Destiel One Shots

Glad You're Here AU

A/N for @brokencasbutt67

He hugged himself tighter, hoping in turn that would make his stomach shrink, as he was dragging his weary and drained body along the corridor. His mind was swimming with fear and emotions but a blank space, a static of TV all at once.

Dean was bright, so bright but now, every day, every second, he felt painted, smeared, onto the background, like there really wasn't anything of substance inside. He hoped there was more meaning in his bones than tumbling colours, chaotic and shallow.

Inside his mind is where he wants to stay. Far from reality, where his black sweater isn't too baggy to cover his upper body and shroud his face, where his freckles aren't standing out too much, where his eyes and lips aren't too girly and gay. Where he isn't shoved into walls and called those things.

But unfortunately for Dean being lost in your mind so much means reality is a ghost. It means-

Thump.

"Watch it, Deanna," one charmingly snide voice, probably Crowley, sniggered. His other friends laughing at Dean's mind being in the clouds.

The only reason people assumed a feminine name upon him was his shaggy, slightly longer than he wanted it to be hair. It wasn't even that long.

Dean clung to the wall after the shock of being pounds into it finished resonating through him. He stood there, regaining breath, making himself smaller.

"It's Dean," Dean muttered before carrying on to where he would be safe.

The only place he could hang around and not be punched, slapped and teased every waking moment in his Hell was with Charlie and 'the girls', who claimed the stairwell by the music nerds. Dean would often find himself playing the guitar and singing with them if they were about, so not everything was that bad.

However, today the universe decided Dean shouldn't reach the safe zone without a 'few hiccups' this morning.

"Hey Dean! Wanna hang with the cool kids, honey?" The torturously flirty and annoying voice of Abbadon called after Dean. When he payed no mind to it, she rushed up behind him, slamming him into the lockers and pinning his hands above his head.

"Get off of me!" Dean squirmed, trying to pull away.

"What a powerless little boy we have here." To emphasise, she pressed her body flush against Dean's. "After all, who'd refuse me?" She bit her lip.

He felt so dizzy, ill with the constant harassment her group had been giving him. No, this wasn't the first time. He felt so exposed.

"Well I was going to be nice today, give you a little present," she whispered. "But you're not good at cooperating. How many years have you worn this same sweater?"

"I have 5...but they're all black," Dean said to himself, looking down and to the side where he couldn't look into her cold, dead eyes.

Dean couldn't move, no matter what he tried. The confinement and trapped feeling set in and a tear made its way down his cheek.

"Go away. Please. I don't want to- please, I-I can't..."

She made a face, earning a load of whoops and laughs from the small crowd they'd gathered. "Please? Worthless dick," she kneed him in the stomach, pushing him to the floor and strutting away, "not worth my time."