
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6964216.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Castiel_&_Dean_Winchester, Gabriel/Sam
      Winchester
  Character:
      Castiel_(Supernatural), Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, John_Winchester,
      Gabriel_(Supernatural), Anna_Milton, Samandriel_(Supernatural), Hannah_
      (Supernatural), Charlie_Bradbury, Bobby_Singer, Jo_Harvelle, Jody_Mills,
      Ellen_Harvelle
  Additional Tags:
      Teen_AU, Heavy_Angst, Teen!_Dean, teen!_Castiel, John_Winchester_Being_an
      Asshole, Homophobic_John_Winchester, Drunk_Dean, Drunk_Castiel, Drunken
      sex, Drugged_Dean, Insomniac_Castiel, Insomniac_Dean, Depressed_Dean,
      Depression, Depressed_Castiel, Fluff_and_Smut, Not_Like_Twist_and_Shout_-
      gabriel_&_standbyme, we're_going_to_hell_for_this, Switching, Top_Dean
      Winchester, Bottom_Castiel, Top_Castiel, Bottom_Dean_Winchester,
      Literally_haven't_been_in_sexual_activities_before_but_writes_about_it
      like_we've_been_there, Multi-Chapter_Destiel, Destiel_-_Freeform, Family
      Issues, Insomnia, Bisexual_Dean, Gay_Sex, Gay_Castiel, Top_Gabriel,
      Bottom_Sam_Winchester, Dirty_Talk, Somnophilia, Rough_Sex
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Angel_and_His_Righteous_Man_Archive
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-25 Chapters: 1/? Words: 4235
****** Lover of The Light ******
by bellamithrinethings, wingedcastielpie
Summary
     It was in the middle of the night when two renegades with tattoos of
     their failures and past met under the same lamp post. As the strange
     tale of romance and betrayal unfolded in the ungodly hours of the
     night, two boys of different upbringing, yet the same views in life
     developed a bond as profound as the darkest skies of the dawn.
Notes
     Author's Note: This story tackles about sensitive topics such as:
     suicide, child abuse, adultery hence resulting to a dysfunctional
     family, underage drinking, smoking, drugs, depression and insomnia.
     Disclaimer: We do not own anything except for the ideas.
     This multi-chapter destiel fanfiction written by two sleep-deprived
     girls is dedicated to: alien_alia and ArkangelsMooose because Jamie
     (wingedcastielpie) insisted (she said something about forgetting a
     gift fic).
See the end of the work for more notes
                          Soundtrack of Chapter One: 
          "So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light;
                     Cause oh they gave me such a fright;
                     But I will hold as long as you like;
                      Just promise me we'll be alright;" 
                     Ghost That We Knew by Mumford & Sons
===============================================================================
                                        
                                        
                It was raining when Castiel’s mother, Naomi, a tired-looking
woman with her hair roughly thrown in a haphazard bun on the top of her head
filed with a knotted rubber band, threw a plate against the wall. It shattered
and broke into tens of pieces on the tiled kitchen-floor, the flowery
decorations on the borders of the plate chipped away from the impact.
                Castiel’s wide, surprised, cerulean eyes observed the few
bouncing grains-like pieces of the plate as he slung his wet backpack behind a
chair and proceeded to gather the destroyed puzzle of porcelain in his
trembling, cold hands.
                He mutely went to do his work, his ears straining out to listen
to the shouting in a small room that they call the living room.
                “NO! Carver, tell me the truth! Are you seeing Melissa?”
Naomi's voice cracked.
                Melissa was his father’s secretary in the office, with her
attentive blue eyes and glossy-as- magazine-pages black hair. Castiel went to
his father’s workplace once, unannounced when he strolled into his father's
office and saw his secretary straddling his father's lap.
                The shock from his father's—no, Carver's— face when he saw
Castiel's wide eyes made him think whether his father felt the same shock he
did when he realized that his family was breaking apart.
                'We weren't really a family to begin with,' Castiel reminded
himself.
                He continued grabbing the pieces when he accidentally held the
plate piece on the wrong edge. A drop of blood followed by another slowly
slipped down the curve of his left hand's palm. Sighing, Castiel opened the
trash bin and dumped the porcelain pieces. He went to the sink and opened the
spout of water, his thoughts wandering over how his mother found out about
Carver's infidelity when he hissed in pain, and all thoughts focused then on
getting his cut clean.
 
                He was waiting for it to happen.
                He caught his father six months ago and stayed silent, hoping
to keep this sin of betrayal under the wraps so he can play pretend that they
have the perfect family.
                In those six months, a lot happened and Castiel’s naïveté
turned into bitter realization that he cannot have everything if he stayed
silent and avoided the conflicts.
                That night, Castiel heard the bang of the front door and then
the quiet hum of his father's Porsche through his bedroom window. He was
sitting on the roof ledge, his skin tingling from the cold as the mist of the
rain kept the temperature low enough that he grabbed his jacket. The headlights
of the Porsche flickered on and the dark neighborhood was washed with its light
as Carver drove away, probably to Melissa or any other co-worker he was
fucking.
                The house was silent except for the small, timid footsteps in
Castiel’s room as Naomi climbed the bedroom window and sat beside her son.
Castiel noticed idly that his mother hasn't removed her apron yet, and there
were some bubbles attached to the strings of her hair that escaped her hair
tie.
                Castiel was silent.
                When everything around him was loud—loud shouting,  loud, dark
thoughts, loud drunken reprimanding— Castiel tried his best to become as quiet
as possible, closing in the walls he had to keep away the noise and just calmly
take everything in.
                Naomi's sniffing was loud enough for Castiel to know that his
mother was crying.
                There was something about the thought 'his mother was crying'
that made him wallow in sadness. This was the woman that raised Castiel with
love, and all she wanted was for Castiel and for Carver to love her back. His
mother gave and gave and gave and gave until there was nothing left of her,
only decaying sticks and bones because she gave her heart to Castiel, her only
son.
                His mother, whom gave up her future as an International
Engineer to become a housewife, to wash the dishes and mop the floors, and for
her to be treated like a one-night-stand waitress by Carver...
                Castiel rarely felt anger. He knew anger was a second-reaction
emotion. That beneath the anger, there was something much deeper.
                But he can't help being mad.
                Carver was a grade A+ douchebag. Here, Castiel can find
happiness, in this house with his mother singing strange ballads about love and
forgotten memories, and yet Carver can't. He destroyed Castiel's happiness.
Castiel didn’t understand, though. They have the money, they have Naomi's love
to lighten up the house, Castiel’s intelligent musings and Carver wasn’t
contended with that.
                What more can he take without giving it back?
                “Momma,” Castiel said quietly. When was the last time he called
her ‘Momma’? Six years ago? Back when he thought that the stars come down to
earth, and they aren't really stars, but angels? “I have you.”
                Naomi sniffed again, the cool August night wasn't really
helping at all to depress her colds. She smiled tightly, her lips pulled up in
the corners as if they were knotted and it was wounded up too much. Castiel
then noticed that only two words can really explain his mother's expression:
tight and tired.
                Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes red from the crying and
possibly being up all night to organize things Carver wanted. Her hands look
mangled and old from getting into the water too much—and Castiel remembered
that his mother was allergic with strong detergent, but she preferred hand-
washing clothes for some reason. Her cheeks were red and, despite from the
fresh batch of tears that she was trying so hard to wipe away, they looked dry
as if she was under the sun too long, or she was just living skin attached to
bones and vessels and capillaries of blood in between.
                No emotions.
                Used.
                Not human.
                However, she always looked so… strong. Enduring these problems
with a few tears, a broken heart, a lost soul, but always functioning at its
best to supply for Castiel's needs. If there was one moment that he can truly
say, without a doubt, that he loved his mother, it would've been that time.
                Naomi the Wonderwoman, her strong will that can carry Castiel.
Naomi the muse, her voice that can lull Castiel to the Sea of Dreams. Naomi the
doctor, always there to heal Castiel’s emotional and physical wounds and pains.
Naomi the writer, no day would pass without one entertaining story she would
impromptu for Castiel's request.
                And most importantly, Naomi the martyr— a mother that was
always willing to sacrifice.
                Castiel wasn't one to believe in deities or mythology, however,
he was very much sure his mother was an angel from Heaven or godsend.
                Naomi Novak, an angel of the Lord— always the one to fulfill
her cause—and here, Castiel was her cause. Her anchor. Her reasons.
                Castiel loved the idea that he was enough. That whatever
semblance of a normal life they've been trying to establish would be
insufficient, but since he was there for his mother, it would be enough. But
they were just humans. Greedy humans, always wanting more. Castiel was enough,
but Naomi needed something that was more than enough.
 
                It was raining, very much like the August rain they had
experienced when his father left for a drive and never went back. The thunder
rolled and sounded deep within the earth beneath Castiel's shoes. The soil was
soft and squishy and it made a mess of his black polished shoes.
                But it didn't matter. The mud didn't, but the cold body of his
mother six feet underneath it.
                He stared blankly at the tombstone that engraved his mother's
name.
 
                              In loving memory of
                              Amelia Naomi Novak
                        July 17, 1966 - August 30, 2013
 Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person, though perhaps a
                good person one might even find courage to die.
                                  Romans 5, 7
                                        
                Cruel. And always will be cruel. Lifeless. Now, she'll truly
just be a skin attached to bones and dead cells.
                Castiel turned away from the grave that contained his mother
and her sins of tying a noose. He didn’t know what to do next, and wasn't even
sure if he wanted to leave and will only truly see Naomi in his dreams and 3
o'clock AM hallucinations.
                In the distance, he can see Hannah, his aunt, together with her
children, Gabriel, Samandriel and Anna.
                Hannah fussed over Castiel for a while, reprimanding him softly
about catching a cold for staying too long under the rain. It was okay for
Castiel, though. Colds were nothing compared to the sickness he felt right in
the wells of his mourning and orphan heart. The umbrella was destroyed from the
loud howls of the wind, anyway. He wondered if he’s as fragile as his mother's
umbrella— with its frayed ends and twisted skeleton.
 
 
                            *          *          *
                                        
               
                Lakeshore, Kansas was a very small town, quite the one he can
relate to Sam and Frodo's village. It mainly consisted of a small knitted
community that made Castiel feel out of place. It was like everything was
already set and Castiel was forced to jam himself into their lives, as if he
was the new character in a small town sitcom. He didn’t belong here. He didn’t
want to belong here. He was never really good at fitting in anyway, especially
in his Aunt Hannah's family of four.
               
                Castiel’s silence often unnerved his spontaneous cousin,
Gabriel, who seemed to exist for sweetened pieces of food and to counterbalance
Castiel's personality. His eyes were honey gold, radiating with exuberance that
was as brilliant as his sheer joyous proclamations to everything around him.
His hair was the color of Castiel's favorite notebook— light brown and as warm
as the sun. However, his smile was nothing compared to his physical looks.
Gabriel's smile reminded Castiel of children chasing after the Ice cream truck
and sneaking out to watch past their bed time.
                Next to Gabriel was the temperamental Anna, with her flaming
red hair as passionate as her thoughts and expressions. Anna was two years
younger than Castiel and three years from Gabriel's age. However, age was
nothing but a concept to her, as she was always the deep thinker. The one who
stayed up all night thinking about the possibilities that she can get when she
finally left the town. Anna was made for wildest dreams about the world outside
her little story of small towns, and she was intended to explore and Castiel
wouldn't even doubt it when Anna says she would want to go to Jupiter just so
she can see if she'd be lighter or heavier there.
                And the last of his three cousins was sweet Samandriel who
looked after Castiel. Samandriel was four years younger than Anna, with his
wide blue eyes resembling Castiel’s memories of innocence. He has nothing of
Gabriel's outbursts, however, Samandriel has an aura of quiet and calming
youthful curiosity with him. He has Anna's passion, engraved deep within his
heart, like a burning yet melodious song of love and hope. Smiles of poetry and
profound faith passed invisibly to those who wouldn't know where to look, for
Samandriel's small and frail body deceived those who only swam in the shallow
waters. The ten year old boy would always, always accompany Castiel in his
dark, foreign room with a bed far too soft for his liking. He wouldn’t complain
about the darkness behind the curtains unlike Gabriel, or push Castiel to get
out of the house and start looking around the town, unlike Anna. He was
accepting, emphatic, and he was the epitome of goodness and trust for
Samandriel was nothing but those.
                He'd look at the three of his cousins and see a little bit of
his mother in them. By the way Anna leaves a trail of somehow artistic things
around the house, from Gabriel's sarcastic jokes to Samandriel's caring nature
and intuitive attentiveness to Castiel's well- being.
                Thank his aunt for getting him out of North Carolina, out of
his mother's hometown and his, or he'd be ravaged with grief that he'd barely
stand to make himself food. At least he was like that the first few weeks until
Hannah took notice of his absence from school and decided to semi-adopt
Castiel.
                When Castiel was younger, he always knew that the only reason
Carver stayed with him and Naomi was because of his legal ties with Castiel. By
the eyes of the law, he was Carver's son— the pet he can't leave behind to
migrate to another country, or in his case, to another woman's bedroom.
                Castiel never really felt lighter anyway. Sure, his weight was
fairly a bit less than the average of the weight of teenagers around his age,
but he felt heavier— since, he was probably just that. The heaviest baggage in
their family.
                He should've convinced Hannah more vigorously that fitting
himself into her family would only result to ashes—a reminder of how they were
before Castiel.
                Maybe he'd call the days before he destroyed things 'B.C.' or
Before Castiel; then 'A.C.' or After Castiel for the days that smelled of tears
and too-cold coffee from staying up all night due to the troubles Castiel give.
                From that day on: September 15, 2013, Castiel started counting
the days that are left to reach A.C. As Castiel gazed into the outside of his
window, the pitter-patter of the rain that carried his retribution, he can’t
help but to worry about how much his Aunt Hannah can suffer through his
presence without snapping and for Castiel to finally pull the trigger, or drink
unsubscribed drugs. He wished that the days will be longer, so she wouldn't
have to deal it.
               
 
                            *          *          *
                                        
                                        
                Dean Winchester was far from blessed, but he was listening to
Stairway to Heaven and the song has the tendency to make him feel just that.
                In fact, if there was one word that you can describe Dean as a
whole, it would be the word 'Sinner'. He's done almost every single sin against
the Ten Commandments, either. 'Bad boy' echoed from his classmates' lips, or,
'rebel' if you asked his schoolmates' parents. He was not exactly the kind of
guy a sweet girl can bring home to meet her parents.
                Of course Dean wasn't exactly opposed to what they were saying.
The cigarette trapped in between his calloused fingers was the proof, and the
tattoo on his chest, right above the part where his dirty heart beats heavy
metal guitar solos.
                Also, the fact that it was three in the morning in the deserted
part of the neighborhood he grew up in added to the whole ‘Insurgent’ vibe he
was pulling off.
                The third chorus of Stairway To Heaven rang in the silence,
slow like the sluggish ascent of the grayish smoke from the burnt end of his
Marlboro cigarette. The asphalt beneath the thick soles of his military boots
was damp from the previous rain that washed over the godforsaken town. Sounds
of crickets were accompanying Dean's steady breathing, and were somehow mixing
harmoniously with the forlorn tune of the aforementioned Led Zeppelin song. Or
maybe he was just hearing things because he was drunk as fuck and couldn't
think straight.
                Either way, Dean was more or less satisfied with what he had
there, wet ass from sitting on wet grass or not. (He belatedly realized he made
quite a rhyming line there that was as close as he can get from becoming the
next Shakespeare.)
                As Dean's tired shoulders crumpled into his frame, it shook
with silent hysterical laughter. Fuck, yeah, that was as close as he can get.
Besides, he didn’t really have the time to practice his poetry writing skills,
since everyone knew that Dean Winchester was just all about fucking and being
fucked and it stops there. If chicks dig the flowery, knight-in-shining-armor
crap, they knew damn well that they would have to go to Sam, Dean's younger
brother, for that.
                Sam was the one wishing to go Stanford University, anyway.
Always the one with the brains in the family.
                Dean Winchester was far from being jealous or even mad at his
younger brother. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Dean was proud of Sam,
proud that he can finally get somewhere in life while Dean's stuck in the same
place as always, looking after their deadbeat father, John, so the old bastard
wouldn’t drown himself in alcohol.
                It was kind of twisted that he didn't feel too bothered about
it. He knew that was all he can really do— be responsible for his shitty family
and drink his problems away.
                The seventeen-year-old Winchester grabbed the neck of the
whiskey bottle beside his right boot and took a huge gulp, some of its contents
slipping and running down Dean's jaw to his neck.
                As he laid the bottle on the ground with a glassy thunk, he
eyed the bright yellow of the lamp post above him, his neck bent in such a way
that the cool surface of the post made him jerk away from the ice-cold for a
second.
                'Huh,' Dean thought. 'Well, would ya look at that?'
                In the darkness of the three o'clock dawn surrounding him, he
can almost see it.
                The alcohol didn't help him unsee it, unsee the same replay he
remembers whenever it was dark and there's a bright light that resembled the
colors of flames that engulfed his mother, and all he has ever known.
                While Dean drew a few puffs of smoke from the cigarette, he
drunkenly took note in his hazy mind not to sit under this lamp post again. He
didn’t need the reminder of his past mistakes catching up with him at three in
the morning while he's vulnerable as fuck.
                He breathed out through his lips, the rush of smoke out of his
lungs gave him the odd combination of living his life and killing it slowly
with tobacco, toxic chemical substances and subtle flames.
                Oh well, might as well feel every excruciating pain his mother
felt when she was trapped, burning and screaming, inside Sam's nursery because
of a spark of fire that started from Sam's night light.
                The night light that Dean had forgotten to turn off because he
was busy playing with his airplane toy.
                As the swirls of the smoke floated in the air, Dean's green
bloodshot eyes followed it. Then, he was startled, the whiskey sloshing around
inside the bottle when he accidentally kicked it.
                About ten feet away from him was a boy with black hair, wearing
a hoodie that was threatening to eat his body form.
                Dean blinked, the cigarette on the ground was left forgotten
from the sudden appearance of the teen, who—Dean took note— was a stranger for
someone with this look as troubled as the stranger's would surely be noticed by
Winchester.
                Dean would acknowledge it, know the look even because that was
the face of a person that suffered too much in such a little amount of time.
                That was the expression Dean sees every time he stares his
reflection when passing by a tinted window of his classmate's car or, when he
meets his reflection's eyes in the windshield mirror. 
                "You know, when they say the stars shine," Dean whispered, the
cigarette rolling in between the tips of his fingers after he picked it up from
the ground. "I never thought I'd see one before I die."
                Dean had absolutely no idea what he was saying, or whether he
was flirting or not, he just knew that this stranger needed the same things
Dean wanted for different reasons.
                It was like an unknown connection between two souls looking for
solace in the middle of the night.
                "Who are you? Never seen ya around." Dean asked as he drew in a
puff of smoke from his stick.
                The stranger, Dean noticed, barely moved from his position. The
hood was pulled up enough to cover the stranger's eyes, but not the rest of his
face. His hands were by his sides, twitching— from what, Dean wasn't sure if he
wanted to know.
                There was just something eccentric in knowing nothing about the
stranger in a town filled with overused excuses and cliché accidents.
                Great, now he's talking like Romeo while Juliet's by the
balcony.
                Figuring that the stranger wouldn't mention his name, Dean
lolled his head to the side and squinted his green eyes to look past the
darkness and see the stranger's eyes.
                "Name's Dean. People call me 'Righteous Man 'round here, which
I'd say, makes a good stripper name, eh?" He chuckled to himself. "'Course they
don' think about it like that, those homophobic sons of bitches." 
                However, before Dean can blink and ask the stranger to sit
beside him, the unknown man turned around and started walking away.
                But before he can disappear 'round the corner, a flash of blue
filled Dean's vision. He may not have the stranger's name, but the color of his
eyes would be fine. 
                Maybe he can start calling him Blue.
 
 
                            *          *          *
 
 
                Castiel wasn't sure how he found himself in the middle of the
new town he was in.
                What he did remember was seeing his mother's ghost beside his
bed.
                Or maybe he was just dreaming.
                Castiel took a glimpse of the clock on his bedside table, 2:46
AM, before he shot off, the covers slipping around Castiel's torso to the
carpeted floor, leaving him naked and shivering.
                He never really liked sleeping with his clothes on. They were
too constricting and rough on his skin.
                He swiftly pulled up his sweatshirt from where it was lying
from the ground and slipped his body into it. Next were his jeans, rumpled and
with the smell of the sunscreen from yesterday's swimming in the pool Hannah
rented for her children and Castiel to swim in.
                The hoodie, that one clothing that he always wore when he was
going outside, made its way back to Castiel's warm body.
                And then off he was, running the minute the pads of his feet
touched the ground from where he climbed down the tree near his bedroom window.
He knew he'd get lost, twisting and turning into the alleyways of the town
square— past the Church that Castiel refused to look at since he landed in the
town a week ago. He entered another neighborhood part of the town and ran
quicker when he saw the stretch of the road in front of him, away from the
small cloud of familiarity behind him and into the world of unending
possibilities.
                The sounds of crickets died the second Castiel saw him. In its
place were the distant noises which can only be associated with a song being
played using a mobile phone. Castiel's breathing was labored, though not as
dog-tired as it sounded a minute ago, when he was running to chase away the
lights of the highway.
                A teenager, around Castiel's age, was under the lamp post,
drinking to a slow song with a stick of cigarette in between his hands. His
leather jacket was pulled up to his chin, as if he was fighting off the cold of
the harsh September, nearing October. And Castiel supposed that the teen did.
                The slight display in front of him found Castiel dumbstruck in
its malevolence. Right there, ten feet away from him, was the face of youth—
troubled and alone in the early hours of the morning.
                The Novak boy didn't know if anyone else in the world would see
what he was seeing—but he supposed, if the world cannot, he'd just have to keep
it his secret and bury it in the shelf of his mind where great moments were
kept.
                It took a minute for the boy in the leather jacket to see
Castiel watching.
                It took another minute for Castiel to turn away when the
stranger introduced himself.
                No. Castiel cannot be acquainted with anyone in this town, but
his relatives. If he ever did, he wouldn't know how to forgive himself for
giving up the only chance he can get to forget about the beautiful and calm
town he'd soon learn to love.
                Besides, all Castiel has been doing for his entire life was run
and hide, slip past undetected by others. Why would he start doing that now,
especially that his mother killed herself and his father hightailed away from
the them to live his worry-free life with a woman thirteen years younger than
him?
                Although, perhaps, there will come a day where he can forget
about his burdens and hold out his hand to meet the stranger, maybe get to know
more about the weight behind his green eyes.
                As Castiel walked back to where the house of his Aunt Hannah's
was located, or where he assumed it was anyway, he gloomily thought that there
will never come a day where he won't stop running.
                And, he didn't know if he had the ability to stop, to can, the
second he decided that he was too selfish and he can get what he wanted.
 
 
End Notes
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