Smoke and Burn

I Hate You, I Love You

December 14, 2009

CASTIEL

My ribs ache with every breath but I try to ignore the sharp, stabbing pain as I walk through the halls with my head down and my shoulders hunched. My eye is purple and swollen and I tell anyone who asks that I tripped and hit my face on the corner of my desk. They don't even think twice about believing me.

I've managed to avoid the football team this week but the day isn't over yet. One more period. One more hour until the weekend. My knee smarts with every step but it's not nearly as bad as it could be. They usually don't wait this long for me to heal before using me as their punching bag again.

Even though I've been able to avoid them at school, I haven't been so lucky online. They've started a Facebook page dedicated to me called What Kind of Name is Castiel?, tagging me in every picture and every post. I try not to let them get to me—try to put their hateful words down to their own self-loathing—but they know exactly where to hit to cause the most damage.

No one likes you. Why haven't you killed yourself yet?

Stupid little cocksucker has AIDS!

Not even your dad wants you! No one likes you, Castiel! Just kill yourself already!

No one's ever gonna love your gay ass. Do us all a favor and drink a bottle of bleach already.

Someone had even sent one to my house with a note saying, Drink Me, Fag. I almost did drink it.

The worst ones are Dean's. For some reason when it's him telling me to kill myself, it hurts so much worse and I actually, seriously think about doing it just to give him what he wants.

The bell rings and the halls empty. I curse my injured knee for slowing me down and leaving me alone in these halls. Picking up my pace a little, I turn a corner and I'm slammed into the lockers, my head snapping back and connecting with the cold metal. I groan in pain as I'm lifted off my feet.

"Thought you'd get off this week, did you?" Lucas smirks before slamming me against the locker again, shaking a pained yelp from my throat. "Little queer thought we let him off for once." The rest of them laugh, relishing the way I shake with fear. I try to steady myself but it's no use as a knee connects with my groin and I yelp, doubling over in pain before I'm slammed onto the ground and kick after kick lands on my already battered and bruised ribs.

DEAN

"You're already late, Sammy; slow down!" I chuckle and ruffle his hair, smirking when he bats my hand away and glowers at me.

"Piss off," he growls, hurrying ahead of me. I hear a locker door slam ahead of me and think nothing of it until Sam turns the corner and shouts before disappearing. A pained cry reached my ears but it's not Sammy's—it is familiar though. Fuck.

Turning the corner, I watch as Sam shoves Lucas, sending him back a few steps before he turns on Sammy. Oh, hell no. He grabs Sam by the collar of his flannel shirt and slams him into a locker, lifting him off his feet. "So, you're next are you?" There's no fear in Sammy's bloodshot eyes but I still see red. No one touches Sammy.

I slam Lucas against the locker when I reach them, pressing my forearm into his throat as I glare at him dangerously. "Touch him and I'll rip your throat out," I spit before taking a step back and letting him go. "None of you touch my brother or I'll kill you, got it." They don't respond but I know their answer. "Get out of here." I watch them walk away until they're out of sight before turning back to my brother.

"You good?" I watch as he bends down to help Cas up. Cas looks at his hand uncertainly before reaching out with shaky fingers, taking Sam's help and letting himself be pulled to his feet. Cas sways and I roll my eyes. "Sam. You good?"