Castiel

Deep breaths.

Calm his heartbeat.

This was for the best.

This is what needs to happen.

Castiel was hovering on the porch outside his childhood home, trying to keep cool. He had called his parents and told them something had happened with Gabe, and that they needed to talk about it ASAP. No, Gabe would not be present. 

The courage to unlock the door and step inside seemed out of his reach, but he took a final deep breath, and pushed the door open.

His mother was hovering in the hallway joining the foyer from the living room, a concerned look in her eyes, wringing her hands anxiously. Saying the word "Gabe" and "trouble" in the same sentence was bound to cause a reaction. Ever since the truth about what Luci did to him, to all of them, Gabe's name has been underlined in red fo potential issues. They knew how fucked up the sexual abuse made him. But they never talked about it. Gabe would get angry and closed off when anyone mentioned it, and the topic would be dropped abruptly. Anna, Raphael, Castiel, and Michael never spoke of it either. Yes, it probably would have helped, but it was such a deep, personal attack that made it impossible to approach objectively. Therapy was difficult; the Novaks weren't exactly rolling in it, and the whole family, 7 total, needed it. Cas's pit stops in emergency rooms and hospitals took a big chunk out of their finances, and since the other siblings were quiet about it, things were left as is. Cas felt huge guilt over it. He was almost directly responsible for his siblings not getting help, and he couldn't bear it. He had to hope they weren't resentful, but nobody ever fucking talks about their feelings in that house, so he might never know.

"Castiel," his mother greeted him, smiling thinly. "It's good to see you again. I--"

Before she could get out another word, Castiel ran down the hallway and threw himself onto his mother, hugging her as tightly as he could. She returned the hug with just as much strength, and Castiel had to resist the urge to start crying right there.

"Oh, Castiel," his mother whispered, her voice breaking ever so slightly. "Tell me what's wrong."

Castiel pulls back, looking his mother in her tear-filled eyes, unable to speak. How could he ever say those words again? He hasn't said the word "rape" since he saw Gabe doing it to Sam, and the last time before that was 4 years ago when he finally broke down and confessed to, not just the abuse, but to everything: the cutting, the depression, the suicidal thoughts, his eating disorder, every secret he had rolling from his mouth after his mother asked him if Gabe had been raping him too. That was a very, very dark night for the Novak family.

His mother led him down the hallway and took a seat next to his father, and Castiel sat down across from him on the loveseat facing the couch his parents were perched on. The anxiety and tension in the air was suffocating, and Castiel can't help but remember how he was sat on this same loveseat when he told them about all his inner demons. He feels a strong urge to shut down emotionally like he usually does when faced with a difficult situation, but he's determined to stay present for this. He owes Sam at least his emotions.

He takes a breath, and tries to formulate a way to explain this nicely, but the moment he figures out he can't, the words fly straight out of his mouth:

"Gabriel raped Sam."

Silence. He watched his parents' faces go from confused, to shocked, to horrified, to angry, to tears in the span of 5 seconds, and Castiel feels his own eyes well with tears. He screws his eyes shut and tries not to succumb to the cries wanting to rip their way out of his throat.

His dad swallows, blinks, and clears his throat. "How do you know?" he asks. "Did you...see it? Do you know for sure?"

Castiel wants to be annoyed by his father's hesitance to believe this, but having two of your own flesh and blood commit such horrendous acts cannot be dealt with easily. Of course he didn't want to believe it. Who would want to?

Castiel nods, swallowing through the lump in his throat. "Yes. Everything. Dean saw it first and started beating the shit out of him, and then I walked in and I saw...oh God, I saw everything." His voice cracks on the last word, and the utter sorrow and despair that settles over him is almost too much.

His mother is crying silently now, her hands clasped firmly together, whispering, "Not again, not again, please not again...." almost compulsively under her breath.

His father's face takes on a hard look, and Castiel fails to see what emotions lurk under the stone mask he's created. He glances at his wife, for a brief moment allowing sadness through his eyes. He then turns to Castiel, and nods tightly.

"Thank you for telling us, Castiel. We will....we'll deal with it from here." he says, his voice just barely keeping an even tone.

Castiel wants so badly to talk this out with them, but he knows they need some alone time to process this, and as much as he'd like to be, sometimes some decisions didn't include him. He smiles thinly, and gets up to leave. His mother and father both stand to hug him, holding him as if it were the last time. Castiel hugs back, and the two stay like that for awhile. Then, Castiel disengages, and leaves the house.

Dean is waiting in the Impala outside. Cas climbs in, and they both sit silently for a bit. Cas's emotions have left him, he can't handle feeling anything more today. His dead eyes stare at a spot on the dash, and Dean wordlessly takes his hand and squeezes it reassuringly. Cas's fingers twitch in response, but stay limp for the most part.

The two drive back to the dorm in silence, and Cas wishes ever so desperately to feel happy again.

***

Samuel

Sam looks at the contacts page on his phone, staring at the number listed under "Gabe <3".

He could call him. Text him. Tell him he's sorry for what happened. That they could get back together, and no one would know. 

Sam's stomach is twisted in knots, and he hates himself for still loving Gabriel. No matter how horrible he felt about being...hurt...(he still can't say that word), he still loved Gabe with all his being, and he doesn't know why. Maybe it's because he was still in love with how things used to be. Tender kisses, fingers carding through his hair, whispered "I love you"s when things were rough, everything that was beautiful about them he still missed. If it wasn't for his goddamn inability to feel sexual attraction, maybe it would have stayed that way. If he wasn't so stupid and broken things would have ended better.

Somehow, he's not mad at Dean for forcing them apart. He feels like he should be, considering how he effectively put everything to an end, but he's more overcome with gratitude that Dean stopped that situation. That he rescued him from Gabe. As much as Sam loves him, he never wanted to be a part of that. 

All the thoughts and emotions swirling in his head made him stomach hurt more, and he feels the itch to cut again. The urge was coming more frequently and intensely now, and it was getting harder and harder to resist the temptation. All the muddled anger and depression in his heart could so easily be released with a few strokes of the blade. But his desperate need to never go back to how things were in middle school has been prevailing so far. 

Sam turned his phone off suddenly and threw it onto the bed as if it were on fire. Even though he loves Gabe, he needs to face the reality that he wasn't good for him, and didn't have his best interests in mind. He gets up and starts to pace, trying to burn off some of that nervous energy and avoid hurting himself. He needs to cut, burn, scratch, something to make this go away, but he knows that if he gives in, it will only get easier to cave to the urge from there.

The door to the dorm creaks open, and Sam jumps in surprise, as if caught in the act of thinking about the crime.

A very tired-looking Castiel and a concerned Dean enter the room, and his brother greets him with a weak smile. Cas stumbles off to his bedroom, and the heavy squeak of a mattress is heard as he flops onto his bed. Dean casts a worried glance in his direction, but directs his attention back to Sam.

"How did it go?" Sam asks quietly. Stupid question.

Dean tries to laugh it off, but fails. "You know just about as much as I do. He wasn't in there for long, but he didn't say anything at all on the drive home. I think he's shutting down a bit, he hasn't even focused his eyes once on anything."

Sam nods sympathetically. Sometimes, when he was in his depressive episodes, he would do an emotional shutdown until he could find a way to cope. Usually a self-destructive way of coping, but coping nonetheless.

Dean takes a few heavy steps toward Sam, and settles onto the bed he was standing next to, staring blankly at the wall. Sam could tell a lot of things were on his mind, and he wishes he knew how to help. Dean had always watched out for him when they were growing up, but one of his greatest regrets is not being able to help Dean the way he helped him. Maybe it was just the little brother dynamic, but he genuinely wants to do everything in his power to make Dean's life a little less tragic.

To be honest, Dean's life wasn't that bad after he moved out, but after he started dating Cas, everything went to shit. He had only seen Dean as distraught as he was when Cas tried to kill himself, when Sam had tried to do the same thing. Somewhere, on some deep level, Sam resented Cas for putting Dean through this all over again. He had just been able to catch his breath from Sam's depression when Cas slammed into him with his own. But Sam knows he can't blame Cas any more than he could blame himself. Sometimes, shit happens, and it's nobody's fault. 

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Sammy," Dean says quietly, breaking his empty stare to look into Sam's hazel eyes. "You didn't deserve it, and it's not your fault."

Sam nods, unable to feel any emotion on the subject at the moment. He still feels like it is his fault, even though it doesn't make sense logically. He doesn't say anything, but he takes a seat next to his brother and lays his head on his shoulder. The two sit like that for awhile, just breathing. Sam feels incredibly empty, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to patch up the hole Gabe smashed into his chest. 

Sam feels Dean's head shift to look at Sam, and he instinctively rolls his forearms down to touch his thighs, afraid of his still-healing cuts being brought to his brother's attention. The cutting was a one-off, and Sam doesn't want to burden Dean with this when he's already had the shit beaten out of him emotionally.

Dean reaches his hand towards Sam's arms, and Sam's chest fills with anxiety, but he doesn't move a muscle. Instead of turning his arms over and pushing his sleeve up, Dean just takes his hand and squeezes it. Guilty relief floods the boy as he squeezes back.

"How about you and I go get dinner by ourselves?" Dean suggests, his voice still barely above a whisper. "Cas will be fine, he just needs to sleep it off. I haven't spent as much time with you as a should, so I think a trip to Burger King is warranted."

Sam smiles, and feels a slight flicker of happiness in his heart. "That sounds good."

"Alright," Dean says, and gets up off the bed, pulling Sam with him. The two get into the Impala, and drive off. 

***

Dean

He cursed himself for the millionth time for being so selfish. So wrapped up in his own petty pain that he would choose to leave everyone behind just to save someone who didn't want to be saved.

It's not like Dean regrets saving Cas; of course he doesn't. He just regrets how he went about it. Having to trade a life for a life is never fair, and it wasn't his call to make.

So now, he has less than a month to fix everything. To help Sam heal, to keep Cas afloat, to make things right with himself. All because he couldn't let go of someone who didn't want to be here.

His grip on the steering wheel is too tight, his knuckles white and clenched in emotional agony. He hasn't even told Sam about where he's headed. The poor kid didn't know that in 28 days, he would lose his big brother forever. Where was he going to go? The kid was 16, his dad was an unfit parent, foster care was horrendous, and on top of that, he now has to deal with the trauma of being a rape victim. Maybe he could make arrangements with the Novaks to see if they could shelter him until he's 18, but he didn't want to burden them like that at a time like this. Everything was so fucked up, and it was all Dean's fault.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Sammy asks in a small voice, bringing Dean out of his inner turmoil.

Dean swallows and clears his throat. "Yeah. I'm good, Sammy. Just worried about you."

Sam says nothing. Dean can feel the intense sadness and guilt radiating off his little brother, and he feels an ache so intense that he feels he may collapse under it. He would do anything, anything at all, if it meant he could take Sam's pain away. But he can't. All he's going to do is add to it. Some brother he was.

"Do you...do you want to talk about it?" Dean asks hoarsely. He's not sure he can handle that conversation, but he feels he owes at least that to Sam. 

Sam shakes his head vehemently. "I don't think I can. Not for a long, long time. But...but when I can, I'll...I'll tell you. You'll be the first to know."

Dean can feel his heart breaking. Guilt, shame, sorrow, agony, washing over him in tidal waves, dragging him into the riptide of his emotions. He'll never get to hear it. He won't be able to be there when Sammy does want to talk to it. He can't even offer him his fucking presence. How the hell is the boy supposed to cope when he's gone?

Dean blinks through the tears, and swallows past the lump in his throat. "O...okay. I'll be here. When you need me." God, he was lying through his teeth to his own brother. He can't believe it's come to this.

"Thank you," Sam says, almost in a whisper.

The rest of the drive is in silence, Dean berating himself in his head the entire time. He should have realized he wasn't paying the final price. Everyone else is. He wasn't being a hero. He wasn't even being brave. Selfish cowardice was all it was.

As they pull up to the Burger King, Dean forces himself to sweep his feelings under a rug for the time being. This was for Sammy, not him. 

The door to the restaurant swings open, and Dean embraces the cool air within the building. Summer was brutal this year, and the heat made him even more exhausted than he usually is. He's noticed he's been succumbing to fatigue lately, and he can't help but wonder if it's because he's dying. Either that, or the constant stress he was under. Either way, the past few weeks have been tiring, and as his final due date edges closer, he's finding it harder and harder to be happy. He wonders if this is how Cas feels all the time. The thought brings him sadness, and, yet again, guilt.

"What would you like, Sammy?" Dean asks, trying again to stop thinking about such things. 

"Um...I think just a milkshake and fries," he says, chewing on his bottom lip. Dean notices his lips are raw and chapped from nervous chewing. His heart aches when he thinks of how much he was suffering, and how he didn't have the slightest clue.

"Sure thing. A bacon cheeseburger with fries, and a milkshake and fries for him," Dean says to the cashier. He was feeling nauseated at the moment, but he hasn't had anything real to eat that day, and hasn't had a bacon cheeseburger in way too long. 

The two sit across from each other in a booth. It was rather quiet, the lunch rush was over but the dinner rush hadn't begun yet. Dean wanted desperately to talk with Sam, to use his last remaining days to help his brother, to be what he needed him to be before he's gone. But he knows it's not that easy. He knows that Sam may never heal from this. He knows that anything he does right now is never going to be enough. He curses himself for not being enough. For never talking to him about things that matter. He manages to talk to Cas about serious stuff all the time, but he never managed to connect with his brother that way. Dean isn't sure if that was his decision or Sam's, but the fact remains that Dean wasn't there for Sam when he needed him. Sure, he protected him from their father over the years, but he never talked to him, y'know? Everything is moving too fast and Dean can't cope.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asks in a low voice. Somehow Sam had managed to get their food and start eating without the older Winchester noticing. God, he was spacey as fuck today.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, Sammy. Just thinking." Dean replies, clearing his throat.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes. He did. But he couldn't. Not now. He doesn't know when; everything was happening at once and he doesn't know if he will ever find a good time to tell his brother that he wouldn't be here by the end of the month.

"It's not about me right now. I should have been here for you. I should have always been here for you. Even now, I feel like shit because I'm all wrapped up in my head when I need to be here for you. I'm doing my best, Sammy, but I don't know if that's enough."

Sam nods, focused on the fry he had been swirling in his milkshake for the past minute. "I understand that. I just hope you know it's not selfish to have your own problems. I don't expect you to drop everything just because of me."

Except it was selfish. Not necessarily having his own problems, but dealing with them by serving an ultimatum that would condemn himself and everyone around him. 

"Yeah, I know," Dean says, trying to keep his voice even. "I just...I still wish I could do more."

Sam is quiet for a moment. 

"This is enough," he says quietly. "Spending time with me, letting me know you care...that's enough. You're enough."

Dean is overcome with such love and adoration for his brother. Sam is a much better person than Dean ever was, and ever could be. "Thank you, Sammy. That means a lot to me."

Sam smiles thinly, and continues nursing his milkshake. Dean picks up his burger and takes a bite before it starts to get cold. The two sit in silence and eat, and Dean tries desperately to think of something light, something trivial to say to bring things to a lighter subject.

"So, how's school going, Sam?" he asks lamely.

"Pretty good," he replies through a mouthful of fries. Dean had been commuting Sam to and from the bus stop every morning and evening, trying to give the kid a sense of normalcy in their fucked up situation. "I'm just glad the year's almost over, y'know? It's...it's been rough, and I just need a few months to decompress."

Dean nods. "Yeah, I feel that. I could do with a few months just to chill as well." He could do with a few months, period, but he doesn't say as much.

The Winchester brothers keep up idle talk for the next hour or so, and continue to linger for a bit after they finish eating. Dean had forgotten how much he enjoyed his time with his brother. He had been so wrapped up with Cas and his own life that he never took the time to hang out with Sam. The kid was funny, smart, and kind, and Dean felt like he could learn a lot from him. 

It's dark outside by now, and Sam has school tomorrow, so they pick up and drive back to the dorm. Cas is still asleep, judging by the snores coming from the bedroom, and all Dean wants to do is join him and sleep for a century. Sam disappears to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Dean, heavy with fatigue, strips down to his boxers and socks and collapses into the bed next to Cas. The smaller man stirs briefly, and unconsciously snuggles closer to Dean. He falls asleep quickly, and for once, everything was quiet.