Castiel closes his bedroom door and leans against it, forcing himself to breathe, just breathe, as he licks blood from his split lip. Fucking Michael, he thinks, then automatically winces at the profanity. It'd been a good day up until a few hours ago. It was Saturday; he'd got his chores done early, finished his school work and his bible study, then made himself a great lunch and retired to the back garden to eat. He'd dozed off under the maple that spread its limbs across what he liked to call his corner of the garden – since Gabriel had moved out (run away) and no longer lurked in the branches making sarcastic (and funny) comments about the rest of the family, that corner was quiet and safe. Anna had woken him at midafternoon and pulled him inside to help with dinner; Castiel had obliged. They'd gotten into a rhythm, working together in a way he wasn't really able to with the rest of the family.

Dinner was in the oven and he and Anna were snickering over her laptop when Michael had come home from his shift. Dad had picked him up; given everyone a cursory greeting then placed himself in front of the television. Michael had taken one look at the kitchen and demanded to know why there were dishes still in the sink. Anna hadn't said anything, she'd simply gotten to her feet and started to wash up. Cas helped; but he couldn't help the dark look he'd directed at Michael. That was when the day started to go down hill, fast. It started with little comments, mocking words that cut, and by the time dinner was on the table, Castiel was ready to explode. But he'd bitten his tongue, until Michael began to criticise Anna's cooking. Dad hadn't said anything, just poured himself another drink, holding himself behind that invisible wall he was so good at putting up between himself and his children. Cas was forced to watch Anna shrink further and further into herself at every hateful, hurtful word, until he just couldn't take it any more.

"What is your problem, Michael?" he'd demanded. "You walk in the door to dinner on the table and you can't do anything but pick at Anna for making it?" He'd heard Zachariah draw in a breath, and felt Raphael stare at him in amazement. Castiel was the good boy; the calm, reliable, dependable one. "It's rude, and it's unfair. You need to stop it." Michael had given him that look, the one that said Cas was a bug, far beneath his notice.

"What did you just say to me?" the eldest brother had replied, his voice cold and dangerous.

"I said you need to stop. Anna doesn't deserve it." Cas twitched when Anna kicked him in the ankle, and he'd looked over to see her shaking her head, mouthing the word no. His attention had swung back to Michael when he'd slammed his knife and fork down on the table.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that," Michael had warned, but Castiel had suffered enough.

"Why not? You're a brute, and a bully, and you're not the boss of me, of any of us." Michael had risen from his seat, and from less than a foot away Cas could see his hands were trembling and his face was filled with rage.

"Get out. Get away from this table, right now, or so help me..." Castiel had turned in appeal to their father, only to see that Dad had also risen and was walking away, back to the den and the television. "Get out!" Michael had repeated in a snarl.

"Gladly," Castiel had managed in reply. "I'd rather be alone right now than look at your stupid face for another second." He'd gotten to his feet and stalked around the table, head held high under the scrutiny of his family. He'd not seen the fist coming, hadn't be able to block it or move with it, and found himself on the floor, looking up at Michael with stars dancing in his vision.

"Don't you ever mouth off to me again, you got that?" Michael had demanded, then turned away, leaving Cas to scramble to his feet, wiping blood off his mouth and swallowing the urge to start swinging, even if it left him beaten to a pulp. He'd run up to his room, and now here he was, hiding from his eldest brother while his lip started to swell.

Castiel crossed the room to his desk and rummaged in the back of the drawer, coming up with the cell phone Michael had forbidden in the house. Fingers flying, he typed a message.

I need you to come get me. Now. Please.

It was gratifying how fast he received a response.

10 minutes. Usual spot.

He grabbed his favourite coat from the closet and crossed to the window, pulling it up and pushing the screen out of the way. It was a simple matter to climb out and walk carefully along the roof to the edge, then lower himself to his belly and hang his body out and over into space. Cas' toes hooked in the trellis that hugged the side of the house, and it was a matter of seconds before he was on the ground and walking away.

Two streets over, and he could already hear the low rumble he'd come to love. Dean Winchester guided the Impala to a stop, then leaned across the bench seat and opened the door. Cas slid inside and yanked the door shut. Dean clicked on the light and cupped Castiel's face in his calloused hands, turning him so he could see his swollen lip.

"Cas, what happened to your face?!"

"Dean, please... Just... Just get me away from here."

"Sure, Cas, whatever you want." Dean was silent as he put the Impala in gear. They were quiet for a moment, but when Dean spoke again it gave Castiel an unexpected feeling of warmth. "But one day I'm going to kill that son of a bitch. You've got my guarantee on that."