Tell Me Who I Am -- END
Part 1
~~~
One, two, three. The footsteps were so jumbled and jangled that they beat a messy samba on the pavement with enough force to provoke a mini-earthquake, somewhere where it might be felt. There Dean minced and shook the unfortunate leaves on his path, all a repulsive mixture of dying colours that he'd seen once before, and that he would see again a hundred times. He lived in this dull town, and he would die in this dull town. Over and over again - live, eat, fuck, cry, laugh... it was all so deceptively simple. So inane that he could no longer tell if he were latching onto Castiel out of the conviction that the boy was his ticket out of here or out of genuine affection. Could that be called desperate? Obsessed? He was something new in town, something different, a shiny toy.
A gust of wind picked up and hurdled a hefty breath of dirt and dust into Dean's face, triggering an annoyed wince from the boy. What was it called when a person had so subtly monopolised your every thought that you came to see it as a thing so natural that it scared you? Ah, what was it called again...
-
One two three. The notes over flooded in sloppy discord onto the keyboard. Castiel paused and stared at his fingers in severe accusation. Bony, he thought. Incompetent. Distracted. Imperfect. All these words like needles stuck under his nails and dug further when they hit the keys. He imagined them all there on his piano, his parents, his brother, Dean... all stuck between the keys like dirt, keeping him from reaching perfect harmony. He once more slammed his fingers on the board.
-
Dean pounced on a dry leaf. Taken up by some unnameable frenzy, he tore its membranes apart. What a fucking disgusting colour it had. Even shredded under his feet, it was gone. It was too late. Onetwothree. A merry danse macabre played itself before him and he could see himself, his flesh and blood, embedded in the pavement. He was born in this town, he lived in this town, and he would die in this town. The world was passing him by, and he did nothing about it... almost as if he were the only one meant to be abandoned. Everything, everyone he knew, was slipping through his fingers like smoke. Why did he stay behind?
“Hi Mom, hi Dad,” he said as he opened the door to his house.
His parents were in the living room, watching T.V.; it was one of those odd nights where they were together in the same room at the same time anymore. They looked up and greeted him as he headed to his room. A hundred more hello's and goodbye's were to come.
“Hey, Sammy. Still studying?”
His little brother, hunched over a book in his room, said without looking up, “Yeah. But it's probably too mainstream for you.”
“That's cool. I hear chicks dig the whole nerd thing.”
And you too will leave me behind someday, he thought. Won't someone be there to always share my hello's and goodbye's, the Happy Birthday's and Merry Christmas's? Was it like this for everyone else too?
-
A tumble and crash was heard downstairs, as if following Castiel's own music in suit. Such an awful noise... It didn't used to be like this. No, that was a lie. There had always been noise in the corridors of his home. He got up, ventured over to the door, and peeked over the stair banister. His brother Jimmy had fallen down the stairs again, and had apparently knocked into George, their butler, who was carrying a glass of water. Bits of the glass had lodged into the boy's palms, making him hiss and whine. The scene made him cringe too much, so he went back to his room. Ever since he was little, Castiel had always been confident he could handle anything put on his path, but somehow any sense of accomplishment ultimately escaped him. How could Dean be giving it all he's got when he can't even do that?
“He stitch you up?” Castiel said when he heard his brother enter the room.
Jimmy said nothing, keeping unusually silent as he remained by the door, hesitant to trespass. And wasn't that a joke? When had their relationship frayed so much that his own twin would grow afraid of him? His other half, a perfect imitation, an overexcited child who imbued his surroundings with his own assured sense of self everywhere he went and who never failed to cry Notice me! Notice me! with everything he performed, as if deathly scared that if people didn't notice him, he would cease to exist... now said nothing. What, have you already tired of existing?
Even if his brother's sight was still recovering from the accident, his aura didn't fail to exert itself in the room.
“If you're not going to say anything, please leave. You're distracting me.”
Like the crinkling of dead leaves, his brother's footfalls swept out of the room without so much as a pause. No, that's not right, he didn't mean that. Castiel turned in time to see the door slam shut. Looking back at the piano, he wished he could hate it. Living on a sheet of music paper, carefully treading the lines and neat notes in perfect accord... This music that had regulated his life. He wished he could hate it. The notes reprised and crashed more spitefully one into the other.
Onetwothree.
Do I even matter?
Onetwothree
Why do I latch onto him so desperately?
Onetwothree
Do I need to be recognised that much?
Onetwo...
To be in someone's thoughts like that... what was it called? Ah, what was it...
Both boys' thoughts echoed strongly in the uncertainty of their adolescence. The era of processing nothing but the present dimension started to crack.
I'm scared, was Castiel's main thought. I'm scared that if I have a relationship with you, it'll just as quickly crumble apart, just like my parents' marriage, just like how I'm now losing my brother. I don't want to lose you too.
-
Badump, badump, badump. Dean's feet carried him forward to the rhythm of his heart as he snuck out of his house. And the sound was scarier than any soundtrack of any horror movie he'd ever seen.
I love you, his words from that night made him grimace so hard it ached. Did he even believe his own words? He was probably forcing his half-assed feelings on the boy, a boy who knew the definition of love from a dictionary. Was it alright to say such words without knowing the effect they would have?
-
Onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree
Castiel would soon be leaving this primitive town anyway. No more nuisances. New Year come, he'll be in Switzerland, with a fresh start. But how many starts could he live before having to face an end or even a middle? Wait... what was that ruckus outside his door?
-
Dean hurled his fists and feet against the door until someone would open for him. He made it all the way there without his parents knowing, someone should at least answer the goddamn door. His veins were so richly pumped with adrenalin that he barely registered the ache in his fists from pounding the door. Soon enough, a tall figure opened and he was greeted with George's calm face.
“Good evening, Dean,” he greeted him with a small smile that fit him so naturally. Dean thought he had had the sort of face where he had no choice but to smile. “Using the doorbell would be much better idea than harming your hands like that.”
“George...” the boy's throat tightened. He couldn't say anything more beyond that word. And he was wheezing and panting so much he felt like his chest would catch fire any moment now.
“Hm? What is it? You look like the devil is chasing you. Come in.”
Some comment about how he thought butlers didn't exist anymore, or how he thought it was some form of sucking up to the rich died in his throat as he was welcomed in. And suddenly it hit him. It wasn't just the butler, the giant house, the expensive furniture, the avant-garde paintings that looked like his pre-school doodles, the grand staircase, and Switzerland, Switzerland for Chrissakes... their lives were too different.
“Who's it?” came a garbled voice.
Dean looked around and saw Jimmy dangling his feet from the stair railing. His refreshingly normal clothes looked ill-fitting on him, as though something had blackmailed him into them. The bandage around his eyes and jaw seemed to impart a pitiable air of defiance. Should he ask how he was or would that be insensitive? Hell if he knew. Fuck, he never knew how to handle this kind of situation without pissing someone off. As if he knew what he was thinking, Jimmy saved him the trouble and got up and left without bothering to get an answer.
George cleared his throat and said, “Castiel is in his room upstairs.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks,” Dean said.
Somehow, the farther he stepped into the heart of the house, the heavier his footsteps grew. And the sudden image of the frail boy sitting on the edge of a bridge looking out on a rushing river below flashed in his thoughts for a nervous second.
-
As Castiel extended his hand to the door handle, an unexpected force sent the door's edge flying into his face.
“Aw, fffffff...” He bit his lip in agony and cradled his nose with both hands, hissing. “Fuck! Shit! Ow...”
“Oh shit! Dude, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there,” Dean said, rushing to his side.
Feeling quite the idiot now, he decided to put an awkward hand on Cas's doubled up figure.
“I think I'll go call George,” he mumbled.
But before he even reached the door, an incredible blow from out of nowhere knocked him to the ground with a surprised “Oomph.”
“Sorry, didn't see you there, Dean!” Castiel said with a white hot look in his eye that clashed with his smooth features, marred only by a thin line of blood from that started to reach his lip.
So that was how it was gonna be, huh? Fine by him; he wasn't any good with words anyway. He lifted himself and charged for the boy, tackling him to the ground. It was ridiculous, really. Dean was the sporty type who was never one to back down from a fight; did Cas honestly think he could win? Did he really want someone to beat him senseless? To stop him from feeling anything at all? They don't make idiots like these anymore. Dean rolled over and pinned the boy's hands to his waist with his arms while his legs mobilised his thighs.
“What's wrong with you!” he said. Ah, the tears in the boy's eyes looked like flames.
Castiel kept silent and averted his gaze, as though afraid to ask Dean what he saw when he looked through him like that.
There you are again, thought Dean, right on the edge of that bridge, waiting to see who will come to get you.
“You're going to leave this town,” Dean said. “And you're going to go far away and make it on your own, chase whatever dream you have. And if you ever want to see me again, just call out. I'm sure I could make room in my busy schedule.”
Castiel's fingers then dug so hard into Dean's shoulder that it hurt. Hang onto me, thought Dean. Let me at least be able to pull you away from that bridge. Please cross it to chase your dreams, and for God's sake, smile. It's alright if you forget me after a thousand more hello's and goodbye's. Just, for fuck's sake, don't forget how to smile.
- - -
End
A/N: So after a year's hiatus, I finally decided to finish this story properly. Lol, who's even reading this anymore? Oh well, enjoy.
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~~~
One, two, three. The footsteps were so jumbled and jangled that they beat a messy samba on the pavement with enough force to provoke a mini-earthquake, somewhere where it might be felt. There Dean minced and shook the unfortunate leaves on his path, all a repulsive mixture of dying colours that he'd seen once before, and that he would see again a hundred times. He lived in this dull town, and he would die in this dull town. Over and over again - live, eat, fuck, cry, laugh... it was all so deceptively simple. So inane that he could no longer tell if he were latching onto Castiel out of the conviction that the boy was his ticket out of here or out of genuine affection. Could that be called desperate? Obsessed? He was something new in town, something different, a shiny toy.
A gust of wind picked up and hurdled a hefty breath of dirt and dust into Dean's face, triggering an annoyed wince from the boy. What was it called when a person had so subtly monopolised your every thought that you came to see it as a thing so natural that it scared you? Ah, what was it called again...
-
One two three. The notes over flooded in sloppy discord onto the keyboard. Castiel paused and stared at his fingers in severe accusation. Bony, he thought. Incompetent. Distracted. Imperfect. All these words like needles stuck under his nails and dug further when they hit the keys. He imagined them all there on his piano, his parents, his brother, Dean... all stuck between the keys like dirt, keeping him from reaching perfect harmony. He once more slammed his fingers on the board.
-
Dean pounced on a dry leaf. Taken up by some unnameable frenzy, he tore its membranes apart. What a fucking disgusting colour it had. Even shredded under his feet, it was gone. It was too late. Onetwothree. A merry danse macabre played itself before him and he could see himself, his flesh and blood, embedded in the pavement. He was born in this town, he lived in this town, and he would die in this town. The world was passing him by, and he did nothing about it... almost as if he were the only one meant to be abandoned. Everything, everyone he knew, was slipping through his fingers like smoke. Why did he stay behind?
“Hi Mom, hi Dad,” he said as he opened the door to his house.
His parents were in the living room, watching T.V.; it was one of those odd nights where they were together in the same room at the same time anymore. They looked up and greeted him as he headed to his room. A hundred more hello's and goodbye's were to come.
“Hey, Sammy. Still studying?”
His little brother, hunched over a book in his room, said without looking up, “Yeah. But it's probably too mainstream for you.”
“That's cool. I hear chicks dig the whole nerd thing.”
And you too will leave me behind someday, he thought. Won't someone be there to always share my hello's and goodbye's, the Happy Birthday's and Merry Christmas's? Was it like this for everyone else too?
-
A tumble and crash was heard downstairs, as if following Castiel's own music in suit. Such an awful noise... It didn't used to be like this. No, that was a lie. There had always been noise in the corridors of his home. He got up, ventured over to the door, and peeked over the stair banister. His brother Jimmy had fallen down the stairs again, and had apparently knocked into George, their butler, who was carrying a glass of water. Bits of the glass had lodged into the boy's palms, making him hiss and whine. The scene made him cringe too much, so he went back to his room. Ever since he was little, Castiel had always been confident he could handle anything put on his path, but somehow any sense of accomplishment ultimately escaped him. How could Dean be giving it all he's got when he can't even do that?
“He stitch you up?” Castiel said when he heard his brother enter the room.
Jimmy said nothing, keeping unusually silent as he remained by the door, hesitant to trespass. And wasn't that a joke? When had their relationship frayed so much that his own twin would grow afraid of him? His other half, a perfect imitation, an overexcited child who imbued his surroundings with his own assured sense of self everywhere he went and who never failed to cry Notice me! Notice me! with everything he performed, as if deathly scared that if people didn't notice him, he would cease to exist... now said nothing. What, have you already tired of existing?
Even if his brother's sight was still recovering from the accident, his aura didn't fail to exert itself in the room.
“If you're not going to say anything, please leave. You're distracting me.”
Like the crinkling of dead leaves, his brother's footfalls swept out of the room without so much as a pause. No, that's not right, he didn't mean that. Castiel turned in time to see the door slam shut. Looking back at the piano, he wished he could hate it. Living on a sheet of music paper, carefully treading the lines and neat notes in perfect accord... This music that had regulated his life. He wished he could hate it. The notes reprised and crashed more spitefully one into the other.
Onetwothree.
Do I even matter?
Onetwothree
Why do I latch onto him so desperately?
Onetwothree
Do I need to be recognised that much?
Onetwo...
To be in someone's thoughts like that... what was it called? Ah, what was it...
Both boys' thoughts echoed strongly in the uncertainty of their adolescence. The era of processing nothing but the present dimension started to crack.
I'm scared, was Castiel's main thought. I'm scared that if I have a relationship with you, it'll just as quickly crumble apart, just like my parents' marriage, just like how I'm now losing my brother. I don't want to lose you too.
-
Badump, badump, badump. Dean's feet carried him forward to the rhythm of his heart as he snuck out of his house. And the sound was scarier than any soundtrack of any horror movie he'd ever seen.
I love you, his words from that night made him grimace so hard it ached. Did he even believe his own words? He was probably forcing his half-assed feelings on the boy, a boy who knew the definition of love from a dictionary. Was it alright to say such words without knowing the effect they would have?
-
Onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree
Castiel would soon be leaving this primitive town anyway. No more nuisances. New Year come, he'll be in Switzerland, with a fresh start. But how many starts could he live before having to face an end or even a middle? Wait... what was that ruckus outside his door?
-
Dean hurled his fists and feet against the door until someone would open for him. He made it all the way there without his parents knowing, someone should at least answer the goddamn door. His veins were so richly pumped with adrenalin that he barely registered the ache in his fists from pounding the door. Soon enough, a tall figure opened and he was greeted with George's calm face.
“Good evening, Dean,” he greeted him with a small smile that fit him so naturally. Dean thought he had had the sort of face where he had no choice but to smile. “Using the doorbell would be much better idea than harming your hands like that.”
“George...” the boy's throat tightened. He couldn't say anything more beyond that word. And he was wheezing and panting so much he felt like his chest would catch fire any moment now.
“Hm? What is it? You look like the devil is chasing you. Come in.”
Some comment about how he thought butlers didn't exist anymore, or how he thought it was some form of sucking up to the rich died in his throat as he was welcomed in. And suddenly it hit him. It wasn't just the butler, the giant house, the expensive furniture, the avant-garde paintings that looked like his pre-school doodles, the grand staircase, and Switzerland, Switzerland for Chrissakes... their lives were too different.
“Who's it?” came a garbled voice.
Dean looked around and saw Jimmy dangling his feet from the stair railing. His refreshingly normal clothes looked ill-fitting on him, as though something had blackmailed him into them. The bandage around his eyes and jaw seemed to impart a pitiable air of defiance. Should he ask how he was or would that be insensitive? Hell if he knew. Fuck, he never knew how to handle this kind of situation without pissing someone off. As if he knew what he was thinking, Jimmy saved him the trouble and got up and left without bothering to get an answer.
George cleared his throat and said, “Castiel is in his room upstairs.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, thanks,” Dean said.
Somehow, the farther he stepped into the heart of the house, the heavier his footsteps grew. And the sudden image of the frail boy sitting on the edge of a bridge looking out on a rushing river below flashed in his thoughts for a nervous second.
-
As Castiel extended his hand to the door handle, an unexpected force sent the door's edge flying into his face.
“Aw, fffffff...” He bit his lip in agony and cradled his nose with both hands, hissing. “Fuck! Shit! Ow...”
“Oh shit! Dude, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there,” Dean said, rushing to his side.
Feeling quite the idiot now, he decided to put an awkward hand on Cas's doubled up figure.
“I think I'll go call George,” he mumbled.
But before he even reached the door, an incredible blow from out of nowhere knocked him to the ground with a surprised “Oomph.”
“Sorry, didn't see you there, Dean!” Castiel said with a white hot look in his eye that clashed with his smooth features, marred only by a thin line of blood from that started to reach his lip.
So that was how it was gonna be, huh? Fine by him; he wasn't any good with words anyway. He lifted himself and charged for the boy, tackling him to the ground. It was ridiculous, really. Dean was the sporty type who was never one to back down from a fight; did Cas honestly think he could win? Did he really want someone to beat him senseless? To stop him from feeling anything at all? They don't make idiots like these anymore. Dean rolled over and pinned the boy's hands to his waist with his arms while his legs mobilised his thighs.
“What's wrong with you!” he said. Ah, the tears in the boy's eyes looked like flames.
Castiel kept silent and averted his gaze, as though afraid to ask Dean what he saw when he looked through him like that.
There you are again, thought Dean, right on the edge of that bridge, waiting to see who will come to get you.
“You're going to leave this town,” Dean said. “And you're going to go far away and make it on your own, chase whatever dream you have. And if you ever want to see me again, just call out. I'm sure I could make room in my busy schedule.”
Castiel's fingers then dug so hard into Dean's shoulder that it hurt. Hang onto me, thought Dean. Let me at least be able to pull you away from that bridge. Please cross it to chase your dreams, and for God's sake, smile. It's alright if you forget me after a thousand more hello's and goodbye's. Just, for fuck's sake, don't forget how to smile.
- - -
End
A/N: So after a year's hiatus, I finally decided to finish this story properly. Lol, who's even reading this anymore? Oh well, enjoy.
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