Chapter Text
Winchesters
A new family shows up in the neighbourhood, with two boys not far apart in age. The eldest, Dean and his soft-spoken younger brother, Sam, have been to so many schools they lost count after the first dozen. Each time they’ve left because the principal linked them to a fight or a love triangle gone awry (Dean’s fault, usually).
Their caretaker is a gruff mechanic with a temper and a penchant for cheap booze by the name of Bobby. He’s a friend of the family, and decided to step in when their father John started disappearing more often on business trips. Mary, the brothers’ mother passed away when they were both very young. So, technically, without him they’d be on their own most of the time – like the Novaks.
Unfortunately, as good as a guardian as bobby is with his firm beliefs and no-nonsense attitude, he didn’t have time to research the school Sam and Dean begged him to move to before they arrived. It might have helped them fit in a lot better on their first day.
---
There’s a hierarchy, everyone knows, but the Winchesters ignore what the rest of the students do; they just want to slip through unnoticed so they can stay in one place long enough to graduate. Plus they’ve finally found where their half-brother Adam lives, and it would be nice to get to know family that sticks around in one place. As soon as they get into school, they notice everyone else making no eye contact, skittering away like nervous vermin, and basically being dominated by some unknown force.
“What’s up with everyone?” murmurs Dean. “It’s like we’re in a communist country or something.”
Sam pushes his brother. “Just try to be friendly for once. I want to stay here until I graduate at least.”
“Yeah, yeah,” says Dean, waving an arm. “Don’t break any hearts without me seeing, Sammy.” He laughs, going off to buy lunch outside.
It’s the first day and Sam intends to follow his own advice. As he’s sitting down with a tray, he notices a blue-eyed boy eating alone across the cafeteria. Sam decides to smile at him. The boy smiles back and licks his lips, toying with the straw of his soda. Then, he throws it all away, careful to take the soda with him, and sits at Sam’s table. They stare at each other, Sam mostly waiting for him to say something. But his smile just gets wider, and he leans forward.
“You’re new here,” says the boy, biting his lip.
Sam swallows, nodding. “Yeah, me and my brother just moved here during the weekend.”
The boy tilts his head, eyeing Sam with an unreadable gaze. “Nice to meet you. I’m Cas, what’s your name?”
“Sam. Sam Winchester.” He puts out a hand for Castiel, but Castiel uses it to pull him in and plants a surprising kiss on Sam’s mouth.
When Castiel pulls back, he still has his hands fisted in Sam’s hair. “I like you, Sam.” And he moves back in lightning fast for another kiss that makes Sam wonder about why he’s always been chasing after women this whole time. Castiel pushes Sam away to walk around the table and sit on the same side. He shifts close enough to keep kissing Sam, one hand tracing down his spine, and the other gently pulling at Sam’s hair.
I like you, too, Sam thinks, fisting a hand in Castiel’s shirt to drag him in. He’s not very big, but he’s made up of lean muscle. And Sam is surprised by how that information, knowing that Castiel could put up a fight, makes him hard in seconds. He sucks at Castiel’s tongue, and Castiel takes it as permission to go further, climbing onto Sam’s lap. He starts to feel dizzy with want, but notices the gasps and whispers around them and quickly reminds himself that they’re in the cafeteria.
Sam is gentle when he moves Castiel back to the seat and away from his aching groin. “Sorry, um, we can’t do this.” He rushes away to hide what Castiel has done to his body, as Castiel stays there with his lips tingling and his mouth parted, feeling rejected for the first time.
Lucifer and Michael arrive to find Sam storming out of the cafeteria and Castiel sitting alone at a table that he’s not usually at. He’s holding his head in one hand, twirling his straw against the wood table.
Michael’s the first to stalk up to him. “So what happened? You made a move and he turned you down?”
Castiel gapes at Michael, frowning and looking down at his hands where he balls them in his lap. “Maybe.”
“That piece of shit,” says Lucifer. “It’s one thing for you to go around fucking everyone, but it’s another for some loser from outta town to turn down my baby brother.”
“Stop,” Castiel pleads. Michael puts a hand on his shoulder, but Castiel shrugs it off. “I’m going to change for gym.” He glares at Lucifer. “Don’t send your lackey after me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” says Lucifer. But when Castiel is safely through the doors on his way to class, he turns to Michael and tells him, “We need to take care of this one personally.”
*
Dean is playing hooky, checking out the cheerleading squad from the bleachers when Sam comes to meet him. They decided they would arrive and leave together, watch each other’s back, no matter if they’re mad that day or going on a date that night.
It says something that when Sam arrives, his hair is more of a mess than usual. Dean has to pass his hands through it a few times to get it looking somewhat like usual. But as he’s messing it up again, just to hear Sam spluttering over ‘wasted energy’, he notices two boys his age walking up to them from over Sam’s shoulder.
The first one, his teeth bared like some hell-beast, or a dragon about to blow fire, rushes in with his fist poised to punch Sam while he’s not looking. It connects with Dean’s jaw instead, and he pushes Sam aside to block the next swing. Sam scrambles up from the grass and tries to split them apart, but Dean is tearing through the kid’s shirt for the surprise attack he had planned.
“What happened to fair fights? You were just gonna punch my kid brother in the back of the head? You son of a bitch,” spits Dean, ripping through fabric as he clenches his teeth.
“Dean, it’s okay, let’s go before the principal finds us,” says Sam.
The other kid says, “Lucifer, you know what the principal said last time. If he catches you in one more fight, we’re both expelled.”
“Fuck that, Mike,” says Lucifer, “this bastard thought he could make out with Cas then ditch him?”
Dean’s grip slips on Lucifer’s shirt when he hears that, but Michael pulls him away just in time for his swing to miss Dean and Sam by an inch. No one’s jaw is going to be dislocated this time.
Sam’s eyes get wider the longer he looks at Michael, and Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing. “This about some chick you made out with? Already getting tail, Sammy? Attaboy!”
“Castiel isn’t a girl, dumbass,” says Lucifer. He grinds his teeth when Michael pushes in front of him to keep him from fighting.
“Castiel is the youngest and most precious of the Novak family. He’s our younger brother.” Michael steps closer to Dean, looking him in the eye. “You’d do well to stay away from him.”
“Or what?” says Dean, crossing his arms. He doesn’t really give a shit about this Castiel guy, but if he can get back at Lucifer (Jesus, who names their kid that?) and ‘Mike’ for all of this, he’ll say what he thinks is right. Plus maybe Sam really did like the kid, bless him.
“Dean, don’t start,” interjects Sam. “We’ve barely even been here a day.” He pulls at the hem of Dean’s shirt gently. “Let’s just go.”
“Fine, Sammy.” Dean leads the way to the Impala. But he can’t help yelling out, “I’ll be looking forward to meeting Cas at school tomorrow!”
Michael barely catches Lucifer’s arm in time to stop another fight from happening.
*
Castiel spends hours up in his room after school. Usually he would be making plans for a one-night stand, or meeting up with his usual NSA buddies to have sex and make a lot of noise in close proximity to where his brothers are so they get the message. But tonight, after that kiss with Sam, the way he looked almost innocent and shocked that anyone would want him, Castiel needs time to think. Maybe it wasn’t rejection. Maybe it was a misunderstanding and Sam wasn’t ready to come out yet. He’s a new kid in town, and he doesn’t know how things work, and Castiel just jumped him because he was the newest piece of meat around.
Or maybe Sam really wasn’t interested after all.
Castiel has no idea what he should be feeling. But it probably shouldn’t be relief. Sure, he’d been sick of the whole school running in fear, but now they all just let him do what he wants until they get threatened or beat up. But Sam - he has his own mind, and it was going too far or wasn’t what he wanted, so he stopped it. There wasn’t any malice in the action or fear in his eyes; he was just telling Castiel how he felt. And it’s refreshing for someone to be that nice but so honest at the same time.
He needs to find out more about Sam, and maybe his brother while he’s at it.
*
Gabriel comes over for movie night with Lucifer, and Michael watches them joke from the kitchen. There was something different about Sam and Dean Winchester. They hadn’t looked interested in taking advantage of Castiel, and Sam definitely had the chance considering how long it took them to get to the cafeteria.
Gabriel slaps Lucifer on the back and shuffles off to the bathroom.
“I think we won’t need to worry about them,” Michael tells Lucifer. “I think they’ll be true to their word.”
“Don’t be fooled because of rejection. Do you know how many guys Cas has been able to turn gay?” Lucifer scoffs. “One little no doesn’t make them knights in shining armour.”
“I know, but I’m saying that no one else had the guts to even say ‘no’. They just pretended they were busy or said they had girlfriends.” Michael swishes the milk in his cereal bowl with a spoon. “I think we won’t need to watch them that much.”
Gabriel comes bouncing back in the room, plopping down half on top of Lucifer. He smacks his lips together. “What’d I miss? You guys seem awfully serious.”
“Nothing,” they say in unison.
“Okay, I meant the movie. But this seems juicier.” Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “Is it about those new kids?”
“No,” says Michael.
“Yes,” says Lucifer.
Gabriel glances at Michael in the kitchen to Lucifer next to him. “Sorry, Mike. Gonna have to go with my friend Lucy.” He turns his back to Michael, pulling his knees up under him, making the springs in the couch squeak. “Tell me, tell me.”
*
The throbbing in Dean’s jaw doesn’t keep him from stalking towards this “Cas” guy, dragging him away by one of his shirt lapels, out of the cafeteria where everyone’s prying eyes follow their every movement.
He pushes Castiel into an electric blue locker in the hall, holding him there with two bracketing arms. “What the fuck happened with my little brother? Did he hurt your sensitive feelings, so you made him pay for your bruised ego?”
Castiel splutters, and Dean slams him back against the locker using his elbow (with some difficulty; Cas is pretty strong for a little guy). “Did you send your guard dogs after my brother, Cas,” he spits, narrowing his green eyes. “Tell me the truth.”
Castiel slips out of Dean’s hold by crouching underneath his elbows, wiping his shirt. “No, I didn’t. I just do what I want, and they send their lackey to spy on me, and he reports back to them.” The cold look on Dean’s face seems to thaw a bit. Castiel clears his throat. “I’m glad he rejected me, actually. That’s never happened before.”
Dean raises a brow. “Why would no one ever refuse you? Do people in this town not have free will?”
“In a way…” Castiel sighs when Dean begins to laugh. “My family, the Novaks, own a lot of the businesses around here. And my brothers, Lucifer and Michael - I believe you met them-,” Dean frowns, but doesn’t interrupt, “-have always been the bullies of this school because of me and my endeavours.”
“You mean your habit of sleeping around,” says Dean. “Sounds like you screw a lot.” He puts his hands up, placating, when Castiel narrows his eyes. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I get it where I can, too.”
Castiel leans against the lockers, peering down the hall. “I think you should go.”
“There’s no one here,” mutters Dean, challenging Castiel to say what he’s waiting for.
Castiel moves further down the hall, away from Dean. “If Ash sees us, he’s going to think you’re my next target and tell them.”
“Bullshit,” says Dean. He flips up the collar of his leather jacket. “What if I want to bring you to see Sam and explain all this to him?”
“Not possible,” replies Castiel. “Unless you’d like to be in a fight again.”
Dean takes a few steps toward Castiel, blocking him with an outstretched arm when he tries to slide against the lockers. “I don’t buy what you’re selling, dude. If everyone was so scared and got beat up, why does everyone look okay? Why aren’t your brothers expelled?”
Castiel groans when Dean grabs Castiel’s shirt collar to keep him from ducking under his arm. “Because,” grits Castiel, “my parents, as I said –”
Dean moves forward and presses his mouth to Castiel’s, tongue sliding in easy when a startled gasp slips out of him. He shoves Dean back, the blue of his eyes even harder than the force from his palms.
“Why did you do that?” he says, his voice rising in volume with every word. “You saw what they tried to do to Sam, and they didn’t even know him. But you—you…”
“I fought them, and now I’m kissing you.” Dean looks around. “And I don’t see them anywhere.”
“There they are!” calls Ash, pointing from the open cafeteria doors.
Michael and Lucifer rush out, both looking just as shocked as Castiel with his fingers pressed to his lips. Each of them look five seconds away from slicing Dean’s throat, but something about the dark circles underneath Lucifer’s eyes make him seem more murderous. Or maybe it’s in the way he carries himself: like a rogue soldier out to destroy his commanders.
“Run!” urges Castiel, shoving Dean toward the front entrance. “I’ll tell them I did it.”
If Dean’s jaw wasn’t tingly (from the kiss) and slightly sore (from Lucifer’s swing), he would stay and show them what kind of punch he packs. But then again, that could force him and Sam to move to a different town again, and it’s just not worth it. He flees after ruffling Castiel’s dark hair.
Before he goes through the doors, Dean sees Castiel slump against the locker, looking defeated and upset. He sees someone who just wants attention but isn’t getting it where he should; he sees himself in Castiel, and he knows one thing already: he and Sam are meant to spend more time with him. Adam will just have to wait a bit longer.
*
As soon as the bell rings, Dean rushes to find Castiel. He couldn’t let the thought go; that maybe Castiel wants to be taken care of, but not the way his brothers care for him. That maybe they’re stifling him, and he’s acting out because it’s the only way he can get out of the cage they keep him in. The only way he could find to not only rebel, but to look for someone who will give him the kind of attention he craves.
The halls are packed with teenagers laughing and slamming locker doors, and Dean spots a kid with dark hair floating through without so much as being shouldered. If that isn’t Castiel, then Dean is in trouble, because he’s following already. He grabs hold of a red backpack, and blue eyes pin him with a smolder until they realize who stopped them.
“Dean,” Castiel says, “you’re not supposed to talk to me anymore.”
“I don’t care about your brothers, man,” says Dean. He smiles at Castiel crookedly. “I know that look in your eyes; you like me. I’ve seen that look from a lot of girls, you know.” He slides a hand to rest on Castiel’s shoulder. “I just don’t get why you’re trying to hide it.”
“Because I like you!” Castiel growls, pushing Dean’s hand away. “I don’t want you to be hurt by them.” He turns to leave, but Dean grabs him by the corner of his shirt. “Let go, Dean.”
“I’m sorry to say, Cas, I’m not into easy rides.” He smirks, combing his hand through the hair at Castiel’s nape. “I like a challenge. And I’m pretty sure Sammy does, too.”
Castiel leans into the touch, his body moving forward when Dean pulls him in with a hand on his waist. “I - Dean--”
But Dean doesn’t wait for the rest of that sentence; he swallows up the squeak of protest, rolling his tongue around a soft purr that makes him shiver down to his toes. He drags Castiel in closer, ignoring the gasps coming from nearby kids who know not to mess with the Novaks. He likes the way Castiel clutches at his leather jacket, his fingers drumming a senseless rhythm down his ribs and across the small of his back. And just as he’s figured out which part of Castiel’s mouth makes him inch forward, trying to climb inside of Dean, someone is yanking Dean out of his bliss, throwing him to the ground.
Everyone scatters like mice; Dean knows who it is.
Lucifer gets to Dean before Michael can even step foot outside of the cafeteria. This time, Dean’s ready and misses the hit that was aimed at his jaw, sending his own fist up from below. Lucifer reels back, dazed, but with one shake of his head, he comes back wilder, both arms swinging. Dean stops the one aimed at his temple, but Lucifer’s left lands its blow. And from the force of it, it’s Lucifer’s dominant hand. Dean feels his ribs creak when the clenched knuckles crash into him. Just then, Michael arrives, but he’s not being a mediator this time; he’s in tuned with Lucifer’s rage, all for giving him support.
Dean, as good of a brawler as he is, isn’t fairly matched against the school’s top fighters at the same time. If he had Sammy with him, he’d have more of a chance of getting in a hit. As it is, his left arm is red from trying to shield – bones crunch under his left eye as Michael catches him off guard, a jab hits his collarbone, and forces him to stumble back – and his right set of knuckles is beginning to protest the collisions with Novaks’ thick skulls. He doesn’t know how much more he can take.
Luckily, Castiel has the guts to slip in, and takes the next slug from Lucifer’s right fist in his stomach. He wobbles but doesn’t keel over like Dean expects. He guesses they must have been rough before all of this doting they’re doing now; he must have gotten used to their hits, seeing as he’s the youngest.
Sam is rushing from down the hall, after gasping like an overdramatic princess – and it must be “Little Brothers Save the Day…Day,” because Sam puts himself in front of Michael, catches his arm, and twists it behind his back, pushing Michael face-first into the locker.
Michael gets free (more like Sam lets him go), but Castiel refuses to unravel his fist from Lucifer’s jacket, even when his older brother tries to pin him against the ground and break his thumb.
The principal’s shoes slap against the linoleum tiles as he strides down the hall. He pushes in between the two brawling families, his hands folded neatly behind his back. They each hold their breath for whatever words he’s going to utter next.
“Dean, you and Sam are expelled. Find a new school!”
Or “Lucifer and Michael, you have been causing too much trouble. Leave the premises permanently.”
But instead – “Castiel, I presume this is your doing again. You are suspended for a week.” Then he strides away just as calmly, not even paying mind to the positions they’re in.
And Dean…sort of feels bad for Castiel, but also decides that he really likes this school. So he’s glad he and Sam don’t have to move away just yet.
*
Dean drives through three red lights before Sam says, “Okay! I get it. I feel bad for him, too. What should we do, then?”
Dean pulls over in front of their house, turns off the ignition, and leaves the keys in. He turns to Sam. “You need to use that puppy-faced charm on Michael and get him to tell us where they live. Castiel is suffocating, and he needs us to give him a way out from under his brothers’ thumb.”
Sam’s brow creases. “Dean, what’s going on? You barely know the guy and you got beat up twice already. Why do you care so much?”
The answer comes out rough and tight lipped. “Why don’t you care, Sammy? I mean for Christ’s sake, it’s like you forgot about all those years Dad had us on a leash, pulling us left and right.”
“No, no, I get that. But – I just feel like he might be manipulating us. Like trying to turn us against each other,” explains Sam, sighing.
“He’s not,” says Dean, gruff.
“How do you—”
“Because I know! Just trust me, goddammit,” snaps Dean, slamming his fist against the steering wheel.
“Okay, all right.” Sam combs his fingers through his bangs. “What’s your plan if Michael won’t tell me?”
Dean chuckles as he parks the car. “You’ll see.”
*
Luckily, Sam’s hit the athletic jackpot with his gangly limbs and recent growth spurt, and has his pick of which sport to sign up for. He follows Michael onto the football field, wearing his most innocent smile as he carries his helmet. “Hey Michael, I hope there’s no hard feelings. I’m sorry about Cas getting suspended.”
Michael doesn’t face Sam to speak. “He’s a big boy. And it’s just a week.”
Sam rubs at his nape. “I feel really bad. My brother is so temperamental sometimes. Would it be okay if I visit Cas at your place to apologize?” Michael peers over his shoulder, and Sam swallows. “I mean just to make sure he knows it’s sincere. We’ve caused a lot of trouble since we arrived.”
“No need,” says Michael. “He needs to contemplate on his actions anyway. “ He pats Sam, slightly robotic. “I appreciate the thought, Winchester.”
Michael rushes away, ignoring as Sam calls, “Are you sure I can’t tell him in person?”
Sam texts Dean after practice: Plan B?
*
Dean parks the Impala in a nearby lane and tells Sam to watch whether Michael takes a bus, taxi, his own car, gets a lift – whatever – because they need to know what to follow.
Sam texts back: He has his own car. A white convertible with the top up. License plate ArcAngl.
It would take a much bigger man than Dean not to laugh. That is the most ridiculous –
Once Sam jumps in the Impala, Dean wipes the tears from his eyes and they’re off on their spying mission.
“He went down that street,” says Sam, pointing to where said convertible is starting to fade into the horizon.
“We can’t lose him,” grumbles Dean, speeding out of the parking lot like he’s in a Keanu Reeves movie.
“This isn’t Speed, Dean. If you get too close, he’ll see us,” says Sam, fingers tapping against his jeans.
“Thanks for the tip,” says Dean, “but last time I checked he didn’t really know what car I drove off to the hospital with when him and his brother tag-teamed me.”
--
Five minutes and increasingly empty streets later, they end up in the suburbs of the suburbs where there’s only one house per mile, if that. They’ve been mostly conspicuous now, but for some reason Michael hasn’t pulled over and confronted them about their stalking.
Sam swears he sees Michael laugh at them when he checks in his rear-view mirror, but then he parks and gets out as if nothing happened. He’s walking up a pristine driveway, and locking the front door behind him.
Dean turns to Sam. “Okay, so I’ll go knock.”
Sam half-shrieks, “What – Dean!”
But Dean’s waving from the front door already, where he gets yanked inside by his leather jacket, and hands that can only belong to someone as calloused as Lucifer.
Sam uses that distraction to circle around the house, and sneak in through a second-floor window he hopes is vacant. After gripping pipes and bricks for dear life, he makes it to a bedroom. Thankfully, when he glances around, he figures out it’s Castiel’s room – which is great because his limbs come in handy for running, but also make it difficult to untangle himself from various articles of clothing and body positions. And of course Castiel’s curtains are filled with decorative holes that catch on Sam’s jeans’ buttons and his belt buckle. He’s still struggling when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder.
“Allow me to help, Sam,” says Castiel, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Otherwise my brothers will wonder who I’ve snuck into my room again.”
Sam begins nodding before he realizes what he’s just heard. “—again?”
“I’ve had a couple brave athletes scale my wall.” He puts out a hand to help Sam stand up. “But I think you’ll probably fair better against my brothers with your build.”
Sam clears his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sure, uh, thanks I guess.” He shuffles his feet from side to side. “Actually, me and Dean came to apologize for the whole suspension thing.” He smiles stiffly.
“Dean is here too?” asks Castiel, wiping dirt from Sam’s shoulder.
Sam steps forward when Castiel takes a polite step out of his personal space. “Yeah, he’s fighting with your brothers so we don’t have long.”
Castiel has to look up to keep his eyes fixed to Sam’s hazel ones as he steps in again. “Long for what--”
The touch, the caress of Sam’s fingers tangling in Castiel’s hair is the only gentle part of the kiss. As soon as Castiel gets with the program, he’s pushing into it with lips and tongue, guiding his hips in to rest against Sam’s. The problem is he keeps walking forward as he does so, and Sam’s hands are somehow fitting underneath Castiel’s shirt, tracing lines down his torso – which is the only piece of fabric that keeps him from falling out the open window he just climbed through. Castiel’s hands grip Sam by his belt loops and he drags him back away from the danger, sucking the next kiss against Sam’s throat since his eyes are open and wide from panic. He leaves a bright, perfectly circular mark right on top of Sam’s Adam’s apple for everyone to see.
They’re both panting when Castiel pulls back to admire his work. “Apology accepted.”
Sam nods in a daze, licking the moisture covering his lips. As he reaches to touch the hickey on his neck, unhappily removing his fingers from Castiel’s skin, Castiel tuts at him and says, “Make sure that stays there for the duration of my punishment.”
It’s more than Sam can promise, but the buzzing in his bottom lip keeps him from pointing out how difficult that would be – unless -“So when should I come back to see you?”
“Send your brother tomorrow, since its more his fault, and you can come again the day after.” He smiles. “I have a lot to discuss with both of you,” says Castiel, sliding his thumb along the seam of his swelling lips. “Right?”
“Sam!” shouts Dean from outside. “Time to go, bro!”
And it might have been an impossibly dangerous leap, but Sam manages not to break any ankles when he lands on all fours in the grass of Castiel’s yard. Then he sprints to the Impala, eager to tell Dean about Castiel.
---
If Castiel didn’t know better, he’d think Michael was secretly working for a ninja clan. He makes it all the way up the stairs at record speed – to check on Castiel and make sure he isn’t debauched – without making a single sound.
He strides up to Castiel, tilts his head one side then the next. “You kissed him didn’t you?”
“Uh-huh,” says Castiel, licking his lips. “He’s good at it, too.”
Michael sighs and looks up at the ceiling dramatically. “You wouldn’t be acting like this if Mom and Dad weren’t abroad.”
Snorting, Castiel says, “Maybe if they didn’t go abroad so much I wouldn’t need to.”
Instead of getting into the reasons why their parents need to work; why it’s important they do their job there, Michael just ruffles Castiel’s hair. “Try to be good, please. You’re supposed to be thinking over your behaviour.”
Castiel wrings his hands together, remembering what he told Sam. They’ll be coming to see him. That may cause a few problems, but at least he can avoid calling others over… “I’ll try, Michael,” he says with a small smile.
*
As Castiel counts the paint bumps on his ceiling for the third time, beginning to feel himself slip into a stupor (or coma where children go to escape the horror of catching their parents in the act), there’s a small knock at his window. Michael must have locked it while Castiel was sleeping, before he left for practice.
Dean presses both hands to the glass, trying to keep his balance as Castiel rushes over. It was hard enough to scale the pipes while his wrists are still aching from Lucifer’s unnecessary, rough pummelling. Okay, maybe Dean deserved it for saying he’s going to have sex with Castiel in every corner of the school once his suspension is over.
When he slides the window open, Castiel sucks in an abrupt lungful of air. “Oh my God, Dean. Are you all right? Do you need me to treat this?”
His face can’t be as bad as last night when Sam forced him down on the toilet seat and stuck bandages everywhere. He touches his cheek to see – “Ouch, fuck. No I’m okay, Cas.” Castiel moves aside but places a hand on Dean’s back to help him climb through the window. “My body works fine, dude. I just got my face roughed up.”
“I can’t believe you came back after what Lucifer did to you.” Castiel reaches for Dean’s jaw where a bruise is blooming. “It will only be worse for you if he finds you here.”
“Yeah, well. It also gives me a reason to miss school today. He knows what he did, and the school can see it.” He slides his fingertips along Castiel’s wooden dresser, then plops down on his bed. “And I get to see you as a reward. I’d say that’s pretty awesome.”
Castiel looks off to the side, but Dean sees the pleased twitch of his lips. “Don’t be silly. You must be in a lot of pain.”
Dean outstretches his hand for him. “Then maybe you should make me feel better.”
It only takes a moment of hesitation before Castiel takes his hand, and he’s pulled in faster than he expects, landing on Dean’s lap. The bed bounces with their weight. “Is this what you had in mind, Dean?”
“I’m pretty sure we’re getting close,” flirts Dean, sliding his hands along Castiel’s spine beneath his shirt. “Can you kiss it better for me?” He can’t help his grin.
Castiel leans in closer, soft breath puffing against the fan of Dean’s lashes. “Close your eyes.”
Dean shuts them, stroking up and down Castiel’s skin. He lets his hands rest in the small of his back. “Now what?” he asks.
Soft kisses land on his face, underneath where bandages cover open cuts, down the side of his jaw along the purpling that seems to hurt less with the gentle attention. Castiel breathes through his nose and it tickles Dean’s ear. “More?” whispers Castiel. “Or are you feeling well enough to reciprocate?”
“Oh, no,” says Dean, tightening his arms around Castiel. “I’m happy to participate. Just thought you got off on running the show.” He kisses the protest about to fall from Castiel’s parting lips.
“I do,” admits Castiel, pushing Dean’s shoulders until he’s flat on his back. He bites into the next kiss, a little wet and open-mouthed, taking Dean’s breath with it. Not that he’s complaining.
Just as Castiel forces Dean’s thighs apart and gets a knee between them, Michael knocks twice and swings the door open. Castiel tries to detach his tongue from the spaces where Dean’s wisdom teeth should be in time to say “I’m indecent” – which wouldn’t be a complete lie considering how Dean is cupping him through his pants.
Michael moans like some Shakespearean parent finding a child in a loving embrace. He scrubs at his forehead, creases seemingly stuck there permanently. “I wish you wouldn’t continue to disappoint me, Castiel,” he says.
Dean wants to defend him, say it was his idea. But Castiel blurts, “Things are different this time. I don’t have the inclination to see other people.”
Taking a step closer, Michael groans when he spots the matching erections. He turns his back to them. “I hope that’s the case, brother. Your happiness is important to us after all.”
Dean clears his throat, pushing Castiel away slightly so he can sit up. “I’m sorry, man. For breaking in and all.”
Michael nods, says, “I’ll be back in ten minutes to help you with your injuries. Lucifer informed me you weren’t at school today.”
---
Even after thinking the most horrendous thoughts, Dean’s hard-on refuses to disappear. Every time he looks over at Castiel, whose brows are creased in mutual distress, Dean’s heart doesn’t just pound, it breaks out in a Broadway show; and pumps blood below his waist, keeping him hard.
By the seventh minute – Castiel is helpfully keeping track – Dean growls and punches himself in the thigh hard enough to burst a vein. Castiel reaches over, saying, “Dean, I can turn on the shower for you if you need it,-” but his hand makes contact with a spot far too close to the source of Dean’s turmoil, and the problem swells all over again.
“I’m gonna--” He jerks a thumb in the direction of a room he hopes is Castiel’s adjoining bathroom. They’re rich enough to afford it, and the house is certainly big enough. He wobbles on his feet, feeling the discomfort between his thighs. When he tugs the door open and finds a walk-in closet almost as large as Castiel’s bedroom, he turns back to Castiel in disbelief. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Castiel’s barely holding in a snicker, his eyes downcast. “Turn left when you exit my bedroom.”
Dean murmurs a mix of thanks and go fuck yourself. He strides over to the door, but as he turns the knob, Michael grabs it from the other side and throws it open – right into Dean’s unsuspecting, already assaulted face. He falls backwards with the whisper of Timberrr ringing mockingly in his ears.
---
Dean feels a damp hand slap him once gently, then again harder when he doesn’t regain consciousness quick enough. He jolts up at that, and smashes his forehead into Michael’s face. A thin stream of blood leaks out of Michael’s nose while Dean tries not to say sweet, delicious payback under his breath. Michael’s a good sport about it at least.
He whips a rag at Dean, sure, but he also dabs disinfectant on Dean’s face, the kind that the Winchester household would never afford carry in their cabinet. Castiel hangs back, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom with his elbows against the wood. He wiggles his fingers at Dean when their eyes meet, his head tilted to the side.
Dean grunts out, “You’re making my life hard. I hope you know, Cas.”
Michael forces Dean to look straight ahead with a nudge to his jaw. “I’m only tolerating your presence because of Castiel’s prolonged interest in you.”
Dean hisses, pulling away when Michael dabs alcohol against the cuts next. “This is tolerating? I think I have more injuries now than when I got here.”
“So do I,” says Michael deadpan, smiling without humour. “Anyway, he seems to like you and your brother. So I expect you to treat him with respect, and not have sex in public facilities--”
Nodding, Dean interrupts with, “Sure--”
“—and only when he turns eighteen,” finishes Michael.
“Hey,” protests Castiel, balling up his fists. “I’ve slept with others already, what’s the difference with them?”
“The quality,” says Michael, glancing at Castiel briefly. There’s no reply. This time, the smile Michael wears as he continues his treatment is genuine; Dean has to look away to keep from grinning back.
---
After Michael taps Dean on the shoulder and leaves, smiling at him like he admires him (or keeping some secret), Dean asks, “What was that about?”
“Michael…” Castiel’s nails scratch against his scalp, making his hair an even messier tangle of dark strands. “-prides himself on reading people.”
“So what? He approves of me and Sam? Or just me?” Dean slides against the door with his back, and plops down on the carpet, shaking his head. “And I thought my family was messed up.”
Castiel sits on the edge of his bed, inching close enough to nudge Dean’s shoe with his socked foot. “I still like you, Dean.”
“I sure hope so after the state of my beautiful face,” he teases, winking.
“I’m serious,” says Castiel. “But I also have feelings for Sam. And I don’t want to cause friction between you and your brother.” He frowns as he adds, “Maybe I should just remain a friend.”
Dean shakily gets up, and places both hands on Castiel’s knees to keep himself steady. “Hey, hey--” He tilts Castiel’s face up to make eye contact. “Me and Sam aren’t like other siblings. We know how to share. I’m sure he’d rather us both have you then watch you go out with another douche at school.”
The blue of Castiel’s eyes shines through a layer of moisture he holds back. “Are you certain--”
“Cas! I practically raised Sammy.” He traces the side of Castiel’s face with a thumb. “Besides, the reason I convinced him to come apologize the other day was so I wouldn’t have to see this depressing look on your face.”
Nodding, Castiel smiles and shifts forward for a kiss. Dean’s nearly reached him when Michael says through the door: “Lucifer will be returning soon. I suggest you leave now since he’s not as forgiving as me.”
*
After school, each Winchester is given a few hours with Castiel.
Sam, although arriving with studies and the goal of getting to know Castiel in mind, often ends up on his back with Castiel using him as a human catnip post. He ruts as if his world has shrunk down to nothing but imperfect, sinful release. Sam barely ever gets a chance to be soft and caring like he’s been taught to treat girls – not that Castiel is a girl in any way. Castiel is lean and on the small side, but he flips Sam with a fluidity that could render ninjas obsolete. He tears at Sam’s t-shirts and almost destroys his zippers beyond repair with his hunger for physical contact.
Castiel tells Sam, “You’re so cruel today, Sam. Every time you put your hands in my hair, I imagine us back at school with you tugging and then slamming me against a locker.”
Sam tries to calm Castiel; to settle his fire with gentle promises of an eternity he and Dean are entirely willing to commit to, but Castiel is nothing if not a Novak. He is fierce. He growls and comes whether Sam is ready to follow or not, dragging Sam along by the skin of his teeth, dangerously quick and practiced.
Afterwards, Sam lies spent, his pants open and his length softening in a pool of his come, breathing harder than if he ran a marathon. After the third time this happens, he realizes there’s no point trying to be delicate and nice; Castiel always gets his way. And Sam kind of likes it.
---
However macho Dean appears, he spends his first secret visit trying to coax information that both he and Sam want to know, in between wet kisses. Castiel grumbles out a response each time: yes, no, I like hamburgers. But it’s never quite detailed enough for floppy-haired, puppy Sam who likes to know exactly how to keep people happy.
Eventually, when Castiel’s tired of being questioned like a suspect, he wraps himself around Dean and grinds against him. He bites each whispered, unfinished question directly from Dean’s throat, leaving a trail of red marks that spell out “SCD”. (And they both ignore how grateful they are that Castiel’s name doesn’t start with a T.)
The difference with Dean is he doesn’t keep struggling like Sam does; desperate to learn about more than Castiel’s body. Dean gives in, wholeheartedly, leaving all of his worries behind. Dean rolls them over, pins Castiel against his own bed, sucking blood to the surface of his chest, between his thighs; leaves him slick with saliva and kisses, but never, ever crosses into territory that could get his privileges taken away. With only his hands, he pulls every ounce of fight and need Castiel has out of him, and leaves him a boneless wreck across soiled, sticky sheets.
There are still some things Dean is waiting to take, but it doesn’t keep him from wrapping a hand around his length and stroking until he leaves an abstract mess for Castiel to clean off his body. It may or may not be a mark of ownership. He doesn’t like to admit he’s a possessive bastard, but Sam would be the first to remind him that he is.
*
Then Castiel is back in school, and their lives become a challenge in acting.
At school, Sam and Dean pass by Castiel as if he’s invisible, caught up in their conversations about the Impala and the newest supernatural phenomenon that’s being ignored by general population – only when Lucifer (or lackey-Ash) is in the vicinity. Otherwise, Michael turns a blind eye as Dean presses a hand to the small of Castiel’s back, or when Sam trails his fingers along the nape of Castiel’s neck, kissing him sweetly at the corner of chapped lips.
Some students react, especially the ones who’ve been pummeled in the past. But Adam, top competition for Castiel’s brothers in the athletics department, laughs at Dean and Sam’s displays of affection, openly mocking them. They’ve yet to spend the quality time with him that they mean to, so their relationship is still a bit…bumpy.
*
One day, where Lucifer’s being more suspicious than usual, stalking them down every corridor and pulling Castiel to his side when he strays too far, the Winchesters pay Castiel a special visit. They wait until the evening while Lucifer’s out, and then they knock at the front door.
---
In a stormy mood, Castiel pushes through the house, rushes upstairs to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He throws his knapsack across the room, and crashes down face first on his bed like the unhappy teenager that he is. The soft rap of knuckles on his door makes Castiel grind his teeth.
“What?” he barks, biting into his white pillowcase.
Michael clears his throat. “I expect you to thank me later.”
Castiel waits for more, but all that comes is the sound of footsteps going away, and then different ones drawing closer.
Sam appears in the doorway first, and Dean leans over from behind him. He shoves Sam to the side by his head. “Jesus, did you grow again? I bet he couldn’t even see that I was with you.”
“Shut up, jerk.”
“Bitch,” says Dean, grinning up at his baby brother.
“You guys are here,” utters Castiel in shock, his eyes darting back and forth as they bicker. “You never come at the same time.”
Sam puts down his bag and makes room for Dean to trail in behind him. “We asked Michael.”
“He said yes, obviously,” continues Dean. “You know how his eyes get when he sees me.” Dean shivers. “It’s kind of creepy, actually. Tell him to stop.”
“Shut up, Dean!” whisper-shouts Sam. “He could be listening through the door.”
Castiel is still too taken aback to correct them or ask more questions about what’s going on. He does manage a breathless, “I missed you.” And he hopes they understand that he means the both of them.
“So did we,” says Sam. He sits on Castiel’s right.
Dean sits on the left. “We’re here to make it up to you.” He leans in. “What’re you up for, stud?”
Sam’s hand slowly rubs circles into Castiel’s back as he thinks. He hums, and Dean moves closer to leave a pattern of kisses down his neck. They expect him to ask for specifics, maybe take charge and have them both sweating and panting and drowsy like he usually does. But Castiel places a hand on each of their thighs and tells them, “Whatever you want.”
Then, Castiel lies on his back silently, looking up at them both with a subtle smile. “Well?” he prompts.
Dean peers over at Sam, who kneels down on the floor, already removing each of Castiel’s socks. Dean carefully unties the knot of his jogging pants, and Sam tugs until they slide off and land on the carpet next to the socks. They consider leaving his shirt on (Castiel knows because Dean mouths it and Sam mouths back but you’re going to make a mess, and Dean laughs like some James Bond villain), but Dean yanks it off without the same careful attitude his brother has. All Castiel is left with are his briefs.
Two pairs of light eyes stare down at him with the same mixture of fondness and arousal, and Castiel whimpers in anticipation.
The sight of them completely taken in by Castiel has him breathing hard. His body feels coiled like a spring, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Sam climbs back on the bed and presses his large palm in the centre of Castiel’s chest. “We’re going slow today,” he says, soothing.
Dean nods, but his fingers travel down past Castiel’s navel, circling and circling, pinching at the sensitive flesh on bony hips. “Well, maybe not me.”
“Dean!” scolds Sam. “We have to make this mean something.” His hand moves up to cup Castiel’s cheek, turning his face to the side. “Just relax.”
And Castiel closes his eyes; feels them surround him like twin blankets. They breathe as hard as he does when they peel his briefs down and bare him completely. For long moments, the rush of their exhales hits Castiel’s burning skin, but they say nothing. Maybe trying to convey messages with their eyes he can’t see.
The moment he starts to calm down, they teach him the true form of sensuality.
A mouth latches on to his neck, along chin and shoulder, bathing him in with moist caresses. Hands, meanwhile, follow paths of veins and muscles, starting from collarbone and down chest and stomach. His skin flushes, he knows, because Sam tells him. Dean chuckles in the most innocent way Castiel has ever heard, but his hand grips him with unfaltering precision, drawing out soft wisps of air and half-words as he hardens. Castiel’s lungs grow and squeeze in his chest; he writhes like waves climbing against sand; and he whimpers when lips move with urgency, drowning him in wishes and sounds that mirror his own.
The cotton of their briefs presses against his skin, and he shivers with delight, knowing they haven’t bothered to undress yet. Probably haven’t even touched themselves. He untangles his fingers from blanket and sheet to reach for them, and they allow him to touch hair and hands. And the swell of lips with his shaking fingers. Anywhere else is off limits, and Dean is the first to draw the roaming touch away. Sam, on the other hand, whines for the touch to persist, but holds back because when Dean tells him, “Don’t get too excited, Sammy.”
The overwhelming shower of affection has Castiel aching for an end, but they won’t let him find that singular moment just yet. Sam sucks at abdomen, kisses his perked nipples, and grazes his teeth along undulating ribs. Dean laughs between Castiel’s legs, lapping up the evidence of their seamless teamwork, tasting salt and sweat behind knees, gnawing on whatever he pleases. They take turns kissing him, their hands mingling between his legs on and off – shifting from his erection to the heat inside, spreading the muscles wide, stretching him and teasing a spot that makes him buck like a wild stead. He nearly shouts when they find a cohesive rhythm; when they tap into a shared movement, twisting and touching, breaching him with damp fingers and tongues that have somehow found their way to his entrance without his knowledge.
But this isn’t fair, Castiel attempts to whine.
He’s the one who consumes people and, for it, burns all the brighter. He’s the one who traps prey in his web, consuming them whole and alive; finding each button to press to make them scream, on the brink of crying. He’s the one who spent all his time here and there, flirting and learning, and getting everything right. But not this time; this time the Winchesters are getting everything right. His flame falters, waving in a breeze, struggling against their combined blaze. They’re almost competing to see which one of them, at which moment, with which tug or suck or bite or tease, will have him screaming single-syllable names in his ecstasy.
Castiel digs his nails into their flesh, pulling at hair, scraping and dragging them in. The first mouth he attacks leaves them both panting. The second one disconnects with a smack of lips and sultry laughter. He knows which is which, and he loves it. He hasn’t needed to open his eyes once.
“You can look now,” rumbles Dean when Castiel’s whimpers get louder.
Sam’s chewing on his lip when Castiel does. Dean’s mouth is swollen from –
It’s a mistake for Castiel to look down. They both have tented pants; unattended arousals; engorged flesh that Castiel can almost picture dripping against his lips. But worst of all is their blotchy, red faces, the scratches and marks he’s left on them, the wind-swept hairstyles he’s styled them with. They’re a mess but they’re happy with it. Because it means something.
Castiel arches off his bed, digging his nails into their palms when he finds them. And when he explodes, it’s to the feel of soft kisses catching every drop to make sure he stays clean this time. Not that the bed sheets won’t need changing anyhow.
Collapsing back on the bed, Castiel stretches out, feline-like. They join him on either side.
“How was it?” asks Sam, holding Castiel’s hand. He twines their fingers.
Castiel hums, blinking his answer in Morse code. Sam doesn’t get it. “Great,” breathes Castiel instead.
Dean leans on an elbow, toying with the skin above Castiel’s navel. He pinches. “Have any energy to go another round?”
Tilting his head, Castiel licks his lips. He can’t see much save for the freckles across Dean’s nose. So, he scoots back and bangs his head against Sam’s forehead. “Give me a few minutes,” he groans.
Sam chuckles behind Castiel, bringing his hand up to his mouth to kiss. Dean fist pumps and wiggles closer to fit his hips against Castiel’s.
It’s minutes or hours, or a brief moment, but Castiel is floating above himself, in his room, when he notices that there are eyes staring at him from his doorway. As well as a pair of hands holding said eyes back, screaming a word over and over, and over…
“Run!” shouts Michael, grappling to keep Lucifer from pouncing in the bed and tearing them all into bite-sized cubes of human beings.
It’s a mystery how the Winchesters leap and throw themselves out of Castiel’s window like stuntmen, but he’s too soggy and blissed out to cheer for them. He barely remembers to slip back into his body instead of watching everything like an outside party. But when he does, those eyes are much scarier.
“They are dead,” spits Lucifer. “Fuckin’ dead.”
Michael is thrown back and Lucifer stomps down the stairs and out the door. Castiel’s too in shock to remember that he’s not wearing clothes and that his cock is uncomfortably sticky with evidence.
“Put some clothes on, Castiel. We need to go after him,” says Michael, rubbing at the back of his head.
An apology almost slips from his tongue until he remembers that he’s not sorry for what he’s done. Not this time.
*
Lucifer drives Castiel to school personally, and walks him down the hall by his neck –like some deranged prison guard. Castiel tries to wrestle his way out of Lucifer’s grip, but gets a backhand for his troubles. When Michael says, “Aren’t you being too hard on him?” Lucifer laughs and punches Michael in the mouth.
Every person previously in the hall rushes away and into classrooms.
The Winchesters avert their eyes after hearing from Chuck how violent Lucifer becomes when lied to. Lucifer taunts them with petty slaps, and even trips Dean as he crosses him in the hall.
Castiel twists his way out of Lucifer’s grasp by biting his wrist, rushing over to check on the brothers. He touches their faces; Sam moves his hand away as if disgusted, and Dean jerks from the touch. They walk away from him as if nothing has happened.
And Castiel can’t help but call after them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, come back. I’ll fix this, I’ll fix everything--”
“No, Cas,” interrupts Lucifer. “They know what a bad idea that is.” He grabs Castiel by the neck again, and pushes him into his next class. Not a soul bothers to speak up in Castiel’s defense.
*
Dean slams his fist against Lucifer’s locker until he makes a dent with his knuckles. Sam finds him sweating with tears along the bones of his hands. Sam throws himself toward Dean, stopping the next swing with his palm. While Dean’s catching his breath, Sam drops his knapsack on the ground and rips it open, taking out some tissues to wrap his brother’s hand with.
Dean hisses, “Stop. I don’t need it. Just go wait in the lot.” He pushes Sam’s hand away.
And Sam bites back the argument they would usually have, because that’s what Dean does when he’s frustrated: starts a useless fight. He nods and goes outside quietly and without a fuss.
*
The next day, they ignore Castiel again, refusing to even wave at him. People like Crowley, of all the soul-less devils roaming the halls, pat Castiel on the back and tell him to cheer up.
When Castiel comes across Meg, she says, “I can suck you off at 3pm if you want, honey.” She pets his cheek. “It’s the least I can do if it means you get back to your usual slutty goodness.”
“No thank you,” murmurs Castiel. He pulls tighter on his bag straps, and pretends not to see Sam across the lot getting into the Impala.
Lucifer pulls up just when he’s about to go over there to scream at them, and swings the passenger door open. “Proud of you, bro. You said no to three propositions today.”
“Yippee,” grumbles Castiel, shoving in earphones as Lucifer drives off.
*
Sam watches Dean pace across their living room. “You’re getting too worked up.”
“Shut up, Sammy. Just – let me think,” snaps Dean.
Picking up the plates from their supper, Sam heads into the kitchen. As he passes, he says, “If we get involved with Castiel again, he’ll probably be expelled. You know that.” He washes water fill the sink, remembering why they moved here in the first place. “We should try to smooth things out with Adam. I’m pretty sure he still resents us for hogging all of John’s time.”
“Fuck!” shouts Dean, tripping over a beer bottle Bobby left overnight.
Sam peeks from the kitchen. “Dean?”
Dean kicks the living room table over, swearing up a tornado of anger. He storms out of the house with his keys and jacket. Sam walks into the living room, sliding a hand down his face when he sees the mess. Bobby’s going to be so mad at them. When Sam walks back into the kitchen to turn off the water, he sees Dean from the window, driving away in the Impala. The dishes clatter in the sink as Sam rushes after him.
*
Adam leans against Castiel’s locker with a knowing grin. Castiel avoids looking him in the eye, focusing instead on getting his lock open. But Adam moves closer to him, blocking the view.
Whispering, he tells Castiel, “I heard about your brother putting you on a short leash.” He tips his head, twirling fingers in Castiel’s hair. “I’m not afraid of him, Cas. I won’t ditch you like those Winchesters did.”
Castiel nearly shivers at the soft touch of knuckles rasping against his cheek. It feels so good to be wanted again; he’d almost forgotten what drew him to the Winchesters. The courage, the desire, the will to do whatever it takes to be with Castiel – even face his brothers.
Pressing closer, Castiel nuzzles the side of Adam’s face, just breathing. “And this isn’t some ploy to get Michael angry?” Not that it matters either way. They’d both get what they wanted in the end.
“Of course not,” grunts Adam as Castiel reaches for his zipper. “I’d be an idiot not to want you.”
Castiel will take that answer, whether it’s real or not.
---
Adam is thin, almost narrower than Castiel, but he has no problem heaving his weight up against the lockers in the men’s changing room. Just like that, with Castiel’s ankles locked above the swell of his ass, Adam pounds into him. Each thrust is more brutal than the last.
There’s something about Adam that feels familiar, maybe the shade of his eyes; the green sparkle to them –
Castiel feels his eyes tingle with tears that he refuses to shed, scratching the locker doors instead of Adam’s unmarred skin. Adam’s not his; he won’t belong to Castiel the way the brothers did. This isn’t the person he wants to be with, but he’s the only one Castiel can get, and he reminds him of them in the huff of his breath and the confidence in his hips.
Availability is the only part of Castiel’s survival instinct that matters right now.
Their musk fills the air. They bask in it, breathing heavy and feeding it more. Castiel sucks the bitter taste of it into his lungs, aching for the toned body pressed to his to be someone else. But he’s so close, so close now, that he can practically taste the flesh pulsing inside of him if he concentrates hard enough. And maybe that’s why he doesn’t hear the door when it’s thrown open.
The crack of bone colliding wakes Castiel up, though. Adam falls out of him, and down on the cold tiles. The hands dragging him away, harsh and unrelenting, don’t belong to Lucifer or Dean, but Michael. His dark hair frames the hard jut of his jaw, the tightness in his face that he’s no longer restraining.
This is it, Castiel thinks, not able to move and save Adam from the oncoming torrent.
Michael screams, lunging for Adam, “You think because I’m the athlete, the so-called genius, that I’ll let you treat my brother like some trophy?” Adam covers his face, but Michael throws a combination of two kicks and a punch to his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. He drops to his knees like a string-less puppet. “You think it’s all right to get in between people who actually care for one another?”
Castiel’s too frightened of the look on Michael’s face, the evident twist of betrayal, to step in and stop this fight. Michael jabs Adam in the throat, making him heave with a shortness of breath and pain. “You think it’s okay that a prick like you took my brother when he was most vulnerable?” snarls Michael, dragging Adam to his feet.
“You piece of shit, I hope you die!” shouts Michael, letting loose a flurry of punches and kicks until Adam’s face is nearly unrecognizable. He stops struggling; his hands fall away from his face. Then, Adam stops moving altogether.
“Michael! What did you do?” Castiel grabs his brother and shakes him. “You went too far. W-why did you do this? Why?”
Cracking his knuckles, Michael says, “Go find the Winchesters, Cas.” He ruffles Castiel’s hair, the look on his face softening. “They’re who you belong with.”
*
It takes two days (of bickering with Dean) for Sam to notice something is off at school. The next day, he approaches Chuck in the cafeteria to find out why.
“Why does everyone seem less flustered and scared?” he asks, putting down his tray of food.
“Didn’t you hear? The Novaks moved when Michael got expelled for nearly beating Adam Milligan to death.” He bites into his peanut butter and jam sandwich. “Good riddance, if you ask me.”
Sam stares down at his feet. Adam? Their half-brother. The reason they moved to this messed up school in the first place. They should have spoken to him as soon as they arrived; should have asked Bobby for advice on how to mend things. Their family is just breaking more and more apart, and now Adam won’t ever forgive them for letting Castiel’s family nearly kill him.
Chuck coughs on his sandwich. “I mean for the brothers. Not Cas. He was cool.”
“Why did Michael beat up Adam?” Sam forces himself to say. He has an idea of why, but he hopes he’s wrong. As much as he’d like to see Adam as part of them, Castiel seems to belong more. And if he took him from them--
“Apart from the whole rivals thing? He was screwing Cas up against a locker.” Chuck shakes his head. “It’s so unsanitary in there. One time, I caught a dude shaving his pubes after swimming class. Gross.”
Sam laughs numbly, nodding to keep Chuck at ease. “Thanks, Chuck.” He gets up and throws his tray away. No chance of Adam being family after this.
“Where are you going?” calls Chuck.
“To tell my brother,” says Sam, trying to keep his words neutral. “Later.”
*
“Dean,” says Sam, breathing heavy as he runs around their home. He stops for a second, and Dean tumbles out of the bathroom with his pants around his knees. “Jesus, Dean. How did you even find that much alcohol?”
“It’s my birthday today,” he slurs back. “Bobby let me see his secret stash before he went to work.” He picks up one of the bottles of rum and gulps down more than he can swallow. “I may have taken more than I said I would.” He laughs, bending to pull his jeans up. “Too bad Cas isn’t around to share it with.”
“That’s what--” Sam slaps Dean’s vomit-smelling hand away, guiding him downstairs. “That’s what I came to tell you. Cas and his family moved, they changed schools.”
“Yeah, well, I would too if I just let Adam put his junk in me,” grumbles Dean, forcing a smile when Sam’s face drops. “Oh, shut up about family. Adam’s a dick, and Cas let a dick…put his dick in him! Before us!”
“I know,” agrees Sam. “But why do you know?”
“’Cause Chuck spreads rumours around faster than Crowley replaces his wardrobe,” says Dean, falling in a tangle of limbs on the living room sofa.
Sam pushes his hands into his jean pockets. “Cas thought we didn’t like him anymore. I overheard Lucifer telling him that.”
Dean chokes on his next gulp of rum. “So it wasn’t payback?” he says to one of the three Sams. “He’s just attracted to our family genes?”
Sam shrugs a shoulder, and he plops down next to Dean. It makes the rum slosh around Dean’s bottle, and spill onto his lap. When Dean leans down to clean it, he hits his forehead on their table, knocked out cold. Sam wouldn’t believe it if he didn’t see it for himself.
He tries to shake Dean awake, but he’s snoring louder than Sam can shout, “Let’s go find him!”
The neighbours surely heard it, though.
*
Lucifer is “Luke” in the new school; Castiel has to tell people his name is just “Cas” (even if it makes his skin crawl for complete strangers to use such an intimate nickname), and Michael…he has no problems blending in with a name like that.
In this new school, a semi-private school, they’re nobodies. Students don’t whimper as “Luke” walks past them in the hall, and Michael purposely misses passes and catches during football practice. He barely gets into the team with his awkward fumbling.
Neither of them are more than average; not what they used to be. And Castiel still has his baby blues, but he doesn’t have the heart to seduce anyone with them. No one in this school thinks of Castiel as an unobtainable prize because the twins aren’t known for beating the snot out of student body here.
Castiel spends his breaks and lunch hour sitting off to the side. People throw food at his table, but neither Luke nor Michael interfere with the violence they used before. They don’t even sit with Castiel for lunch at this school. Nobody needs to know who they are, or that they’re even related, really. Their parents gave them this last chance to prove themselves before they would all be disowned. If they can’t be good for a year or two, they’re all going to be on the street. A threat like that could make even the toughest guy scamper off with his tail between his legs.
Castiel bites into his tuna fish sandwich, ducking a banana peel that flies at his head. It lands in the cup of pudding he was looking forward to. He sighs, pushing the entire meal away and opening a novel. If he had Sam and Dean, he’d tell his parents to throw him in the street, and his inheritance too, because that’s what needing them does to him. Makes him stupid with his actions; makes him sleep with losers who could never measure of the Winchesters; makes him want to create a brand new family, start anew with them, and do anything he has to so they’ll keep him by their side.
An empty juice box lands next to his book, spraying some apple-flavoured gunk the bottom of the page. Obviously, it’s too late now for him to be with those two.
*
Once or twice per week, Gabriel takes over the Novak household – until Lucifer drags him away to his bedroom (and he’s not heard or seen for a few hours). Castiel figured out months ago that their friendship was more than banter and teasing; Gabriel is always here, even though it’s hours away from their last school. He’s followed and kept in touch. He’s showing that Lucifer matters enough that he’ll travel between school, family, and hobbies to come see him.
But the Winchesters –
Castiel hasn’t heard so much as a peep. Not that his parents or Lucifer gave him much of a chance to leave an address or contact numbers. Overnight, the Novaks packed up and left. His father warned him about his loose behaviour and his sinking grades, then threw away half of Castiel’s possessions. Including a shirt Sam had left for him and a notebook with Dean’s number written in it. Castiel didn’t have time to save most of his things before the cleaning crew swept in like a shitstorm sent to destroy any ounce of happiness he’d salvaged.
So now he’s slunk back into the shadows where no one sees him. No one keeps him. He regrets not telling the Winchesters everything they wanted to know when he had the chance.
*
Dean’s borderline recovered from one of many hangovers, and he’s driving to the next school on their list of locations Castiel might be. They spend hours every day after school – Mary taught them the importance of education – driving to a nearby school, asking students if a new family has arrived; if they’ve seen a blue-eyed boy named Castiel. But they return each night with less hope (and energy) than the previous day.
At least bobby encourages them to continue. If it were John at home, he would be complaining that they’re wasting their time on nonsense when they could be studying or making new friends to replace Castiel. He became a lot less understanding once Mary died.
Before bed, sometimes Bobby will go into Sam’s room and tell him, “I know it’s tough when you don’t see an end in sight, but just keep going. I’m sure he’ll turn up.” Then he shuts the light.
When he sneaks into Dean’s room, Dean says, “I don’t care what you think, I’m going to look again tomorrow evening!”
And Bobby chuckles, replying, “That’s my boy.”
---
Sam pokes the ceiling of the Impala absentmindedly. “Maybe--”
“Don’t say it,” snaps Dean, refusing to take his eyes off the road.
Sam glances over at Dean. “But I didn’t--”
“I know how you think, and no.” He slams down on the brakes when he nearly goes through a red light. “We can’t give up yet. He already thinks we hate him.”
Sam wrings his hands. “But what if he hates us now?”
Dean shrugs a shoulder. “Why would we let that stop us? Isn’t he family?”
Leaning his head against the glass of his window, Sam closes his eyes. “Yeah...”
“Then we’re gonna keep looking,” grits Dean, cutting off the next two cars.
*
Castiel turns the page of a book his history teacher chose – Memoirs of a Geisha – wondering how this geisha could go through so much hardship, and still end up with the man she wanted. He bites into a celery stick, ignoring the bread crusts flying his way as per usual. Someone catches them and throws back before they make contact with his table.
A hand – a large, warm one – lands gently on his shoulder. “Is this seat taken?” asks Sam, smiling.
Castiel stares up at him – he’s even taller when Castiel’s seated – and shakes his head dumbly, his mouth slightly open. Further away, he hears Dean rasp out, “Why would you waste food like this, you dumbass--”
But Michael catches Dean’s arm before his punch hits the student’s face. “Don’t bother, Dean. Castiel is waiting for you.”
Jogging over with a grin, Dean puts down a brown, paper bag, and flips up his collar. “Missed us?” He unpacks a burger with fries, chomping into meat and condiments. “Bet you didn’t think we’d find you.”
Sam bumps Castiel with his shoulder. “But you probably hoped we would.”
Castiel slouches in his chair, mashing around his processed potatoes in his tray. “How are you here? My parents decided so suddenly - I couldn’t…”
“Never underestimate a Winchester, Cas,” says Dean, holding out his burger for Castiel.
As Castiel leans in for a bite, Sam whispers, “We missed you too.”
“Hey, hey!” teases Dean, prodding Sam with a finger. “No chick flick moments or no burger--”
Castiel steals the whole burger and stands, pretending to escape with it. “Oh yeah? I used to be on the track team.”
Grumbling, Dean throws Sam an exasperated look; Sam sighs. “His legs are longer than your whole body. Don’t make me send him after you, Cas.”
“Dean!” whines Sam. “We’re at school,” he says quieter, noticing students beginning to stare.
“So?” Dean points across the cafeteria to where Michael and “Luke” are eating. “They’ve got my back.”
“They?” asks Castiel, sitting back down.
“Watch this--” Dean drags Sam by the wrist to the twins’ table. All Castiel sees is Dean gesturing to himself and his brother, Michael smiling the whole time, and Lucifer seeming increasingly more irritated as it goes on. At the end of their discussion, Lucifer waves a dismissive hand at them while nodding, red in the face. Then, nothing else. He continues glaring as the Winchesters walk back over to Castiel’s table.
“What happened?” Castiel looks at Sam; him being more likely to give a straight answer.
“Dean…reminded Luci- Luke that he doesn’t want you to be unhappy, so he should let you be with us and you won’t be promiscuous anymore.”
“And?” asks Castiel, taking one of Dean’s fries when he’s not looking.
Munching on his burger, Dean says, “He agreed. As long as we keep a low profile.”
“Might be difficult,” mutters Castiel, grabbing five more fries. “We have so much catching up to do.”
Sam blushes all the way to his hairline, and even startles when Castiel gropes at his thigh. Castiel does the same to Dean, and he groans out, “I’m not sharing any more food with you, thief.”
*
Lucifer and Michael spend an evening with their mutual friend, Gabriel. And Dean and Sam finally get to use the front door of Castiel’s home. They try to breathe in the aroma of fine furnishings, the collector’s items, the fridge filled with enough food to sustain a village, but all Castiel allows is a brief tour and a glass of orange juice each. Then he’s ushering them upstairs to his bedroom.
He’s undressed by the time they recover from his shoving and pulling. Both of them missing key elements – like their pants and shoes.
Castiel sits on his bed, his bare legs crossed. “So, how should we do this?”
---
Dean refuses to wait while watching Sam bury himself between Castiel’s thighs. He shifts them around how he wants; legs and hands getting in the way like ill-fitting Tetris blocks. When he’s satisfied, Sam’s on his back with Castiel perched over him, his sweating thighs trembling. Dean strokes the part of him that’s stretched, being forced wider than it was with little, lowly Adam. He presses his thumb there, and Castiel wheezes out his name. Tearing through sheets.
“I want you both,” growls Castiel against the nipple on Sam’s chest he’s taken a shine to in the last five minutes. He nibbled to make it pebble against his tongue. “I need it,” he tells Dean, reaching to spread himself.
It only takes a handful of strokes to Castiel’s length, Sam nibbling on the lobe of his ear, encouraging him to keep going, for Castiel to relax enough to take in Dean, too. The first thrust makes the bed creak in protest; they all wonder if it wouldn’t have been safer on the floor. But Dean’s too impatient, too pleased with where he is, to care about things like danger and pain.
At the first slow brush of two lengths dipping inside of him, Castiel pants and squeezes against the intrusion. They stop immediately, waiting for him to accept what’s coming. This is what he wanted after all; he asked for it. dean brushes his lips against the nape of Castiel’s neck, murmuring, “I know you can do it, champ. Come on, let me in.”
Castiel sighs, his muscles flexing, and Dean goes in with less resistance and more heat surrounding his cock. They take it easy; alternating between them. Sam slides in, then Dean does, and eventually Castiel mewls with one hand gripping Sam’s stomach and the other attached to Dean’s fingers tight on his hip. Again and again, they take their time prying Castiel open, keeping. All of it makes him shake between them, gripping harder as they press inside him deeper on each thrust. When Sam finds that one spot inside Castiel, Dean finds it almost at the exact moment. They are relentless with it; dragging against it every few seconds, setting Castiel’s nerves on fire.
In retaliation, he closes his eyes and squeezes around them, making each thrust a pleasurable torment for all of them. But it’s too much for the first time; they’ve wanted this for so long. Sam cries out after Castiel clutches to him, sucking a mark into his neck, and Dean barely hits fifteen thrusts before his nails dig into Castiel’s thighs, leaving a line of red crescents in his skin. Castiel rolls between them, whimpering as they stroke him until his haze of need floods his vision with white.
They pass out within seconds.
---
Lucifer opens the door to check on Castiel, and gasps when he sees the overwhelming amount of naked limbs tangled on the bed. He rushes downstairs, and runs back up, throwing a shoe at Dean’s head. It belongs to Michael Castiel analyzes, while watching it fly in slow-motion with no intention of changing its course. Sam buries his face in Castiel’s armpit by accident, his tongue darting out against dark, salty hair.
Dean sits up, bouncing the whole bed. “What the fuck, Lucifer?”
“Go do this at your own place! You’re like animals leaving a trail of clothes and spunk everywhere!” Lucifer shouts back. “I’m not touching any of this.” He slams the door when he’s done screeching.
Dean falls back against one of the pillows. “Is he going to kill us after all?”
“Nrghh?” says Sam eloquently, gnawing on Castiel’s bicep.
Castiel wiggles, pinching Sam’s cheek. He turns his face toward Dean. “That means he approves of you.”
“Does it, though?” asks Dean, “’Cause I swear he would have thrown a knife if it were closer than a shoe.”
Tilting his head to one side, Castiel scratches his chin. “…Maybe.” He laughs when that draws Sam out of hiding, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He looks like a wet mutt. “I’m kidding,” Castiel says, pushing Sam’s hair away from his eyes.
“Better be,” grumbles Dean. “I’m not going to drive two hours every day to maybe have a chance to be with you.”
It dawns on him then how much the Winchesters appreciate him, and how stupid it was to look elsewhere for this kind of love. He closes his eyes, sighing happily as he pulls them both in to feel skin on skin – regardless of how sticky it is. Castiel tells them in a whisper, “I promise not to slip out of your reach ever again.” One of them says good and the other laughs, but he can’t tell which response belongs to which brother, and in the end it doesn’t matter.