
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11756232.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Castiel/Meg_Masters, Castiel/Sam_Winchester,
      Alastair/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Castiel_(Supernatural), Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Meg_Masters,
      Jimmy_Novak, Alastair_(Supernatural), John_Winchester, Mary_Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Child_Abuse, Rape, Foster_Care, Drug_Use, Drug-Induced_Sex, Addiction,
      Angst, Original_Character(s), Alternate_Universe_-_Supernatural_Elements,
      POV_Multiple, Alternate_Universe_-_Dark
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-09 Chapters: 6/? Words: 8571
****** A Lesson in Love and Dependence ******
by CDWin
Summary
     Heroin makes Cas very happy. Yet so does Sam. Until Dean pops into
     the picture and it all goes to hell.
Notes
     I don't know if I will ever finish this, but I might as well post
     what I have. :) Also, this fic is my first and very very dark and
     there are a lot of offensive and terrible things so please read
     through the tags and be warned!
***** Cotton Faded Beauty *****
She slid down on him. The water pounding onto them both. His eyes frantically
searching, trying to focus on anything other than her. He found sweet relief in
letting his eyes squeeze shut. Oh shit. Shouldn’t he moan or huff or.. or
something? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?
“Castiel…”
He forces himself out of his mind and back to her, opening his eyes in the
process.
“Don’t you love me? Look at me. If you love me, you will come. Enjoy it.”
Oh god. He hates her. He hates his body for reacting to touch, opposite of what
he truly wants. But if he doesn’t do this she will tell everybody that he isn’t
like the other boys. That he doesn’t want sex, or at least not with her. If he
comes that means he wants it, right? No matter how much she forces herself on
him, if he comes that means it’s okay. Right? He fights his disgust. His body
betrays him. With a huff he comes.
Meg.
With a chuckle, she gets off him. Ready to continue her shower.
“Now that wasn’t too bad, was it Clarence?”
He hates himself. He can’t look her in the eye as she laughs, lathering herself
in soap. The shower reeks of his cum, Irish spring body soap, and self-
loathing. He wrenches himself from the built-in seat in the modern, slate grey,
glass walled shower, as he dry heaves. She laughs. Did she ever stop? He
thought he could do this. He had thought wrong.
He walked home that night, two hours across town, after declining the ride she
offered. He continually attempted (and failed) to pull himself out of his own
mind. He needed to pay attention at this time of night. His corner of the city
was the one filled with low-lives. The scum of the earth. Right where he
belonged. His second-floor apartment he shared with is twin brother, Jimmy, was
dark. Paid for by his no-show father every month. A ghost of a smile passes
over his cracked lips. Funny how they have no food, no essentials; funny how
their father pays for the rent but refuses anything else. Refuses to
acknowledge their pitiful existence, being a ghost who writes a check each
month as if that would make things better.
The lock slides back with a thick clunk, the door scrapes the floor as it opens
adding more wear to the already worn floor. He can hear the neighbors screaming
at each other through the thin, non-insulated wall. An argument fueled by their
love and hate, the strength of emotion on par with the addiction fueled mania.
Would he ever get the chance to scream at a man he loves? He wrenches his eyes
from the dim wall, the cracked plaster, the raw emotion and discontent. His
eyes eventually settle on his brother Jimmy. Currently asleep, curled in on
himself upon his mattress with his well-worn and slightly dirty threaded
blanket over top of him, a mirror image of Castiel himself. Jealousy fills his
heart the more his tired eyes settle. With every second he is reminded of how
different Jimmy is from him. He easily understands social norms, he is
everything his dad wanted them both to be. Castiel could imagine that Jimmy may
feel resentment echoing in his soul when looking at Castiel as well, Castiel’s
rebellion of their father’s word is what sent them both to the pits of this god
forsaken town, exiled and feeling so alone yet always accompanied by the other
even though that could only bring the ghost of comfort these days.
He sobs himself to sleep that night on his own lumpy mattress with his too
small blanket. Hatred, sadness, and despair rolling off him in waves with each
fresh round of tears.
He hates himself.

15 years later..

This Pendleton just really isn’t doing anything good for him tonight. He smiles
at the man who refuses to stop talking to him, it’s really the least he could
do. It’s not like he can pay for his own whiskey, his money will be spent on
something that's a little more. He knows what this man (James? Jonathan?) is
seeing. He knows he looks good. He adds a little more smolder to his
expression. J-whateverhisnameis stutters mid-sentence, gulping a quick breath
of air, pupils dilating with the thoughts instantly brought to mind. Thoughts
that Cas knows will never get their validation.
He smirks. Happy birthday to me rings through his head as he takes another gulp
of his whiskey.
He has a slight buzz on at this point so he's pretty sure it’s time to leave
James (or was it Jonathan, he still wasn’t sure) behind to get his own party
started. He revels in the mouth agape, dumbstruck look he is given as he leaves
his lover boy at the bar and walks out without a proper goodbye or a second
thought.
It’s raining. Fitting be the day. His phone vibrates silently in the pocket of
his trench coat.
“Hello?”
“Cas.. uh it’s Sam. Where are you? Are you coming home? I mean unless you
changed your plans for tonight, uh either way.”
God he loved Sam’s voice. It may have been the first thing that broke through
his barriers since-well-nevermind that. Dangerous thought. Sam is nothing more
than a roommate to him. I mean its possible that he might want to fuck him into
the mattress, but that is besides the point. Sam provides all that he could
ever want, even without sex, and he could be content with it that way.
It’s a long walk to the apartment. Chilly if he would have cared enough to
think about it, but for now he has one thing on his mind. He needs to get away
from this day, from the past. He needs to just go.
Sam opens the door on the second knock, stepping aside to make way for a soaked
Cas who squishes as he walks.
“Hello, Sam.”
“Dude. Stop being so formal. We literally live together, you’re killing me. You
know that? And you’re sloshing water everywhere, go change or something. Jesus.
And where the hell did your keys go?”
Sam is a giant. The sweats that Cas chose happen to be Sam’s and are much too
large. They hang low over his hips and leave just the right amount to be
desired. Or so he (sort of) hopes. Sam had never touched him, much less looked
at him as anything other than a friend. That being said there was one point
where Cas had come home drunk and kissed him square on the mouth one night, and
Sam may have even kissed him back a bit. Or was the alcohol playing tricks on
his mind? It tended to trick him occasionally. He stops to scratch the small
marks in the crook of his arms before stepping out of the room in his
roommates’ sweats, to prove a point of course, what’s a birthday without the
hope of getting lucky? Rejection wouldn’t hurt him anyway. He is content either
way.

***

Sam had never seen anything more beautiful. I mean, if he liked men. Cas had
his sweats on, hanging dangerously low. His happy trail happily moving further
below. His blue eyes stunningly bright, full lips slightly chapped but grinning
because he knows what he is doing. And oh god his hair. Still damp but somehow
is able to stand up in all the right ways, sex hair had never been so sexy. The
only flaw on his pale, toned, beautiful body would be the track marks. Why does
Cas feel the need to forget when everything in front of him has so much
potential? Not like he can talk. After dropping out of school he tried so hard
to get a job and make a life for himself. The only way he can make the money he
needs in order to front the perfect life when he goes and visits Dean is from
the drugs. He didn’t intend on selling, he also didn’t intend on ever trying
his own product. But here he is with two syringes and enough of the good stuff
to let Cas forget his troubles on his birthday and to let himself forget how
backwards his life is.

***

Cas loves watching Sam prep. Watching the needle greedily drink the contents of
the spoon is mesmerizing. The way it is sucked from the soaked cotton tuft is
beautiful. Enough to make his mouth water at the mere thought of where he will
end up this time. Sitting back and letting Sam find his vein and inject his
happiness is akin to orgasm, if not better. And then he’s gone. The weight of
this world and all the self-loathing is gone. Jimmy is here, Jimmy loves him
and doesn’t blame him.
This trip is hazy, he is floating in warmth. Allowing himself to feel the love
that he generally wouldn’t touch with a 10 foot pole. He is forgiven, he is
loved. While here, he is everything that his normal self isn’t. He feels as
though he has wings, large and beautiful spreading from his back. He is an
angel basking in his own glow, the warmth from his father’s and brother’s love.
Whispering lost affirmations into his ears with every second he is in his zone.
All too soon he is back. The cold is nearly startling. The emptiness and hatred
come back to him. He is nothing. The tears spring to his eyes on their own
accord. He hates this part.
Compose yourself, you pathetic sap.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, piecing together his cold, stoic
exterior before he recognizes the gurgling he can hear beside him.
God please no...
It all happened so fast after he came down. Sam was vomiting, laying on his
back unable to breath. He aspirates. Even after he is on his side and has the
foam and vomit cleared from his airway there is no way Cas can tell if he is
going to survive. Should he call the cops? No. NO. They will be arrested, not
an option. Not for Sam at least.
Shit. Think, think.
Brother. Sam has a brother.
Fuck. What is Sam’s passcode on his phone? Fuck fuck fuck. 1,2,3,4. So simple,
if the situation were different he would make a comment but now is obviously
not the time. God his hands are shaking ferociously. He needs to get a grip.
Sam needs him now.
Dean Winchester.
Sam dotes on him. He picks up on the third ring despite the late hour.
“Sammy I-"
“Hello, Dean.”
“Who the fuck-"
“Come to the apartment now. I’ll explain when you get here.”
Cas realizes now that his emotions are off. There is nothing left for him to do
but wait with his Sam. No tears, no caring. Clean emotional detachment, or at
least his attempt at that.
***** Anger, The Other Fire Haunting D. Win. *****
“DADDY NO!”
John ran back to the house, to the fire, to find Mommy and Sammy. He left him
without looking back despite his pleas. He didn’t understand. He ran after
Daddy, towards the fire and the screams.
Smoke filled his lungs, made tears cut paths down his cheeks through the ash
and smoky residue. Daddy. Mommy. Sammy. Where are you? He followed the soft
mewls of a baby until he found his Sammy.
Daddy had Sammy on the floor with him.
Daddy why aren’t you moving? Daddy?
He knew Daddy was gone, he wish he knew where though because if he was still
here this would be way easier. Daddy was at the base of the stairs, eyes open
and unseeing. He hopes Mommy was outside, maybe she could help him find where
real Daddy went, this one couldn’t be real. The flames were billowing their way
down the stairs towards them, the beams groaning above them in an effort to
stay strong until their precious cargo vacates.
Sammy nuzzled against his chest as he scooped him up, instincts urging him to
run to the door as the flames licked at his heels. Yes Daddy, I’ll keep Sammy
safe.
“NO!”
Dean awoke with a start, covered in flames. Drowning him, suffocating him,
wrapped around him tight and hot. He has to get out, has to get away. “Uumph”
He falls out of bed and hits the floor hard, realizing a little too late that
he was wrapped up in his own sheets. Stifling his own condescending snort
towards himself, he unwraps and shakes himself off. He needs to get ahold of
himself. These nightmares have been plaguing him ever since Sam had left again
for his new semester. He needs to shove this shit back down, Sammy is safe.
Dean pads softly down the hall, stopping in the kitchen to run some cool water
over his face. He needs to shake off the split-second feeling of resentment
which he tries to bury deep within his soul towards his father for leaving him
to go back to the fire. He gulps, fighting to breathe while swallowing down the
disgust he feels for himself. Sammy is okay. Everything will be just fine if
only he could just get out of his own God damn head. Just because Sam had that
look on his face when he left doesn’t mean that anything is wrong. The look
that means Sammy was keeping something from him, Dean hates that look. If Sammy
was in trouble he would come back, he would talk to him, Sammy loves to have
those girly ass talks over EVERYTHING. With a smirk that only God can see he
realizes that he is trying to convince himself of the impossible, he will
always worry about his younger brother. While Sam may be basically sasquatch,
it is his job to watch over his sasquatch and God damn him if he hadn’t done a
good job. Sammy was brilliant, he was in college and had a good head on his
shoulders despite all that they had gone through as children. Dean did his best
to shield him from everything, to take the brunt of the heartache that found
their way past Uncle Bobby straight to them. He never wanted Sammy to be looked
at as the poor boy who lost his parents. Sammy is the genius, the wanna-be
lawyer that will have that apple pie life that Dean himself secretly dreamed of
yet would never deserve or obtain. He goes back to bed, leaving an unfilled and
forgotten glass on the counter, to fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.
His phone startles him awake. 3:00AM and Sammy is calling him? He groans at the
thought of having a girly talk about the dreams that haunt him nightly.
Especially when it’s so early.
“Sammy I-"
“Hello, Dean”
“Who the fuck-"
“Come to the apartment now. I’ll explain when you get here.”
Click. The line goes dead, the silence is deafening. Who the fuck thinks that
they can call him from Sam’s phone and demand they go to his apartment at 3 in
the fucking morning? Despite his apprehension he quickly shrugs on a shirt and
his favorite worn pair of jeans. That guy, whoever the fuck he was, had the
flattest most emotionless tone to his voice he had ever heard. The thick gravel
of his voice was even, slightly rushed if that. However, he couldn’t shake the
feeling that something was so, so wrong. He grabs the keys to his baby and is
out the door before he could give the strange voice on the other end of the
line another thought. His baby roars to life, ready to take him to his world,
his Sammy.
40 minutes is an eternity when you are scared shitless. The roar of Baby’s
engine does nothing to sooth his frayed nerves as he nears the apartment. The
drive from Lawrence to Kansas City is generally a quick and pleasant drive up
I-70, but tonight the rain is too thick, the other drivers too slow, and his
mind too muddled.
Sam’s apartment is close to the community college campus, Dean made sure of
that. Only the best for his baby brother. Even if he was just getting a
transfer degree to go to a four year. Kansas City Community College had done
Sam well, at least as far as Dean is concerned.
He parks in the no parking zone in front of the quaint complex, who gives a
shit right, and runs to the apartment. He knocks, tries the door to no avail,
and hears footsteps coming towards them. The man who opens the door is
beautiful. All blue eyes and sex hair. If he would have looked closer, he would
have seen the deep bags and unhappy frown lines that go along with it. However,
he is much more concerned with the giant lump, breathing softly on the couch,
covered in vomit.
Those wide, soulful blue eyes shut real quickly after Dean's fist connected
with that pretty face of his, though.
***** Push and Pull and Puke *****
Sammy. Oh God please Sammy, be okay, wake up, please.

Dean chooses to ignore the son of a bitch that he had nearly knocked out as he
groans on the floor. Sammy wouldn’t just do this, this is not who he is.
Heroin? I mean how would he even get this stuff? It has to be that dude’s
fault. No way was this Sammy. On his knees in front of his unconscious brother
he prays. He is not a religious man but “please God if you can save my brother
I will be”. He doesn’t know what to do. He feels lost, adrift on the open sea
with nothing to tie him down. He is floating, floating above fear and all
rational thought.
911 is no go. Sam is breathing, just out cold. As far as he can tell at least.
No amount of shaking, rubbing, crying, or pleading has woken him up so far. He
doesn’t even mind being slumped over in his young brother’s vomit if that would
mean Sam would wake up. The weird dude is now simply slumped against the wall
staring, the combination of Dean’s anger and pride wont allow him to look the
stranger in the eyes. Not yet at least.
The staring is getting creepy. He feels the blue eyes boring into his back like
a drill. Daring him to turn around. Poking the bear so to speak.
“FUCK. What in shit’s sake are you staring at?!”
“Oh. Uh. You.”
What the fuck? What is this guys problem? Dean pulls his eyes away from his
baby brother to glare at the stranger behind him. He now notices the bags under
the mans eyes, or well eye. The left eye is swollen shut and beginning to
bruise thanks to yours truly. He notices the marks on his arms, the scabbed
openings where he had been pumping death into his veins. Dean recognizes the
sweats as his brothers, much too large for the man in front of him. Low enough
to draw attention, vomit smeared on the front.
“What the fuck are you to him?”
“Uh roommate. U-uh friend. Uh-“
“God damnit quit stuttering.” Dean was beyond his breaking point. Zero patience
for this fucker. “What in the fuck happened here, what did you do to my
brother?” He is being snappy and he can see the barely contained fear as the
other man flinches, like his words were a whip.

***

“I-my name is Castiel. You can call me Cas. I uh live here with Sam. We are
friends. We, well it’s my birthday and your brother offered, uh he doesn’t do
this very often and it must have just been too much for him or something, I
don’t know. He has never vomited before. As soon as I was able to I cleared his
airway. I couldn’t call the cops or the ambulance Dean, I don’t want your
brother to be labeled like that, he deserves so much more.
He talks about you, you know. All of the time, nonstop. When he is high he
mumbles about you even. I don’t know what he sees or where he goes but it
always ends with you. He loves you more than anything I’ve ever seen. He will
be okay. I have faith in that.”
His confession rushed out of him, starting formal then quickly melting.
Something about Dean Winchester made Castiel feel as though he could tell him
everything. Despite being punched in the face, despite the smirk he was given
as Dean admired his own handiwork, his face must look like a mess if it amused
Dean that much. But this was his fault. He was the bad guy here. He needs to
stop meeting Winchesters this way.

***

Before Sam had ever met Castiel he was drifting through his classes. Everything
seemed out of focus, he couldn’t possibly keep this up. He was drifting
unhappily through his own existence. But Dean was so happy. So happy because he
thinks Sam is alright and on his way to a 4 year, he thinks he shielded Sam
from the crippling loss off their mother and father, even though it was Sam’s
fault. Dean is so happy that Sam is finally okay. But he’s not okay.
It was a small pub. Sam is young, really young, but can handle his liquor
almost as well as his brother, he loves that fact. He is nursing his scotch at
the bar tonight, upset that he had failed yet another test. He was beginning to
fail his classes and these were only classes going towards his transfer degree,
not even related to law! What was he doing with his life? Simply wasting Dean’s
tuition money on failed classes. He was hopeless, and deep in thought when a
tan trenchcoat sat in the seat beside him.
Blue eyes. Mesmerizing blue eyes. Sam never liked men but if he did, this dude
would be his type. He catches himself staring, averting his eyes before he gets
caught. Oogling like a school girl would so get him an asswhooping from Dean if
he were here.
“Hello, Sam.”
The low gravelly voice startles him. The man beside him knows his name? How?
“How-"
“The bartender. He seems to know you well. First name basis already? Are you
even 21?”
Sam ignores smirk he is given. He knows he has a babyface, he has been aware of
that for forever at this point and he is sick of it. And who the hell does this
guy think he is? He came here to relax, not be ridiculed over something he
can’t change. Fine. He will leave, he is throwing a temper tantrum that he
can’t control and doesn’t care. When he stands he towers over that stupid blue
eyed son of a bitch anyways.
It’s a cool night, fall quarter had just started. The heat of the day wanes and
leaves a chill at night. Nothing that this baby faced giant can’t handle though
as he sets off into the night towards his apartment.
It takes about 30 seconds for him to register that there is somebody walking
behind him, getting closer, reaching for him..
He flips around and punches his would-be assailant right in the nose. Hopefully
he broke it, NOBODY sneaks up on a Winchester.
“OW! You ass, I think you broke my nose!”
Blue eyes rimmed with tears gaze up at him from the ground.
Christ, this guy again? Sam helps him up and swats his hands away to examine
the damage.
“Nope, not broken, unfortunately. What the hell are you doing following me?”
Castiel breathes through his mouth, sucking in rivulets of blood and mucus as
he does so. “Not following. Just wanted to apologize.”
“Oh. Sorry I guess, uh for the nose. I’m Sam, do you want to come with me so I
can clean you up and feel like less of an asshole?”
“I’m Castiel. Uh yeah, sure.”
From then on, they became friends. Sam remembers everything, finding out Cas
was homeless and offering him the second bedroom, finding out Cas was an
addict, finding out after Cas came home from a drunken night at the bar that
Cas wanted him. They were both broken but they found a way to make their
friendship work. Two broken pieces able to fit together as a whole. The drugs
were generally in the background of their lives, even after Sam quit school and
began dealing. In the short 8 months they had known each other, they had become
each other’s pillars of strength and support.
Cas was a sad human being. Sam could figure as much without digging and putting
his nose somewhere it shouldn’t be. He had this hard, often sarcastic,
emotionless exterior but on the inside his emotions raged. When Cas was strung
out he always mentioned Jimmy. Jimmy became an unknown but permanent fixture in
Sam’s life. He had to be the reason his friend was hurting so badly. However,
if Sam ever asked, Cas would clam up and just stare with wide eyes. Like he was
transported back in time, eyes open yet unseeing.

***

Dean slumped against the couch. Exhausted. Sammy was breathing but still
checked out. He was helpless and there is nothing that he hates more than being
helpless. Other than being alone. And now he is helpless and completely alone.
Nobody can know about this. I mean except for Castiel (what kind of psycho ass
name is that anyways?) he is alone in his grief. He will lose Sammy like he
lost mom and dad, in a split second that leads to an eternity of lonliness. He
wants so badly to take him to the hospital, to take him to the police so Sam
and Cas go to jail and learn a lesson, he wants something to be done, or
something to do other than just waiting here.

***

“Do you want food? I’m starving.”
With a flick of his glassy eyes Cas comes back, attention being pulled from
wherever he had gone to find solace and focuses on Dean with a nod. He begins
standing up from where he had slumped down on the floor to show Dean where
everything is when he is promptly shoved out of the way with nothing more than
a snarl of “I know where my fucking brother’s food is kept”.
Okay. So Dean won’t forgive him. He expects that. He can feel the sting of
guilt in his stomach. Twisting large knots, making him nauseous. He runs to the
bathroom, barely able to lift up the seat before a mixture of whiskey and bile
spills out of his mouth. He wretches for what seems like hours. The burn of the
vomit is comforting. He deserves any pain he receives. Sam was too good for
this, too good for him and Cas had turned him sour, like everything else in
this life he touches.
At some point during the vomiting there is a large rough hand rubbing circles
on his back. A kindness that he doesn’t deserve. A glass of water is thrust to
his face and he takes it greedily, like this water will cleanse him of all the
wrong he has done. This water was brought to him by an angel. An angel with
green, tear filled eyes. Turning to leave him on the cold bare floor, words
tumble from his perfect mouth, twisting around Castiel and stabbing him with
threads of hope. Stinging his unwilling flesh.
“I want to hate you, you know. I want to blame this on you instead of my
brother, but you are just so fucking pathetic when you hurl I just can’t quite
manage it.”
Okay. So maybe things will be okay. Maybe he didn’t fuck it all up. Sam is
breathing, and there are delicious smells wafting through the door coming from
the kitchen.
“CAS get out here NOW. He isn’t BREATHING. Help me”
***** Who Knew Air Was a Ball and Chain *****
The small whoosh of air as it entered Sam’s lungs was beautiful. Possibly one
of the most beautiful things that Dean had ever heard. Just as suddenly as he
had stopped breathing, he started again. No rhyme or reason. Cas had run to
Sam, rubbing and thumping his back as you would with a baby to stimulate their
breathing. His pale forehead pressed gently to Sam’s shoulder as Sam began to
breathe again.
Dean felt out of place watching them in that moment, his bacon was burning
anyway. He was useless and hadn’t known what to do. He lumbered back to the
kitchen, to his burnt bacon in a feeble attempt to hide his tear streaked face.
What would he do without Sammy? How could he not know what his own brother was
doing? His whole world revolved around Sam, there was nobody else. He choked
back a sob. Sammy can’t leave him, he can’t be left alone. He was supposed to
keep him safe but here he is, comatose on a couch fucked up on heroin.
He felt Cas’ presence more so than he heard him. He was less than a foot away,
reaching out to touch him. His hand was warm on Dean’s shoulder. Comforting.
Before he could stop himself Dean leaned into the touch. He needs that touch
right now, the comforting pressure on his shoulder was a reminder that this was
real, that Sam was breathing. The hand on his shoulder soon became two. One
hand sliding down his back and resting on his hip, Cas pulling himself closer
til their bodies were nearly flush. So warm and nice. The sinewy body that had
begun to wrap around him felt like enough to save him. Cas’ steady breath on
the back of his neck raised goosebumps on Deans arms, his body sensitized to
the smallest touch now. Lips on the base of his neck, his dick giving a small
approving twitch to that.
The bacon was now officially burnt beyond repair. He shrugged out of Cas’ grip
to dump his failure in the trash. The now cold eggs will have to do. He thrusts
a plate at Cas with an unapologetic shrug. He was not sorry to end that little
moment, no way was he going to let a dude he didn’t know touch him like that.
He shouldn’t like that, he shouldn’t feel a deep burn of want whenever those
beautiful blue eyes flick down his body. No way. The gorgeous man in front of
him was responsible for the mess his brother was in.

***

Cas couldn’t stop himself. The man in front of him was broken. Attempting to
salvage bacon while breaking apart piece by piece and it was his fault. He
didn’t know what to do. Before he could stop himself he reached out to touch
him. It was electric. Dean leaned into his touch and he couldn’t help himself
as he reached out his other hand, moving closer, trying to keep the electricity
going, he needed more of him. He laid his lips on the base of Dean’s neck and
felt the soft shudder course from his body to Deans. All too soon Dean pulled
away and thrust a portion of cold eggs at him. He couldn’t help the frown that
showed on his face or the slump of his shoulders as he walked around the
counter and sat on a bar stool.
Cas fumbled with his eggs, unable to eat. The annoyance was shown on Dean’s
face as he watched after inhaling his own portion. He couldn’t find it in him
to eat, his stomach was in knots, a deep seated want for Dean filling him up
already, the guilt adding an uncomfortable load to his already full belly. The
groaning he heard made him freeze in place whereas Dean took off to the living
room immediately. Redeeming himself for his lack of action earlier.

***

Sam had the most horrendous taste in his mouth. Chunks of God knows what were
stuck to his tongue, the sick tang of bile still in his throat. And the thirst.
He doubts he had ever been so thirsty in his life. His body ached as he moved,
a small groan escaped his lips.

“Sam?”

He had never heard his brother’s voice so hesitant. So strangled and fearful.
“Hey help me up, I need to pee.”
That was the best Sam could do for now. And it was true, his bladder was about
to explode. He couldn’t think of anything other than the incredible pressure he
felt inside him. The small streaks of light from the early morning illuminated
the bathroom. The water that he splashed over his face and in his mouth felt
nearly holy. A revitalizing stream that sends a chill down his spine. This will
not be a fun conversation. In no way is he ready to tell his brother what a
fuckup he had become. Getting the courage to stumble from the bathroom is going
to take time, finding what to say to his brother is going to take even longer.

***

“Christ its been 20 minutes, what the hell could he be doing?”
“I know its not my place but uh perhaps he is nervous. He dotes on you, I would
be terrified too”
Cas was right, Dean knew he was right. But this is his brother they were
talking about and there's no way Dean would ever admit that. Dean was taken
aback by the thought that he could intimidate his gigantor brother. He can’t
decide if he wants to refute Cas’ point or if he wants to continue to glare.
A throat clears behind him.
“Dean I uh, I am so sorry. I know you’re probably so angry and I uh don’t blame
you but you need to understand. You need to understand my side of the story, I
want you to understand my side of the story. I can’t do this, I can’t live this
life. I can’t do it anymore. I know how much you give up to help me with school
but its just not what I want anymore. I cant force myself to do this and you
cant force me either. I’ve only uh done this a couple of times, and uh just so
you know its not Cas’ fault. I choose to do what I do, me and only me. You
didn’t make me do this and neither did he. Get that look off your face.”
Dean nearly has to physically manhandle his face into composure. He realized
that he had been making a face eerily similar to Sam’s Bitchface 2.0. Not his
fault? How could he have not been able to see that something was wrong? Guilt
bloomed in his chest, a dark flower that generally was able to be kept a bud,
now returning full bloom, center stage. Rage fought for a place beside the
darkness, a deep passionate red threading through his chest, tendrils leaking
through him and filling any place the darkness hasn’t touched. A deep heat
running through his veins. How could this have happened? Oh. Sam was still
talking.
“-so yeah. Uh. I need help Dean. I’m so sorry I didn’t ask sooner. I’m so sorry
I didn’t tell you”
He is so torn between wanting to leave and needing to stay. Leaving, at least
for the time being wins out. He needs to time to sort, most of all he needs a
drink.
***** It's Better When We're Together *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter includes depictions of child rape and sexual abuse.
     Don't read it if its gonna get to you. It's pretty messed up, I
     admit.
Coffee was not quite the drink he was planning on but he had promised himself
(unfortunately) that he would stop drinking before 10 in the morning. The diner
was small and not very busy, the perfect spot to allow Dean to get lost in his
thoughts. The guilt and shame swirled in his chest like a heavy ribbon,
dragging across his ribcage and squeezing his chest. How could he have not seen
this beforehand? He should have listened to that nagging feeling that had
plagued him last time he had seen Sammy. It was his job to take care of his
little brother and he had failed.

***

After their parents had died, he had tried his best to shield Sam from all the
bad that was thrown at them. Due to their Uncle Bobby’s alcoholism, they were
unable to stay with him and were thrown into the foster system. Foster care, in
theory, is great. Why not be in a loving family environment when it wasn’t an
option with your own family? Well, as you know, being stuck in the system was
not what they thought it would be. Luckily enough Sammy and him were a set of
cute, quiet brothers so they weren’t shown as much contempt in the homes as
some of the others who lived there. Most of the homes they were in consisted of
themselves, some other foster kids, and the parents who generally were just in
it for the money. Still, at least for the first 5 years or so, things weren’t
so bad.
Sammy held one of his hands, their garbage bags of belongings in his other, as
they walked up the steps to the rundown house. From what Dean had heard, there
were three other little boys here at the house and a dad. Sammy would be the
youngest at barely 5 years old. Dean was sure his hands would be full with
trying to protect his brother. It was always so hard coming to a new home,
especially one where they wouldn’t even meet you in front of the house.
A dirty boy, maybe 13 years old, answered on the second knock. His sandy hair
was matted, his clothes were filled with holes and dirt. His face was
emotionless and hardened from whatever circumstances the brothers were about to
enter that lay inside. His dark brown eyes seemed to be bulging slightly in
their sockets.
Oh.
So they were not walking into a happy home. That’s okay, they probably weren’t
going to stay here long. They’ve been in situations like this before and they
could do it again. Dean was only 9 but he could take care of business if it
meant that Sammy was safe.
The house was dirty. There were holes in the plaster along every wall they
could see. All was quiet except for static on the television. Dean could see
through a cracked open door on his left a tall, sweaty man slumped over in a
chair in front of the TV, a bottle of Rolling Rock half empty in his hand.
The dirty so-far nameless boy led them up the stair case on their right,
careful to avoid the creaking spots and pointing for Dean and Sam to do the
same. At the top of the landing there was a bathroom on the right, a closed
door on the left to which the boy pointed to and with his other hand he made a
slicing motion across his neck while he shook his head, and a slightly ajar
door about a 2 yards ahead of them. The boy brought them into the room with the
open door, making sure to be quiet as he stepped through. Dean almost couldn’t
process what he had been shown so far. The house was like really bad, one of
the worst he had seen, and the whole throat thing with the closed door had
mildly freaked him out, but what sent him over the edge was the three stained
twin mattresses that were shoved into the small room, each being claimed by a
boy already.
The door clicked shut behind them and finally the boy who had been showing them
around spoke.
“My name is Matt. That one is Jaymie and the runt is Nathan. I'll share a
mattress with Nathan so you two can have mine. Stay in the room unless you need
to go to the bathroom or if Alastair requests you, never go in the room with
the closed door, food is left outside our door occasionally and you have to
make it last. School starts in August, if you’re still here at that point it
gets better. Try not to talk too much and I am so sorry that you both ended up
here.”
“Oh, uh I’m Dean, this is Sam. Nice to meet you guys. Thanks, Okay.”
Sam was grabbing onto Dean’s shirt and stayed quiet as they moved across the
room to their mattress. He placed their garbage bags next to their area and sat
down with Sam, intent on entertaining him until it was time to go to bed.
Sirens blared outside making it impossible for him to fall asleep. The other
little boys were already accustomed to the noise and Sammy had his face pressed
into Dean, they were all asleep. Dean had heard the man downstairs, Alastair,
walking around, looking in the fridge, opening bottles. He startled when the
sirens stopped and were replaced with heavy footsteps on the stairs and onto
the landing. Alastair waited to catch his breath outside of the door before
slowly opening it. Dean scrunched his eyes shut, afraid of what might happen if
he was found to be awake. He tried to keep his breathing even as he sensed the
man approach. The smell of sweat and beer rolled past, nearly making Dean gag.
He felt Alastair kneel next to them and raise his hand. Sammy moved,
uncomfortable even in his sleep when Alastair brushed his fingers through his
hair.
Dean couldn’t let this happen. He may have been young but he knew something was
wrong. He opened his eyes and moved to sit up and look this monster in the eye.
Alastair had a lean face and soulless eyes. Soulless eyes that quietly took in
what was being offered to him. With a smirk he stood up and extended his hand
to Dean. Anything to help his Sammy.
Alastair opened the door to the room down the hall. Dean trembled softly as he
was shoved inside. The single lightbulb illuminated the room with a slightly
hazy glow. There was a bed in the middle of the room, not much more than a
mattress really. Rope was tied to the 2x4’s that were being used as a makeshift
headboard and footboard. Alastair shoved Dean towards the bed.
“Take off your clothes”
Dean’s fingers trembled as he took off his clothes. Shying away from the man
who watched him hungrily, he tried to hide his nakedness to no avail.
“Go to the bed. Lay down.”
Dean felt tears prick the back of his eyes. His only solace was the fact that
it was him instead of Sammy. The dirty sheets crunched beneath him as he laid
down in the middle of the bed. Alastair walked to the bed and began to tie his
limbs with the rope, ignoring the tears that had begun to spill over the young
boy’s face.
Dean closed his eyes against his helplessness. He tried to hum his favorite
Lynrd Skynrd song but the melody wouldn’t come to him. He didn’t see the first
slap coming and he couldn’t help the yelp of pain that escaped his lips at the
contact.
“Shutup boy or I’ll grab your brother”
Dean opened his eyes to see Alastair palming his half erect cock through his
pants. He watched the man as he reached forward over Deans stomach to pinch one
of his nipples. Dean barely held back a scream as he felt Alastair use his
nails. Blood began to pool around the man’s dirty thumb nail. All Dean
remembered before he passed out was the groan of approval and sound of skin
stroking skin.
When he came to, the light was off and his arms and legs were untied. Shifting
on the bed he bit back a cry. Dried blood stained his chest and sheets. He felt
liquid running out of his ass and it didn’t take much to guess what had
happened to him. The pain was a pretty good indication of it. He knew from what
other boys in the other homes had told him exactly what was done to him. At
least it wasn’t Sammy.

***

Dean blinked, the diner coming back into focus. His damn coffee had become cold
in his white knuckled grip. He laid down a 5-dollar bill and walked out to the
parking lot to his baby. He had no clue what he was going to do, no plan, but
he knew he needed to be with his brother.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Every chapter is so short and there are no promises for when I will
     get the next one out. Don't hate me for it ha!
Sam had left the apartment not long after Dean had left, leaving Cas to
himself. He had fucked up badly, nearly losing his best friend was the scariest
thing to have happened to him in quite a few years. He needed to get ahold of
himself. He can’t do this again to a person he relies on, he will not be
responsible for another person’s death. Sam’s blood will not be on his hands.
Thoughts were raging like a stormy ocean when he stepped into the shower. The
hot water ran in rivulets down his body, helping to wash his body and mind
clean. The shampoo felt so nice in his hair and the soap felt so wonderful on
his body. He finally felt clean. He felt the water running down his chest and
stomach, running over every bare inch of skin it could find. The warmth seeped
into his body, warming him and calming his nerves.
With every spec of dirt he felt running down his body, the more turned on he
became. Just the thought of his body being pure was almost enough to make him
cry out with pleasure. Self hatred stopped him in his tracks, he didn’t deserve
to feel anything other than pain. He quickly switched to cold water and gasped
when it hit his sensitive body. Groaning, he shut off the shower and grabbed
his towel, wrapping it around himself to head to his room.
Walking out of the bathroom he let out a small yelp. Dean was back, standing in
the doorway and staring at him. He saw Dean’s eyes travel down his body,
pausing at his hip bones and the slight bulge beneath them covered by the towel
before they came back to his face. Cas felt his still semi-hard dick twitch in
interest under the scrutiny of Dean’s hungry eyes. Before he knew it though,
those eyes darkened with rage as opposed to lust. Dean stalked toward him,
raising his fist to land a punch (hopefully in his non-injured eye).
Luckily enough, Dean missed. Not luckily enough, his momentum carried him
forward into Cas, causing them both to tumble to the floor. Before he could
even understand what was going on he felt Dean wrap his fingers around his
throat. Staring into the greenest eyes he had ever seen more than made up for
the lack of oxygen. Blue meeting green drown out all else, so much so that Cas
didn’t even feel the fingers relax their grip around his throat. He lifted his
head to press a small kiss to the other man’s lips, testing to see how far he
could go. Dean hummed in approval, grinding down and tightening his fingers
slightly.
Dean smelled like whiskey, leather and sandalwood. The smell clouded his
senses. The kiss was ferocious, having Dean grinding his hips down on him made
it just that much better. Cas raked his hands from Dean’s sandy hair towards
his ass, feeling his nails scrape the leather jacket that Dean still had on.
Dean tensed, growling, he grabbed Cas’ hands and held them above his head.
“Don’t you fucking touch me. Keep your hands up.”
Before he knew what was happening, Dean had rolled him over and removed the
towel that had been tied loosely around his waist. He moaned his approval when
he felt Dean suck bruises into his neck and shoulders. The sound of a zipper
being unzipped was like music to his ears, feeling Dean’s cock resting on his
ass and dripping precome down his cleft was nearly too much to bear. Dean
quickly spit into his palm and rubbed it along his own shaft before gathering
some of the beaded moisture gathered at the tip and rubbing it over Cas’
sensitive rim.
A soft hiss escaped his lips when he felt the velvety head of Dean’s cock begin
to nudge inside him. He was not prepped in the least and the pain that he felt
was nearly too much to bear. Before he could even hope to get accustomed to the
pain, Dean’s hard length was replaced by a spit slicked set of fingers. He felt
his ass clench against the sudden full intrusion, the sudden feeling of
fullness being not nearly enough but almost too much at the same time. Fingers
worked their way in and out of his hole, thrusting in and out with intense
fervor. Warm breath and plush lips ghosted down Cas’ back, his body felt as if
it were on fire, the only relief coming from the fingers that were quickly
opening him from the inside out and the movement of breath tickling his skin.

***

Cas was a writhing mess underneath him. It took all he had not to just take
what he wanted, but no matter how much of an angry fuck this is, he did not
want to hurt the other man. Not when it comes to this. He will never do what
was done to him. He spread Cas’ legs a bit wider and reveled in feeling his
strong legs begin tense against his own legs, watching his ass lift up off the
floor and clench around his fingers, begging for more. Dean quickly spit in his
hand and rubbed his saliva on his cock, ignoring the slightly pathetic mewl
that poured from Castiel’s lips at the loss of his fingers.
“Please Dean, please.”
“Shh, I got you”
He lined his dripping dick up with Cas’ entrance, nudging his cockhead inside.
Cas pushed himself back onto his dick an unrestrained moan. The site of that
tight little hole swallowing every inch of his dick was nearly enough to make
Dean come right then and there. He shut his eyes with a shudder, letting the
wet heat consume him.
A tight-lipped whine broke through his thoughts and brought him back. Pulling
out til he could see Cas’ tight rim hugging his crown and then snapping his
hips back as hard as he could was nearly enough to make him believe in God. The
feeling was complete rapture. He could not hold back the moan that burst from
his throat, wrapping his hand around the back of Cas’ neck to steady himself as
he lost himself in his own thrusts. The familiar sound of skin slapping on skin
was broken as Cas went rigid beneath him, a scream ripping from his throat as
he came, painting the floor beneath him. Deans orgasm hit him like a train.
Toppling over him while Cas’ clenched muscles milked him dry.
He unwillingly pulled out so he could flip Cas onto his back. Blue eyes stared
at him, slightly unfocused but still intense. He couldn’t repress the shudder
that ran through him as he slowly licked a path up the other man’s come smeared
belly. Those blue eyes just did something for him.
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