anonymity was never an option

94: castiel

trigger warning: talks about self harm, this is just sort of a precursor to Castiel's depression history that's going to resurface, and he contemplates actions of self harm, if that will personally bother you, this chapter isn't extremely significant if you would like to skip. sorry in advance that this got dark here, i thought it would be important to show a bit of Castiel and Michael's past.

resume...

Later that night, Castiel woke up to the sound of his brother screaming his name.

He shook his head as he sat up in bed, looking over to Dean who was stirring in his sleep, and then looking out into the rest of the room. Everything was dark, but through the faint light shining in from the windows, he could tell everything was in place... nobody else was there.

Castiel caught his breath, lifting up his hand to run his fingers through his sweaty hair. Feeling his heartbeat racing, he closed his eyes and shifted his way off of the bed.

A shiver went through his spine when his feet hit the cold floor. He kept his left hand on the bed to trace where he was going as he made his way across the room. When he let his hand go off of the bed, he reached out to the doorway of the bathroom, and stepped into a room where the tile floor was much colder than the one he had just been on. He quietly closed the door, and immediately turned on the light, causing him to close his eyes as a result, squinting from the surprise.

When he opened his eyes again, he yawned to himself in the mirror, looking out at the person that was supposed to reflect himself. But he didn't recognize what was staring back at him.

Under his eyelids were dark circles, hiding the blue eyes he once thought were his best feature. But now his eyes were dark, they didn't look happy... he didn't look happy. But he was, wasn't he? He had Dean, he had Gabriel, hell... he even had the car of his dreams, but he felt empty. Why was he so empty?

Cas scanned himself for an answer, looking into his own eyes to search for himself. He couldn't find it. Perhaps that part of him had died with Michael.

"Whats wrong with you?" He whispered to himself, watching his lips move in the mirror.

He asked the question, but he didn't get an answer. Maybe because he didn't know what to say. He couldn't identify exactly where the pain was, he just knew it was there. How could he explain himself to Dean, when he couldn't figure it out for himself?

"Dean deserves better." Castiel whispered looking away from his own gaze.

As he did so, his eyes landed on a small object lying on the side of the bathtub.

His gaze lingered there for longer than it should have. For longer than he should've been comfortable with.

How easy it would've been to pick it up right then and there and take away a little bit of that pain.

Castiel had never learned to shave, he'd been baby faced since he was teen, and because of that Michael never taught him how.

But he knew all too well what the razor did.

He had stolen one of Michael's when he was 14.

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Castiel didn't take lightly to the fact that his mother never liked him.

He had always been the odd one out... the one kid who seemed to mess everything up.

Even when it came to who he was supposed to love...

Especially when it came to who he was supposed to love.