It's In Your Eyes

Scars

Dean's POV -

Cas's eyes are so wide, and he seems to will himself to stay in the room, to look up at me, but his expression cracks and he leaves the room as fast as he came. He didn't look like he was crying before he turned his back to me, but I hear his footsteps moving swiftly down the hall and I'm not sure.

I get to my feet and see Charlie make a move as if to stop me. I give her a look and she sinks back into the sofa. But she cares too much, too easily to not say something.

"Don't do damage. You need to not hurt him." When I look back at her from the doorway, my mouth opened to ask what that is meant to mean she cuts me of, a stern look on her face. And she loves me, so this is important. "You can hurt him so easily, it's obvious."

What? Should I even think what that means? Do I want to? Should I-
I stop and rest against the doorframe of room 13, looking over at Castiel, perched on the windowsill. The one next to the window he goes out each night. The one where we'd sat together that morning, which had been nice till he'd freaked and ran off... I rub my arms, feeling a sudden chill when I remember how warm I'd been with his arm over me.

He swings his legs, just too short to touch the ground when he's scooted back as far at he can go. He was watching his converse go back and fourth, but he looks up now and sees me. He's cheeks are dry, despite the obvious glint of pain in his eyes, clear even from this distance.

I dare to move closer, part of me afraid I might crack, cry while he stays so strong. But I'm sure I want to move closer. I'm certain that I want to be near him, for him and for me.

"They'll always be a part of me. He will, because of them." He speaks to his knees as I slide onto the sill next to him, letting a confused silence stretch between us at his words. "My scars. From the fire..."

"Oh." Me stomach clenched I try to clear the lump in my throat as quietly as possible.

"Want to see some?" He looks into my face, bearing an expression that jars me. I can't come close to pinpointing what sort of emotions he's giving me in it, but I'm nodding despite myself.

He tugs at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head in a shaky motion, nerves obvious. Maybe even a bit of eagerness has his hands trembling, but his face still pulls in with that unreadable look. His chest is solid, built strong, and I've no doubt he would easily carry muscle and strength if... If he weren't so painfully thin. His ribs show through in earnest, and his stomach dips back in on itself almost dome-like.

And then there, twisted flecks of skin all over his body, crawling up his hip and side from below the waistband of his jeans. They look like the delicate, ornate mouldings in old manor houses. Like the ones here in some of the more prestigious rooms.

I jump a little when he takes my hands, his still smaller, and guides me to run my calloused pads over one particularly long, swirling burn that snaked up around a nipple and cut across his chest, stopping before his collar but high enough to restrict his choice in necklines.

He'd been guiding my fingers but drops his hand away now to let me find my own way around this terrible, beautiful art that makes me hurt just to think about how he was burdened with it. I slide a whole hand up his arm to curl around a knot of flesh covering a large potion of his little bicep.

"Cas..." I breath, but he silences me when he takes my hand again, moving it away to my lap, and he turns his back on me.

My first instinct is fury, at myself. I've hurt him, he's upset. He braces himself against the wall with one hand, head down. Then I see them.

The worst so far, and by far the most grotesquely, uniquely breathtaking.

A deep, pink, puckered scar, or maybe it's two. They make a perfect inverse V shape between his shoulder blades, thick where they meet near the nape of his neck, thinning and curling out away towards his sides. It's frightening how central they are, perfectly symmetrical, his spine lacing right down the middle between them like a guideline of a sketch.

"They're... Cas they're..." No word can quite capture what I want to say so I let my voice drop away, letting my whole palm slide over them with the lightest touch I can find. He gasps, my hands probably cold, and I almost visibly see a shiver ripple up his spine.

"They're disgusting."

"No." I cut him off. He looks over his shoulder best he can at me, his eyes wide but soft, tears without a doubt scattered across his cheeks now. "No. They're... Different, Cas. That's all. They're... Exquisite... Don't ever feel you need to hide them from me." His back arches the slightest bit but I notice and I have to close my eyes to concentrate on breathing.

I can hear every breath both of us take in in the silence of the room. No one is around. Only Charlie, but she's down the hall...

I move closer, let my mouth almost touch his skin. I couldn't tell you what came over me but everything seemed so natural... I let my breath tickle along his skin like a damp mist. But I don't close the distance. I don't even think to. Not yet. Not until I remind him.

"I don't care, remember?"