now Angel, I know you like it when it hurts a little. Bend over my desk. I’m not done yet.” He said softly even though his eyes were burning with glee.

He hesitated, Roman has a nasty habit of holding things above people's heads and making them beg for it. Like some kind of sicko, he’d make them dance at his command. The royal Dick knew Cas was broke and that he didn’t make money any other way, using this to his advantage he’d push him way beyond what he’s comfortable with.

And breath play was not okay for him.

But Cas needed the money, he wanted to get out of this shithole town many call home but there was no way in hell he’d be able to with an empty purse.

He shoved his fingers into his pockets to hide the nervous twitching. It wouldn't be the first time he had to bite down his dignity.


Castiel's hands gripped his belt, slowly undoing the buckle. His eyes never left Romans greedy gaze as he exposed himself. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a demure, helpless boy.


Not that Dick cared, as soon as Cas was standing in nothing but his black boxers and anger, Roman had him bent over the glass covered desk, the hard edge digging unforgivingly into his tender belly. Cas hid the wince into the crook of his arms as he buried his head, waiting for it to be over so he could clean up and go find Dean.


He wasn't as lucky as he’d hoped.



Dick had stuffed a thick wad of cash in his boxers and pushed him out of his office with a patronizing smirk, his clothes still bundled in his arms and hair a goddamn wreck from being his chew toy. Cas shoved his jeans on and stormed out, making sure to steal one of the secretaries lunches as he walked out into the street.


Halfway to the school and halfway through the swiped bacon cheeseburger his phone buzzes. Cas felt his heart drop, please don't let it be that Dick again. Swiping the call button he swallowed the mouthful, eyes shifty as he muttered. “Yes?”


“Castiel dear, sorry to bother you in class but I expect you home at 5pm. We’re having a family dinner and we are all going to be there. Don't be late darling.”


Without waiting for a reply, Naomi had already hung up on him. Castiel scoffed, sorry? She didn't have the ability to feel sorry for anyone but herself.  Cas shrugged it off, letting his feet take him back to his neighbourhood with only minutes until 5. He should make it back by then.



Back in the Novak house he'd managed to clean up nicely. T he white shirt and sleeveless sweater made his skin crawl at the scratchy wool , but his mother seemed pleased enough to not mention his untamable hair.


As usual in the Novak household, his father crowned the table. Face settled in his usual frown, he was deep in conversation with his second eldest son, Raphael. Cas’s shoulders sagged with relief. If those two were chatting, then they wouldn't bother asking about his day.


Across from Chuck sat Naomi, hair pulled into a respectful bun. The smile on her face was that of a cattle herder ready to send his flock to slaughter, especially when her crystal sharp eyes landed on her youngest son. Shit, she was 12 kinds of psycho...


To her right sat Zachariah, the asshole had tripped castiel up the stairs on his way down here. Then across from him sat Lucifer, nursing a small stuffed animal that was rag-worn with love. Next to him sat Michael, serving his twin some more vegetables and whispering how he will test them first so he knows they're not poisoned.


Across from michael sat Ana, soft and quiet like she was an apparition at the table. It's just one of those things no one talks about. The dysfunctionality that is.


Gabriel's seat was empty, but cas knows better than to ask where he is. Instead he silently prays that he's okay and that their parents wrath won't be too harsh on his dear brother .


Chuck cleared his throat and threaded his bony fingers together, solemn gaze wandering around the table not even lingering on the empty seat as he started talking.


“My dear family, thank you for coming all together for the lovely food we are about to dine, made by my good wife. The ones gathered here clearly hold our family and our praise to the utmost importance, we have not been strayed by sin or tempted by the devils lure. We are strong warriors of God, I am proud of you.” his lips curl half heartedly into a smile.


“Your brother Gabriel, unfortunately, seems to hold whatever is keeping him from having dinner with his family as… more than his own blood and his God. When he comes back home you will not talk to him. He needs to be punished for this despicable sin and set back on the righteous path. I trust you all know better then to fall into the devils trap my dear children… Lucifer please, bless our food for us son.”


Castiel felt his blood run cold, his father had spoken with the voice that had reminded him of the iron buckled belt that Chuck used to put his children back on track. He couldn't help but swallow. Where was Gabriel? Had he escaped or was he laying somewhere hurt and alone. Chuck didn't give a fuck about what happened to his kids, only when they interrupted with his praise.


His eyes roamed the table until he watched Lucifer shakingly stand, clutching the toy against his chest. After the scare with Dean this morning, he'd kept quiet, but it was obvious he was still shaken up, the purple around his eyes making them sink further into his bony face.


“D-dear Lord… than-thank you for all of the.. The food and-” that's as far as Lucifer gets into his blessing before the sound of the front door creaking open brings a silence to the room.  Gabriel's voice calls out softly as if he knew what's coming.

“Father? Mother I'm so so sorry it took so long.” there was the sound of keys being put into the dinky glass bowl at the doorway before he heard Chuck’s chair scrape back.


Oh god, oh god. Chuck was livid. Eyes burning with a dangerous fury, Cas knew he was going to skin Gabriel alive.


“Dad. Dad no!” he lurched out of his chair as his whole word went sideways. As if in slow motion, Chuck slid his belt out of its loops. Feet crashing down onto the old wooden boards as he lunged towards the doorway and the room burst into action. Castiel grabed the fabric of his shirt trying to drag him back from his brother, he saw a fist swinging at him over the sudden chaos of the room. Cas ducked only to be shoved back against the dresser.


The whole thing quaked as he watched Michael scream at their father, murder in Chuck’s eyes. Lucifer was wailing, having stashed himself under the table holding a dinner knife. Naomi was shaking Anna by the shoulders until her head bounced roughly against the wall, fear burning like hellfire in her eyes.


Castiel scrambled to his feet tackling his father. He glanced up to see Gabriel frozen in terror watching the whole scene unravel, he was pale and trembling. The belt was all he could see.


“GABRIEL RUN!” the scream was ripped out of his lungs as Chuck elbowed his chin. He could hear Ana screaming when his head thuds dully against the floor, watching Gabriels feet take the stairs two at a time. Why wasn't he leaving? He had to get out or his father would kill him.

Castiel felt hands on him, It was Zachariah. The bastard was always looking for a reason to hurt him and this was the best excuse. “Why are you helping him you bastard sodomite?” Zachs voice is a hissed bite in his ear. His hair clenched in his elder brothers fist as his head is knocked against the sharp edge of the dresser. Castiel grabed at the arm and growled sputtering blood on his shirt.


“You fight like a coward Zach,” he slamed his foot square in his stomach sending him flying against the table. As he got to his feet he could see that Chuck was missing. Upstairs. His brain screamed at him to hurry.


Following the crashes upstairs as he left the mess behind him, the carpet slipping under his feet as he ran. Chuck was outside Gabriel’s door, slamming it with curled fists until the frame quakes and splinters. Gabriel must be grabbing a backpack before he leaves.

He knew he couldn't take his father on barehanded. So he grabed the bible from the cabinet and stalked over, whispering a sorry before bringing it crashing down on Chucks skull. He watches as his father, stunned, crumpleed to the ground in a bleary haze.


Castiel's own fists pound on the door as he begs Gabriel to let him in. The door creaked open and he sliped inside, sliding the bolt home and throwing his arms around his elder brother.


“Gabe, Gabe you've gotta go. It's not safe. You've gotta get out.” He was sobbing into the crisp white shirt against his cheek. Cas loved his brother and seeing him get hurt time and time again had broken him. Gabriel runs his hand through Castiel's hair and leaned down to look him in the eyes.

“Come with me. Cas i can't- Can't leave you here bro. They'll kill you.” Gabriel's voice was trembling with worry, his eyes were wet from tears and his breathing was shaken.


“I can't. N-not yet,” Castiel's voice was choked with sobs that wrecked his small frame. He clutched Gabriel, never wanting to let him go. “I'll find you. Just go. Get out. Get OUT!” He knew whatever happened out there could only be better then what would happen to his brother here. Cas stuffed Romans stolen wallet into his Gabriel’s hands.


Gabriel kissed his forehead and wiped away his tears, shoving the wallet into his bag . “I love you Cassie. See you soon. Look for Charlie's Angels, okay? I'll be there.” When his hands released him, Gabe walked to the window and slung himself out. Saluting Cas, he gave a tearful smile, before dropping down the side of the house and running towards a beat up silver car. Cas couldn't make out the driver but he watched as Gabriel drove off, the words ringing in his head. Why would he tell him about a tv show?


Cas stayed at the window with his hand pressed against the cool glass.There was the sound of a key in the lock and It opened immediately, his stomach dropped at what he heard. Naomi’s venomous voice rang out in the room.


“What have you done castiel.”