Another set of jocks. Another set of bruises. Another set of broken lockers. Just another day in the life of Castiel Novak.

It's Monday, and by lunchtime, he's been thrown into two sets of lockers and a wall. He's been called every name in the book, every possible insult already used. He's cried in the bathroom longer than he cares to admit. But this is his life. As much as he hates it, he's used to it. And yet, it never gets any easier.

Castiel walks towards the band room, but the sound of the guitar very slowly playing Dust in the Wind makes him turn around. No. He is not dealing with Dean today. He's had enough from the rest of them. He doesn't need Dean added to the mix.

Castiel hides in the bathroom, unable to cry but still somehow on the verge of tears. His stomach growls, but he ignores it. He's barely eaten all weekend. He hasn't wanted to deal with his family, so other than late night snacks, he's mostly hid in his room.

Gabriel had picked the lock on many occasions that weekend, but Castiel had barricaded the door because he knew it would happen. If Gabriel didn't pick it, Lucifer would, and if Lucifer didn't, someone would have broken it down. Castiel was not going to deal with that.

"Castiel?" a voice calls out softly. At first, Castiel thinks it's Gabriel, but Gabriel wouldn't whisper like this. No, this is Dean. Well, crap. "Castiel, you in here?"

Castiel bites his lip to keep from making a sound.

Dean sighs, then mutters to himself, "Guess not."

Castiel waits a few minutes after he hears Dean leave before he can start breathing normally again. He really, really doesn't want to deal with anyone today, and Dean is definitely not an exception.

Castiel ends up skipping fourth block and running out of school afterwards. His ankle is better now, so there's that, but his bruised back definitely hasn't healed. Castiel doesn't care how much it hurts, though.

He runs home, his backpack in his arms to avoid agitating his back. His head is spinning by the time he finally gets home after all that on-again, off-again sprinting on a very empty stomach. He's probably dehydrated, too, which doesn't help anything. Overall, he's just a mess, but that's nothing new.

"Hey, Castiel," Gabriel greets him with his ever present kind smile.

Castiel offers him a small, obviously fake smile in passing and hides in his room, locking the door once again. He sits down in his bed, but even that hurts his back.

Castiel buries his head in his hands and cries. Why is this okay? Why is it okay for his life to be like this? He's in constant pain thanks to these people who have everything handed to them on a silver platter. He just wishes it could be over.

His eyes find their way to the drawer where he hides his knife he used to cut with. Maybe... Maybe it would be worth it. He can do it quick. A couple deep cuts, and he'll be in the clear. Right?

He digs through his crap until he finds it. It's surprisingly clean of dust, though it hasn't been used in months. Maybe even a year. Castiel doesn't know when he gave up on even cutting. But this time, he has a goal. It's not for the pain, it's for the gain. He will kill himself. And everyone will be happier because of it.

Castiel rips off his sweatshirt to reveal his plain black tee shirt. He puts the blade to his arm, then pauses. Does he really want to do this? Once he does, he can't undo it. But he won't want to. He just wants it to be over.

He digs the knife in and cuts as deeply as he can, slashing his arms ruthlessly. He watches them bleed, a satisfied feeling in his chest. But it isn't enough. Maybe there aren't enough of them. He tries cutting another few times. Maybe they aren't deep enough. He cuts again and again, digging until the knife is in twice as far. He feels himself getting dizzier and dizzier, until everything goes black.