Chapter Text
The headstone was small, simple and seemingly average for all intents and purposes. It wasn’t the most impressive of the lot, rather dreary compared to the tragically beautiful surrounding statues. The sun was becoming hidden by the darkening clouds, and as Castiel stood in front of the grave, he couldn’t help imagine his own name carved into the epitaph.
It was a dark thought, but Castiel did not feel remorse for thinking it.
Castiel inhaled deeply and shut his eyes for a moment. He lifted his chin a bit and let the wind blow against him, taking in the brisk harshness of it. He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, curled inward slightly. It was a Sunday in the beginning of autumn, and Castiel imagined a twin headstone right next to this one. A headstone with his own name, plain and dull just like its neighbor’s. It was a damn shame, Castiel thought, for such a bright and beautiful soul to be represented by a chunk of stone that knew no beauty.
A raindrop hit his forehead, and Castiel looked up at the sky with a frown. He huffed out a bitter laugh, his eyes beginning to burn slightly. A storm was appropriate for this situation, he supposed. After all, Castiel’s mother used to tell him that thunderstorms were just the angels crying in Heaven. And Castiel always believed her. Standing there now in the middle of a cemetery, the clouds ominous and threatening, he thought he still might.
Castiel hoped if angel’s were watching, they might weep for the boy whose headstone was small, simple, and dreary, when he deserved one carved from marble and outlined in gold.
Falling gently to his knees, Castiel pulled out a necklace from his pocket. It was just a cross, constructed from splintered wood and painted black. It had been a gift. And now Castiel was returning it to its maker.
He dug slightly into the still-soft dirt, creating a hole in which he could drop the necklace and bury it. He stood when it was done, dusted off the dirt from his fingers and his slacks, along with the tears sliding down his face.
“I’m so sorry, my friend.” Castiel whispered, taking a step towards the stone. “But this belongs with you now.”
Castiel placed one of his trembling fingers on the top of the headstone. His fingers traced gently over the letters.
Alfred Samandriel
He had gone to the wake, even to the funeral, despite his parent’s reluctance. In the end, they had all gone, because it would be quite unusual for the best friend (and the best friend’s family) of the deceased not to go. But Castiel had remained stoic and emotionless the entire time, going through the motions like a robot. It wasn’t until now, until he was alone in this cemetery, that he could truly pay his respects. But that also meant finally coming to terms with the fact that Alfie was gone, and Castiel hadn’t been prepared for that at all.
Pursing his lips, Castiel wiped his face and backed away from the headstone. He dug his hands farther into his pockets, let out one last deep breath, and turned around to walk away and out of the graveyard. This was goodbye, and this was hell.
The rain began to fall harder, just as thunder began to roll. Castiel cursed all of heaven’s angels, hoping with all of his being that they would cry as hard as he did.
Thunder crashed, and Castiel hurried to the passenger side of a silver car just outside of the cemetery. It had been sitting there for well over twenty minutes, and Castiel wasted no time getting inside it and shutting the door as the rain came down harder.
“You alright?” A voice asked from the driver’s seat.
Castiel lifted his bloodshot eyes and looked at his older brother, taking in the frown and worry lines on his face. He let out yet another shaky breath and nodded.
“I will be.” He said softly, looking out the window at the pouring rain.
Luke looked at his little brother, entirely unconvinced. But still, he shifted the car into drive and sped off, away from the cemetery and towards a different kind of lifeless place. Home.
“Mom and Dad will wonder where we went.” Luke said as they approached their neighborhood. It was getting late, they’d just make it home in time just for dinner.
“Let them wonder.” Castiel said bitterly. He didn’t look at his brother, his eyes only following the condensation down the windows.
“You know that won’t fly with them.” Luke said, although it brought him a great deal of annoyance to acknowledge. They pulled into their driveway, and Luke shifted the gear into park and turned to his little brother. “I know you’re sad, Cas. You’re angry and upset, and you have every right to be. But… Mom and Dad, they don’t understand. And if you’re acting suspiciously and disobeying, you know what they’ll do.”
Castiel lifted his head, blinking for a moment. He resisted the urge to scream, to punch through the window, to go on some kind of brutal rampage. Anger bubbled inside him, because he knew Luke was right. He was right and Castiel hated that more than anything.
“Fine, let’s just say you took me to the library.” Castiel said monotonously. He looked at Luke pleadingly just for a moment, before climbing out of the car and making his way to towards their house.
The Novak’s lived in a beautiful home, classic and mansion-like topped off with modern décor. They lived in one of the best neighborhoods in Lawrence, obviously. Mr. and Mrs. Novak wouldn’t have had it any other way. Mr. Novak didn’t work ten hour days and go on monthly business trips as a CEO for Sandover Industries, to live in an average house, in an average neighborhood, with an average family. No, the Novak’s, in his eyes, were a godsend.
They were held in high esteem by their church, respected by their community members. The five Novak children, all growing up beautifully, were gifted in schooling and extracurricular activities. They excelled in academics (save for possibly Luke and Gabriel, who struggled but still managed better than most).
The Novak’s were what all families wished to be, the American Dream. Their neighbors envied them, their peers wanted to be them. Outwardly, they were the spitting image of perfection.
However, looks can be quite deceiving. The Novak’s, despite their virtues, were nowhere near perfect.
Castiel opened the front door and stepped inside. He shook his hair out, hung his coat onto the hook and kicked his shoes off. He made sure to align them nicely in the shoe tray. God knows his mother would have a conniption if he didn’t.
Trying to sneak his way out of the foyer and up the stairs to his room seemed like a good plan. But just as Castiel’s foot hit the first step, he heard his father’s voice.
“Where have you two boys been?” He asked from the armchair in the living room. Castiel stopped in his tracks, turning to face his father. He wiped away any trace of anger or sadness, and stood up straight.
“Library, Castiel needed to return a book.” Luke lied, having come up behind Castiel out of nowhere. He grabbed Castiel’s arm and dragged him along before their father furthered questioning.
Castiel ran up the stairs, sending a thankful glance to Luke a last time before disappearing in his room. He heard his mother call from the kitchen that dinner would be ready soon. But he still locked his door and backed against the wall.
He wouldn’t cry, he kept telling himself that. Crying was something for babies and emotional girls. That’s what his father said, at least, even if it was a ridiculous concept to Castiel. Still, he took several moments to compose himself, reigning in the onset of emotion. He was out of the cemetery, and he needed to stow his grief now.
Castiel loosened his tie and ran a hand through his hair. It was wet and matted down, and his fingers did little to untangle the small knots. He gave up, taking a seat on his bed and staring out the window. The rain was falling hard against the glass, lightening decorated the darkening sky.
Mrs. Novak called for her children to come down for dinner not long after, and Castiel felt ice trickle down his spine at the sound. Reluctantly he stood up from his bed, making his way down the stairs and to the dining room.
Mr. Novak was seated at the head of the table, Michael and Luke on his sides. Castiel sat next to Luke, across from Anna and Gabriel. Their mother sat opposite from Mr. Novak. A pot roast sat on the center of the table, and Castiel observed the way his mother look proudly at it before shutting her eyes and reaching out to hold Gabriel and Castiel’s hands. They all joined hands, as Mr. Novak spoke a prayer.
Once the prayer was over they all dug in, silent as they ate.
“Naomi, you did a wonderful job on the roast.” Mr. Novak broke the silence, speaking to his wife in a voice that was annoyingly praiseful.
“Thank you, Zachariah. It took me all afternoon.” Mrs. Novak responded. Castiel hated how robotic everything sounded. There was no sincerity, no warmth.
Castiel hated the coldness of his parents, their frozen, stone-like posture. He hated the formal responses, the unwelcoming attitudes everyone carried when they were together. He hated his mother’s icy eyes (ones very similar to his own), and their inhospitable gaze. He hated the indifferent air his father carried. Castiel hated the cold, and how there was no relief of warmth and love when he entered his home on a cool, fall day. He hated how their home did not feel like home.
“Mom, your mashed potatoes are amazing. You gotta show me the recipe, for whatever reason I just can’t get them right. Such a basic food and I always screw it up. Sometimes they come out flaky and-“
“Gabriel.” Zachariah interrupted his middle son sternly, giving his wife a look that wiped her proud, happy smile, clean off. “Although I know your mother appreciates the compliment, you should direct your focus on more impressive hobbies. Cooking is not an area you should be concerned with, it’s something your future wife will take care of.”
The silence at the dinner table was so deafening that Castiel could hear his ears ringing. Everyone was frozen, watching as Gabriel’s mouth opened and closed. He knew that his father hated Gabriel’s obsession with the culinary arts, but that didn’t stop Gabriel from starting off his senior year by looking into applications for culinary school.
Gabriel shut his mouth and looked at his plate, looking mildly irritated, but not about to partake in an argument he’d never win.
“Oh come on, do you know how many successful male chefs are out there? I mean, possibly even more than there are women chefs. Gabriel could totally be a successful chef.” Luke spoke up after a couple minutes of awkward silence. All of the Novak children and their mother stared at Luke with wide eyes.
“Luke.” Naomi spoke, as if they were about to awake a hibernating bear. Her eyes were downcast, but her voice strong and forewarning. Zachariah gave a small smile, but everyone knew it was only the calm before the storm.
“Don’t be foolish, Luke. You know well that even if he pursued a culinary career, the likelihood of his success his slim to none. He should pursue a more responsible job, even one over at Sandover with me. That is, if he can stop slacking off in school and get the grades for it.” Zachariah responded with a small chuckle at the end, taking another bite off of his fork. He didn’t break his eyes away from Luke the entire time he spoke. It was a challenge, to see if Luke would back down and submit.
Luke’s mouth opened, but immediately closed when he felt a harsh kick on his leg from beneath the table. Luke looked up to see Gabriel staring at him with a slight shake to his head, as if to say, give it up, it isn’t worth it.
Luke just slumped a little, looking pissed off as usual. It wasn’t the first time he challenged his father, and it wouldn’t be the last. But even being the most rebellious out of the Novak children, he would never win.
“Alright, Father. Let’s just see how this school year goes and what college I get accepted into. Maybe medical school, like Michael.” Gabriel winked at his older brother. He wasn’t at all serious, just supremely bitter. Michael just lifted an eyebrow and pursed his lips.
Luke and Michael would be starting their freshman year at college in only a week. Michael, always excelling in the sciences, chose to go into a medical program, and Luke was pressured into applying for law school. In Castiel’s eyes, neither of them wanted to do either. But if Zachariah was offering to help pay for their tuitions, they’d take it. Luke and Zachariah had already spent months at each other’s throats, because Luke didn’t want to become a Lawyer. But when Zachariah finally threatened to kick Luke out after one particular argument, Luke realized that sitting down and shutting up was in his best interest.
“Excellent to hear, Gabriel. Glad to know you understand. I’d hate to have to call Father Marv to come have a chat with you like we did for Castiel when he began questioning God’s will.” Zachariah continued, as if he had made a hilarious joke.
The sound of a fork clattering against the table was enough to regain his attention. Castiel was sitting stiffly against his chair. His eyes were on the table in front of him, like he was frozen in place.
“Castiel, what is the matter with you?” Zachariah asked his son, voice rising in annoyance.
“Darling, do you feel ill?” Naomi wondered, outreaching a hand to feel her son’s forehead. Castiel jerked away from her touch, nearly stumbling out of his chair. His brothers and sister stared at him in confusion, his father getting angry by the disruption.
“I believe so.” He mumbled, already getting as far away from the room as possible.
Before Castiel could hear the sound of his father demanding him to sit down, he was bolting upstairs. He ran into the bathroom and locked the door. He sat with his back against the counter, holding his head in his hands. He felt bile rising in his throat.
Castiel thought the dinner his mother prepared was delicious, but it didn’t taste anywhere near as good coming up as it did going down. He emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, his knuckles whitening as he gripped onto the bowl tightly. He retched until he burned a little less on the inside.
He felt disgusting. His mouth tasted horrible and his throat burned. His skin was clammy and pale. But the disgusting feeling went deeper than just physical health and appearance.
Castiel felt weak, too. At just hearing his name, Castiel was a vomiting disaster. Of course, after the emotionally stressful cemetery visit today, he simply could not handle old memories being brought up. His hands continued to tremble, and tears finally fell onto his forearm from where his head lay. Castiel shut his eyes and hummed quietly to himself in an attempt to calm down.
It wasn’t a pleasant memory to be reminded of, especially so nonchalantly. The way Zachariah brought up Father Marv, as if he was just another family friend, made Castiel feel like he was suffocating. His skin was too tight, too warm. And Castiel desperately wanted to rip it off, to be able to breathe again.
Father Marv was not a good man. But neither was Zachariah. Maybe that’s why they were both blind to one another’s evils. But Castiel wasn’t.
There was a knock on the bathroom door, but Castiel was too exhausted to lift himself off the floor to answer it. So when he heard the bathroom lock click and footsteps behind him, he was baffled.
“Cas?” A small voice asked. Castiel opened his eyes, relief flooding over him at the sight of his sister.
“How did you get in here?” Castiel croaked. Anna came up behind him, placing a hand on his back.
“I have a key.” Anna said with a cocky grin.
“And how did you manage that?” Castiel asked, a half smile upturning his chapped lips.
“What mom and dad don’t know won’t hurt them.” Anna said quietly.
Castiel let out a small huff of laughter, but it hurt his throat and his stomach. He turned his face into the bowl of the toilet and vomited up whatever was left in his stomach. He let out a shaky sob, wiping his mouth with toilet paper.
“Don’t cry, little one.” Anna spoke softly, rubbing his back.
“You call me that, but I am only six minutes younger than you, and so much larger now.” Castiel said, voice still pained and hoarse.
“You’ll always be my little brother, Cas.” Anna replied. Her expression turned from joking to concern in only a matter of seconds. “Something is wrong.”
Castiel shook his head and lied through his teeth. “I’m just sick, Anna.”
“That’s bullshit.” Anna responded fiercely. She bit her lip, pushing back her bright red locks of hair behind her ears. “Sorry, I just… You’re my little brother. I have a pretty good intuition about these kinds of things.”
“Something is always wrong, Anna. But nothing has changed.” Castiel said, moving to stand. Anna hovered a bit, but let him wash his face and his mouth. He slowly hobbled out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom. He could hear his parents and the rest of his siblings cleaning up downstairs.
“But we can change something.” Anna interjected, moving to get inside Castiel’s room before he shut the door in her face.
Castiel huffed, moving towards his school bag to prepare it for tomorrow. “No, Anna. We can’t.”
“Why not?” Anna asked, smaller now. “I know… I know that you just want to pretend that everything is fine. But we can’t. Michael, Luke, Gabe, and I… We just want you to be okay.”
“I will be.” Castiel sighed, back on his sister. “Someday.”
Anna didn’t push the conversation further, realizing Castiel would only make passive comments instead of actually conversing. She just returned her own sigh and turned around, leaving Castiel be.
After getting his bags and books ready for tomorrow’s impending school day, he changed into some pajamas and climbed into his bed. The thought of sleep was not as enticing as he wished it was. Nightmares were all that awaited for him.
--- -
It was still storming out when he woke, lighting decorating the walls and thunder rapidly booming in time with his breath. His chest was heaving, he was finally catching his breath.
Castiel sat up, blinking and numb. His heart was pounding, his body was heavy. But he no longer longed for sleep.
The alarm clock on his bed side table said it was half-past two in the morning. Castiel let out a deep sigh. He wanted to lay back down and try to fit in a couple more hours, but he couldn’t. He needed some air, to move around, to bring awareness back into his aching muscles.
Carefully, he climbed out of his bed. Lightening still flashed from outside, and rain poured heavily against his window.
Opening the door to his bedroom, Castiel walked out. It was dark in the hallway, silence pounding against his skull. He felt drawn, heavy as though there was bags of sand weighing him down. But Castiel felt so disinterested in sleep, he thought anything would be better than staring at the ceiling for a few hours.
He walked down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen. He never had the chance to finish eating dinner before he was puking it up in the bathroom. The thought made him a bit nauseous again.
The sound of soft snoring grabbed his attention, and Castiel peered into the living room. His mother was strewn out, still clutching onto a bottle and deep in sleep.
Castiel watched his mother for a moment, chest rising and falling as she slept. This was how it was most nights, Naomi as fake as a porcelain doll, putting on a good show as the Good Catholic Wife, before getting wasted in order to get through the night. It seemed to be a common trend among the Novak family, playing the traditional roles. But it was all a lie, in the end.
There was a special kind of burning hatred that Castiel had for his father, although he still felt it necessary to try and impress him at all costs. However, Castiel didn’t feel as strongly towards his mother. They had never been exceptionally close, and she was nowhere near a good mother. She just looked like one.
All the same, she was kind to Castiel and his siblings on the occasions that their father wasn’t around. She fed them, clothed them, cared for them. Even if Zachariah’s priorities were in line with making the Novak’s simply seem picture perfect for the public eye, Naomi did her best to make it real, rather than a giant hoax. She wanted her children to be the best of the best, as all parents did. But her intentions weren’t as selfish and vain as her husband’s.
Castiel stepped towards his mother, prying the half-empty bottle of vodka from her hands and setting it on the table. When he turned towards her again, she was curled up and dead-asleep.
“Wake up.” Castiel said, his voice breaking slightly from disuse. It would be best to maneuver his mother to her bedroom before she woke up and puked all over the plush carpet and expensive couch.
“Mom, get up.” Castiel repeated, shaking his mother’s shoulder. She didn’t move, and he shook her again. Still, she lay. Softly snoring and motionless on the couch.
“Mom!” Castiel said louder, and yet there was still no response.
Frustrated, Castiel gave up, and sat down onto the ground in front of the couch, in between the space of that and the coffee table. He eyed the bottle of vodka on the table, but decided against it. He had always wondered what alcohol beyond church wine tasted like. But now wasn’t the time to figure it out. He had school in a few hours, and couldn’t afford the potential hangover he would get.
Castiel turned to look at his mother. She looked peaceful in her sleep, the worry lines on her forehead smoothed and the plastic smile she wore flattened. Her fiery hair, much like her daughter’s, was messy and unkempt, loose curls laying around her face. She was beautiful here, raw and real. Not cold and mannequin-like.
A sad smile upturned Castiel’s lips, and he felt a sudden wave of emotion hit him. This was the side of his mother he rarely got to see. Castiel didn’t know if his mother had always been so cold, or if it had been a result of her marriage. But Castiel proposed the latter. It seemed, from her infatuation with alcohol, that Zachariah’s strict influence was as hard on her as it was their children.
Castiel couldn’t remember times from his childhood of his parents being overly affectionate. Perhaps in the church or at public events his mother might have picked him up if he was fussy. Zachariah always stuck to putting hands on his children’s shoulders, but even that was controlling rather than comforting.
There were no memories of hugs and kisses, of his mother blowing raspberries on his tummy and kissing the pain of scraped knees and paper cuts away. There was never fondness and real interest in his father’s eyes. It was always nannies and caretakers that would watch Castiel and his siblings until they were old enough to take care of each other.
Feeling brave, Castiel turned around slightly and reached for his mother. He pulled her gently onto her side, laying her arm over his shoulders from where he sat on the floor with his back against the couch. She didn’t protest in her sleep, only breathed out a sigh that reeked of vodka. Castiel tried to ignore it, attempted to curl into the warmth of his mother’s unconscious embrace. But there was nothing there but expensive silk fabric and the dead weight of her limp arm lying heavy across his shoulders.
Castiel felt a wetness on his face, and he quickly wiped it away. He hadn’t realized he was crying until his chest felt hallow and he couldn’t breathe again. Castiel pushed his mother’s arm back onto the couch, less gentle than before. He felt like a pouting child for a moment. He brought his knees to his chest, forcing himself to calm down.
He had hoped for some comfort in his mother’s embrace, even if she was blackout drunk and blind of his presence. He wanted to know if there was anything really there, a possible warmth he was unaware of. But it was just the same, cold and empty. As it always was with Zachariah and Naomi Novak.
Castiel stood up after the tears were dried and he could breathe again. He gently scooped up his mother into his arms, as he had done many nights before, and carefully walked her towards his parent’s bedroom.
Zachariah was nowhere to be found, most likely passed out in the basement. He never truly remembered his parents sharing a bed. They had always coincidentally fallen asleep in separate areas.
Castiel laid her onto the large, plush bed. He pulled off his mother’s heels, placing them neatly into her closet. He pulled out the pins from her hair and slipped the bracelets off her wrist. He set them down on her nightstand, and pulled the covers over her. Castiel made sure to leave the bathroom door open so that if she were to wake sick, there wouldn’t be a struggle getting to the toilet.
Satisfied, Castiel finally shut the door to his parent’s room, hearing only his mother’s soft snores. He walked away, the hollowness returning to the niche inside his chest.
“I don’t know how you do it.” A voice said as he passed the kitchen. Castiel nearly screamed at the sudden interruption of silence. He turned sharply to see Luke standing in the doorway, holding the bottle of vodka in his hands.
“Excuse me?” Castiel responded, standing up straight as his voice faltered.
“Every night she drinks until she drops, and every night you pick her drunk-ass up from wherever she passed out that particular evening. And I know how much it hurts you. But I don’t know how you can stomach it.” Luke responded, unscrewing the lid to the bottle and taking a few gulps. He was already swaying, and the bottle seemed to hold less than it did when Castiel saw it last. Luke was drunk, or on his way there. It wasn’t a new occurrence, but it was troubling nonetheless.
“It’s what you do for you the ones you love.” Castiel said simply, eyes tracing the patterns on the wooden floors. Luke pushed off from the archway, taking a step towards Castiel.
“You love her?” Luke nearly spat.
“She’s our mother. Yes.” Castiel said, even if it pained him to admit that he could love someone with a heart of porcelain.
“But she would never do the same for us.” Luke said, like he was trying to convince Castiel to change his mind.
Castiel lifted his eyes, and sharply responded. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, but I do.” Luke said. “I don’t know what it is. Why she is the way she is. Maybe it’s Dad. Maybe it’s how she’s always been. I think, maybe she just isn’t capable of love. I don’t think it’s in her.”
Castiel shook his head. “Perhaps.” He turned to walk away, needing to get away from the scent of alcohol and his brother’s pessimistic words. “But it doesn’t matter. She’s still our mom.”
“That’s your problem, little brother.” Luke slurred, just as Castiel reached the stairs. “You have too much faith, too much heart. And it’s going to bury you.”
Castiel didn’t respond, only stood for a moment, looking at Luke with an expression that was somewhat pitiful, somewhat terrified, before walking slowly up the stairs. Luke’s words hung heavy in his mind, weighing him down until he got back to his bed and sunk into the mattress. He didn’t bother looking at the clock, just curled into his blankets and shut his eyes. His thoughts were on Alfie, whose undying love ended up burying him too.
It was hard to admit, that drunk Luke had a point. His mother had never been one for love. And Castiel always disregarded the empty stares and lack of declarations of motherly love for being the norm. What did Castiel know about normal familial relationships, after all? He didn’t know much, but he knew they weren’t as functional as everyone thought.
Still, it burned him. There was an itch surfacing and he just couldn’t scratch it. He hated this place, hated the coldness. He was freezing, and he would never be warm here.
This house didn’t feel like a home.