Strings Attached

Chapter 7

"No."

Dean sighs. "You're too stubborn. Come on. You're not even playing right like this."

He moves the guitar to the correct position, and Castiel winces involuntarily as it hits his bruised rib. Dean looks at him curiously.

"What?" Dean asks.

"Nothing," Castiel stammers.

"You're a horrible liar," Dean tells him. "You know that, right?"

Castiel doesn't answer.

"Seriously, what's up?" Dean asks. "Why can't you hold it?"

"No reason," Castiel lies.

"What, broken rib or something?" Dean jokes.

"No, my ribs are fine," Castiel says quickly. Too quickly.

"What happened to your ribs?" Dean asks.

"Nothing," Castiel lies.

"Are they broken?" Dean asks.

"They're fine."

Dean frowns. "I can tell you're lying, and the way you're being so defensive about it, I'm kinda worried. If you hurt your rib, you gotta tell someone, because that can be really bad."

"I didn't," Castiel insists. Someone else hurt his rib, so he's not technically lying, right?

"Lemme see," Dean says. "I've taken care of enough injuries to know when something's bad."

"No," Castiel says quickly. "No, I'm fine. Really."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Stop being such a baby. Let me see. If you need a doctor's visit, you should probably find out sooner rather than later."

"No, you don't need to —"

"Castiel," Dean says sternly. "Let me see."

Castiel sighs. "It's nothing. See?" He puts the guitar down and lifts up the front of his shirt just enough to show the bruise, only an inch or two in diameter, before quickly dropping his shirt again.

"Wait, what the..." Dean reaches for Castiel's shirt, then pauses. "Can I...?"

"Why?" Castiel asks cautiously.

"Can I?" Dean asks again, not answering the question. He takes Castiel's silence for a yes and lifts up his shirt again, looking at his back this time.

"Oh my god," Dean breathes.

Castiel quickly pulls his shirt back down. He didn't think Dean would be able to see the bruise on his back. That one's much bigger and much darker, and he'd much rather keep it hidden.

"Dude, what happened?" Dean asks. "Fall off a horse or something?"

Castiel bites his lip. He didn't want Dean to see that. There's nothing he can say to explain it away. He can't just say that it was Dean's best friends that did that. The fact that Dean doesn't even know genuinely baffles him, but he's not going to change that.

"I'm sorry, I — I have to go," Castiel mutters, already starting to run out of the room.

"Wait, Cas —" Dean reaches over and grabs Castiel's wrist before he can leave, pulling him back.  Dean accidentally pulls up his sleeve, just enough to show some of the scars littering his arm. Dean stares for a moment, speechless, and Castiel instantly pulls his arm away, pulling the sleeve down over his hand.

"Cas, man, what happened to you?" Dean asks. "I mean, the bruises, I can get that. I've had my fair share of them, too. But the cuts?"

Castiel just looks down at the floor silently.

"It was you..." Dean realizes aloud.

Castiel doesn't say anything. He waits for the inevitable. For Dean to say he's weak, or a coward, or that he deserved it and worse.

That doesn't happen. Instead, he hears one simple word.

"Why?"

Castiel doesn't answer. He wishes he could just leave. He doesn't want to have to explain everything, and to Dean Winchester, no less.

"Because of what they did?" Dean asks.

"They?"

"My teammates," Dean clarifies. "I know they're not the nicest people, but I didn't think..."

Castiel doesn't confirm it, because he can't. It's not Dean's teammates fault; not entirely. Sure, it's the jocks that give him most of the physical blows, but it wasn't just them that made Castiel break. It was everyone. Everyone who ever called him names or talked about him behind his back. Everyone who ever watched him suffer and ignored it, or worse, laughed. And he's sure Dean has done all of those things.

"I'm leaving," Castiel mutters. "When Gabriel finds out, tell him I went home."

Dean tries to stop him again, but Castiel ducks under his arm before he can. He hurries out of the house, thankfully avoiding any confrontations with the other boys. He walks quickly, trying not to draw any attention to himself as he finds his way home. Ignoring his siblings' requests for help, Castiel makes a beeline for the stairs and hides into his bedroom, locking the door behind him so he knows he can be alone.

Castiel sighs and lies down in bed gently. He doesn't bother trying to see if the bruises on his back are healing. They aren't. Their only chance to heal is the weekends, when he isn't being pushed into walls every day. It's a good thing he has the next two days to recuperate before he has to return to the hell that is school, because he's not ready to go back to hell just yet.