
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5357345.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Crowley/Dean_Winchester, Crowley/Samandriel_(Supernatural), Castiel/Dean
      Winchester, Castiel_&_Dean_Winchester, Ellen_Harvelle/Bobby_Singer
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Castiel, Castiel_(Supernatural), Sam_Winchester, Jo
      Harvelle, Ellen_Harvelle, Bobby_Singer, Bobby, Missouri_Moseley, Benny
      Lafitte, Samandriel_(Supernatural), Jimmy_Novak, Pamela_Barnes, Pamela
      Barnes_(Supernatural), Chuck_Shurley, Lisa_Braeden, Jody_Mills, Azazel_
      (Supernatural), Alastair_(Supernatural), Ruby_(Supernatural), Meg
      Masters, Destiel_Relationship_(Character), John_Winchester, Mary
      Winchester, Adam_Milligan, Rowena_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Murder, Attempted_Murder, Fire, Drug_Use, Drug_Addiction, Abandonment,
      Child_Abandonment, Child_Neglect, Foster_Care, Gay_Sex, Gay, Gay_Male
      Character, Gay_Dean, Bisexuality, Bisexual_Male_Character, Bisexual
      Castiel, Abuse, Emotional/Psychological_Abuse, Emotional_Manipulation,
      Control, Control_Issues, Rape, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Rape_Recovery,
      Pain, Suicide, Faked_Suicide, Stabbing, Sexual_Assault, Assault, Blood,
      Demon_Blood_Addiction, Demon_Blood, Serious_Injuries, Surgery,
      Rehabilitation, Scars, Protective_Castiel, Hurt_Dean_Winchester, Hurt
      Dean, Emotionally_Hurt_Dean, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Protective_Bobby
      Singer, Protective_Ellen, Victim_Dean
  Series:
      Part 1 of A_Demon_&_An_Angel
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-05 Completed: 2015-12-08 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 10481
****** Part One: A Demon ******
by alpineshoodratt
Summary
     “I heard you have a date with Fergus.” Castiel asked monotonously.
     Dean looked up in surprise. “Yeah”
     “I do not think that is wise.”
     Exchanging confused looks with Sam, “Why’s that?”
     “He is not trustworthy.”
     “Ok… I’m just going to dinner, to pacify him so he’ll back off.”
     “It will not work”
     “What won’t work?”
     “He will not ‘back off’”.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Dean Winchester was 14 years old when his father went to prison for murder. His
mother, Mary, died in a fire when he was just 4, rumors and suspicions being
his father’s meth lab in their basement exploded, but authorities failed to
find enough evidence to prosecute.
They moved around a lot, Dean taking on the responsibility of caring for his
younger brother, Sam. Not too many 4 year olds know how to make a formula
bottle or change a diaper. When his dad, John, was actually around, he was
either asleep or too high to know he even had children.
Then came ‘Demon’s Blood’. ‘Demon’s Blood’ was a new, red drug injected
directly in to a vein like heroine. John became addicted fast, using every last
cent he had to get his next fix. Dean was 10 when this science experiment
showed up and that’s when he began to shop lift and pan handle to feed his 6
year old little brother.
They hardly ever went to school, John too high to register them at all the odd
places they migrated to. Dean would find a library, it was warm and he didn’t
have to worry as much about he and Sam getting kidnapped or raped or worse.
There, he taught himself to read, then taught little Sammy as well. He was a
good big brother, the best you’d ever find.
One night, after ransacking the little shack they were squatting in at the
time, John walked to his dealer, Azazel. He begged for a hit, just one hit.
Offered the guy a blow job, promised to pay him back, whatever he wanted, he
need just one more dose. Azazel refused, Dean’s father, out of his mind with
addiction, killed the man and shot up.
John was arrested for murder; his sons were discovered and immediately put in
foster care. Thankfully, they were placed together, Dean insisting Sammy would
completely shut down without him. A nice couple, Ellen and Bobby Singer, lived
in an old farm house, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Ellen had a
daughter, Jo, from a previous marriage and they took in troubled kids of all
kinds. The Winchester boys were currently their only charges, Dean immediately
respecting Bobby’s no nonsense attitude, Sammy cautiously affectionate with
Ellen, playing with Jo like a typical 10 year old.
They had clean, warm clothes, never went hungry and started school a quarter of
the way through the year. Luckily enough for his baby brother, Sammy shared the
same fifth grade class as Jo so he wasn’t as uneasy as he would’ve been alone.
The Winchester’s social skills were lacking, to say the least.
Dean registered at the local high school, ninth grade freshman. Introduction at
each class began by the teacher predictively asking him to tell the class a
‘little bit about himself’. Dean refused each time, taking his assigned seat
and burying himself in whatever new textbook presented to him.
He was quite a bit behind the other kids, couldn’t read as well, math was
difficult, and PE was a nightmare. Dean had been undernourished for so long,
his ribs stuck out and he wasn’t able to run or throw a ball as well as the
other students. Teasing started almost immediately, but Dean had developed some
very thick skin the last 10 years, there was nothing any of these punks could
say that would upset him.
Sammy made friends fast, spoke excited at dinner every night about school and
how he loved his teacher. He wasn’t as far behind the other fifth graders as
they thought he would be, credit going to his big brother for teaching him
everything he could. Dean didn’t make friends. Sat quietly in class, did his
homework, ate his state issued free lunch alone, and found solace in the
library once again.
Maybe it was a little sad that his only friend was a sassy librarian named Ms.
Mosley. After the first few weeks of pulling the boy out of his shell, she
insisted he call her Missouri. He liked her; she was bossy and made him laugh.
He felt like he hadn’t been able to laugh in a very long time.
Dean made sure to help out around the Singer house as much as possible, show
his appreciation for having a roof over his head and food in his stomach,
something most people take for granted. He cleaned without being told to,
helped Bobby fix cars and organize his books. The man had an incredible amount
of books. As much as Ellen told him he didn’t need to, he would smile and
continue.
Bobby had a good friend, Jimmy Novak. Jimmy owned a farm nearby, always dirty
and smelling of manure or some odor Dean couldn’t place. Mr. Novak brought his
son, Castiel, over with him a few times. Dean had seen the guy at school,
sophomore, always wearing a tan trench coat, combat boots and his black hair
messy, uncombed. The idea may have been for Dean to make a friend his own age,
but Castiel didn’t talk much, and when he did it was in a deadpan voice. Dean
was pretty sure he wore eye-liner too.
So, he would nod at the kid in the hall, other than that, he let it be. By the
end of January, Dean was 15 years old. He had graduated from the ‘weird foster
kid at the Singer house’ to the ‘silent gay kid in the library’. He never hid
his sexuality, never advertised it either. It just wasn’t anyone’s business.
In February, Valentine’s Day of all dates, a senior named Fergus McCloud
entered the library, interrupting Dean’s solace by sitting down next to him.
The younger boy looked up for a moment, and then returned his attention to the
book he was reading.
“Whatever bet you made with your friends, just tell me what it is. I’ll let you
win and you can leave me alone.” The freshman murmured.
“Bet? What kind of bet would I make? I’ve just come to say ‘hello’” the older
boy smirked.
“Your friends, bet each other they can get my phone number, or agree to go on a
date with them, some stupid attempt to embarrass me. So, if you need my middle
name or something trivial like that, I’ll tell you and you can go.” Dean
answered, never taking his eyes of the text.
“I apologize for my companions; they are quite infantile at times. I’m
Crowley.” He declared with a strange accent, offering his hand.
Dean exhaled loudly, looked up suspiciously before returning a hasty handshake.
“You’re Dean… Winchester, right?”
He nodded; truly wishing this guy would stop screwing with him and disappear.
“No much of a talker, huh?”
Sighing audibly, “What do you want, Crowley? I’m not bothering anyone here.”
McCloud chuckled, “I do, in fact, want your phone number and a date.”
“Tell your friends I gave you my number and agreed to go out with you. I’ll
back you up if they ask and you’ll win your bet.”
Crowley’s smile faded, “Bloody hell, Dean. I’m not involved in any sort of
wager. I would like to get to know you better, talk to you, and take you to
dinner. Nothing maniacal. Are you this distrustful with everyone?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“Pity. You’re a good looking guy, sexy as hell. Won’t you give me a chance? One
date. You decide you still hate me, I’ll leave you alone forever.”
Dean stared at the young man for a stretch of time, studying for evil intent.
He looked down at his book, answering in a voice just above a whisper, “I’ll go
out with you. Please. Please don’t screw with me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” Gifting a soft smile before rising from the
table. “Saturday? 6pm?”
The younger boy nodded, frowning slightly. He still didn’t trust the guy.
Crowley was a senior, pretty popular at that. Stocky, brown hair, brown eyes,
the beginnings of a beard. Dean had no inkling he was gay, or even bi. He could
be setting himself up for humiliation.
 
Joining his friends in the hall, all of their eyebrows raised in question.
“What was that about?” queried Alastair
“Nothing for you to be concerned with. If any of you assholes fuck with the
Winchester kid again, I’ll cut your throats. Understand?”
All three were shocked in to agreeing. Ruby and Meg exchanged ‘WTF’ looks and
Alastair simply trailed behind McCloud as he strolled away.
 
The rest of the week went by without incident, Saturday morning found the
Winchester boys working on Sam’s science project. Sam the mind, Dean the
muscle. The kid was too smart for his own good, powering a light bulb with a
potato was beyond Dean’s realm of knowledge.
Mr. Novak came by to sit with Bobby, drink a couple beers and argue politics.
Castiel wandered in to the kitchen, watching Sam and Dean experiment with the
root vegetable. Same trench coat, same boots, same messy hair and that was
definitely eyeliner.
“I heard you have a date with Fergus.” Castiel asked monotonously.
Dean looked up in surprise. “Yeah?”
“I do not think that is wise.”
Exchanging confused looks with Sam, “Why’s that?”
“He is not trustworthy.”
“Ok… I’m just going to dinner, to pacify him so he’ll back off.”
“It will not work”
“What won’t work?”
“He will not ‘back off’”.
“Look dude, if you have some insider information you want to share, spill it.
Otherwise, it’s really none of your business.”
“You are correct,” Castiel stood, “it is not, in fact, my concern.”
He left to join his father in the living room.
“Wow, what was that about?” Sam whispered loudly.
“I don’t know. The guys weird. I mean, weirder than me. I’ve never even heard
him speak that much before.”
“Maybe he likes you, he’s jealous of you going out with that Cloud guy.”
Dean chuckled, “It’s ‘McCloud’ shrimp, and he just doesn’t like Crowley for
some reason.”
“Wonder what the reason is….” the 10 year old murmured as he carried his
cardboard masterpiece to their room.
 
Dean wanted to call Crowley and cancel. He was sick, his brother was sick, his
dog was sick, any excuse to not to go. Unfortunately, he hadn’t the foresight
to get the guy’s number. He was stuck. Apparently, everyone in town knew where
the Singers lived, so Dean sucked it up, dressed as he usually would, jeans and
a Henley, did nothing more than comb his hair.
Crowley crept up the Singer’s long, gravel driveway at exactly 5:59pm, dust
coating the red, 1965 Mustang. Dean might have respected his choice in vehicles
if he had the slightest reason to believe the guy did any of the restoration
himself. Crowley knocked on the door, politely introduced himself to Bobby and
Ellen, laying eyes on Dean.
“Ready to go?”
The younger boy nodded, stepping towards the door as Bobby’s gruff voice
interrupted, “Curfew is midnight, boy. One minute late and I’ll have you
hauling scrap for a week.”
“Yes Sir” Dean grinned. He had absolutely no intention of keeping company with
‘Fergus’ for a full 6 hours.
No thank you.
Crowley opened his door for him, “I’m not a chic” he pouted.
“No, of course you aren’t. But I am a gentleman by nature. You’ll have to
forgive me” he smirked.
The drive in to town was awkward, Dean picking at the hem of his shirt until
Crowley turned down the radio. “I thought we would dine at my mother’s
restaurant, Rowena’s on Baltimore Drive. Have you been?”
“No, I’m more of a McDonald’s kind of guy” Dean murmured.
“Well, I hope you don’t think less of me, our meal is complimentary. You can
order absolutely anything you like.”
Pulling up in front of the restaurant, Crowley handed the keys to the valet as
another attendant opened Dean’s door for him. The younger boy had only seen
stuff like this on TV; he felt more than a little nervous in the fancy
building, maybe he should’ve worn something nicer…
A red-haired woman in a tight black dress promptly embraced his date, kissing
the air on either side of his face; it took a hell of a lot of self-control for
Dean not to laugh out loud.
“Mother, this is my friend, Dean Winchester. Dean, this is my mother, Rowena
McCloud”
“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. McCloud.” Shaking her hand politely
“It’s Ms. McCloud, but please, call me Row. You are just darling, aren’t you!
Come, Fergie, I have you set up in the corner booth.”
She sashayed in front of them as Dean leaned over to whisper, a sinister smile
on his face, “Fergie?”
Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste, “She only calls me that because it
drives me nuts. As sweet as it sounds in your voice, repeat that horrid
nickname again and I’ll keep you out late so you must haul scrap.” He smirked.
Dean chuckled softly, sliding across the leather seat at the corner table.
Candle burning in the center, cloth napkins and actual ‘silver’ silverware at
each place setting.
Yep, definitely should have dressed nicer. Crowley sported black slacks and a
crimson button up, Dean wouldn’t admit it to the young man, but he looked quite
handsome.
Menus placed in front of them, drink orders taken, Dean studied his dinner
choices. He had never even heard of half of the items listed. Grew more and
more uneasy by the minute, starting to think this was the humiliation part
Crowley had planned for him.
“Too many choices, squirrel? It’s hard for me to decide and I eat here all the
time. Would you like me to order for you?”
It was something old-fashioned sexist men used to do for their dates. Poor,
indecisive women who couldn’t possible think for themselves. Dean didn’t care.
He would rather have Crowley choose his food than risk mispronouncing
something. He was out of place as it was.
“Yes, thank you.”
Crowley seemed a bit too happy about that. He ordered, as they sat babying
their beverages, the older boy started the ‘date interview’.
“So, how long have you been living with the Singer’s?”
“Since early November.”
“Where did you live before?”
“All over”
“I see…”
“Crowley?”
“Yes, Dean?”
“Why, exactly did you ask me out?”
“I told you, squirrel, you’re good looking and sexy as hell. I’m very
transparent. No hidden agenda.”
Dean nodded, “You’re accent is different, where are you from?”
“Scotland, actually. I moved to America at age 12. The accent has always
warranted undue attention.”
An awkward silence ensued, thankfully dinner was served promptly. Whatever Dean
was eating was delicious, he attentively watched his table manners, something
he only recently learned from the Singers.
Crowley appeared pleased as he watched his date enjoy the meal. Insisting on
desert, something called tiramisu, which Dean devoured. Leaving the restaurant,
another fake hug and mimicking kisses on his cheeks from ‘Row’, Crowley asked,
“What would you like to do now?”
“Go home?” Dean suggested.
“But it’s only 8:00pm, dear Dean. We have four hours before you’re required to
return home.”
“I know, but… I’ve actually never been on a date before. And I don’t know what
you’re expecting of me but I’m pretty sure I’m not willing to do whatever your
other dates do.”
“You aren’t anything like my ‘other dates’, I have no expectations of you this
evening. Just the joy of your company. If you truly wish to go home, I’ll take
you. I’d really like to show you something before then. Give me a little more
time?”
The valet pulled up, Dean entering the passenger side with the man holding the
door open again, and he reluctantly nodded, “Ok. What do you want to show me?
Better not be a dead body, dude.”
“Bloody hell, Winchester! What horrible movies have you been watching?” Crowley
feigned disbelief.
Laughter.
Dean laughed with someone other than his family or Missouri. It was nice.
The Scotsman took them to the outskirts of town, an assembly of abandoned
warehouses. Pulling in to a cement parking area, weeds growing plentiful
between the cracks, Crowley shut the car off before gathering a blanket from
the trunk.
Eyeing the red and black plaid material, surveying the complete lack of, well,
everything. “Is this the part where you throw battery acid in my face and lock
me in a cage?”
“I seriously need to have a long chat with the Singer’s about your viewing
habits, squirrel!”
Rolling his eyes, “Crowley, why do you keep calling me ‘squirrel”’?
“I like squirrels, quiet, busy little things with pretty tails. Just like you.
Now, follow me, I promise there will be no battery acid or cages involved. You
have my word as a gentleman.”
Smirking a bit at the comment about his ‘tail’, Dean followed his date through
an empty building, up a set of stairs and out on to the roof. Crowley lay the
blanket down reverently, holding his hand out to the younger boy to join him.
“Won’t we get in trouble for trespassing or something?”
“No, my father owns this block of buildings. We’re safe from prosecution.”
“Your family owns a lot”
“Yes, I suppose they do. Now, sit here and close your eyes”
That suggestion wiped the smile completely off Dean’s face.
“I don’t think so”
“Come now, nothing bad will happen. Don’t you trust me?”
“No. No I don’t. I trust 4 people in the whole world and one of them isn’t
you.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
“Try for me. Sit and close your eyes and just try to trust me, just a little
bit”
Dean took a moment to fidget, look around again before exhaling dramatically
and lowering himself to the blanket. Cautiously closing his eyes, he waited.
“Now,” McCloud whispered softly, “Lay back. Nothing bad will happen. Just lay
back on the blanket.”
The younger boy fought the urge to open his eyes, taking a deep breath,
reclined back until he rested flat.
He sensed Crowley lean back next to him, “Squirrel, open your eyes”
He raised his lids to find stars. Millions and millions of stars. Stars you
couldn’t see from town, the lights were too bright, too much interference. All
those burning diamonds were clear as crystal out here.
Dean felt…small…insignificant…humbled.
“Beautiful” he breathed.
Crowley, next to him on the blanket, had not so much as glanced at the sky. He
studied the boy next to him, cataloged each facial expression, every reaction.
“Yes” he agreed. “Absolutely beautiful”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Over the next few weeks, the senior classman drove the freshman back
     and forth to school every day. He and his friends ate lunch with the
     boy and, somehow, Dean ended up with a standing date on Saturday
     nights. Crowley usually took him to Rowena’s, still ordering for him.
     He would find something romantic and unusual to do. Sometimes they
     met up with Alastair, Ruby and Meg, bowling, catching a movie.
     Crowley laughed proudly when Dean annihilated Alastair at pool.
Crowley walked Dean to the door at 11:53pm. Lights from the kitchen casting a
shadow over the front porch.
“Someone protective is waiting up for you” Crowley smiled
“Everyone is probably waiting up, watching the clock on the microwave. I’m not
the only one with trust issues, my friend.”
“Am I?”
“Are you what?”
“Your friend?”
Dean exaggeratedly mimicked an internal debate, “Yes. I think you are.”
Crowley moved closer, cupping the boy’s face with one warm palm, “May I kiss
you, my friend?”
“Do good boys kiss on the first date?”
“No, absolutely not. Good boys shake hands and say ‘good night’”
Dean leaned forward, kissing the older boy softly on the lips, “Thank you for
the stars” he whispered, pulling back, gifting one last sweet smirk before
entering the house.
Dean passed through the kitchen, the long way around to his room, finding Ellen
pretending to read a book at the table. Smiling knowingly, he leaned down and
pressed a kiss to her temple,
“Don’t worry, Momma, I’m home.” Heading upstairs in the dark, skipping the
creaky step so he wouldn’t wake Sammy or Jo.
Ellen blinked a few times before she let her joy filled tears trail down her
cheeks. Sam had started calling her Momma months ago, mostly because Jo did and
it was less confusing for him. Hearing the endearment from tough, untrusting
Dean, overwhelmed her heart.
 
Monday morning, Dean trudged down the gravel path to wait for the bus, only to
be intercepted by Crowley’s bright red car.
“Hey, good looking. Need a ride?”
“I’m not allowed to take rides from strangers, mister.”
“I have candy….”
“Well, in that case….”
Dean lowered himself in to the passenger seat, grinning. “Thank you. You make a
special trip all the way out here for me?”
“Nah, had to dump the body of the last guy I burned with batter acid and locked
in a cage.”
“Ah, I see. There are some very good hiding spots out here….”
They bantered back and forth all the way to MHS, parking in the student lot;
Dean thanked Crowley again for the ride and veered off towards the opposite
entrance.
“Where are you going?”
“I always hide in the library before first period.”
“Not anymore. Come with me, we’ll hang out in the senior hallway until the bell
rings.”
“Crowley, you’ve been really nice to me, and I appreciate it, but I have no
interest in keeping company with the people who’ve made it their job to torture
me the last 4 months. It’s ok, really.”
“Dean” the senior’s voice turning serious, “No one will ever say a single
negative thing to you again. I promise. They’re insecure; they make fun of what
they don’t understand. Just give it a try, ok? Trust me, just a little bit…..?”
Dean gazed longingly towards his usual entrance, then back at Crowley. Sighing
heavily, “Ok.”
Crowley was right, no one insulted him, or laughed. No one even glared, just a
few glimpses of curiosity. Dean had no idea how much pull Crowley actually
here. Walking an odd, skinny freshman through the senior hallway, not one
person showed the least bit of animosity about it.
The bell rang and Crowley had no other choice but to let Dean out of his sight.
The 9th grader and the 12th grader had no classes together, so they wouldn’t
see each other the rest of the day.
At least that’s what Dean thought.
Sitting alone at lunch, four trays simultaneously dropped to the table around
him. Crowley, Alastair, Ruby and Meg, made themselves at home. Ruby and Meg,
snickering about what some unfortunate girl was wearing, Alastair and Crowley
discussing plans for college. Dean remained quiet, made no attempt at joining
either conversation as he ate his lunch.
After lunch, Crowley followed him to his locker, “Hey, don’t even think about
running off after school. No more bus for you. I’ll drive you home.”
“Crowley that’s really sweet of you, and I appreciate it, but it’s so far out
of the way….”
The young man interrupted, “Dean. I get the feeling you’re not used to people
being nice to you. That’s a pity, so let me be nice, ok? No strings, no
expectations, just one person being kind to another.”
“Ok,” the younger boy whispered, uncomfortable. Crowley pecked him hastily on
the top of his head, hurrying off to his next class.
As agreed, Dean met Crowley in the parking lot, riding home in the Mustang. On
the way, he discovered Crowley wasn’t exactly a spoiled rich kid who got
whatever he wanted. He worked for his mom, Monday, Wednesday and Friday,
bussing tables. Sometimes his dad paid him to help clean new properties he
purchased. The money Crowley had, Crowley earned. Dean respected him more for
that.
 
Over the next few weeks, the senior classman drove the freshman back and forth
to school every day. He and his friends ate lunch with the boy and, somehow,
Dean ended up with a standing date on Saturday nights. Crowley usually took him
to Rowena’s, still ordering for him. He would find something romantic and
unusual to do. Sometimes they met up with Alastair, Ruby and Meg, bowling,
catching a movie. Crowley laughed proudly when Dean annihilated Alastair at
pool.
Occasionally, Crowley would pick Dean up early on a Saturday afternoon, take
him shopping in the city. Dean would always protest any money spent on him,
Crowley would always respond with the same ‘let me be nice to you’ reasoning.
Jeans he picked out for Dean were a little tighter than the ones he usually
wore. Shirts were shorter, giving just a glimpse of skin above his waistline.
Ellen and Bobby weren’t too thrilled with Dean’s change in wardrobe, but they
usually kept their opinion to themselves. Crowley was a good kid, treated their
foster son like a prince. If he dressed a little different, well, that was part
of growing up.
6pm on a Saturday, the usual time for Crowley to pick his boyfriend up for
their date, he stepped in the house to discover Bobby, Jimmy and Castiel
visiting in the living room. Dean came downstairs, looking perfect in his
skinny jeans and tight black t-shirt, “Hey, babe. Ready to go?”
“You look ravishing, squirrel. Good night, Mr. Singer.”
“You boys behave.” Bobby teased.
Dean was accustomed to Crowley opening his door for him, when the older boy
went to the driver’s side, sliding in behind the wheel, Dean timidly opened his
door and took his seat.
“Babe? Is something wrong? Are you…mad at me or something?”
Crowley’s knuckles were white, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“What the hell was Castiel Novak doing in your damn living room?”
Dean had never seen Crowley mad before, “His dad is a friend of Bobby’s. They
come over all the time.”
“Castiel Novak is in your house, with you, all the time?” he spat
Anxious enough to consider getting out of the car,”Um….yeah….but it’s not like
we hang out or anything. We don’t even talk. He sits with his dad and plays on
his phone, I’m usually in my room. Crowley, what’s wrong?”
McCloud took a few deep breathes, swallowed, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just, I
saw him there and I got jealous. Couldn’t stand the thought of him being there
with you.”
Dean leaned closer, guiding Crowley’s face towards him with a soft palm, “Babe,
he’s not there with me, he’s with his dad. I’m with you. Only you, Crowley.
Only you.”
Crowley pulled Dean by the back of the neck, edging in for a kiss. It was all
teeth and tongue and lips, possessive and a bit rough. The younger boy accepted
it, berating himself for making the older boy insecure.
Crowley drove them in to the city to watch a musical. Dean dreaded it, whining
to his boyfriend that it wasn’t his kind of thing. He wasn’t proper or
sophisticated. A quarter of the way in to it, when the barber started slicing
throats and the baker chic began cooking human pies, Dean was on the edge of
his seat with his mouth wide open. Crowley watched his date, not the play, with
a satisfied smirk on his face.
 
Spring Break, the young couple spent every day together. Crowley found
waterparks, museums, aquariums, even a paint ball course. Saturday night, the
weekend before school would resume, the Mustang parked in another empty lot,
they made out in the back seat.
It’s not like they hadn’t done this before, several times actually. Just
kissing and heavy petting, some nasty suggestions from Crowley just to see his
squirrel blush. Guiding Dean’s hand down to his crotch, Crowley whispered
huskily, “Please, sweetheart, just stroke it.”
Dean tried to pull his hand away, Crowley left his heavy on top of it. “I’ve
been so good, baby. I haven’t touched another soul since our first date. I need
this. Don’t make me beg.”
The younger boy studied his boyfriend’s face with wide eyes, he looked so sad.
He was so nice to him, so sweet, never asking for anything in return. Dean
could do this for him. What was the big deal? It was like masturbating, it was
a hand job, not sex. Not really.
Dean kissed Crowley tenderly, running is soft pink tongue over his lips.
Without looking down, he unzipped his slacks, pulling the erection out through
the split in the front of his boxers, and began to caress it so gingerly,
fingertips tracing barely-there lines up and down the shaft.
Crowley broke their kiss, laying his head back and moaning sinfully. “Oh, god,
baby. Yes, just like that.”
Encouraged, Dean continued, increasing pressure just a bit, forming his hand in
to a circle, stroking up and down, twisting lightly as he reached the head.
Precome leaking, he used it to lube his way, slick and warm, pumping faster as
he listened to his boyfriend pant and curse. Crowley came with a grunt, thick
white stripes painting across his very nice plum button up.
Dean wiped his hand on his jeans, without thinking. “Babe, I stained your
shirt” he apologized.
Crowley laughed, “Fuck this shirt,” as he struggled out of it, remaining in his
white undershirt, “That was amazing, baby. God, Dean, you make me feel so
good.”
 
Mutual hand jobs became a regular date night addition. Dean didn’t mind at all
now, especially when it was reciprocated. A month before graduation, he grew
anxious about Crowley leaving for college in the fall. He wouldn’t bring it up
to his boyfriend, terrified Crowley would use the words ‘see other people’.
Dean’s life revolved more and more around the man. McCloud was 18 now, Dean
considered that a man.
One Friday evening, Dean, Jo and Sammy sat around the coffee table, working on
a puzzle and teasing one another. Jimmy stopped by, he and Bobby drinking Jack
in the kitchen, Castiel flopped down on the couch. He watched the trio with
interest, occasionally pointing out where a piece should go.
“No Fergus tonight?”
His deep toned voice interrupted the carefree atmosphere. Jo and Sam looked at
Dean.
“Crowley works Friday nights”
“I see”
Dean rolled his eyes at the two 11 year olds, resuming the puzzle solving.
“Must be hard for you”
“What?”
“Must be hard for you, thinking for yourself Friday nights”
Jo and Sam gasped, wide eyed at his boldness.
“Dude. What the hell is your problem?”
“I, myself, do not have a problem. You, however, have become a puppet, a doll,
a plaything”
“I’m going to get a soda” Jo declared suddenly
“Me too” an uneasy Sam, following her out
“I understand you have some deep, dark hatred for my boyfriend, I don’t know
why and I don’t care. I love him. I barely know you, so feel free to keep your
opinions to yourself.”
“You love him? You love that he tells you what to eat, how to dress, who you
can and cannot talk to. You love that?”
“I’m trying to be polite because you’re a guest in my parent’s home. My
relationship with Crowley is none of your business.”
“Samandriel said the very same thing. Ask Fergus what happened to him.”
Castiel stood and stomped out of the living room and out the front door.
 
The next night, leaning his head on Crowley’s shoulder at the movies, Dean
tried to think of a casual way to ask what a ‘Samandriel’ was. It was an odd
name, like Castiel. Sounded like he was an ex-boyfriend, Dean had no desire to
discuss Crowley’s ex-boyfriend with him. A twinge of jealousy tightened his
stomach, he reached for a handful of popcorn to settle it.
They went back to Crowley’s house. Bobby and Ellen said they didn’t mind him
hanging out over there as long as one of his parents was home. Rowena was
physically there, passed out on the couch after exceeding the recommended dose
of Xanax for the day.
The pair made out in Crowley’s bedroom, exchanged hand jobs, Dean snooping
through year books and old photo albums while his boyfriend remade his bed. The
year book from two years before, when Crowley was a sophomore, revealed a
photograph of another 10th grader from that class. Samandriel Novak.
Castiel had a brother?
“What kind of crazy name is Samandriel?” Dean asked without looking up from the
page, attempting to sound casual.
“What did you just say?” Crowley asked in a low growl, as if he were giving
Dean a chance to correct himself.
Dean pivoted towards him, pointing at the school photo line-up, Crowley McCloud
just one space away from Samandriel Novak, in alphabetical order.
Crowley knocked the book out of his hand, before Dean could react, he had the
boy pushed up against the wall, demanding through clenched teeth, “Who told you
about Samandriel?”
Dean gave lying his best effort, “I just noticed the name in the book, thought
it sounded weird.”
The man pulled him away from the wall, nose to nose, impossible for Dean to
look anywhere else but in his eyes,
“No. Someone gave you that name, Dean. Someone told you, WHO-WAS-IT?”
Crowley was pissed. Not mad, like the time he first saw Castiel in the Singer
house, pissed. Dean gulped, took a breath answered so quietly Crowley almost
didn’t hear him,
“Castiel. He was giving me a hard time about being with you, I told him I loved
you, to leave me alone and he said to ask about Samandriel. I’m sorry, babe.
I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t know it would make you mad.”
The man released him abruptly. Dean sank to the floor, an overflow of nervous
adrenaline making him light-headed. Crowley stood for just another moment or
two before crouching down to the floor beside his boyfriend.
“You told him you loved me?”
Dean nodded cautiously
“You haven’t told me. You’ve never said that you loved me”
Hopeful green eyes met curious brown ones, “I do love you, Crowley. I was
afraid to tell you. You’re going to college in the fall, you’re leaving and I
don’t know what I’m going to do. I love you.”
McCloud smiled broadly, all remnants of fury completely washed away, just that
fast.
“I love you too, squirrel. Don’t worry about my leaving. You’re the most
important thing in my life. We’ll figure it out, baby.”
Spending the rest of the night cuddling and exchanging ‘I love you’s, the
subject of Samandriel was completely dropped and forgotten.
Whoever he was, he didn’t matter.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Once Crowley was drunk enough not to notice, Dean snuck of to his
     boyfriend’s room to call Ellen for a ride home. He had just pulled
     the contact list up on his phone when Crowley burst in,
     “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he slurred.
     “You’re drunk and I’m uncomfortable. I’ll get a ride home and we can
     talk tomorrow.”
     Crowley snatched the phone out of his hands, “Calling who? Castiel?”
     Dean blinked a few times, “I don’t even have that guy’s number. I’m
     calling Ellen.”
     “No. You’re not.”
Chapter Notes
     This chapter contains rape. It is not glorified or romanticized.
Fergus McCloud graduated from Midwest High School in mid-June. His parent’s
threw him a huge grad party a few weeks later. Almost the entire senior class
was there, Dean the only freshman-almost-sophomore. Crowley had him by his side
the whole time, when the drinking started, Dean asked to go home.
“Don’t be silly, squirrel. It’s just a few beers, we’re celebrating.”
“You’re 18, I’m only 15. We can get in a lot of trouble”
“Not if no one knows, baby. Relax. You worry too much”
Dean watched everyone around him get buzzed, then drunk, then fall on your face
blasted. Couple fights broke out, some girl sat in the corner crying and he was
pretty sure Alastair and Ruby were having sex on the couch under a blanket.
Once Crowley was drunk enough not to notice, Dean snuck off to his boyfriend’s
room to call Ellen for a ride home. He had just pulled the contact list up on
his phone when Crowley burst in,
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he slurred.
“You’re drunk and I’m uncomfortable. I’ll get a ride home and we can talk
tomorrow.”
Crowley snatched the phone out of his hands, “Calling who? Castiel?”
Dean blinked a few times, “I don’t even have that guy’s number. I’m calling
Ellen.”
“No. You’re not.”
Crowley opened his desk drawer, tossed the phone in and stepped towards Dean.
“You’re going to stay here. With me. It’s my party, my boyfriend should want to
be here.”
“Babe, I did want to be here. But everyone’s drunk and acting crazy, I want to
go home now.”
The man leaned forward, kissing Dean roughly, jamming his tongue in his mouth.
All the boy could taste was alcohol, he tried to pull away but Crowley kept
hold of the back of his head. He started having trouble breathing, jerking his
head side to side to escape.
Panting, “Crowley, stop. I’ll stay, ok? I’ll stay right here and you can party
with your friends and come back to me when everything’s calmer, ok? All right?”
The man gazed at him through hooded lids, smiling crookedly, walked to the
door. Just as Dean started to sigh with relief, a solid ‘click’ rang through
the room.
Crowley locked the door.
Shit.
He shouldn’t have tried to leave. He knew it would piss Crowley off and he did
it anyway.
Shit.
Dean’s boyfriend tugged his shirt clumsily over his head, the boy frozen in
place, undefined fear splashing over him like cold water.
“I’ve been so patient with you, my little squirrel. I love you so much. So
much, baby. You make me crazy sometimes. I feel like I can’t get close enough”
Now, he was wiggling out of his pants and Dean backed up against the wall by
the bed.
“C-Crowley? I’m s-sorry. I love you too, please don’t be mad. Ok?”
“I’m not mad anymore, baby. I know how to fix this.”
He was close enough now to stroke Dean’s cheekbones with his thumbs, standing
in nothing but his boxers, erection peeking through.
“Crowley” Dean whispered, speaking slowly “I’m not ready for this. We can do
what we usually do. I-I don’t want to do this.”
“You’re just scared, little squirrel. Everyone’s nervous their first time. Its
ok, we’re not doing anything wrong. It’s not wrong if we love each other.”
As Crowley started to pull Dean’s shirt up, the boy began to fight. Struggling
against the bigger man. Dean’s growth had stunted, years of malnutrition,
Crowley was taller, broad shoulders and fully developed muscles. It wasn’t much
of a contest.
Crowley pushed a bare-chested Dean on to the bed, the boy immediately yelling
for help and pressing his heels against the blankets, moving himself away. No
one would answer his pleas, they were all Crowley’s friends, and they were all
drunk.
“Stop, Dean! Relax, it’s so much easier if you relax.” Gripping his pants
around the ankles to yank them down.
“Please, Crowley. Please stop. Not now, not like this.” Calling for help had
stopped, he was at begging and crying now.
“Sssshhhh.” Crowley forcing a kiss as Dean’s pants and boxers slipped off
together. The man straddled him, pinning the hands that were pushing against
his chest on either side of his head. Tilting down to catch an ear between his
teeth, breathing heavily, “I love you, Dean. Let me have this. Let me have
you.”
The boy whimpered, “I can’t, please don’t make me. Just let me go.”
“Never letting you go, Dean.”
He grabbed boney hips with both hands, flipping the boy over to his stomach.
Instantly trying to push up with his arms, fingers twisted in his hair, his
face driven in to the pillow.
He was having trouble breathing, panicking at the thought of being suffocated,
he felt Crowley’s erection tracing a path through the crack in his ass. Dean
stopped moving, only the unintentional trembling of every muscle in his body
continued.
“It’s ok, baby. It’s not wrong if we love each other. Don’t be scared, it’ll be
over fast. You turn me on way too much for me to last very long.” Crowley
panted, lining up against Dean’s hole.
The intrusion was swift ,dry and agonizing. No lube, no stretching, no
preparation, Dean entertained the thought that he was dying. Crowley was
killing him. His screams absorbed by the cushions in his face, the pain
intensified with every stroke the man made, tearing flesh only to rub over it
again and again. Burning, raw anguish overtook him.
Crowley finished, grunting loudly, collapsing heavily on Dean’s back.
The boy was finally able to move his head, turning to the side gulping in cool,
sweet oxygen. The man was whispering in his ear, something about love,
closeness, being better now. All Dean could hear was the hammering of his heart
in his chest and the pounding in his temples. He pressed his face into the
pillow case one more time, wiping off the snot and tears.
Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming as Crowley withdrew. He
couldn’t move. He wanted to. He wanted to get up, get dressed and run. Just
run. His boyfriend went to the en suite bathroom, returned with a warm
washcloth, reverently cleaning the blood and semen from his body. Crowley
rubbed circles on his lower back, tipped forward to kiss between his should
blades.
“Things will be so much better, now, little squirrel. You and I are as close as
two human beings can be. We’re connected. It hurts the first few times, but
it’ll get better. We can go slower, take our time. Tonight, I have to get you
home by curfew. Get dressed for me, baby. It’s already 11:30pm”
Dean took a few deep breathes, swallowed hard and timidly raised himself to a
sitting position. Bad idea. Pain shot from his back side up his spine. Crowley
crouched down, helping him redress as if he were a toddler. He kept his lips
sucked in over his teeth to keep from making any pain noises. His boyfriend,
took his hand, led him down the stairs, through the jungle of drunken party
guests, to the car.
Dean didn’t utter a word all the way home, Crowley speaking softly about how
happy he was, how he knew their relationship would be stronger, how Dean had
nothing to be ashamed of.
The boy limped to the door, Crowley close behind, his hand resting on the small
of his back. He coaxed Dean to face him, kissing him tenderly with a promise to
call him tomorrow. Dean watched the tail lights fade through the dust, rotating
to let himself in the house.
It must’ve been Bobby’s turn to wait up, the man lay back in his recliner,
snoring softly with a book on his lap. Dean smiled sadly, carefully walking up
the stairs. Every step was pure torture. He locked himself in the bathroom,
turned the shower on as hot as it would go, and sat in the bottom of the tub,
watching the water drain red, then pink, and finally clear. He scrubbed
himself, head to toe, three times. Water cold, goosebumps raised and teeth
chattering, he finally stepped out, wrapping a towel around his waist.
Collecting his dirty clothes, blood and come stains settling in his boxers, he
simply threw that pair away, hiding it in the trash can under empty toilet
paper rolls and used Q-tips.
Careful not to wake up Sammy, he crept to his room, gingerly dressing in old
sweats and a loose t-shirt before laying down on his side, curling in to the
fetal position and crying himself to sleep. Welcoming any nightmare that wasn’t
his life.
 
For the next week, Dean stayed in his room, usually in his bed. He told Ellen
and Bobby he was sick, he threw up so many times they believed him. Crowley
stopped by the day after the party, bringing Dean’s forgotten phone. Ellen told
him the boy was asleep, very sick. After that he texted, called and stopped by
constantly. Bobby finally telling him as polite as possible, Dean was seriously
ill and would get a hold of him as soon as he recovered. Crowley stopped coming
by, but called every hour, texting every 15 minutes. Dean shut his phone off
and slept as much as he could. Sipping Nyquil to help escape reality.
4th of July, Bobby, Ellen, Jo and Sammy headed out to the parade, festival and
fireworks in town. Dean said he felt better but wanted to stay home. Shuffling
around the empty house, picking at left overs in the fridge before returning to
the safe haven that was his bed, swallowing the nasty green medicine to help
him nap once more.
A few hours later, groggy and hoping most of the day had passed, he sensed a
weight on the edge of his bed. Heavy eyelids peeled back to reveal Crowley
sitting next to him.
Dean shot up instantly, heart racing, searching the room for help or escape
or….something.
“Hello squirrel.” Crowley whispered, tilting his head to the side, studying the
boy.
Tears pricked his eyes, swallowing hard he murmured, “Crowley, wh-what are you
doing here?”
Stroking Dean’s calf, “I missed you. You wouldn’t answer my calls, or my texts,
or come to the door when I visited. I don’t believe you were ill all this time.
I think you were avoiding me.”
“Crowley,” speaking slowly, clearly, “I can’t see you anymore.”
Shock and surprise spread across the man’s face. “What?” he whispered
“You knew I had trouble trusting people. I trusted you. I told you to stop, I
begged and fought and cried. You hurt me, Crowley. I can’t be with you.”
The man stared at the bedspread for a moment before standing and strolling to
the closet. Thoroughly searching the contents,
“Let me tell you about Samandriel. You see, Castiel’s older brother and I, had
a secret liaison. At the time, no one knew either one of us was gay, we kept
the relationship well hidden from the world, including our parents and his
self-righteous sibling”
Crowley set a pair of jeans and a tight green t-shirt on the foot of the bed,
wandering over to the dresser as he continued,
“After seeing each other for several months, I wanted to ‘out’ our affair. Date
in public, that sort of thing. Samandriel refused and promptly broke up with
me. Well, tried to break up with me. Much like you are attempting to now.”
Adding boxers and socks to the small pile on the mattress, he lowered himself
next to it, locking eyes with Dean.
“You see. I do not handle rejection well. I never have. Samandriel, tragically,
killed himself. Hung himself in his closet with his own belt. Leaving behind an
apologetic note for his father. Castiel was the poor soul who discovered him.
Now, you see, Samandriel didn’t write that note, or even hang himself, but he
did commit suicide the very second he uttered ‘I don’t love you’.”
Dean stared, eyes wide, as his heart fell in to his stomach. Crowley was a
murderer.
“Now, my dear Dean. Best I can tell, Castiel suspects I had a relationship with
Samandriel, may even question his manner of death. You? You’ve had a rough
childhood, realizing your first love would soon be leaving for college, you
fell in to a deep depression. Spending the last week sleeping all the time,
moping around the house, hardly eating, barely speaking to anyone, including
your family. Tragically, left alone on the holiday, you’ve slit your wrist and
bled out in the bathtub.”
Scooting closer, one hand on either side of Dean’s waist, he leaned close to
the boy’s face, locking eyes and whispering,
“Do you love me, Dean?”
Never breaking his gaze, Dean nodded.
“Come, now, little squirrel. I’m insecure, I need to hear affirmation
verbally.”
“I-I love you, C-Crowley. I was j-just scared, you hurt me. I-I don’t want you
to h-hurt me again” he breathed, terrified.
“Never again, baby. All right? Now, I’ll pretend we never had this
conversation, you’ll pretend my…unfortunate actions at the party never
happened. Deal?
Dean nodded hastily, anything to pacify Crowley right now.
“Let’s get you a shower, change in to these clothes, we’ll catch up to your
family and join the celebration.” He smiled broadly, offering his hand.
Dean forced a tense grin, allowing Crowley to assist him off the bed, he did
what he was told. Shower, clothes, the cologne Crowley liked, sitting
cooperatively in the passenger seat of the red Mustang.
 
The couple caught up with the Singers, and unfortunately, Jimmy and Castiel, at
the lake for fireworks. Crowley lay out the red/black plaid blanket, sitting
with his legs in a ‘V’, Dean resting between them, head lax on his chest.
Crowley continued to whisper promises and endearments in his boyfriend’s ear.
Castiel sat next to Sammy and Jo, glaring at the pair. Dean caught his full
attention once, attempting to convey sympathy and terror at the same time.
Castiel’s expression softened, just a tad, before Dean had to turn his full
attention back to Crowley.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     Crowley slid in to the driver’s seat, slamming his door. Sucking his
     lips in over his teeth, Dean took a deep breath and got in the car.
     The man threw the Mustang in reverse, spinning them around and
     barreling down the gravel driveway.
     “Crowley…”
     “Not a word, Dean. Not one single word from you.”
They pretended.
Pretended Crowley never raped Dean, pretended Dean never tried to break up with
him and pretended Crowley never told the ‘Samandriel story’. The couple fell
back to their normal routine, Crowley spending his days off and Saturday nights
with Dean. Although something had changed, Dean relished the days Crowley
worked, looked forward to them. He could spend time with Sammy and Jo, help
Ellen in the kitchen or listen to Bobby tell ‘back in my day’ tales. Dean could
dress as he liked those days, not watch every word that came out of his mouth
and relax, breath.
He avoided Castiel like the plague. Couldn’t have Crowley even suspecting they
had spoken, and Dean didn’t trust himself not to ask about Castiel’s older
brother, or confess everything his boyfriend told him.
On a late Sunday morning, Dean washing dishes, Castiel playing Monopoly with Jo
and Sam. It seemed that guy was over all the time these days. How he wore the
trench coat and boots through the hot summer was a mystery.
A knock on the door, Ellen greeting, “Hello Crowley, this is a surprise”
Dean turned quickly, whispering loudly at Castiel, “You have to go”
“What?”
“Please, Castiel. Just go out the back door, come around the front like you
just got here.”
“Why?”
Sam and Jo both looked at Dean as if he were insane, maybe he was. Castiel
didn’t move, remained still with his brow furrowed and confusion all over his
face.
Footsteps announced Crowley’s path to the kitchen, Ellen must’ve pointed him in
Dean’s direction. The boy hastily turned back to the dishes, acting shocked as
Crowley entered.
“Hey, baby. Thought I’d surprise you. Looks like I’ve succeeded. Hello
Castiel.”
Castiel rolled his eyes, returning his focus to the board game, Jo and Sammy
felt very nervous by now.
Dean wiped his hands on a towel, stepped forward to present Crowley with a kiss
to the cheek, “I am surprised, and happy to see you.”
“I’m sure. Get changed, will you? I have something special in mind.”
As always, Dean hurried to obey the man. It was bad enough he found him in the
same room as Castiel, asking questions or delay would make things worse.
Dressed and ready, he checked with Ellen before disappearing out the front
door.
Crowley slid in to the driver’s seat, slamming his door. Sucking his lips in
over his teeth, Dean took a deep breath and got in the car. The man threw the
Mustang in reverse, spinning them around and barreling down the gravel
driveway.
“Crowley…”
“Not a word, Dean. Not one single word from you.”
Dean swallowed, found an interesting spot on the glove box and stared at it
until the car came to a stop. Looking out the window at a large, empty field
with a single tree in the middle.
Crowley gripped the steering wheel, knuckles tight, breathing ragged.
“Do you enjoy humiliating me?”
“Crowley, I….”
“I’ve requested time and time again that you not share company with Castiel.”
“I know, I just…”
The slap came suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere. Dean gasped, instinctively
raising his hand to his face. The strike had landed on his cheekbone, just
below his temple, making him feel as if his eye would explode. He was too
shocked to move, too scared to speak.
“Damn it, Dean! I didn’t want to do that. Shit!”
Crowley twisted to face him, reaching out to cup his face, Dean flinched and
pulled back. Crowley looked almost…..sad?
“I’m sorry, squirrel. You know how jealous I get, I didn’t mean it, OK? All
right?”
Dean nodded, licking his lips and looking anywhere but at his boyfriend.
“Come, I want to show you my surprise.” Crowley led him through the grass,
under the solitary tree, to a picnic displayed carefully on that red/black
plaid blanket he seemed to always have handy. Dean proceeded to act happy and
surprised, ate his food, smiled when he was supposed to, laid his head on
Crowley’ chest to watch the clouds.
On the way back, Crowley asked, “What are you going to tell everyone about the
red mark on your face?”
Dean thought for a moment, Crowley was right, everyone in the house would need
an explanation.
“We had a picnic under a tree with low-hanging branches, I wasn’t paying
attention and ran right in to one.”
“Good boy, my little squirrel. Very good.”
A soft good bye kiss, Crowley murmuring apologies in his ear, Dean took a deep
breath before going inside.
Bobby and Ellen were sitting together on the couch in the living room, looking
very serious.
“Dean, we need to talk” Ellen said gently.
Dean looked around the room, as if the reason could be found there, before
taking his seat in Bobby’s recliner.
“What happened to your face?” Bobby demanded
“We had a picnic, I ran in to a tree branch, just clumsy and stupid, Pops.”
Bobby’s voice deepened, his ‘no nonsense’ voice. “Don’t lie to me boy!”
“Bobby….I…..”
“Jo and Sam told us you were scared when Crowley showed up, that you begged
Castiel to leave suddenly. What’s going on?” Ellen’s concerned mother tone,
making him want to apologize for making her worry.
“Sammy and Jo are 11 years old, Momma. I was just caught off guard, is all”
“Castiel said the same thing: that you panicked and wanted him to sneak out the
back door” added Bobby, “Now. You need to tell us what’s going on, why your
face is bruising and what, exactly, kept you in bed for a week last month.”
Closing his eyes, he never expected the tear that squeezed out of the corner,
he inhaled, and
“I love you guys, as much as if you were my blood, probably more. I don’t want
to lie to you but I can’t tell you the truth. Can you understand? Can you…can
you just let me fix it?”
“No, boy. We can’t. You tell me, right now, whatever you’re going through,
would you allow Sammy or Jo to go through it too?”
That thought blew Dean away, made his heart physically hurt. “No” he whispered,
“I would kill the son of a bitch that ever hurt my brother or sister.”
“So, you are being hurt?” Ellen asked softly. “Crowley, he hit you today?”
Dean nodded, ashamed and embarrassed, staring at the floor.
“And he’s hurt you before?” she continued.
Another nod, quiet curses under Bobby’s breathe. “Why didn’t we see it? We
should have noticed, should have protected you.”
“No, Pops! No. This is my fault. I make him mad, he gets jealous, and he’s
insecure. I-I just…”
“Don’t you dare, Dean. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Now, we know
you’ve been dating him for almost 6 months, I won’t believe this just started.
You cannot see him anymore.” Ellen announced.
“Momma, you don’t understand. I can’t break up with him. I tried before, he…he
won’t….”
“It’s over Dean. I’ll tell him myself. You’re 15 damn years old. The choice
isn’t yours anymore.” Bobby demanded. “You understand me, boy? It’s done, it’s
over, he’s lucky as hell I’m not digging out my shotgun.”
“I understand” Dean said, respectively. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t, honey. You don’t need to apologize. Go on up to your room, dinner will
be ready in just a bit. I do need to ask you not to answer his calls or his
texts. We’ll take care of this. Ok?”
The boy agreed, climbed the steps, finding Sammy and Jo in the bedroom.
“Geez, Dean! What happened to your face?” Jo exclaimed.
“Nothing to worry about kiddo. What are you two doing?”
“Playing ‘Slap Jack’. Are you mad we told Momma you were scared?” Sam worried.
“Nah, shrimp. You did the right thing. We shouldn’t keep secrets or lie” he
proclaimed as if giving some kind of life lesson to the younger kids. A lesson
he knew and ignored for months.
 
Bobby and Ellen called Rowena, explained the situation and asked her to ensure
her son didn’t contact Dean again. The woman was defensive, telling them her
son could never have hurt Dean and they should stay out of the way of ‘true
love’. She was no help at all.
Crowley texted Dean that night, the boy wanted to respond. Wanted to explain
why he couldn’t talk to him, as sure as he was about ending the relationship, a
part of him still felt guilty that Crowley may be hurt.
When the man called the next day, Bobby answered. He illuminated Crowley in
very rude terms that he may not see Dean again and why. Crowley attempted to
plead his case, apologize, trying to change Bobby’s mind. He must not have
known how stubborn Bobby was.
Dean’s phone number was changed, his email as well, closed his Facebook account
and filed a restraining order. He didn’t go anywhere alone, Crowley was
completely cut out of his life.
By September, when school started again, he returned to dressing the way he
wanted to, donating all the tight jeans and revealing shirts to charity. He
rode the bus, kept to himself, went back to hiding in the library. Missouri was
happy to see him. Dean still passed Castiel in the hall, both offering a wave
or an awkward smile. Dean was in 10th grade now, Castiel 11th and thankfully,
Crowley’s group of followers had graduated along with him, so the boy wasn’t
harassed.
The day before Fall Break, the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday surrounding
Thanksgiving, Dean skipped the bus, strolling down to the middle school to walk
Jo and Sammy home instead. It was warm for November, Ellen wanted red, orange
and yellow leaves for her centerpiece.
Dean waited, hands in the pocket of his hoodie, when he felt something sharp
stick in his back, just as an arm came around his waist. Crowley’s unmistakable
accent breathing in his ear,
“SShhh, little squirrel. We don’t need to hurt Sam or Jo, do we?”
Sam and Jo. Oh God. “No” Dean whispered, “we can go, wherever you want, we can
leave Sammy and Jo-Jo alone. Ok, Crowley? Alright?”
“Good boy, always such a good boy for me.”
Crowley led him awkwardly to the car, arms remaining around his waist, blade
still poking lightly in his back. Opening the passenger door, “Hop in and
buckle up, baby.”
The boy sat obediently, Crowley rounding the car to slide in to the driver’s
seat, tucking the knife under his left thigh. Dean kept his head down and his
mouth shut. Crowley was on the edge, he was just a step away from losing his
mind completely.
Less than a half hour later, the red Mustang pulled in to a familiar parking
lot. The empty warehouses Crowley’s father owned. The man exited the vehicle,
taking the blade with him, opening Dean’s door to usher him out.
“Remember our first date, baby? Come with me” he offered his free hand and Dean
accepted it, face hot, heart racing, he wasn’t sure what they were doing here
but he didn’t feel good about it.
Crowley led him up the same stairs, to the same roof. No stars this time, gray,
overcast sky with the smell of snow. It was getting colder as the afternoon
progressed, sky darkening so early this time of year.
“I fell in love with you that night, while you watched the stars. The wonder on
your face, your eyes bright, smile genuine. Perfection, Dean. Absolute
perfection. I decided, right then and there, you would be mine and no one
else’s. No one else will ever love you like I do, no one else will ever touch
you.” He sighed, “I’m going to Scotland, to live with my grandparents and
attend university. I can’t take you with me, squirrel. I tried to find a way
and it’s just impossible, you’re 15 and a ward of the state. I can’t just leave
you here either. Can’t leave you here for someone to find, someone to touch.”
Crowley was staring at the knife, twirling the handle around and around in his
hand. Dean picked up on where this was going, the threat he made on the 4th of
July, Samandriel, suicide.
“Crowley. I can wait. I can wait for you. You’ll go to college for what? 4
years? By then I’ll be 19, no one will be able to stop us from being together.
I’ll wait for you.”
Crowley smiled sadly, “You say that now, but someone will find you, squirrel.
They’ll see what I see and want what I want. I can’t live with that. Can’t
accept the idea of you with anyone else.”
The blade cut through is left forearm before he even registered Crowley had
finished talking. Instinctively covering the wound with his right hand and
crying out in pain as he backed away.
Crowley stepping towards him with every retreating movement. “It’s better this
way, Dean. You’ll be safe. You’ll go to sleep and no one else will ever hurt
you again, not even me.”
“Crowley, please. Please don’t…..” his pleading interrupted by another slice,
this time to his right forearm. Dean stumbled, falling back on his rear end as
Crowley continued to slice, over and over, with the razor sharp blade. Dean
curled his butchered arms in to his stomach and leaned forward to protect them.
The cuts moved to his upper arms and shoulders, his body growing colder and
colder, warm blood flowed from the multiple injuries. A last desperate attempt
to get through to the man,
“Crowley…..I….still….love…..you……” barely a whisper, eyelids heavy, struggling
to stay awake.
Crowley was stroking his hair now, his voice far away, “I know you do,
squirrel. I’ll always love you. Rest now, let it all go away.”
His hand wasn’t there anymore, there were no more cuts, he lay in darkness,
realizing he was dying and finding himself unreasonably calm about it. He
thought of Sammy, the puppy dog eyes he gave when he wanted something. Little
Jo, her sassy attitude and blonde pigtails. Ellen, so sweet, so kind and Bobby,
the gruff way he spoke, twinkle in his eye always saying what he couldn’t.
His last thought was about Castiel.
Why would he hear Castiel’s voice, echoing and muffled, calling his name? Using
every last bit of strength, he opened his lids, just a bit, to see the bluest
eyes in existence.
 
Castiel was an angel, calling him home to Heaven, taking him to his mom……
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