Title: Tortured, tangled hearts

Summary: Lacoco knew it was wrong to feel like this, selfish and self-centered. Her boyfriend's best friend laid in a hospital bed, and all she could think was she had very nearly kissed that wounded teen. And now here they were, Castiel bent over in one chair, her in the other. Not talking. Barely breathing. Just waiting.

Disclaimer: I do not own the game, make no profit.

Chapter start

Her heels clicked on the tile beneath them, giving off that staccato rhythm she associated with a pair of good pumps. It had always been her mother's saying, one that imprinted since nearly birth. A good pair of shoes meant you would go to great places. The thought almost made her smile. Then someone to the left of the waiting rooms coughed and she crashed to the cold hard reality of current life. Her steps quickened almost without her knowledge.

She had always despised hospitals. The air that tried to seem so clean only choked her with the many disinfectants used, the scent of bleach and the undeniable undertones of the sick prominent. The people there all seemed so weak, so world-weary, as though mountains had crumbled over them.

If not for dire need, Lacoco Skinner knew she'd never set foot in one, would never open herself to the misery of this forced air of depressive cheer that the decorations failed to deliver. She got herself in enough miserable situations, thank you very much.

The need was prominent however, and the thought made her swallow around her dry throat. Her steps paused outside a cracked open door and she made herself take deep breaths. It did little to help the gnawing deep in her belly but it gave her something else to temporarily focus on.

Lacoco gathered her tattered courage and pride, gathered it up like a quilt to shield her. She had to be strong as iron now. For his sake, if not her own.

She nudged the door open and, once stepping in, she shut the door again with a well-placed bump of her hip. The room was just as she had left it. Rosalya sat on Leigh's lap, her long tanned arms offering comfort and unflinching support. The shop owner's face was strained and weary, as was his girlfriends.

Her eyes dismissed them with another dry swallow only to find her own boyfriend. He was bent double in the chair he sat in, whole body tensed. His red hair shielded his face from her eyes but she knew, as well as she knew her own thoughts, he was suffering, tearing up like paper in a shredder. They all were.

Rosalya was the only one who glanced at her, the golden eyes sparking in dull warmth.

"Thanks for getting drinks." Her voice was a mere croak, nothing like the usual boisterous boom normally employed.

Lacoco felt her hands tighten around the tray of coffee she had brought. Her lips moved in what was, she believed, a mere caricature of a smile. It felt almost as if the muscles of her face didn't remember how to make the right creases anymore.

"It's fine,' she said with forced lightness. "We could all use a… a pick-up."

She blinked the tears back, feeling foolish. She walked over to the couple and they both took a Styrofoam cup of the instant coffee, giving her tired words of thanks and weak smiles of their own. Fake, she thought. It was all fake, an old script that they all knew by heart. The script of the proper things to say and do when a cherished friend or loved one fought for their very lives in one of the operating rooms.

Lacoco set the tray down on a table and grabbed the last two cups. Her back straightened and she let out a sigh. When she offered one of the cups to her bent boyfriend, he glanced up at her through his lashes. It allowed her to see the red rim around his gray eyes, the fear and worry clouding the irises she loved to get lost in.

"I don't want-"

"Please." She cut off his offhand dismissal of the drink, ignoring the tremulous lilt to her voice. She hated how weak she sounded, how useless she felt.

Nevertheless, it was perhaps that note that gave her victory. For Castiel unbent his stiff form enough to take her wrist. Lacoco didn't jolt away as she once might of, instead winced inwardly at the slow burn her body began wherever he touched. It was hardly appropriate now. Still, she relished it when he slid his fingers down to her hand, before he took the cup.

He did not drink. He settled it between his hands and shifted back in his chair, letting the back catch his head so he looked to the ceiling. Lacoco took it as dismissal and dropped into the seat next to him.

The thing swallowed the small girl. She felt the burn of tears and pushed them down, trying to focus on the heat of the cup between her hands, focused on the insignificant detail of her fingers laced around it. She felt she didn't deserve to grieve as the rest of them did.

Lysander laid somewhere in this very hospital, somewhere beyond all their reaches. The crash that had done this made her blood boil. He should have let that nosy brat go. But Lysander was nothing if not chivalrous, and the idea he had caused any woman pain would have driven him to distraction. Even a pint-sized child. For that was all Nina really was, a child with a crush allowed to flourish. It would have been cute, had this been any other situation.

The anger left like a swift breeze, leaving only the messy tangle the other emotions caused inside her.

Everyone knew Lysander had been on a tight spring. It was why she could forgive him his recent actions, especially in light of this incident. What she couldn't forgive was her own response.

It seemed so far from her reach, that girl so happy to finally be in her boyfriend's arms, to feel that beautiful burst of love and adoration when he was near. Now she felt a mass of guilt, disgust, and loathing at herself.

Her mind racked itself for plausible explanations for that moment, the moment she became aware Lysander might have more than an inkling of affection for her. True, they had gotten on marvelously well from the start. It had helped that Rosalya and Leigh had hit a rough patch and the two had conspired to help the lovebirds together.

Then of course the day at the beach, where they had been rained on. He had been very chivalrous then, doing his best to shield them both from the downpour. He had caught cold, since he covered her a slight bit better than he did himself. She had felt so badly she had brought him soup for a few days straight, slowly easing around his reticence at having a girl in his room.

Of course, she would never forget his involvement in the whole Deborah debacle. The Victorian singer had been one of her twin pillars of support, right from the go. He and Rosalya had literally saved her those dark weeks. It went further than the fact he had held her when she cried, stroking his warm hand through her hair to sooth her. It had touched a deep part of her when he had publicly chosen her over Castiel, as had Rosalya.

The two had been very in her face through the depression that followed her, taking her to the mall, doing sappy movie marathons with her. More than once, she had been dressed in nothing but baggy sweats and a holey t-shirt while they watched the television. The two had indulged her, stuffing their faces with just as much ice cream and, oddly enough, copious amounts of alcohol.

Some nights, she woke with a blanket draped over Rosalya and herself. And when she got sick from the horrible diet, it had been his strong arms that lifted her to the restroom, had held her hair back and rubbed soothingly down her back while she retched.

"You love him." He had stated it quietly one such night. Her head had lolled listlessly to his shoulder.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she had murmured back just as softly. Gently, so gentle it almost hurt he had touched her cheek, mopping up the wetness there and sighing.

He hadn't responded much in words, merely settled back into the cold bathtub and cradled her in his arms. She had drunk more, so he figured she would be sick again. Best not to move her from the restroom, then. Lacoco recalled vividly the way he had hummed and sung softly in her ear, until she slept and didn't dream any nightmares.

There were other times, times when she had sought him out for companionship. With startling clarity, Lacoco realized her trend. When not with Rosalya or Castiel, she usually sought Lysander out to hang with. It had seemed natural, even. He was her best friends brother, almost, and her boyfriends best friend. Yeah, course she would be close to him.

But God, nothing excused her then. Even if she hadn't meant to, she had garnered his affection, all the while, she chased his best friend. What kind of human being was she that she had not noticed?

It had been so natural, disturbingly so, to touch his hand. After all the times he had comforted her, Lacoco wanted to return the favor. Therefore, when she found him in the science room her instinct had led her.

Without thought, she had draped an affectionate arm over his shoulder, touched his hand and grasped the warm fingers. Worse, when he looked at her she let herself be sucked in. Those heterochromatic eyes had hypnotized her; she had drowned in the teen's gentle, yet powerful aura. Lysander was many things, passive and seemingly beyond his years. Nevertheless, he was also a man, with a mans urges and Lacoco knew she had come too near, too often to be ignored.

It had hit her all at once, that her good friend was attractive. So caught up in Castiel, the young girl had never taken the time to notice, which was odd. She acknowledged openly Nathaniel was attractive, had even fallen asleep only to wake up in his arms, back against his naked chest, feeling the problem every warm blooded male had in the morning against her thighs.

She wouldn't have been human to not feel the heat from such an encounter. Of course, such a thing had been brought on only by her own nosiness, wanting to know if he was being abused, because he was her friend as well. They had even laughed about it, Nathaniel making a small joke of 'being even'. He said his embarrassment at that moment totally made up for the time she had accidentally flashed him her breasts at the beach, and she whole-heartedly agreed.

She even admitted the twins were cute, and that Kentin was a total babe now, with Rosalya. But it hadn't struck her until that moment in that damned classroom that Lysander had them all beat, hands down.

He was a girls living, breathing prince. The teen had perfected the right amount of mystery and culture to lure anyone in, his eyes pools that could seem so dismissive, or so very inviting. The two colored orbs were gifts, truly, that could suck someone in to stare for hours. He was polite, he was driven, and he was smooth as silk. To top it all off he could sing like an angel and was, when boiled down to the core, sexy as hell.

Caught like any moth to a flame, Lacoco knew she would submit in that moment. Even her body knew it, yielding to him softly, like some female damsel in some two-dime romance novel. Not that she read that trash, mind you.

Thank god for interruptions. For Lacoco had come back to herself in that moment and thankfully so had he. In light of her new revelations, she had searched for her father, for Castiel, for anyone to distract her. And it had worked; minus the cloying feeling she had made a mistake. Was it the right way for her, to be with Castiel?

The redhead was anything but his best friend. While he was sweet and playful, he would never be mysterious to her. And politeness was often something he only grazed the surface of, though he had backed off when her father challenged him for that almost perfect date.

She had to face the simple facts. If Lysander was a candle attracting a moth, then Castiel was a raging inferno that sought to sear her very soul. From the moment she had met him he had devoured her, claimed her, and changed her. And she loved herself now.

It had taken that awful moment to bring forth the strength of her conviction. When Lysander had been broken in the street, her heart had frozen, mind blanking to the horror before her eyes. It hadn't been until she felt Castiel moving that she broke her eyes away. His intent was obviously to go to his friend, the bloody mess on the concrete.

But, fear struck her deeply. She couldn't, she couldn't, she just couldn't…! She could not let him walk out there! Traffic had all ceased so there was little chance of him being run over but still she moved.

Her tiny hands had trembled as they grasped him, her heels no help as she braced her legs to stop him from moving forward. He still managed to get a few steps, her heels scraping along, before she shifted and got to his side, one arm grabbing his and the other grasping his chest.

"Don't, please, don't. Stay with me. Castiel, stay with… me."

Her words had been borderline hysterical then and he had turned to her, forced his gaze away from his friend. He had stopped, for her. Because of her. Castiel had heard the distress, the fear, and the sheer notion that she was cracking up had him pausing. It made him realize she was seeing this too, and that seemed somehow horrible, that his girl would see this sort of dark thing.

"Come here," he demanded harshly then, dragging her into his arms and pressing her face into his chest, his hold tight. His own eyes returned automatically to his friend on the ground. "Don't look. It'll be okay, just don't look, alright?"

She had realized in those moments that there was no comparison, not to her. Castiel was it, he was her everything. She loved him so much it hurt, he filled her entire being and made her feel such complicated thrills of emotion. She wanted to be better for him. She wanted him to look at only her, to love her even just a quarter of the way.

Please, she silently prayed, do not let me lose him.

If Lysander felt this way for her, she was doomed.

Which brought them to this moment, with the four of them sitting tensed up around a table and curled into highly uncomfortable chairs. And while everyone else felt mere fear, worry, and the other feelings when faced with uncertain situations, Lacoco felt like throwing up.

In the pit of her, deep down, she could feel herself swell with negative energy. What had she done?

There her boyfriend was, worried over his best friend, and she sat knowing they had very nearly betrayed him? Well, Lysander didn't know they were dating so he was blameless, really. And it should not matter anyway, but it did. To her tangled mind, it mattered greatly.

Was she a slut? Would he live? What would happen if Castiel found out? Worse, what if he didn't? What if Lysander lived and she allowed herself to be tempted again? What if he died, could she and Castiel survive that?

In so many ways, Lysander was both of their pillars of strength. Her comfort and Castiel's calm side. In many cases, he had acted as both their conscious.

The thoughts whirled inside her like a tidal wave, followed by her own sharp reprimands. The feeling of dark guilt and gnawing fear clogged her senses down, shoving her into a deep depression-filled bog. She felt like they would eat away at her, chew right through her stomach linings and burst from her skin, to show off her sins to the gathered group.

Rosalya and Leigh got up to take a walk. It was just Castiel and Lacoco then, alone with their thoughts, so far apart yet so close. It stifled her somehow.

She couldn't imagine what he went through. Lysander was like his brother, his closest confidant. Hell, she fully believed that with enough alcohol they could turn gay with each other.

Lacoco wished again she had not wanted to keep their relationship a secret. For so many reasons, and she was disgusted with the selfishness behind them. If she had let the school know, then Lysander never would have been tempted, she never would have had these thoughts. However, she had followed her instinct to be secretive, to hide it, and keep it safely buried away so nobody could tarnish the budding relationship. Now, look. Her own actions had cast the first black pall on it.

Lacoco knew hate for herself then. While the tears welled up and spilled across her cheeks, she despised herself because she knew the truth. She didn't cry just because Lysander was at risk of dying.

She cried because she had hurt him and herself. She cried because she feared what Castiel would do once he found out. He wasn't a barrel of laughs when something slighted him, and he was possessive. She didn't see anything-good coming from it. That possessive jealousy she adored was charming against Dake. But if it was against his own best friend?

What had she done?

Finally, she cried for herself. For the fear of death. Because this was what death did. It surrounded you in a spiral and refused to let go, it surrounded them all now. She had always heard about tragedy striking other teenagers on the news: crashes, rapes, beatings to death, suicides. They had always been far off though, some distant victim. Horrid as it was she could regard the news as just stories. They didn't affect her.

But death had proven her just how wrong she was. They were not stories. And she and her friends weren't safe from them. Death had come to play with Lysander. It would come to them all, eventually. It would come for her.

She was so ensconced in the pit of misery she didn't register movement. Then she was pulled into a muscled chest, quite literally lifted from her seat and into strong arms. They enveloped her tightly, yet gently, as though she would break from the slightest massive pressure. She didn't doubt Castiel could crack her ribs, if he wanted to.

He turned with her in his arms and sat down, foregoing the chair for the floor. His head nestled into her chest, his arms tight bands around her waist, the thin shirt riding up so she felt his hand against the skin. The tile was cold against her knees as she shifted, throwing her arms around his head and pressing her lips to his hair.

These things she focused on. The warmth of his hand, the strength of his embrace. She let strands of his hair trickle through her fingers, ignored the dig into her knees.

She loved him, oh damn it all, how she needed him. If Lysander… no, when Lysander woke up, she would ignore that moment. She would make it very clear she was with Castiel. If she needed to, in private, she would explain how sorry she was for leading him on.

She would make him agree never to tell Castiel. She prayed it would be a secret they could take to the grave. A secret that, without an interruption, could have led to one very disastrous mistake.

"Castiel?"

The redhead tightened his arms, ignoring her. She felt something wet soaking into her shirt and her grip tightened.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured. "What can I do?"

He let out a shaky breath and shifted. He pressed lips against her collarbone, leaving a trail of moisture that she knew wasn't saliva.

"Just stay like this."

And she did. They remained huddled together, even when the others came back and more trickled in. Rosalya merely smiled at her, and Leigh blinked. They had known of course, that more went on between them than they let on.

The others showed shock. Melody and Iris showed it openly, whereas Nathaniel merely shrugged his shoulders, sitting gracefully in a chair. He made small talk that drew their attention away from the sight, and the new couple faded back to the background, adding in only when necessary.

Eventually Lacoco shifted so she sat on her bum, rather than her legs, turned so she could still wrap her arms around Castiel's neck, his propped up leg supporting her back with his arm. Her legs draped over his other leg.

It was this position her father found her in when he and the other parents all came in an hour later with a doctor, doubtless there to pick their teens up. The parents had all been sequestered away from the teens, and presumably, they were getting all the news about Lysander.

Her father had the good grace not to comment on her position. Rather, he merely arched a tired brow as the doctor spoke addressed the group as a large. "Your parents are all here to pick you up. And… that young man is stable."

The adults made allowance for the cries of relief and excitement. Lacoco let out a breathless noise she couldn't really identify, as fresh tears welled. Tears of relief because Lysander would be okay. Castiel laughed a little breathlessly in her ear.

The doctor cleared her throat. "Yes, it is a relief. However, we want him to rest as much as possible. Therefore, as it stands, we are only allowing blood relatives see him. Therefore, the rest of you may go home. He'll be up for visitors tomorrow."

The doctor shook hands with Leigh before he went down the hall.

"Lacoco, it's time to go home." Her father's voice was gruff. He had his hands shoved into his pockets, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

Castiel's hands tightened on her minutely, and she sighed. "Actually Dad… I was wondering…"

"What is it?"

"Can I… Rosalya and I were going to stay the night with each other, you know… we're both feeling a little…" she trailed off, but luckily, her friend came to her rescue.

"Lysander is like my brother, sir. I really don't want to be alone tonight." The golden eyes were swimming with tears.

Lacoco's father cleared his throat once, than twice. His daughter was draped in guy's arms, the very same guy she had lied to them about. Also, the guy he had unfairly shouted at, yet now he wondered if he should feel guilty for it. They looked too cozy, in his opinion.

However, she was going through something he couldn't protect her from. Lacoco had been too young to remember her grandparents passing, and nobody else had ever been seriously injured before. And her friend did look fragile.

With another clearing of his throat, he asked. "Just your friend would be there?"

Swallowing the guilt of her lie, she nodded. "Of course. Please, Dad, I couldn't go home now, not when all this happened."

"Well…" with a sigh, he mentally accepted the verbal berating his wife would give him since Lacoco was grounded, and nodded. He was wise enough to know, sometimes, as a parent, you let your kids get away with the lie so they could grow up. "I guess. But I want you to call tomorrow morning, and be home right after school."

"Right, sure!" She was quick to agree.

Once he left, along with all the other teen and parents, it was only she, Castiel, and Rosalya. Lacoco looked at her friend, smiling lightly. "Thanks… you don't… really need me to stay with you, right?"

The tanned girl smiled, even snorted. "I'm going home with Leigh. Though I doubt will be sleeping. Too much to think about."

"Yeah…" Castiel agreed, his arms relaxing now the threat of her leaving was gone for the moment. By tomorrow, hopefully he would be able to let her out of his arms. Maybe the feeling he had, the insane urge to cling, would be broken once daylight hit and he could push his fears aside.

But they didn't move from each other. When Leigh came back, he collected all three teenagers and took them to his home. They made popcorn that sat uneaten, the television showing movies none of them could retain. Anyone walking in would think they were all very adorable, two human pretzels, the girls curling tightly to their boyfriends, taking comfort from each other and the presence of their friends around them.

The only thing that vanished from the table was the wine.

None of them slept that night.

End chapter

Author note: I have no idea where this came from. It popped in my head after I played the episode. I batted it down but it would not go away. So… leave a review if you like, I like to hear other peoples thoughts.