Hymns of Angels Don't Sound Like This Chapter 9
Title: Hymns Of Angels Don't Sound Like This Chapter 9
Authors: azimmermann & bodiesnotourown
Artist: kassiopeiar
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural, High School AU
Rating: NC-17
Chapter Word Count: 3815
Warnings: Off screen non-con, physical violence/abuse, swearing
When Dean stumbled into his first class (who in the hell thought that Calculus was a good idea so damn early in the morning?!) he was bleary eyed and grumpy. His night had been filled with replays of the kiss/rejection interrupted with nightmare filled bouts of sleep, tossing and turning all night in his bed. He felt like a moron for kissing his best friend. What the fuck had he been thinking? That, of course, was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking, or if he had been he’d been using the wrong brain.
He rested his head on his folded arms and tried to doze. It was early enough that the classroom was still empty; with no sleep and nothing better to do, he’d brought Sam to school early hoping that maybe it would offer enough of a distraction to keep his mind busy. The quiet of the classroom and his sleep deprived brain caused his thoughts to wander right back into dangerous territory, and Castiel’s face drifted to the forefront of his mind. Thinking about the singer just made him re-live the disaster that was the day before. He was halfway through remembering his brief but utter bliss at Castiel kissing him back when someone yanked his head up roughly by his hair.
“The fuck?!” Crowley sneered down at him, his hand still fisted in Dean’s hair, tilting his head back at a painful angle. His eyes were bright with anger and rage. A quick glance confirmed that the classroom was still empty.
“Do you enjoy stealing other people’s toy, Winchester?” Dean narrowed his eyes and shoved the other boy’s arm away, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared Crowley down.
“I’m not sure what you’re bitching about, Crowley. Not sure I’ve seen any toys around.” What was he talking about and why in the hell was he taking it out on Dean? Sure he’d kissed Cas, but Cas had turned him down. How did he even find out about it? Crowley’s accent snapped out, thickened by anger, and pulled Dean back into the moment.
“Did you think you could take what didn’t belong to you?” He leaned aggressively into Dean’s personal space. “How did you do it?” Did you get on your knees and wrap that whore mouth of your around his cock and suck his brains out? He is mine, not yours.”
“Cas isn’t your fucking property you dick!” Dean snarled at him, rising from his desk. His shoulders were tense and his hands had closed into fists so tight he felt his knuckles pop. “I don’t know why he stays with a piece of shit like you!”
“Be careful, Winchester.” Crowley didn’t back down, standing toe to toe. “You come near him again and I will hunt you down. Or maybe help your brother out with that arm of his, yeah?”
“Fucking try it, you piece of shit, and I will rip your lungs out.”
“Boys?” Mr. Mauro said from the doorway, “Do we have a problem?” Crowley glared at Dean one last time before turning his back and stalking to the front of the room to take his seat. A few other classmates filtered into the room. Dean unclenched his fists; his nails had left deep, red crescents in the pads of his palms.
Dean glared daggers into the back of Crowley’s head for the rest of class and when the bell rang he was the first one out of the room. He made a beeline for Castiel’s first class, hoping to catch him in the halls and see if he knew what the hell Crowley had been going on about. The other boy probably didn’t want to see him, but if he was going to be threated, Dean wanted to know why.
Castiel wasn’t there, and he hadn’t been in class or so Becky told him when he asked about it in Pop Culture later. Worry set in at the back of his mind but it didn’t kick into panic until he walked into his Lit class and found Israfael Milton perched upon his desk, fingers tapping out a beat on the fake wood.
“Kansas.” She said by way of greeting.
“Milton.” When she didn’t move Dean sighed and sat down at his desk anyway. Pointedly trying to ignore her, he began pulling out his notebook and other crap for class. She ignored him as well for a few minutes, watching the other students mill about. Dean assumed she was waiting for Gabriel and just trying to be annoying. He got along pretty well with Anna and Balthazar, but Gabriel and Israfael were still a mystery to him. He was pretty sure they liked him, but depending upon the day and moods they either made his life hell or just slightly less hell. He was hoping to day would be a ‘less-than-hell’ day. He wasn’t holding his breath though, especially after their foray into kidnapping and knowing his luck. She sighed after a while, turning to stare at him, light blue eyes like her brother’s evaluating him.
“He’s singing in French now.”
Dean blinked, “Uh, okay?”
Her lips pulled back in disgust. “You’ve got to make it stop. I can’t take much more of this. I thought Phantom of the Opera and all hours of the day was bad.”
“Shouldn’t you, I dunno, support him instead of whining about it?”
“You don’t understand, Dean.” She hissed, pitching her voice low so it didn’t carry through the room. She was tugging at her braid and her accent was slipping through from frustration. “He’s making us play along. Do you have any idea what being the drummer for Cassy’s French shit is like? It’s all sad and morose, and God save us, ironic, and I simply, Can. Not. Take. Anymore.”
“I don’t know what you guys expect me to do about it. I can’t just snap my fingers and make him get over his mental case of a relationship.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously as she leaned over to grip his shoulders and shook him. “I don’t care what you think you can or can’t do! Seduce him or something! Cassy is at his best when he’s either feeling the puppy love or fucking horny. Fix this.”
“I tried! He didn’t-“ He cut himself off. The last thing he wanted was Israfael or any of the others to find out he’d kissed Castiel and been shot down. They already put too much pressure on him. He couldn’t save the whole world.
“Ugh, nut up, Winchester. Quit being such a little bitch about it.” With that she shook him one last time and hopped off his desk. It was then that Dean realized she didn’t have any of her regular school stuff. She walked past Mrs. Wilson on her way to the door where Balthazar and Gabriel were waiting, lounging against the wall. The three of them left, with Gabriel tossing him a smirk before disappearing. That probably wasn’t a good thing. He let his head drop onto the surface of his desk with a loud thud. Fuck his life.
Crowley’s fists made satisfying crunching noises as they struck Brady in the face. His foot forced a groan from the lackey that sent a thrill up and down his spine. Straightening his suit coat he nodded to Alistair, a sophomore with promise to be his second in command, to drag Brady’s quivering body out of his sight. He carefully wiped the blood and spit off his hands with a linen napkin from the table as he looked down at his plate. Now dinner appealed to him about as much as a plate of worms.
He paced around the room, the heels of his Italian leather shoes thudding on the hardwood floor. His rage roared beneath his skin. How could that little slut think he could just call it off? Thought he could do better, ha! How dare he think it was permissible to leave! Castiel was his property. His toy to use as he saw fit and discard when it suited him. Everything was working out just fine, until that fucking pretty boy Winchester had shown up.
Glass shattered as the mirror along one wall cracked under the force of his fist. He breathed heavily for a few moments staring at his fractured reflection. Blood dripped from his knuckles in time with the pulse pounding in his ears. This would not do. He straightened and began wrapping his hand in the napkin. Pretty little Castiel…he would have to be taught to whom his life and body really belonged to. They had a deal and he would take pleasure in making Castiel regret breaking it.
He smiled, his calm returning with a plan. No one broke a deal with a Crowley, his father had taught him that. Boyfriend or not, if he couldn’t have him, he would make sure that no one would even want to touch Castiel again.
His deranged laughter echoed through the empty house. How much would it take to break his little angel’s wings?
The last note proved him right. Dean was the note-writing culprit. Castiel smiled to himself and despite being another Vonnegut quote, the quick scribbled filled him with warmth.
There is only one rule that I know of, babies - God damnit, you’ve got to be kind.
The last week had been uncomfortable with Dean dodging him every chance he got, but it was beyond that with his now ex-boyfriend. Crowley would swing wildly from slamming him into lockers in the hallway and snapping at him to being sweet and trying gift him with a new cellphone to replace the one that he had crushed earlier in the week.
After three days of dealing with the crazy drama of his school life, he had claimed a ‘mental health day’ and stayed home from school. Anna brought home all of his schoolwork and he had found the note tucked into his French book. Anna had mostly likely found it and stuck it there. He was glad that he had not asked one of The Trio to get his books for him. This note was different from the others, written on a piece of notebook paper, with the shredded binding still attached.
He had had his hopes about the notes, staring at them for over an hour after his phone call to Crowley, who, when asked, hadn’t a clue what Castiel was talking about and just continued to rail into the phone. He took inventory, two quotes, a poem, a song lyric, and now the knowledge that Dean cared about him more than he thought.
He wanted to kiss the messy handwriting. Every one had been different, disguised, but this. This was the awful chicken scratch he had slaved over, trying to edit it for weeks. He was it in his literary nightmares. The engineering equations on the back just added to his stupid wave of glee.
Oh, Dean.
Castiel made the right decision. He was sure of it now. Terrified of how things would play out, but sure. Castiel shook his head pulling on a well-worn pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, his ‘weekend clothes’ as Anna called them. Crowley wanted to meet at his house to apologize for not taking Castiel seriously about the problems in their relationship. Not that it mattered; he’d made his choice. A part of him still cared about Crowley, no matter how angry he had been, but he hoped that he could come to love Dean even more, now that he’d had a taste of what it could be. He knew he owed Crowley a full explanation of his decision at least and if it would give the other boy closure then so be it.
He passed by the living room on his way out of the house, the rest of his family sprawled around watching TV or reading. “I’m going out, I’ll be back later.”
“’K.” Gabe called back, “Bring some snacks back with you.” Castiel rolled his eyes. He pulled out his phone as he walked to text Crowley.
Castiel: Leaving now.
Fergus: Come through the front door
Castiel: All right.
It was a nice day out and the walk only took him twenty minutes, Crowley’s father’s house rivaled the Milton’s in size, but it was much colder. The house was a massive, Baroque affair, but it felt horribly empty housing just one man, his son, and a few hired help. How lonely. He let himself in the front, moving through the foyer and into the sitting room at the front of the house.
“Crowley?” His voice echoed into the silence of the house. He moved further in until he heard movement from the kitchen, the clink of glass. That made sense, Crowley’s father’s study was behind the kitchen and he knew Crowley often spent his time in there. He found the other boy leaning against the counter, a glass of amber liquid swirling around in his hand. The frown on Crowley’s face made Castiel’s stomach twist but he fought past it. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
Crowley’s mouth transformed into a placating smile, “I’m sorry, love.” He moved to stand in front of Castiel and pulled him into an embrace. “I’ve missed you, this just helps.” Castiel stiffened and pulled away, surprising both of them. Just a few weeks ago he would have melted into Crowley’s arms.
“Fergus, I came here to explain to you why I decided to move on, not to do anything like that.” Crowley’s smile slipped from his face and his hands tightened painfully around Castiel’s upper arms.
“Now, now, aren’t we over this little rebellion of your yet?” Crowley sneered. “You know you belong with me, angel. I love you.” He leaned in to kiss Castiel, but Castiel pushed back, his hands shoving against Crowley’s chest.
“Stop this! You said you just wanted to talk! We’re done and I can’t-“
When he came to his senses, Castiel found himself sprawled on the cool ceramic tile of the kitchen floor. His head was pounding and his jaw throbbed from the punch he hadn’t seen coming. He tried to get his arms underneath him to push himself up when I foot connected with his side and he collapsed, curling around his midsection. Another kick landed on his spine, followed by Crowley forcing him onto his back and straddling his hips. Castiel tried to lift his head and push himself up with his elbows but Crowley grabbed his hair and slammed his head back into the floor. His vision swam with spots and tears flowed down the sides of his face, wetting his hair.
“Fergus, please. Please stop.” His lower lip split with the next punch and he lay there stunned. He felt Crowley get off of him but a kick connect with his ribs again. He stayed on the floor, trying not to vomit from the pain while Crowley downed the rest of his drink. The cold look on his face terrified Castiel. There was tightness in his chest and it hurt to breath but he tried to sit up. “Please.”
Crowley bent down and gently cupped Castiel’s face in his hands. His thumbs ran carefully over Castiel’s cheeks as though trying to soothe the hurt. One hand moved to run through his hair. Castiel blinked hazily up at him, a sick, twisted parallel to his kiss with Dean. The voice that reached his ears was low and dangerous, sending goose bumps up and down his arms.
“I’m going to tell you something very important, angel. Either you come back to me, or I’ll make sure your precious Winchester never wants to look at you again.” Castiel’s blood froze and his weak gasp turned into painful coughing.
“Dean,” His voice was a broken whisper, “I choose Dean.” He could taste blood from his lip in his mouth.
“Wrong answer, love. But we’ll see if I can’t get you to change that decision.” Castiel struggled as he was pulled to his feet, managing to land a punch in Crowley’s stomach and deep scratches across his left cheek. But it wasn’t enough; another punch to his stomach doubled him over with another painful coughing fit. Crowley used this to his advantage and pulled Castiel across the room after him.
When the heavy wooden door of the study slammed behind him, a piece of Castiel died with the sound.
The reflection in the mirror was unforgiving. Every blemish, bruise, and raw stop stood out in stark contrast against his pale skin under the harsh light of the bathroom.
He had called Anna. Crowley had left some time earlier, leaving Castiel an empty shell on the carpet of the study. Somehow, he could not really remember doing it, but he managed to pick himself up and leave. Pain radiated through his body with every step he took. He had called her, his words breaking around choked down sobs. She picked him up a few blocks from school, he was standing on the curb waiting for her when she pulled up, jumping out of the car and running to him to gather him up in a tight hug.
She let it go when he said he didn’t want to talk about it and just stood there on the sidewalk hugging him while his whole body shook with pain and hiccupped crying. She led him to the car where he sat, uncomfortable and sniffing, the entire ride home. When they got to house Castiel refused to get out of the car, he didn’t need any of the others seeing him like this. They would ask questions and questions were not what he wanted right now. Anna shushed him, keeping his panic at bay, and ushered him quietly into the house, assuring him that everyone else was busy. They made it up to his room without seeing anyone.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Should I take you to the hospital?” Castiel shook his head vigorously, which only made it throb more.
“I’m okay.” He croaked. Anna smiled at him and kissed his forehead.
“I’ll make you some tea.” She offered as she left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. He shuffled into the bathroom then. Tired eyes stared back at him out of a stranger’s face, mottled with bruises and set off with a pair of puffy, slightly bloody lips. Gingerly he lifted his torn shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, fighting back the nausea threatening to overtake him. A map of abuse was laid out, from the valleys of his collarbones, down the planes of his chest, and further, disappearing into his jeans. His eyes raked over the darkening bruises and sensitive skin. His fingers touched the blood pooling on his lower lip before resting on the waistband of his jeans.
His breath stopped and he squeezed his eyes shut tight against the burn of tears and exhaustion. Sucking in air and blowing it back out slowly, he braced himself. When his pants hit the floor a chocked sob escaped his throat. The bruising was far worse below his waistline. Dark, angry marks in the shape of hands and fingertips digging into his skin formed along his hips. There was blood down there as well, where fingernails dug in too deep and drops from Crowley’s mouth after Castiel had bit him in self defense. He winced as he remembered the knee to the ribs he had received for that infraction.
The nausea worsened and he braced himself against the counter on shaky arms and took a few deep breaths. He needed to take a shower. He needed to wash off all the blood and other bodily fluids drying to his skin and let it, and the memories, run down the drain. He grabbed a towel from under the sink, using it wipe most of the mess off his torso and from between his thighs. He stared at it for a moment before, with a small cry, he threw it back under the sink, far from sight.
Shakily he climbed into the claw-foot tub/shower and quickly adjusted the heat to scalding. He scrubbed at his skin until it was pink from the heat and his rough movements. It was the best he could do but it he still felt disgusting, dirty. Still shaking, he sank down to sit on the floor of the tub and cry. He sat there long after the water had run cold.
He woke to find Anna perched on the side of his bed, applying a warm cloth to the side of his face where the bruising and swelling was the worst. He remembered her finding him in the tub last night, drying him off and forcing him into bed with a hot mug of tea. She had sat at his side, much as she was now, until after he had fallen asleep.
He managed a small smile before pushing himself up into a sitting position, whimpering as his sore stiff muscles screamed at him. Anna propped a pillow up behind him. He was not prepared for the sight of the rest of his family spread throughout his room. Gabriel stood at the side of his bed next to Anna and Israfael sat at the foot of it with Balthazar standing behind her. Castiel turned to glare at Anna, who glared right back. He sighed and bowed his head, fingers twisting in his sheets. He couldn’t bring himself to look at any of them, shame eating at his insides. A hand ruffled his hair and he looked up, startled. It was Gabriel.
“Any chance you’ll tell us the fucker’s name?” His voice and smile were brittle, fragile things.
“You know he won’t.” Balthazar said quietly. Castiel winced, tears stinging his eyes but his cousin was right. He wasn’t ready to even think his name, let alone speak it aloud. It was too much and he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Anna continued to apply warm clothes to the bruises she could see. A pained cry escaped her lips when the sheets fell lower, revealing more of Castiel’s torso.
“Oh Castiel.” She breathed, her already red-rimmed eyes growing wet again.
“Anna, don’t. Please. I just can’t.” His voice caught on the last word but it did little to stop her tears. Gabriel ruffled his hair again and climbed onto the bed next to Castiel to sit, while Israfael and Balthazar both sprawled out too. Anna slid closer to Castiel, carefully pulling him close. Gabriel’s hand rested gently on Castiel shoulder. He was surrounded by a puppy pile of his family like the used to when they were children. It wasn’t Castiel’s fault when he started crying too, burying his face in Anna’s shoulder.
Really.
Authors: azimmermann & bodiesnotourown
Artist: kassiopeiar
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural, High School AU
Rating: NC-17
Chapter Word Count: 3815
Warnings: Off screen non-con, physical violence/abuse, swearing
When Dean stumbled into his first class (who in the hell thought that Calculus was a good idea so damn early in the morning?!) he was bleary eyed and grumpy. His night had been filled with replays of the kiss/rejection interrupted with nightmare filled bouts of sleep, tossing and turning all night in his bed. He felt like a moron for kissing his best friend. What the fuck had he been thinking? That, of course, was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking, or if he had been he’d been using the wrong brain.
He rested his head on his folded arms and tried to doze. It was early enough that the classroom was still empty; with no sleep and nothing better to do, he’d brought Sam to school early hoping that maybe it would offer enough of a distraction to keep his mind busy. The quiet of the classroom and his sleep deprived brain caused his thoughts to wander right back into dangerous territory, and Castiel’s face drifted to the forefront of his mind. Thinking about the singer just made him re-live the disaster that was the day before. He was halfway through remembering his brief but utter bliss at Castiel kissing him back when someone yanked his head up roughly by his hair.
“The fuck?!” Crowley sneered down at him, his hand still fisted in Dean’s hair, tilting his head back at a painful angle. His eyes were bright with anger and rage. A quick glance confirmed that the classroom was still empty.
“Do you enjoy stealing other people’s toy, Winchester?” Dean narrowed his eyes and shoved the other boy’s arm away, leaning back in his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared Crowley down.
“I’m not sure what you’re bitching about, Crowley. Not sure I’ve seen any toys around.” What was he talking about and why in the hell was he taking it out on Dean? Sure he’d kissed Cas, but Cas had turned him down. How did he even find out about it? Crowley’s accent snapped out, thickened by anger, and pulled Dean back into the moment.
“Did you think you could take what didn’t belong to you?” He leaned aggressively into Dean’s personal space. “How did you do it?” Did you get on your knees and wrap that whore mouth of your around his cock and suck his brains out? He is mine, not yours.”
“Cas isn’t your fucking property you dick!” Dean snarled at him, rising from his desk. His shoulders were tense and his hands had closed into fists so tight he felt his knuckles pop. “I don’t know why he stays with a piece of shit like you!”
“Be careful, Winchester.” Crowley didn’t back down, standing toe to toe. “You come near him again and I will hunt you down. Or maybe help your brother out with that arm of his, yeah?”
“Fucking try it, you piece of shit, and I will rip your lungs out.”
“Boys?” Mr. Mauro said from the doorway, “Do we have a problem?” Crowley glared at Dean one last time before turning his back and stalking to the front of the room to take his seat. A few other classmates filtered into the room. Dean unclenched his fists; his nails had left deep, red crescents in the pads of his palms.
Dean glared daggers into the back of Crowley’s head for the rest of class and when the bell rang he was the first one out of the room. He made a beeline for Castiel’s first class, hoping to catch him in the halls and see if he knew what the hell Crowley had been going on about. The other boy probably didn’t want to see him, but if he was going to be threated, Dean wanted to know why.
Castiel wasn’t there, and he hadn’t been in class or so Becky told him when he asked about it in Pop Culture later. Worry set in at the back of his mind but it didn’t kick into panic until he walked into his Lit class and found Israfael Milton perched upon his desk, fingers tapping out a beat on the fake wood.
“Kansas.” She said by way of greeting.
“Milton.” When she didn’t move Dean sighed and sat down at his desk anyway. Pointedly trying to ignore her, he began pulling out his notebook and other crap for class. She ignored him as well for a few minutes, watching the other students mill about. Dean assumed she was waiting for Gabriel and just trying to be annoying. He got along pretty well with Anna and Balthazar, but Gabriel and Israfael were still a mystery to him. He was pretty sure they liked him, but depending upon the day and moods they either made his life hell or just slightly less hell. He was hoping to day would be a ‘less-than-hell’ day. He wasn’t holding his breath though, especially after their foray into kidnapping and knowing his luck. She sighed after a while, turning to stare at him, light blue eyes like her brother’s evaluating him.
“He’s singing in French now.”
Dean blinked, “Uh, okay?”
Her lips pulled back in disgust. “You’ve got to make it stop. I can’t take much more of this. I thought Phantom of the Opera and all hours of the day was bad.”
“Shouldn’t you, I dunno, support him instead of whining about it?”
“You don’t understand, Dean.” She hissed, pitching her voice low so it didn’t carry through the room. She was tugging at her braid and her accent was slipping through from frustration. “He’s making us play along. Do you have any idea what being the drummer for Cassy’s French shit is like? It’s all sad and morose, and God save us, ironic, and I simply, Can. Not. Take. Anymore.”
“I don’t know what you guys expect me to do about it. I can’t just snap my fingers and make him get over his mental case of a relationship.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously as she leaned over to grip his shoulders and shook him. “I don’t care what you think you can or can’t do! Seduce him or something! Cassy is at his best when he’s either feeling the puppy love or fucking horny. Fix this.”
“I tried! He didn’t-“ He cut himself off. The last thing he wanted was Israfael or any of the others to find out he’d kissed Castiel and been shot down. They already put too much pressure on him. He couldn’t save the whole world.
“Ugh, nut up, Winchester. Quit being such a little bitch about it.” With that she shook him one last time and hopped off his desk. It was then that Dean realized she didn’t have any of her regular school stuff. She walked past Mrs. Wilson on her way to the door where Balthazar and Gabriel were waiting, lounging against the wall. The three of them left, with Gabriel tossing him a smirk before disappearing. That probably wasn’t a good thing. He let his head drop onto the surface of his desk with a loud thud. Fuck his life.
Crowley’s fists made satisfying crunching noises as they struck Brady in the face. His foot forced a groan from the lackey that sent a thrill up and down his spine. Straightening his suit coat he nodded to Alistair, a sophomore with promise to be his second in command, to drag Brady’s quivering body out of his sight. He carefully wiped the blood and spit off his hands with a linen napkin from the table as he looked down at his plate. Now dinner appealed to him about as much as a plate of worms.
He paced around the room, the heels of his Italian leather shoes thudding on the hardwood floor. His rage roared beneath his skin. How could that little slut think he could just call it off? Thought he could do better, ha! How dare he think it was permissible to leave! Castiel was his property. His toy to use as he saw fit and discard when it suited him. Everything was working out just fine, until that fucking pretty boy Winchester had shown up.
Glass shattered as the mirror along one wall cracked under the force of his fist. He breathed heavily for a few moments staring at his fractured reflection. Blood dripped from his knuckles in time with the pulse pounding in his ears. This would not do. He straightened and began wrapping his hand in the napkin. Pretty little Castiel…he would have to be taught to whom his life and body really belonged to. They had a deal and he would take pleasure in making Castiel regret breaking it.
He smiled, his calm returning with a plan. No one broke a deal with a Crowley, his father had taught him that. Boyfriend or not, if he couldn’t have him, he would make sure that no one would even want to touch Castiel again.
His deranged laughter echoed through the empty house. How much would it take to break his little angel’s wings?
The last note proved him right. Dean was the note-writing culprit. Castiel smiled to himself and despite being another Vonnegut quote, the quick scribbled filled him with warmth.
There is only one rule that I know of, babies - God damnit, you’ve got to be kind.
The last week had been uncomfortable with Dean dodging him every chance he got, but it was beyond that with his now ex-boyfriend. Crowley would swing wildly from slamming him into lockers in the hallway and snapping at him to being sweet and trying gift him with a new cellphone to replace the one that he had crushed earlier in the week.
After three days of dealing with the crazy drama of his school life, he had claimed a ‘mental health day’ and stayed home from school. Anna brought home all of his schoolwork and he had found the note tucked into his French book. Anna had mostly likely found it and stuck it there. He was glad that he had not asked one of The Trio to get his books for him. This note was different from the others, written on a piece of notebook paper, with the shredded binding still attached.
He had had his hopes about the notes, staring at them for over an hour after his phone call to Crowley, who, when asked, hadn’t a clue what Castiel was talking about and just continued to rail into the phone. He took inventory, two quotes, a poem, a song lyric, and now the knowledge that Dean cared about him more than he thought.
He wanted to kiss the messy handwriting. Every one had been different, disguised, but this. This was the awful chicken scratch he had slaved over, trying to edit it for weeks. He was it in his literary nightmares. The engineering equations on the back just added to his stupid wave of glee.
Oh, Dean.
Castiel made the right decision. He was sure of it now. Terrified of how things would play out, but sure. Castiel shook his head pulling on a well-worn pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, his ‘weekend clothes’ as Anna called them. Crowley wanted to meet at his house to apologize for not taking Castiel seriously about the problems in their relationship. Not that it mattered; he’d made his choice. A part of him still cared about Crowley, no matter how angry he had been, but he hoped that he could come to love Dean even more, now that he’d had a taste of what it could be. He knew he owed Crowley a full explanation of his decision at least and if it would give the other boy closure then so be it.
He passed by the living room on his way out of the house, the rest of his family sprawled around watching TV or reading. “I’m going out, I’ll be back later.”
“’K.” Gabe called back, “Bring some snacks back with you.” Castiel rolled his eyes. He pulled out his phone as he walked to text Crowley.
Castiel: Leaving now.
Fergus: Come through the front door
Castiel: All right.
It was a nice day out and the walk only took him twenty minutes, Crowley’s father’s house rivaled the Milton’s in size, but it was much colder. The house was a massive, Baroque affair, but it felt horribly empty housing just one man, his son, and a few hired help. How lonely. He let himself in the front, moving through the foyer and into the sitting room at the front of the house.
“Crowley?” His voice echoed into the silence of the house. He moved further in until he heard movement from the kitchen, the clink of glass. That made sense, Crowley’s father’s study was behind the kitchen and he knew Crowley often spent his time in there. He found the other boy leaning against the counter, a glass of amber liquid swirling around in his hand. The frown on Crowley’s face made Castiel’s stomach twist but he fought past it. “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
Crowley’s mouth transformed into a placating smile, “I’m sorry, love.” He moved to stand in front of Castiel and pulled him into an embrace. “I’ve missed you, this just helps.” Castiel stiffened and pulled away, surprising both of them. Just a few weeks ago he would have melted into Crowley’s arms.
“Fergus, I came here to explain to you why I decided to move on, not to do anything like that.” Crowley’s smile slipped from his face and his hands tightened painfully around Castiel’s upper arms.
“Now, now, aren’t we over this little rebellion of your yet?” Crowley sneered. “You know you belong with me, angel. I love you.” He leaned in to kiss Castiel, but Castiel pushed back, his hands shoving against Crowley’s chest.
“Stop this! You said you just wanted to talk! We’re done and I can’t-“
When he came to his senses, Castiel found himself sprawled on the cool ceramic tile of the kitchen floor. His head was pounding and his jaw throbbed from the punch he hadn’t seen coming. He tried to get his arms underneath him to push himself up when I foot connected with his side and he collapsed, curling around his midsection. Another kick landed on his spine, followed by Crowley forcing him onto his back and straddling his hips. Castiel tried to lift his head and push himself up with his elbows but Crowley grabbed his hair and slammed his head back into the floor. His vision swam with spots and tears flowed down the sides of his face, wetting his hair.
“Fergus, please. Please stop.” His lower lip split with the next punch and he lay there stunned. He felt Crowley get off of him but a kick connect with his ribs again. He stayed on the floor, trying not to vomit from the pain while Crowley downed the rest of his drink. The cold look on his face terrified Castiel. There was tightness in his chest and it hurt to breath but he tried to sit up. “Please.”
Crowley bent down and gently cupped Castiel’s face in his hands. His thumbs ran carefully over Castiel’s cheeks as though trying to soothe the hurt. One hand moved to run through his hair. Castiel blinked hazily up at him, a sick, twisted parallel to his kiss with Dean. The voice that reached his ears was low and dangerous, sending goose bumps up and down his arms.
“I’m going to tell you something very important, angel. Either you come back to me, or I’ll make sure your precious Winchester never wants to look at you again.” Castiel’s blood froze and his weak gasp turned into painful coughing.
“Dean,” His voice was a broken whisper, “I choose Dean.” He could taste blood from his lip in his mouth.
“Wrong answer, love. But we’ll see if I can’t get you to change that decision.” Castiel struggled as he was pulled to his feet, managing to land a punch in Crowley’s stomach and deep scratches across his left cheek. But it wasn’t enough; another punch to his stomach doubled him over with another painful coughing fit. Crowley used this to his advantage and pulled Castiel across the room after him.
When the heavy wooden door of the study slammed behind him, a piece of Castiel died with the sound.
The reflection in the mirror was unforgiving. Every blemish, bruise, and raw stop stood out in stark contrast against his pale skin under the harsh light of the bathroom.
He had called Anna. Crowley had left some time earlier, leaving Castiel an empty shell on the carpet of the study. Somehow, he could not really remember doing it, but he managed to pick himself up and leave. Pain radiated through his body with every step he took. He had called her, his words breaking around choked down sobs. She picked him up a few blocks from school, he was standing on the curb waiting for her when she pulled up, jumping out of the car and running to him to gather him up in a tight hug.
She let it go when he said he didn’t want to talk about it and just stood there on the sidewalk hugging him while his whole body shook with pain and hiccupped crying. She led him to the car where he sat, uncomfortable and sniffing, the entire ride home. When they got to house Castiel refused to get out of the car, he didn’t need any of the others seeing him like this. They would ask questions and questions were not what he wanted right now. Anna shushed him, keeping his panic at bay, and ushered him quietly into the house, assuring him that everyone else was busy. They made it up to his room without seeing anyone.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Should I take you to the hospital?” Castiel shook his head vigorously, which only made it throb more.
“I’m okay.” He croaked. Anna smiled at him and kissed his forehead.
“I’ll make you some tea.” She offered as she left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. He shuffled into the bathroom then. Tired eyes stared back at him out of a stranger’s face, mottled with bruises and set off with a pair of puffy, slightly bloody lips. Gingerly he lifted his torn shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, fighting back the nausea threatening to overtake him. A map of abuse was laid out, from the valleys of his collarbones, down the planes of his chest, and further, disappearing into his jeans. His eyes raked over the darkening bruises and sensitive skin. His fingers touched the blood pooling on his lower lip before resting on the waistband of his jeans.
His breath stopped and he squeezed his eyes shut tight against the burn of tears and exhaustion. Sucking in air and blowing it back out slowly, he braced himself. When his pants hit the floor a chocked sob escaped his throat. The bruising was far worse below his waistline. Dark, angry marks in the shape of hands and fingertips digging into his skin formed along his hips. There was blood down there as well, where fingernails dug in too deep and drops from Crowley’s mouth after Castiel had bit him in self defense. He winced as he remembered the knee to the ribs he had received for that infraction.
The nausea worsened and he braced himself against the counter on shaky arms and took a few deep breaths. He needed to take a shower. He needed to wash off all the blood and other bodily fluids drying to his skin and let it, and the memories, run down the drain. He grabbed a towel from under the sink, using it wipe most of the mess off his torso and from between his thighs. He stared at it for a moment before, with a small cry, he threw it back under the sink, far from sight.
Shakily he climbed into the claw-foot tub/shower and quickly adjusted the heat to scalding. He scrubbed at his skin until it was pink from the heat and his rough movements. It was the best he could do but it he still felt disgusting, dirty. Still shaking, he sank down to sit on the floor of the tub and cry. He sat there long after the water had run cold.
He woke to find Anna perched on the side of his bed, applying a warm cloth to the side of his face where the bruising and swelling was the worst. He remembered her finding him in the tub last night, drying him off and forcing him into bed with a hot mug of tea. She had sat at his side, much as she was now, until after he had fallen asleep.
He managed a small smile before pushing himself up into a sitting position, whimpering as his sore stiff muscles screamed at him. Anna propped a pillow up behind him. He was not prepared for the sight of the rest of his family spread throughout his room. Gabriel stood at the side of his bed next to Anna and Israfael sat at the foot of it with Balthazar standing behind her. Castiel turned to glare at Anna, who glared right back. He sighed and bowed his head, fingers twisting in his sheets. He couldn’t bring himself to look at any of them, shame eating at his insides. A hand ruffled his hair and he looked up, startled. It was Gabriel.
“Any chance you’ll tell us the fucker’s name?” His voice and smile were brittle, fragile things.
“You know he won’t.” Balthazar said quietly. Castiel winced, tears stinging his eyes but his cousin was right. He wasn’t ready to even think his name, let alone speak it aloud. It was too much and he felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Anna continued to apply warm clothes to the bruises she could see. A pained cry escaped her lips when the sheets fell lower, revealing more of Castiel’s torso.
“Oh Castiel.” She breathed, her already red-rimmed eyes growing wet again.
“Anna, don’t. Please. I just can’t.” His voice caught on the last word but it did little to stop her tears. Gabriel ruffled his hair again and climbed onto the bed next to Castiel to sit, while Israfael and Balthazar both sprawled out too. Anna slid closer to Castiel, carefully pulling him close. Gabriel’s hand rested gently on Castiel shoulder. He was surrounded by a puppy pile of his family like the used to when they were children. It wasn’t Castiel’s fault when he started crying too, burying his face in Anna’s shoulder.
Really.