a l c o h o l & l o v e ↬ d.w. & c.n. [completed]

3 | hands

the harsh scent of alcohol burnt inside dean's nostrils. he felt his whole body screaming for peace once again as he laid against the old and somewhat broken wall in the small kitchen.
trough his eyes he could hardly see the dominant figure standing above him in the night shadows.

next to him he could still hear the shrill tones of glass shattering against the cold ties. and dean mentally tried to make a note to not accidentally fall into the shattered pieces.
but he had a hard time focusing for his mind was seemingly burning with a hell fire. the figure, dean did not dare to call his father, had pushed his body against the grey-ish wall (which had been white a few years earlier)

with his head first.

now, as a shrill tone formed inside his ear, he was not capable of moving his muscles in just the way he wanted them to.
his body was on the ground and completely helpless.

so it was that all he could do, as hard feet began to ram against his ribs, was nothing but trying to protect his head from worse.

*

the kicks had stopped and his lungs were about to relax again and start breathing normally, as he felt the collar of his shirt pressing against his throat, making it impossible to catch a breath.
he tried to free himself.

his hands immediately went up to his shirt, trying to help him find air, as his legs moved without control not coordination.
the the strong grip loosened as he felt himself being thrown onto the glass next to him on the floor.
before dean decided to stop moving for a while he felt the sharp edges cutting into his skin.

he knew that there would be scars, but nothing felt as if it went as deep to seriously damage him.

**

castiel novak tried to hide his happiness yet he could not prevent it from sparkling inside his sky blue eyes.
loosely the big bright orange tee was stuck into his pants as he played and turned the brush inside his hand.
a smile made its way up to his face as he watched the brother of sam winchester walking in.

*

this class would be a nearly nude art class, meaning that the model, in this case dean winchester, was allowed to wear panties.
and he would get payed more than he was the last time.

this time dean did not face castiel. so castiel drew the muscular and scared back of him.
again he of course wondered what had happened to the boy in front of him, but this time he even worried about the small red scares on dean's back.

*

after about two hours of not moving sam brought dean's clothes inside the circle, where he put on his pants and his shirt fast.
they were already about to leave the gallery as dean's glance got caught on a wonderful looking piece in oil.
his back muscles were a little bit over exaggerated, he thought.

"you like it?"
a deep voice asked from behind, and dean recognized it. he turned around to face the boy in the bright orange tee.
   he noticed half of a tattoo showing on the shoulder of the kid.

"yeah, i do."
"wanna take it?"
"what?"
he chuckled lightly "do you want it?"
"don't you need it?"
"i don't like it."

dean thought about the offer for a few seconds, examining the canvas.
the winchester knew nearly nothing about art or what it should look like, he only knew that he really liked the piece and how it looked.
and he wondered if the scars on his back really were that prominent.

"why don't you like it?" he asked but again the other boy chuckled.
"hard to explain." even as he looked onto the floor and shook his head lightly, dean could see his teeth as he laughed.

he looked up. still, a big smile rested on his lips, wrinkles build up around his mouth and his eyes were somewhat glassy.
"try me." he said in all seriousness. castiel raised one eyebrow, and the smile on his lips formed to a crooked smirk.

his eyes looked around, and one hand, which was covered in some of the oil paint, grabbed one of his brushes, while the other one got ahold of dean's whole underarm.
WITH FAST AND BIG STROKES HE WROTE DOWN A SERIES OF NUMBERS.

with furrowed eyebrows he looked up "yours?"
"no, satan's." he rolled his eyes "of course it's mine."

**

castiel looked at the piece he had drawn today.
the canvas leaned against the window, which gave him a direct view on the ocean, but now as the sun set and no stroke found its way into the minimalistic room, a shadow laid over the colors and it was hard for castiel to really examine it.

for hours now he had wondered as for why dean winchester had just walked away, not taking the painting with him.
didn't he like it?
but why say that he did?
did he played him?
was he still angry with him because of the last art class?

could he even remember him?

castiel had always been dramatic, even when he was alone and lonely.
so it was that the bottle of scotch inside his hand wandered up to his lips frequently to take a sip or two.
in the other hand his phone as he waited.

*

deciding to not longer drown in pity he stood up to look outside his window.
the sun was gone yet the night laid in a soft blue.

without contemplating his ideas, he took of his shirt and climes trough the large, nearly panoramic, window, in front of which the canvas leaned.
only now the actual painting faced the window, so castiel would not look at the surface.

castiel felt the cold metal of the cross, he wore as a necklace, pressing against his skin.
the tattoo that went over his collarbone read:

   their prayers flow better when they're soaked in gin.

he danced around on the beach, feeling the sand between his toes. he got nearer to the ocean, and felt the water floating against his legs.

he felt lonely and heard nothing but the waves.
not even his phone ringing.