The sky was filled with tiny crystals that shone brilliantly in the inky black. Not a cloud dared disturb the clear vastness, no wind rustled the trees, and a hushed silence had fallen over the small town. Castiel smoothed his thumb across the warm coffee go-cup in between his palms and stopped walking, craning his neck to stare at the stars.

The town was quiet, save for his soft breaths and footsteps falling on the cold pavement. It was early September, and already the air was crisp and cold. His breath puffed out in a small white cloud in front of him as he continued walking. He'd walked this same road thousands of times; leave the coffee shop, take a right, another at old Miss Bell's house, left before the bridge and follow the sidewalk home. Castiel spent more time at the coffee shop on 43rd than in his own bedroom, he had more meaningful one-word conversations with barista's and waitresses than he'd had with his own father in the past year since his older brother had died.

He had learned to accept that the silence that came upon these streets in the dark and the silence that came in his living room where a broken family sat and no one spoke were two completely different types of quiet. The silence in these streets was quaint, a peaceful quiet, a hush, when lips were closed only because they slept. Yet, the silence that had fallen over his home was loud. It screamed at him, pierced his eardrums as he struggled to move words into his thick mouth, force them through his tight lips, tried to say anything to his father who sat, never moving, in front of the television, lips only ever parting around the mouth of a beer bottle. That silence was cruel and heart breaking. It was the kind of silence that could only be created by death.

It was nearing 2 in the morning when Castiel unlocked the front door and flicked the living room light on. The television hummed quietly on the far wall, his parents and siblings no where in sight. They must've gone to bed, never wondering where Castiel was when he didn't return home before the curfew that all the Novak kids shared. Since his brother had passed, the curfew seemed null and never had their parents enforced it since. Quietly, he made his way into his bedroom and dressed down for bed. He wasn't sure if the silence would ever get any easier to bare.

***

Dean stretched his arms out above his head and glanced at the laptop screen in front of him. He had early class in the morning, and he'd just finished his paper. They'd started the term off strong and hard, and it left Dean with a worrying feeling of fear. If this first paper had been this difficult- he'd wasted his entire weekend trying to piece it together- he wasn't quite sure how he'd be able to handle the rest of the semester.

Peeking at the clock- 3 in the morning- he deduced his parents would be fast asleep. Quietly, careful not to slip on the dewy shingles, Dean pulled himself up to the roof from his balcony, cigarettes and lighter tucked tightly in the waistband of his joggers. If his parents knew what he did when they slept soundly in the room down the hall, he was sure they'd end him. People in his family, in this 'community', didn't smoke. They puffed on expensive cigars when friends came back from trips to Cuba, and sipped wine at fancy dinner parties that Dean had always despised, but that wasn't the same. The children of people like his parents became lawyers, or doctors, and they'd never tasted nicotine or stronger substances in their lives. Dean had.

He stared patiently across the small suburban area that surrounded him and puffed on his cigarette thoughtfully. Only when he saw a light on in the window of a house down the street did he wonder who else would be awake at 3 am on a Sunday night. He was used to the night being his, and didn't like the thought of sharing it with some stuck up prep that lived in his stupid community. Sighing, Dean lowered himself back into his bedroom, shoving his clothes in his hamper and spraying them with air freshener before lowering himself into bed. He supposed it wasn't so bad. Maybe someone else in this strange place hated Suburban life as much as himself. Or maybe they just couldn't sleep on a Sunday night. Either way, Dean realized that maybe he found comfort in the small flicker of light down the street. Someone else might love the silence of the night as much as himself, and for that, he could share.

***

Castiel awoke with the sun, stretching his arms high above his head and smiling up at the beam of sunlight making it's way through his open window. He could hear the blue jays chirping in the backyard tree, hear the coffee pot finishing it's cycle- his mother would be down in the kitchen pouring 4 bowls of cereal and buttering toast- and the stirring of several other bodies. With a yawn, he pulled himself out of bed, scooping up his towel and heading into the bathroom.

Castiel enjoyed warm showers, easing himself into the day much like the sunlight did, rising slowly up from behind the horizon, opening up gently into the new day. He woke up early partially out of habit, and partially to shower and get ready in peace before his other 3 siblings woke up. Thank goodness they lived in the suburbs, he thought idly as he washed his hair, in a place where each fussy teen has their own room and bathroom. Castiel couldn't imagine sharing a bathroom with any of his siblings. With Anna, he'd never see those four tiled walls, with Lucifer, he'd be in an argument every morning-which is absolutely not how he planned to start his days- and with Gabriel, he was sure there'd be plastic wrap over the toilet every second day, or super glue on the toothpaste tube in the mornings. Laughing to himself softly, he towel dried his hair and pulled on black slacks and a white button up, draping his trench coat over his arm and heading downstairs to eat breakfast. Despite his late nights, Castiel adored mornings.

***

Dean slammed his hand down on his alarm clock, groaning and rolling over to hide his face from the intruding sunlight. He could faintly hear his younger brother and his mother in the kitchen, babbling away. He thought it was unholy to be so alive at this hour, he bonded better with his father, who Dean knew would be fast asleep down the hall, enjoying every second he could steal of dreaming. Dean was exhausted. He knew it was partially his own fault for being up so late, but it was the only time he truly had to himself. The facade he put on in the daylight drained him horribly, and he only felt alive when the street lamps flickered on and the soft snores of his family members could be heard.

In a sleepy daze, he rubbed his eyes and sat up, a yawn escaping his lips as he stretched and got up. Begrudgingly, he turned the shower on cold in a feeble attempt to wake himself up enough to drive to school. When he slipped in, he clamped his teeth together, shivering profusely as his body rejected the icy droplets. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood under the steady stream, ignoring his chattering teeth and goosebumps until his body adjusted enough for him to move. Methodically, he washed up before drying off and pulling on black jeans and a black undershirt, buttoning a deep blue flannel half up on top. When he finally had his things together, he made his way downstairs, dreading another day of pretending.

"Good morning baby, how'd you sleep?" Mary was a lovely woman, this Dean knew. He had a great mother, with silken blonde hair and bright blue eyes, who loved her two sons without boundaries. Dean adored her.

"Good, mom. I slept well." Mary gleamed at Dean as he internally groaned and sat down across from his brother, Sammy at the table. Mary plopped a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of Dean, and a veggie omelette with toast in front of Sam. Dean's house was very regular most days, his mother was loving, he played around with Sammy, and his father worked.

But some nights, when Sam and Mary were fast asleep, Dean would hear his father come in, quiet enough to not wake the others, but loud enough that Dean knew. He would cautiously peek his head out into the hall after the fumbling steps quieted. The smell of liquor and blood would turn his stomach, and Dean would close the door, shaking, and try and find refuge in sleep. John Winchester never spoke of his work, and Mary always had a little spark of knowledge in her eyes whenever Dean or Sam asked, but she'd brush the boys off, telling them to go watch a movie or help her do dishes.

Dean never missed the look his parents shared as she ushered the boys out of the room. It was a look full of protection, and a look of lethal danger that made Dean shudder. Working through the memories, Dean ate his pancakes, mumbling thank you's and compliments to his mom as he did. John shuffled into the kitchen, placing a gentle kiss on Mary's cheek before pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey Dad, can you grab me a cup of that?" John and Mary looked at Dean quizzically as John hesitantly poured a second cup.

"Since when did you start drinking coffee?" He asked, handing the mug to his eldest son.

"I don't. But I stayed up later than normal finishing a term paper for English- I need the boost this morning." He made his voice sound normal as he sipped the bitter liquid. He'd never been a fan of coffee, but maybe if it gave him a little extra energy he'd have to start. His parents brushed off the strange behaviour, and before Dean knew it, Mary was pressing paper bags into her boys' hands, kissing their foreheads and ushering them out the door.

***

      "Anna! Mom says if you're late one more time you're walking to school!" Gabriel- Castiel's older brother- called up the winding staircase to their sister. Castiel smirked to himself, sipping his coffee and flipping through the newspaper. Naomi, his mother, was washing up the breakfast dishes as the three Novak boys waited on their sister. Luke was tapping his fingers on the table, causing Castiel to reach over and press his own hand down on his older brother's.

"Stop being annoying and go grab your bag." Luke sneered at his younger brother before pushing away from the table and heading upstairs. Castiel honestly did love his family, but they were hard to handle. There had been 5 Novak children in the beginning: Michael, 17 when he died, was the eldest by only 4 and a half minutes. He was a star student and athlete. He had soft brown hair and eyes, and a smile that could make the straightest of men swoon over him. His parents adored him, and he had a full ride lined up in the fall. When he'd done one of his all star dives off of the top of Central Avenue bridge on a school trip to Kansas City, everyone in Lawrence had been devastated.

Anna, 18 now, Michael's twin sister, was always vying to out do her older brother. After his passing, she hadn't done much of anything.

Luke, 17, was the third Novak, and the second boy. He was a trouble maker with a good heart, not that anyone ever got to see it. Luke was tough and bold, he liked causing trouble, at first to get some attention from his parents, and now to get out the anger and grief of losing Michael.

Gabriel, 16, had been a surprise, but he was loved by everyone. He was full of life, always telling jokes or playing pranks, and he was probably the only reason anyone in the house still smiled.

Castiel came last, now 15 years old, and he was quiet. He had thick, chocolate brown hair and baby blue eyes that put the oceans and skies to shame. He spent his time at cafes reading books and people watching- humans fascinated him, their unhinged emotions, the facades they all portrayed to family, friends, and even strangers. Castiel had learned that by staying quiet and in the shadows, he didn't have to pretend. No one bothered him and so Castiel didn't try to impress them. It wouldn't make a different anyways.

Anna came sauntering down the stairs, straight auburn hair tied up in an elastic, wearing white wash jeans and a loose sweater. Anna used to spend hours in the bathroom in the morning doing her hair and makeup, then in her room trying on multiple outfits to figure out which one would bring all eyes to her. Though, she didn't need that. Anna was the most popular girl in all of Lawrence, she had a smile that could blind, a laugh that could hypnotize, and always made sure she was the center of attention, which she never had to work too hard to achieve.

Since Michael's death, Anna spent hours locked in her room, or the bathroom, music she didn't even like blaring too loud for anyone to hear her crying. Her eyes were always rimmed red, dull and too old for her young years. She didn't speak anymore, and no one spoke directly to her. Everyone at school avoided her, keeping out of her path wherever she went. She was like the walking dead, which everyone knew wasn't far off from the truth. The majority of Anna died with Michael. The majority of the Novak family died with Michael, and in the nights, or early mornings, when sleep still lingered enough to ease the constant pain, Castiel could breathe a little easier, could hear the small cracks in the silence that reminded him that somewhere, beneath the grief, buried deep down, was a family, a sound, a light in the darkness waiting to heal enough to live again.