Schizo||Destiel||#Wattys2017||

Year 14: Take 'Em Out

Castiel pushed himself up from the tile floor, dusting himself off. His uniform might be messed up. He couldn't have that. It was the middle of his Junior year at college, and with the way things were going, he didn't think he'd make it to senior year. He was paling and thinning out, bags forming under his eyes because of the sleep he's missed studying. He didn't go out at all anymore, and he rarely ever ate now. His grades were too important to care about anything except for Dean. Dean, the one who has been watching Castiel slowly deteriorate for the past six months, and thought almost nothing of it until Castiel wouldn't even take a bite of s sandwich because he was in the middle of reading a juicy article, which, in fact, was a chapter out of the textbook he needed to read. Castiel hadn't realized he was unhealthily small until he looked in the mirror, and for the first time in two years, hated what he saw. He was so small and frail, and now his skin had whitened into a ghostly shade. It was almost beautiful, in a way, but it was a sick, sadistic type of eye that could see it like that. Dean had those eyes.

Dean held Castiel close that night when the boy began to cry. It was awful. Castiel could not handle himself, and he couldn't tell his professors that he couldn't take any more of it. He couldn't tell anyone but Dean how exhausted he was—how much he wanted to quit. It was kind of ironic, really. A man studying psychology, couldn't even get his own mental health down. He had his own service dog. What kind of good psychologist would have to have their own service dog? Either of them. Scarlett was a very big, 3 year old, German Sheppard, now, and she did her job well. She could sense when they were upset, and she even helped Dean when Cas couldn't. It was a beautiful family that they had in their small house. Two boys, one dog, and a whole lot of messed up. It was how they lived. It was what they lived by.

Castiel was speed walking to class, the next day, dropping books ever so often. Each one he dropped, Dean would pick up. He was going to be late if he dropped any more. Both of them broke into a run. The class was on the other side of campus, and they had around five minutes.

He tried so hard not to, but, in the end, he couldn't see where his feet were planted, and he lost his footing. He landed face first on the sidewalk, sliding a tiny bit, and when he got up, though there was a scrape on his cheek, he kept running.

In the end, he was able to make it around 30 seconds before the bell, and he was given a bandaid from Professor Watkins. She was a kind old woman, loud but timid. She was almost a second mother towards the short stack. It was always Castiel's favorite class. She'd always help him. She'd always look out for her students. The only problem was, the amount of homework she assigned was unreal. She was one of the sole reasons Castiel had become so stressed. She and Professor Cawthrin.

"Alright, Class. First things first, and really only thing, today. I am assigning you all a paper. It's going to be due next week, and it is how the human mind interacts with its vessel. It's a broad subject, so I am expecting at least 2,500 words from you all by next Friday." Needless to say, they spent the rest of the class talking about and studying for the assignment. Castiel paid attention to every word she said, and Dean just watched him. "Alright, guys. Pack up. As soon as you're ready, you can go." He thought that was the end of it.

"Castiel, can you come see me, please?" She called, and his heart dropped. He got a bad grade. He's going to fail this class. Oh, God, please don't let me fail.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"When was the last time you slept, Cas?"

"Ma'am, isn't that—"

"Castiel, I'm serious. When was the last time you shut your eyes for more than 15 minutes?" She looked at him, sympathetically, making Castiel almost melt.

"Around 4 days ago. Why?"

"I don't want you doing this paper."

"But, Professor—"

"No buts, Castiel. Your last paper was exceptional. It was one of the best I've seen in my time teaching, and I can easily slide an A into the grade book for this one. Your homework is to get some damn rest. Eat a pizza, and take a nap, because you look like Hell chewed you up and spit you out."

"But—"

"Castiel," she warned, giving him one of their signature stern looks. She was known for them, but not really when she was telling a kid to get some rest. She normally gave it when someone decided to come up with some lame excuse for not turning their homework, or failing an exam. "Get some rest. I've already talked to Cawthrin. He agrees. I do not want to see you here tomorrow, and Dean and I will be exchanging words after class for a few days. If I hear anything of you even attempting to stay up past 10 to read any textbook for the next three days, I'll drop your grade to a B+."

"Word will get around. They already think I'm stuck up... A bookworm... A... A teachers pet," Castiel panted, begging her not to give him this out. "Just.. Let me do the paper, please."

"Listen to your professor. Number one rule. Castiel, if anyone bothers you, tell me."

Castiel stormed out of the room, relieved he got a break, but it's just another reason the delinquents that barely got into school can mess with him. Tears made it almost impossible for him to see as Dean pushed the door open behind him. "Cas," he called.

"Not now," Castiel stayed with his shoulder against the wall. "Dean, please, not now." His voice was hoarse, his throat was dry, and his eyes burned.

"Cas! She's trying to help you!" Dean cut him off in the courtyard, holding his shoulders as he tried to keep him from storming off. "Cassie, you're miserable, and I do t want to see you like that," Dean whispered, feeling Castiel's body relax. He seemed to sink into his embrace. "Babe, they won't hurt you when I'm here. They won't hurt you. They won't lay a finger on my angel."

"And if they do?" Castiel pried, letting Dean turn and face him. He didn't want Dean to be wrong. He didn't want them picking at him, or Dean, because he can't handle school work. Because he's a wimp. That's just it. "Dean—"

Dean cut him off, pressing his lips to Castiel's. "Then you got at least two people who can take 'em out."

--a/n--

Short, short, skip a year. Yes, this is one of the rare occasions where I'll skip a year (his sophomore year)

I dedicate this book to Noomi because she won't stop bothering me about it (or joshler for that matter)

It is about 45 minutes after school and I'm so tired and I'm also sweaty and on the bus.

Guys I have my principal on board for my Always Keep Fighting campaign assembly that I am organizing. I'm v happy

I love you my Carcrashovercastyoungbloods

-Emily aka foblvr