Archive of Our Own

Hello

If you have found this, it means you are the one to know the truth of my disappearance. See, the truth is, I am dead. I took my own life. No, do not be sad. Do not cry. Do not mourn my passing. It is not necessary… but what is necessary, is for you to understand why. I need someone (anyone, thus leaving this in a library book) to understand why. If you do not wish to continue this adventure, do not worry, I will not hold it against you. But, if you do, please continue to read.

The letter went on for a few paragraphs and Dean felt his stomach clench. He had come to the library to pick up a book for his brother, Sam, since he was at home with a stomach flu. Finding this letter by someone he did not even know had not been a part of the plan, but that did not stop him from dropping his eyes back down to the letter to keep on reading.

I am sure you are wondering what my name is, but for now, I am going to keep this piece of information to myself. After all, it is not truly your business, now is it?

Congratulations, if you’ve made it this far then you have consented to continue on a journey to discover the truth. You may leave at any point in time if it becomes too much for you. I know I did. But do not take this as an excuse for you to follow in my footsteps. I would not recommend suicide. Please do not kill yourself.  Now, we have to start where it all started.

1205 Cassidy Ave. Fountain Lake, NH 03808

I will not time you, since you may or may not even continue onward to this address, but I hope you do. I am not asking you to go inside or to even ring the doorbell. However, your next piece of the puzzle is waiting for you in the hollowed out tree below the West second story back window. Do not be shy about going up and looking in. I hope you are curious enough to continue onward.

Until then,

(you thought I was going to sign this, didn’t you?)

Dean slowly folded up the letter and stuffed it and its envelope in the inner pocket of his jacket. This could easily be a prank, but he wasn’t sure who would want to lie about their own death. Dean just hoped the end would not lead him to a dead body. Sam’s book would just have to wait.

--

According to Siri, 1205 Cassidy Avenue, Fountain Lake, New Hampshire was located only five miles away. Dean climbed into his dad’s 1967 Chevy Impala and followed Siri’s instructions until he came to a housing development called Ocean’s Peak. Dean slowed down so he wouldn’t miss number 1205, taking in the beautiful houses with awe. The Winchesters had never had much money and he had not grown up with much - they had lived in a trailer park most of his life - but these houses were three times the size of the home they lived in now.

Cassidy Avenue was nestled between Greenway Court and Ashland Way. Dean rolled down the street, coming upon 1205 slowly. As far as he could tell no one was home, but he still parked across the street anyway. The house itself was the navy blue found in the American flag on fancy star decorations, the accent color along the windows, shutters, and garage being white.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and trudged back around the house to where the promised tree stood. Its trunk curved and twisted oddly, as if it had chosen to grow around a foreign object that no longer existed. In the middle of the tree was a hole. After glancing around to make sure no one was in his direct line of sight, Dean dove his hand inside and reached around. His fingers came into contact paper and he slowly withdrew a new envelope. This one was red with a gold anchor emblem enclosing the flap. With shaking fingers, Dean released the seal and withdrew the letter to read, ready to start walking back to the car.

Hello again

I am glad you have chosen to continue on my journey. I can promise you that it will not be fun, but before I go on, the only thing I ask of you is to sit beneath the tree, as I did when I wrote this. No one will bother you as no one ever notices anything anymore. Please, have a seat and read.

Dean glanced around one more time, but as the author had written, there was no one around, so he sank to the ground to continue onward.

If you hadn’t guessed it, this is my house. I grew up in this house and I would like to apologize to whomever is reading this if you wish to dismiss me as being a spoiled, rich brat. You are probably right. But I did not ask to be born into this family. In fact, I didn’t ask to be adopted by this family either. That’s right. I am adopted. My birth family is from Russia, but I never met them. I was taken from the agency at two years old, and brought to America by the family living in 1205 Cassidy Ave.

I wish to implore that the Novaks are a good family.

They are kind, loving people. In fact, they did everything they could to make my life a good life. I am not going to complain about them, at least not Mr. and Mrs. Novak, but I do have a story for you. One that I have not been able to ever speak out loud to anyone. It is one of the reasons I have chosen to take my own life. If you have struggles with abuse and molestation, I ask that you shut this letter, and return it to its envelope. I do not wish to upset you.

If you can continue onward. Thank you for listening to my story.

When I was six years old, my oldest brother - whom I will not name - was thirteen years old at the time. He was mean, cold, and rowdy. Whilst Mr. and Mrs. Novak were away for a day trip, I was left home alone with my siblings - it was June 3, I will never forget.

I was in my room, playing with my toys, when my brother came in uninvited. I was rather happy to see him, as I loved all of my brothers growing up. I wanted to play a game, and when he said he wanted to play a game too, I was overly excited. He claimed he wanted to wrestle. I was never good at wrestling. So, when my clothes were taken off, I was simply confused. I did not know what to do, but I did as he said. What else was I meant to do?

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

I cried and I bled all over my underwear when it was over and I was redressed. Mr. and Mrs. Novak came home and found my bloody underwear. They were concerned but I had stopped bleeding by then, so I did not go to the hospital. The police were not called.

This only gave my tormentor license to continue.

I apologize. I must pause to gather my thoughts, tears, and breath. I will try not to cry on the letter, I know smudged ink is hard to read. I would go into graphic detail, but I am sure you do not wish to read it, and I do not wish to write it. This is hard enough.

For ten years my brother raped me.

When I turned twelve, I decided to tell someone, but no one believed me. Boys don’t get raped, they’d say. Now you know my sex. I am a boy, and by knowing I lived with the Novaks and was adopted, I am certain you will figure out my identity long before the end, but it doesn’t really matter. The point is, is that for ten years, from 6 to 16, I was raped almost nightly. I hardly ever saw relief, only when my brother stopped coming by so often.

Again, I must apologize for this… but it starts here. It starts at 1205 Cassidy Ave. With my brother and with my sexual abuse. If you have finished this letter, then I am impressed, but unfortunately it only spirals down from here. I hope you are prepared. For the next letter, I ask that you leave this neighborhood, and instead turn your eyes to Trenton Park. It is not far from my house, you could walk there if you feel so inclined. I will be doing so after I finish this and put it away. Once you get to the park, there is a yellow tube. The letter will be beneath it.

Good luck,

(no spoilers)

A tear splashed along the paper by the time Dean reached the end. He only wipe it away and hope it did not ruin the letter. Legs and knees feeling weak, Dean used the tree to pull himself upright, carefully putting the letter back into its envelope, and walked back around the house to the car. He would put the letters in the car and then walk to the park as the mystery boy had. If he had been raped for ten years, Dean had to assume the boy had killed himself at sixteen.

Dean shivered.

He was sixteen.

Maybe he had known this boy. Maybe they had gone to the same school. Dean wracked his brain for the name Novak, but nothing was ringing a bell. It was a big school, so if he had attended Harbor View High, it would not surprise Dean if they had never crossed paths. His class was over six hundred students. As he walked, Dean pulled out his phone to scan Facebook statuses and posts for news of a boy who had committed suicide and then stopped.

The letter writer did not want his identity revealed until the end. No spoilers, he had written. The phone returned to his pocket and Dean continued to walk down the sidewalk, kicking small stones along the way. Whoever the boy was, Dean wanted to beat up his oldest brother. The bastard deserved to be in jail. Not only was he a molester but also a murderer. Five to six years would not be enough jail time - the bastard deserved life without parole.

Trenton Park was a small, quaint, little park with a swing set, the yellow tube from the letter, a merry-go-round, and a small jungle gym set with a twisting slide. The only other occupant in the park was a young woman and her daughter. They were on the swings, not paying him any heed, as he walked over to the yellow tube to lower himself to the ground and feel around for the letter. Dean skimmed his fingers along the rough plastic until he finally made contact with the smooth vellum of the envelope. This one was powder blue with a silver star sticker acting as the seal.

Dean leaned back against the tube and carefully began to lift a corner of the star, trying not to rip the sticker at all. He wanted to preserve as much of the evidence as he could, in case he decided to take them to the police.

I am thoroughly impressed that you have continued onward with my journey. If you have followed these in order then you will know that I asked you to come here and find this letter. Now, please climb into the tube, lie on your back, and read this. I hope the sun is shining through the plastic to keep the tube warm and to tinge everything the color of jonquils.

Are you seated?

Dean crawled over to the end of the tube and tried his best to fit inside - it was a tight squeeze but he was able to slide all the way in, lying on his back as instructed. “Damn,” he muttered, holding the letter over his head to keep reading.

Good.

You are probably wondering why I asked you to do this specific motion, and while it is not required, I wish you to enter my headspace, and this tube was one of my favorite spots as a child. I used to hide in it when playing hide and seek with the other kids at the park. It is also the place I cut myself for the first time. In fact, if you turn your eyes over to your right, there is still a smear of copper along the side. That is from me.

I was twelve years old. I had walked to the park on my own, even though I was not allowed, with a pair of scissors stashed in my pocket. When I was twelve I did not have a lot of friends (I still do not have a lot of friends, in fact I may have less friends now than I did then) and I was so lonely. No one understood me. I didn’t understand me. You see, I was not interested in girls like other boys my age, I was interested in no one.

Not girls.

Not boys.
Not anyone or anything.

While the kids my age were starting to become interested in sex and what would happen to their bodies, I still wanted to play with my games and toys. To this day (I am 16 now) I do not consider myself interested in sex or boys and girls. I am broken… but I knew it then at twelve, so I walked to the park, climbed into the tube, and cut my arms open with the scissors. I did not expect to bleed so much. In desperation and panic, I tried to wipe some of it on the tube, but it just kept bubbling up.

So, I had no choice but to run home, the scissors forgotten - I still have no idea what happened to those scissors - and confess to Mrs. Novak what I had done. She had been horrified and taken me to the emergency room. Six stitches and one trip to a child psychologist later, I was dismissed as being a “normal” twelve year old who was having hormone fluctuations. You know, I actually believed them for a while, and it was the best time of my life.

If I was normal, then eventually it would even out, right? My dark cloud would go away and I would be happy again, but I never got happy, and my cloud never went away. After the first time I cut, I became good at cutting. I did not always cut in the yellow tube, but I think I did it there more than anywhere else.

Dean paused, drawing his eyes over to the blood stain and staring at it for a long time, unable to keep reading. This boy had been in clear pain, how had absolutely no one seen it? How had no one seen his agony? There were tears in his eyes again and Dean dabbed them on his coat sleeve with annoyance. Dean prayed the boy would reveal his name in the end; he wanted to apologize to him in person via prayer.

I have many scars on my arms, legs, stomach, chest, hips, thighs.

I am a tiger.

I have earned my stripes.

But tigers are brave and I am not brave. Tigers are tough and they are survivors. I am not a survivor. I am sorry… I have made myself sad and probably you too. I want you to know that I am sure I will be much happier when this is all over and I am gone. If not, I suppose I should have gone to church more often.

Now that you have survived this last story (get it? survived? I think I’m funny), I am going to ask you to follow the road outside of the park. You may drive now, you will be in the car for a while. If you do not have a car and wish to not further your journey, I understand.

Follow Deer Run Road, which is the one across from the park, and head toward town (you may do this by turning right out of the parking lot). Town is about a fifteen minute drive from the park. Once you hit the library again, look for The Fisherman’s Wharf, it is a small restaurant on the corner of Broad Street and Deer Run (which turns into State Route 13).

When you get inside, ask to be sat at table number 10. That is my favorite table. I am sure you will figure it out once you are there. If she is working, ask for Meg.

Have fun,

(ah-ah, not yet)

Dean gulped.

This had been even more harrowing than the first letter and he wasn’t sure why, but once again, Dean tucked it back into its envelope and slowly wriggled out of the tube. His mystery author was determined to make him break down into sobs, but Dean fought the tears on his way back to the car, which was still parked outside of the Novak household. He checked his phone as he slid behind the steering wheel - so far no calls, but he was sure his mother would be calling eventually. When she did he would have to come up with a good lie.

Throwing Baby into drive, Dean began to follow the instructions. He knew of The Fisherman’s Wharf, so he at least knew the general area he needed to be in. It wasn’t fair; that his boy had died, while others carried on. Did his family know? In the beginning, he had said the truth of his “disappearance”; did that mean the Novaks had no idea where their adopted son had gone? As far as Dean knew, there were no signs about missing boys around town.

Dean shook his head and continued to drive, pulling up to a parking space outside of the restaurant along the street. People were coming and going; simply doing their day to day activities. It made Dean feel sick to his stomach. The door to the Wharf chimed when he walked in and a brunette with bubble gum in her mouth looked up at him from her spot at the hostess’ station.

“How many?” she asked.

“Um… One… is- is there anyway I can be sat at,” Dean paused, wracking his brain for the right number, “table ten? And is Meg around?”

She frowned. “I’m Meg,” she replied. “I’m hostessing and waitressing today.” She rolled her eyes, gesturing for him to follow her over to the table. “Table ten.”

“Thanks…”

“What do you want to drink?”

“Um, water is fine for now.” Once she nodded and walked away, Dean pulled out the menu and looked inside, but there was no letter. He frowned, ducking down under the table, checking the seats, and then he saw it - it was taped underneath the table on the opposite side. Slowly, Dean dislodged it from its secure spot and pulled it out to set on the table. The envelope was a golden yellow and the seal a maple leaf sticker.

Once more, Dean was careful to not rip the fragile seal, going slow and easy to open the envelope. He pulled the letter free and laid it out on the table, immediately becoming engrossed in the next chapter in the story. He startled when a twenty-dollar bill fell out along with the letter.

Hello again.

Welcome to one of my favorite restaurants in town. I come here often and ask for Meg, because, despite her non-cheery disposition, she is actually quite nice to me. You could, I suppose, ask her who I am, but I hope you remain with the mystery. Plus, I am most certain, she does not know I am dead. In fact, you are the only person who knows. I’m sorry to place that burden on you. However, you can have your meal on me.

But, back to the story, shall we?

I asked you to come here because I wanted you to continue to walk in my shoes. I sat here and wrote this letter at this table. The sun had been shining in on me, warming my body as I penned my death sentence. It was mostly empty when I came in, which was why I was able to leave the letter so discreetly for you to find. I also asked you here because I have another piece of the story for you to digest and understand.

When I was fourteen years old, I came here with Mr. and Mrs. Novak for lunch. It was just us, which was quite a treat for me, since they had such a big family.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Dean startled and looked up at Meg. She had no idea her friend was dead. Only he knew, meaning the Novaks didn’t know either. Dean felt sick - like honestly as if he could throw up. “Um…” he glanced down at the money. “Yeah- um… just a… salad.”

“Dressing?”

“Italian.”

“Okay.” Meg walked away and Dean returned to the letter.

When I was fourteen years old, I came here with Mr. and Mrs. Novak for lunch. It was just us, which was quite a treat for me, since they had such a big family. I was not expecting anything, I just figured we were having lunch, enjoying some “family bonding”. But, after we had ordered our meals, Mrs. Novak pulled out a piece of paper from her purse and placed it on the table in front of me. She told me to read it, so I did.

It was a letter from the school, informing them that I was failing several of my classes and if I kept it up, I would be kicked out of   I was surprised and afraid. I hadn’t realized I had been doing so poorly, but with everything that went on at school, I wasn’t all that surprised either. Mrs. Novak looked at me, and I mean really looked at me, and Mr. Novak was practically red with rage, and she asked me, “Why must I disappoint them so much?”

You can imagine my shock.

They weren’t concerned about me. They were concerned that I was going to be the failure of their clan.

Mr. Novak then looked at his wife and said, and I quote, “I told you adopting a Russian boy was a bad idea. He’s going to cause us to move.”

Now, let me remind you of my age: fourteen. I was fourteen and they were upset that I was going to ruin their reputation, but their oldest son was a rapist, and the second oldest was away at “boarding school” most of the time. AKA he was a trouble-maker and they didn’t want him around. They were upset with me and I was even more upset. I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there, gaping like a fish.

Dean gulped and paused in reading so Meg could set his salad down. He was glad she didn’t ask him what he was doing and simply walked away. Now that he had the food in front of him, he wasn’t sure he could eat it, but he took a bite anyway, not wanting the money and offer for lunch, to go to waste.

What kind of parents told their fourteen year old kid that he was a disappointment? No wonder he called them Mr. and Mrs. Novak, Dean would have too. He had to wonder, then, if the writer had called them ‘Mom and Dad’ once… but then had stopped before his death. Dean shuddered and steeled himself to keep on reading.

They argued for a few more minutes between themselves, before Mrs. Novak looked at me and said, “You have to do better, Sweetheart. We cannot allow for this kind of behavior.”

I nodded.

I nodded. That’s what I did. I nodded. Like a fucking robot. I apologize for my language but I’m so angry about it. If they had just asked me if I was okay - if there was something wrong. I would have told them. I would have sobbed and told them everything, but they didn’t want to know, so now it is up to you, my reader. It is up to you to understand why everything was so awful for me.

You know of my rape.

You know of my self harm.

Now, it is time for you to know of the hell I call school.

Once you are finished with lunch, you are free to walk out of the diner and cross the street. Find your way to Winter Street and walk toward the church on the corner. Go inside and under the third pew from the back, you will find my letter. It’s on the end, so you don’t have to search too hard for it.

I hope lunch was good,

C

Dean almost choked on a bite of salad (which he never would have lived that down) when he saw the final letter. C. Just, C. But it was a clue. A step toward the name of the dead boy. Dean could feel his heart pounding and he left the twenty on the table, folding the letter up, and stuffing it back in its envelope so he could rush back outside to find Winter Street.

Dean walked down the street, his eyes peeled for the street sign. There had been no direction on how to find Winter Street, but Dean was sure he’d find it eventually. He passed many different shoppers, his eyes watching every single face, wanting to tell them. He wanted to stop the mother of two, to grasp onto her shoulders, to scream in her face that a boy was dead and no one knew. Did anyone care? How could a boy go missing and no one give a damn?

His jaw set in anger and he could only move forward, his eyes scanning for the street name. He passed several shops and small places to get food before finally coming up Winter Street. It was only a few blocks away from The Fisherman’s Wharf. Dean turned and headed down the street; this one was mostly empty, so he jogged toward the church and rushed up the steps, pulling open the heavy oak doors. It was dark inside and it took his eyes a moment to adjust, but soon Dean was rushing forward, counting the pews until he came to the third from the back, kneeling down at the end.

As promised, the letter awaited. The envelope was green and there was something else inside besides the letter. Frowning, Dean didn’t slowly open the letter this time; he ripped the envelope and turned it upside down, watching as a rosary fell into his palm. The beads were dark blue and white, the cross the same bone white as some of the beads. He gulped again and slowly removed the letter, easing to sit in the pew.

Welcome,

I spent many Sundays in this church, in this pew, staring up at the altar, wondering if God truly stared down upon His flock. I am not sure if you are a religious person, but if you are not, that is okay. I am not sure if I am either these days. If God were real, would He put a dedicated member of His church through this pain? I am not sure anymore.

Dean paused and glanced around. If C had a story of priest molestation he would rip up the letter and scream. How many bad things could happen to one person?

Church used to be a place I could find solace because God was such a strong presence in my life, but God stopped listening to me a long time ago. Maybe because I am broken. Maybe God does not come to boys who are broken and have cuts on their bodies. Anyway, I am diverging from the story.

The story I have to share with you was during Christmas Evening Mass. This was just last year. I was fifteen and I arrived for Mass along with Mr. and Mrs. Novak. At this point I had been beating myself up to fix my grades so I was not kicked out of school, mind you. I hadn’t been - which was probably a miracle to be honest. Before Mass started, I realized I had to pee. Badly. So, I excused myself and rushed off so I wouldn’t miss the beginning, heading off to the bathroom.

It’s downstairs, in the basement, in case you were wondering. There was a line for the women’s restroom, I remember distinctly, and I was quite glad I was male. I ducked into the bathroom and tried to hurry, but sometimes, you just can’t help these things. Once I had finished, I was in the midst of washing my hands, when a man came into the bathroom - I was not sure who he was, but I recognized him a little. I figured I had seen him once or twice during church.

He nodded to me and I smiled back, continuing to wash my hands. When I turned to dry my hands with paper towels, a hand slammed down over my mouth - it was cold. When I say cold, imagine for a moment, it is the middle of January and you have dunked your warm hands into the snow and left them there for five minutes before withdrawing them. That was how cold the flesh felt against my face. I tried to scream but I couldn’t even twist around to see who had attacked me, I could only assume it was the man I had somewhat recognized.

I was dragged into the only stall and my pants were yanked down past my butt. By this time, I was sobbing and trying to fight back. I couldn’t. I will spare you the details of what happened next, but needless to say, it was painful. He left me in the bathroom afterward.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t go back to Mass.

Eventually, Mr. Novak came to find me. When I heard people coming, I pulled up my pants, and blew my nose. I had a scrape along my forehead and a cut on my cheek. My ribs and hips were bruised. I stumbled out of the bathroom and Mr. Novak smacked me for missing Mass. He didn’t ask me what had happened. I didn’t tell him.

If you need to, take a breath. I know I need to.

The paper was shaking violently, Dean had to steady himself, yanking his eyes away from the written words. Raping someone during Christmas Mass. Dean was sure that had to earn the guy a ticket to Hell but it didn’t seem like justice enough. The guy deserved to have his dick cut off and fed to him raw. He had to get up and walk out of the church - he couldn’t be in that space anymore.

The letter crumpled in his shaking hands and Dean flinched at the sound. Not meaning to ruin C’s words, Dean carefully smoothed the piece of paper back out on his leg, slowly returning to read.

I am still unsure of who he was; the man who raped me.

I hope, if there is a God, He is quick to smite the man for raping in His church on His day. But if not, then that is okay too. I am sure there are other more important matters to be had. God is probably the busiest person (being?) on the planet.

I went home that night and I cried. Christmas was ruined for me forever.

I am so tired. I fear I will not be able to finish this adventure… but I suppose if you have stuck with me this entire time, then I must do so for you, Reader. My next letter can be found outside of St. Alexander’s. Your adventure is nearly done. I was going to leave the letter inside the school but I feared you would not be able to get inside, so I left it taped beneath the bench outside. You may sit there and read it.

I am so tired,

C

The letter did not fold as easily since it had been crumpled, but eventually Dean was able to put it back into its envelope. His phone was buzzing.

“Shit,” he hissed, quickly pulling it out. “Hey, Mom.”

“Dean, Honey, where are you? I sent you out to get Sam’s book and you haven’t come back!” She sounded worried and Dean almost thanked her. He almost thanked her for being there for him. Always.

“Sorry,” he replied quickly, wondering where he could find St. Alexander’s. “I got sidetracked.”

“Well, we want you home. Now.”

“Mom- I-” How could he tell her this was more important than going home?

“Dean, now.” She had turned on the mom voice, so he sighed, and muttered an ‘okay’. The line went dead and Dean cursed, angrily storming back to the car. His adventure would have to wait.

xxx

As soon as Dean entered the house, he was quick to wrap his mother up into a tight hug, which made her freeze, clearly confused. “Thanks Mom,” he said honestly.

“What for?” she asked, rubbing his back in returned affection.

“Everything,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Oh… Well, that’s nice of you Honey.” Mary smiled and returned to making dinner, while Dean headed over to sit by Sam.

“Did you get my book?” he asked, sitting up with a cough.

“Yep.” Dean handed over the book and ruffled his hair. “Nerd.”

He’d had to return to the library to pick it up, but at least he had remembered. The letters were in the car still; he hadn’t wanted to bring them inside in case his mom or Sam asked about them. They weren't really their business anyway.

“Where were you, anyway?” Sam asked as he laid back down, huddling near his bucket.

Dean stood and went to sit in a different chair, not wanting to come down with the same bug Sam had. “I just got sidetracked by some people, that’s all.” He shrugged. It was only half a lie. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, it was Mom who was worried about you, you stupid fat head.”

Dean stuck his tongue out and settled into his chair more comfortably. It felt weird - going back to his normal life when there was a dead boy whose words were out in his car. Waiting to be read and digested. He had considered going to police more than once, but he had decided to wait until he finished his adventure. Once all of the letters had been found and opened, Dean would go to the police. Maybe he would pay the Novaks a proper visit too. They had a right to know.

“Boys!” Mary called. “Dinner… and Sammy, I have your rice and chicken broth, let’s try that.”

Dean gave Sam an encouraging smile before getting up to have dinner, his mind still with C.

xxx

Dean reread the letters six times each before finally stopping. He needed to sleep and then in the morning, he would continue with finding them. Siri told him St. Alexander’s was not far away, but he decided he’d drive there in the morning, rather than walk. It was only a five minute drive, compared to a twenty minute walk. Huffing out a sigh, Dean rolled over and tried to sleep.

He rolled over four times in a row.

C’s words wouldn’t leave him alone.

That was how he ended up in his car at midnight, driving over to St. Alexander’s (breaking curfew) and sitting on a cold bench with a pink envelope in his lap. The street lamp above him was the only reason he was able to read the letter on the bench instead of in his car. The street was quiet and on one was around - he just hoped the cops didn’t come rolling by.

Hello

As I sit here and write this, I realize how fucking tired I am of myself. Sorry to put you through so much shit. You are probably a normal person and probably do not want to keep reading, and am probably as tired of me as I am. So sorry for whining to you. I sound like a brat.

Anyway.

It is time I tell you about school. To be honest with you, school is the most painful thing for me. Okay, deep breath. Here we go.

I shall start with Anna Milton.

Anna is fairly nice to me - she is not cruel or overly awful, but she is more popular than me. We used to be friends, in middle school. We became friends after the first seventh grade dance and I found her crying because her boyfriend at the time, had dumped her. I gave her a hug and had Mrs. Novak take me home… Afterward, we became friends. I had never really had any friends before Anna, so it was nice to have someone to talk to and share my thoughts with.

We used to write notes back and forth in a notebook we would pass to each other between classes in the hallway. It was a lot of fun and I learned so much about her from those notes. The reason I am bringing her up is because when we entered ninth grade she stopped talking to me. No warning. No explanation. She just stopped. I remember the first day of high school, I was excited because I had a friend to talk to, I wouldn’t be alone at lunch… but when I went over to sit with her, she and her friends got up and walked away.

Color me confused.

I confronted her after school, asking her why she wasn’t talking to me. She told me it was because I was “weird” and she couldn’t hang out with “weird” people anymore. So, that was the end of our friendship. Just like that. Even after all of the things I had learned - like how her favorite flavor of icecream is pistachio and when her favorite band broke up, she had been in mourning for a month. I knew her favorite songs, the order she did things in the shower, the type of books she enjoyed reading, her boyfriends, and which boys she wanted to have sex with.

I knew so much about her and she no longer wanted to be my friend. I could have used her this final year.

Dean circled her name with a pen. Anna Milton. Dean had brought a small notebook with him and he began to make a list of people to talk to, in order:

1. The Novaks
2. Anna Milton
3. The Police

The next person I wish to tell you about is Raphael Edwards.

Raphael is a senior this year. He is on the debate team and he is extremely handsome, powerful, and smart. He also lives in my neighborhood. During my freshman year Raphael had decided I was his new target. It started with my first day - at the bus stop, I walked down to the corner to wait, just like everyone else, and Raphael was there, even though he was a junior and could drive to school if he wanted, but there something wrong with his car, so he was waiting with the rest of us.

I walked up and stood, away from the others, I did not want to bother anyone. On that day I had brought my favorite copy of The Hobbit with me to read on the bus that morning. I was in the middle of the chapter “Riddles in the Dark”, when Raphael walked up to me and snatched the book out of my hands. I attempted to get it back but he held it over my head and called me a nerd for reading on the first day.

I begged him to give me the book back. Everyone laughed as Raphael threw it on the ground in a puddle and stepped on it. The book was ruined and I cried. I actually broke down and cried. After the bus came, I sat in the front, because I knew if I sat in the back, they could mess with me and the driver would be none the wiser. They started calling me “baby in a trench coat” because that’s what I had on over my uniform.

I cried the whole way to school and attempted to dry out my book in my locker but it was ruined. I had to throw it away. If you ever run into Raphael Edwards, please punch him in the face for me, since I never got the chance.

He did many things to me that year, I will not go into too much detail, or we will never end this journey and I will never do what I set out to do. But here is a list:

1. Ruined my copy of my favorite book
2. Stuffed me in at least 10 different lockers
3. Gave me a bloody nose by throwing a basketball at my face during gym class
4. Stole my lunch money constantly
5. Beat me up more than once
6. Pulled my pants down in front of one of the most popular girls in school (I was just trying to ask her where my class was, I didn’t really like her)
7. Made me write papers for him
8. Invited me to a party, acting like he was being nice out of the blue, and stupid me believed him, went to the party, and then basically I got “Carrie’d”
9. Ruined my freshman year
10. Egged my car when I got one the following year

Raphael Edwards is a terrible person, but I don’t wish ill will on him, minus that punch in the face I never got to do myself.

Dean circled Raphael’s name and updated the list:

1. The Novaks
2. Anna Milton
3. Raphael Edwards
4. The Police

He wasn’t sure why people insisted on being so cold and cruel, but Dean was determined to tell them what they had done. How they had murdered C. That they were responsible for his death. Dean felt anger build in his body, but he kept reading.  

The next person I am going to tell you about is Zachariah Weber.

Zachariah was Raphael’s sidekick. Together, they made my life hell. Where Raphael was all about physical punishment, Zachariah was all about verbal abuse. The story I am going to tell you about happened at the end of my freshman year. Remember when I told you I felt not sexual desire for anyone? This is still true - I am still broken - however, that did not stop me from having a crush on a boy.

He doesn’t go to my school. I don’t even think he knows my name…

But anyway, I had a crush on him, and I really wanted to transfer to public school just so I could meet him in person. Anyway, Zachariah somehow found out I liked this boy (he must have heard me talking to someone about it, I didn’t have a lot of friends mind you, but I did talk to Meg and sometimes I talked to another boy named Balthazar, but more about him in a moment).

It was one of the last days of school and I was ready to start the summer - I was hoping to meet the boy I had a crush on in person during the summer. I was in gym class when Zach came up to me, with a huge grin on his face. I was confused and then Zach turned to the class, and very loudly exclaimed,

“  a faggot!”

I gasped.

No one knew this about me. I couldn’t believe he would stand up in front of the class and exclaim such a slur. He hadn’t finished either.

“He’s a faggot and likes it up his ass! He likes a boy! We should probably warn the poor guy!”

The class erupted into laughter the same time I burst into tears and ran into the locker room to hide. I was mortified. Afterward, the school soon figured out I was a “fag” and no one left me alone. I was picked on even more. I felt bad for my crush because I am sure someone told him… So, I want to apologize to him.

Dean Winchester, I’m sorry.

Dean’s heart skipped several beats, making him gasp for air. The letter fell from his hand and he stared at the trees across the street. Him. He was the dead boy’s crush. His mouth went dry and he wasn’t sure if he could (or even should) complete reading the letters, but he had gotten so far… he couldn’t stop now. Fingers and hands shaking, stomach twisting, Dean picked up the letter and continued.

Dean Winchester, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry if you are the one reading this. I am sorry if you are not into boys and they told you that a broken, faggot boy likes you. I’m very sorry. I’m just so very sorry…

But, now I need to talk about Balthazar Brendon.

The first thing you should know about Balthazar is he is a good person. He was nice to me when no one else was nice… but it wasn’t really enough. It’s not his fault, I do not blame him for this. I just wish he had tried more.

I don’t really have any bad stories to tell you about him, or even really good stories. Just know that he was good to me - he talked to me, he even invited me to his house on occasion, and I spent the night once. We bonded over stupid TV shows and ate a lot of junk food, but I do not consider us good friends… Maybe he feels differently, and if that is so, I am sorry for that too.

I am not a good friend.

I am not a good person.

I am not good.

Sometimes, I wonder, if I could just be braver, stronger, better if people would like me… Maybe if I was just better I wouldn’t have to do this. I wouldn’t have to kill myself. But, again, I’m so tired of me. So tired of everything. One of my only regrets is not saying hello to Dean Winchester.

I hope, one day, we meet. Just, not so soon. Live your life Dean. Live it happily.

I have one more letter and story for you, my reader, and while I am sure you probably wish to stop, I ask that you find this last piece of the puzzle, and complete my story. You may find the letter miles outside of town. I used to go to a place called “Harmony Nature Realm” - I found peace there where I could not find it anywhere else.

I ask that you arrive by dawn.

That is when I liked to go and be amongst the wildflowers. There is a copse of trees and in the clearing there are so many flowers… go there. You will not be disappointed.

Best of luck,

C

Dean gulped, checking his watch. Dawn was still hours away but he had a feeling he would not be sleeping tonight. Not after learning this harrowing truth. C had liked him, meaning he had to have at least seen this boy.

If only you’d noticed him. Just once. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

Tears filled Dean’s eyes and he yelled, crumpling the letter in his hands. He pressed his hands to his forehead and sobbed quietly. He mourned for a boy he had not known but who had liked him. Who had had a crush on him - and perhaps he would never have considered dating a boy, but he could have been nice to him. Dean shook and the walk back to the car was hard, but he managed to drive back, and look up the address to Harmony Nature Realm.

Twenty miles.

Gulping, Dean made his way inside of the house quietly, glad for his mother’s deep sleep and Sam being drugged up from being sick. The rest of the night, Dean sat up in his bed, staring at the crumpled letter and the list. The sound of scratching pen on paper filled the room as Dean crossed the list out to write it again:

1. Anna Milton
2. Raphael Edwards
3. Zachariah Weber
4. Balthazar Brendon
5. Dean Winchester
6. The Police
7. The Novaks

He would tell C’s family last.

Dean stared at his own name and began to cry again. C was dead. C was dead and he didn’t even know his full name. He was the only one who knew. No one else knew. Dean’s stomach plummeted as he curled up on his bed and waited. Before the sun could rise, he was out the door again, and driving to his final stop.

The drive to the nature realm was stressful but quiet. The roads were empty and when he pulled in at dawn, Dean parked the car, and went to find the copse of trees with the wildflowers. It wasn’t hard, since the place was not as big as it sounded. He wasn’t sure what he would find, he just hoped it wasn’t C’s dead body.

Dean went to sit in the middle of the flowers, looking around, tears still staining his face. It was cold. The ground was hard and damp from morning dew. Birds were chirping, starting to rouse from their night’s sleep. The flowers were beautiful - not as vibrantly colored as the ones in the store, but still beautiful.

He took a sharp breath, letting it out, and watching it form into a slight fog in the chilly air. Dean turned his eyes around the flowers until he settled on a rock beside a tree. Underneath, trapped, was another envelope. With a gulp, Dean crawled over and slowly removed the envelope. The last color was black and the seal was a red heart. Opening it slowly, Dean removed the final letter, his heart pounding so fast he felt dizzy.

Congratulations

You’ve made it to the end of my journey. You have walked my steps and you have discovered the truth. I have one more story for you and then your journey is complete… I am sorry I do not have a prize for you, but I will start off with one reward:

My name is Castiel Novak.

I am sixteen years old.

I go to St. Alexander’s Private Catholic Academy.

I am dead.

I am the boy who you didn't notice and you didn’t care about. I am the boy who hates himself. There are so many others just like me and my challenge for you is to find someone who suffers like I do and make their lives better. Please. For me? No one did that for me and I would love for you to save someone’s life. Everyone deserves to live.

My last story is my final straw.

It happened not long ago. Two weeks before this day.

Two weeks ago I had considered killing myself. To ending my life with no explanation, just doing it. However, I decided that perhaps I would talk to someone. Just… one more time. Maybe, they would save my life. I started with Mr. and Mrs. Novak. I told them that I was depressed and that I needed help.

They told me I was being dramatic and that I needed to focus on my studies instead. They did not help me.

I went to my guidance counselor. I told her that I was feeling very down; that I was depressed. She listened for a while, and I thought to myself, she will help me. I should have come to her ages ago… but then something else happened during school. Something bad, I’m not sure what, but she told me I had to wait, to finish telling her later, so I was dismissed.

She didn’t help me.

I felt lost, sick, tired. I just wanted to die. It was then that I thought that I would write my story. I would pick a day and walk through my life. Perhaps, by the end, I would lose my nerve and I would still be alive. I wouldn’t kill myself. So, that is why, reader, that I have taken you on this journey.

You are free to do with this as you will.

Tell my family.

Tell the police.

Pray to God.

Cry.

Mourn.

Whatever you must do.

I would like to quote a song to you, it is one of my favorites:

You taught me the courage of stars before you left.

How light carries on endlessly, even after death.

With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite.

How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

It is beautiful to exist. I just wish that I could find the beauty in my own existence. If by some miracle Dean Winchester is the one to have found these letters, then, I want to tell you that I found you beautiful. As beautiful as the stars above us and I hope your life is not extinguished before you do something wonderful with it.

With all of my love,

Castiel Novak

Dean stared at the final words and felt his jaw fall open. This couldn’t be it. These could not be the ending words. He flipped the page over, checked the envelope, but there were no more words. This was it. The end. Castiel Novak’s life was over.

Tears choked his throat and he yanked out his phone, trying to open Facebook, which felt so stupid in the moment, but he had to know. He had to see this boy’s face. Service was weak, but he managed to finally open up the app and type in C A S T I E L   N O V A K.

1 result

Dean clicked on the only profile and a real sobbed wrenched out of him. Castiel Novak was gorgeous - his eyes were like the sky over Dean’s head and his smile as radiant as sunlight. This beautiful boy, who he realized now, that yes, he recognized was gone. He was dead and only Dean knew the truth.

He took a deep breath and stood. The drive back to town was even more unsettling than the drive to the nature park. Even though the Novaks were last on his list, Dean still went to their house first. It took him fifteen minutes to collect his bearings and walk up to the front door, ringing the doorbell. He held every letter, clutched in his hand, tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to tell them.

The door opened and Dean dropped the letters. They all fluttered to the ground like fallen soldiers.

“Holy shit.”

Castiel Novak stared at him with wide eyes. “Dean Winchester?” he gasped.

“You’re dead,” he managed to croak. “You said- you were... “

Castiel stared back at him, his eyes filling with shining tears. “You found them,” he whispered. “Oh God-” He held up his hands to his mouth and Dean could see Castiel had bandages wrapped around his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat. “You’re not dead…”

“No… Mrs. Novak… she found me…” Castiel bit his lip. “I’m sorry, I forgot about them- I should have- removed them-.”

Dean stepped into Castiel’s space and hugged him as tightly as he could, squeezing his shoulders. “You’re alive.”

“Yes,” came the sad whisper. “I am.”

“Good.” Dean held onto Castiel and did not let go. He didn’t let go for ten minutes. Holding on felt right and good. When he stepped away, they were both crying messes, but Castiel was alive. He was standing with him, snotting and sobbing, but he was still around. That mattered more to Dean than anything else in the entire world.

“I thought I was gonna have to tell your parents…” Dean blubbered, wiping his eyes. “I’m gonna punch Raphael Edwards for you, okay?”

Castiel laughed and wiped his eyes. “I’m so sorry-.”

“I’m not,” he replied firmly. “I’m not.”

Castiel smiled with more tears and Dean felt the world spin. The beautiful smile had almost been robbed from the world and Dean thanked God, he thanked everyone, that it hadn’t.

“Your smile is so beautiful,” he whispered, wiping Castiel’s tears away.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think you quite understand how glad I am that you’re okay,” Dean said, still standing on Castiel’s porch. He bent down and gathered up the letters, stacking them carefully. “Do you want these?”

“No.” Castiel shook his head, crossing his arms around his middle. “Burn them. I don’t want to see them again.”

“I think you should,” Dean whispered. “We could do it together. Burn them, that is.”

“You’d do that?”

Dean nodded. “Hell yeah.”

Castiel stepped aside to allow Dean into his house. “Come in.”

xxx

Watching the words burn almost felt wrong to Dean, but he stood with his arm around Castiel’s shoulder in his backyard, burning the pages in a metal trashcan. Castiel tossed the last letter into the flames, and Dean watched it catch and curl, the dark edges turning to ash.

“I’m sorry I never noticed you,” he said quietly.

“That’s okay,” Castiel replied. “I was not exactly asking to be noticed.”

Dean turned to face Castiel. “But you were,” he said firmly, “and I’m sorry, just like everyone else, that I was deaf and blind to you. Throughout your story, I just kept thinking, how could no one see how much pain this boy was in- and... “ He took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m glad I got to be the one to go with you, walk your steps.”

Castiel half smiled. “Yes, I am too… I was thinking of you when I wrote the letters. I don’t know why, I didn’t even really know you, but I wanted you to be the one.”

“You are getting help now, right?” Dean asked. “I mean, I’m not sure how long it’s been since you… well.. you know.”

“Not long,” was the quiet reply. “Yes, I am in an out patient care program… I am going to see a therapist almost daily and I’m on medication… I’m also transferring schools.”

“Look, if you need a friend…” Dean hugged Castiel again. “I’m here, man. I’m so here.”

Castiel wrapped his arms around him in return, squeezing. “Thank you, Dean, thank you.”

Dean smiled and stepped back. “You are enough.”

Castiel’s jaw trembled and he nodded, about to cry again. “Thank you.”

xxx

“Dean!”

Dean groaned in protest, slowly rolling over to glare as Sam burst into his bedroom. “What?” he asked, still tired from the night previous.

“There’s a letter for you.”

Frowning, Dean sat up and accepted the letter. The envelope was powder blue. “Go away,” he snapped at Sam, who rolled his eyes, but left him be. The back was sealed with a silver star. Panicked, Dean ripped it open, his eyes scanning over the page in fear.

Hello Dean,

Before you panic: I am not dead. This is not a suicide note.

I just really love letters.

I wanted to thank you. It’s been two weeks since you came to my house and I just hope you understand how appreciative I am of your visit. Thank you for helping me burn those letters. Thank you for reading them. Therapy has been going quite well for me, I’ve learned I am not broken: I am asexual.

If you are not sure asexual is, I can fill you in. Here is my phone number: 765-755-8889 I have free texting and plenty of minutes, so feel free to call and/or text anytime. I hope you do, I really do want to be your friend. Or perhaps, if you wish to be old fashioned, feel free to write me a letter. You have my address, but if you forgot, it’s on the envelope.

I also thought you should know that my brother has been arrested for rape and child molestation. My second oldest brother, Gabriel, is moving back into town, and I am going to live with him! I will tell you that new address when I have it. Things are looking better for me, and I want to thank you for being so kind and caring. You are truly an amazing person.

Have a wonderful day,

Castiel Novak

Dean physically relaxed and snatched up his phone to call Castiel. When Cas answered he smiled, “Hey.”