Chapter Text
Dean hasn’t been this exhausted in a long time.
Granted, it’s been an insane week. A chemistry and a physics test, another one in math tomorrow and an essay due for English, all of which he isn't/wasn't ready for. Senior year is completely kicking his ass. Everyone says that Junior year is the worst year, but that’s complete and utter bullshit. The first semester of senior year and college applications and everything else makes for the worst school experience Dean’s had yet, and that's saying something.
He's aware of the fact that his grades have gone to shit, but he honestly can't do anything about it. He tries to study and it just doesn't work. He can't focus on anything, and when he does he hardly remembers what he read.
He doesn't even do anything. Dean hardly goes out, he just stays at home and does nothing, because he doesn't want to do anything else. He'll go out with Charlie and Benny when they force him, but other than that.
“Aren’t you gonna eat, Dean?” Dean hears his friend Benny’s voice somewhere beyond the pillow he’s created with his bag and jacket, because he swears the air conditioning in all the classrooms are broken. It’s either way too hot or way too cold, and Dean’s tired of it.
“Maybe in a second,” he says into the pillow. “I’m tired.”
“Yeah, you look like shit,” Dean’s other friend Charlie, another sub, says. “When’s the last time you went down?”
Dean tries not to bristle at the words, knowing his friend means well. It’s a perfectly acceptable question, but he’s tired of people thinking every time he has a bad day it’s just because he isn’t fulfilling his ’submissive needs.’ Dean’s never needed anyone but himself and maybe Sammy, and he’s not going to rely on some asshole Dom to keep his head level or whatever shit they spout in his required Sub Ed class he never pays attention to anyway. He had tried it. Submitting, trying to match with a Dom.
That hadn't ended well. He'd much rather muscle through it than go through that bullshit again.
He's usually fine. Much better at hiding how gross he feels, but this week sucked and he doesn't have any energy left.
“None of your friggin business, that’s when,” he says, lifting his head indignantly. “And you’re wrong. I’m adorable.”
“Dean, seriously,” Charlie says, in the middle of a bite. “When I go more than a few weeks without going down, it feels like I’ve been kissed by a dementor.”
“Yeah, we know, you’re in puppy love with Gilda,” he says haughtily, putting his head back down. There's a half hour left in lunch, and he's taking advantage of it. “I’m fine. I’m just tired.”
Closing his eyes, Dean tries to fall asleep, stuffing down the consistent feeling of wrong that seems to have permeated in his chest. He's been having a hard time falling asleep lately, the stress of... everything making it hard for his brain to settle and calm down enough for him to sleep. He was up until three last night trying his best to study, but he could barely focus on anything. So he gave up, decided to just succumb to the exhaustion.
The background noise of students talking and laughing, the clatter of lunch trays only make the mess inside of Dean's head exponentially worse, and all too soon the lunch bell is ringing so he sighs and drags himself off the shitty cafeteria stools and gets through the rest of the day on autopilot.
When the last bell rings, Dean sighs in relief, shoving things haphazardly into his backpack. Once he picks up his notebook, he belatedly realizes that he had barely taken any notes all lesson, far too preoccupied with this stupid headache he can't shake.
"Dean?"
Dean almost jumps at the sound of his teacher's voice way closer than her desk at the front of the classroom. Ms. Milton looks at him reproachfully, thinly veiled concern in her gaze.
"Are you okay, sub?" she asks, a bit of her Dom edge slipping into the words. "You look like something's bothering you."
He wants to snap at her, tell her to leave him alone but his stupid subby biology would barely even let him make direct eye contact with her, not when she's using her stupid Dom voice.
"I'm fine, Ms. Milton," he lies begrudgingly. "Just have a bit of a headache, is all."
It's clear that she doubts his words, but she nods, letting him continue to pack up. "Get some sleep tonight. And take care of yourself."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Dean drives home as fast as he can, and sighs when he smells his Mom's soup simmering on the stove. Dumping his bag in his room, he goes into the kitchen. Mary is stirring something in the pot, checking the heat, but she turns and smiles at her son when he comes in.
"Hi, Mom," he says, sitting at the table. "How was work?"
His mom is a Level 3 submissive, and dad a Level 3 Dominant, and both have full time jobs. Mary is a kindergarten teacher and John is a policeman.
"It was okay," she says, going back to the soup. "One of my students threw up in the middle of our reading, though. It was an entire ordeal."
"Yikes," Dean said. "That bug still going around?"
"Yeah. You look like you might have caught it, though. Still have that headache?"
Irritation bubbles at the surface of his skin, and Dean shrugs, trying to play it down. "S'fine. Do you need help with the food?"
Mary shakes her head, turning the stove off. "It's almost done. Just gotta keep it warm til Dad and Sam come home."
Checking the time, Dean tries to figure out how many hours he can dedicate to studying tonight, because he isn't ready for his test tomorrow. He almost decides to just give up on it altogether, because it's not like his grades are going to get any better whether or not he studies.
Maybe if he takes a nap first, he'll retain information better.
"What time are they gonna get back?" he asks.
"In a couple of hours," she says. "If you want, you can eat now. I know you probably want to go and study, but Dean, don't kill yourself studying. Go out every once in a while. Invite friends over. I haven't seen Charlie in weeks."
Dean nods awkwardly, knowing he's used the gotta study excuse on his mom one too many times. She passes him a bowl of the soup, and he can't eat more than a few bites without his stomach turning.
He just has to sleep. He only feels like shit because he hasn't slept well in weeks. If he takes a nap, then the screaming inside his head will go away.
When his mom leaves the room, he quickly puts the rest of his bowl down the disposal and drags himself up the stairs to his room, not even bothering to shower before crawling under the covers.
Dean planned to only take a nap. A few hours, max. When he wakes up, he's relieved to see the sun hasn't even set yet.
Or so he thought. His clock reads 9:21 AM.
Shit.
Almost falling over himself, Dean gets ready in record time, running past his Dad out the door, ignoring his growling stomach.
"Dean?" Dad says, confused. "Didn't school start, like, an hour ago?"
"I slept through my alarm," he says, slamming the door behind him before John can ask any more questions.
Although his school is only ten minutes away, the drive feels like hours long, his anxiety twisting and turning in his chest. As he ducks into class, Ms. Milton pauses in the middle of her lecture, sighing.
"Stay after class a minute, Dean," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He swallows his fear, nodding as he ducks into his seat. She goes back to teaching her lecture, but Dean can't focus, too nervous to hear what Ms. Milton is going to have to say. Dean only managed to make it in time for the last ten minutes of class, and it goes by way too quickly. Once everyone clears out of the classroom, Ms. Milton looks at Dean, and shame curls in his stomach.
"Let's take a walk," she says, her face devoid of emotion.
Dean stands up and follows her to the office, where she lets him into Principal Missouri Moseley's office, but doesn't follow him in there. He swallows awkwardly when he sees that there's another person in there, an older man with piercing blue eyes that are staring right through him.
"Uh," he says. "I can- I'll come back, sorry. I didn't know someone else was in here."
"No," the man says, and that was a Dom voice if Dean has ever heard one. "Sit, sub."
Dean is sitting before he even processes his words.
Principal Moseley sighs, leaning back in her seat.
"Dean, I'd like for you to meet Dr. Castiel Novak," she says, gesturing to the man on Dean's right. "He a Dom for The Program."
Dean's eyes widen, and he feels fear coursing through his veins.
"The requirements of a sub to attend to program require a minimum of 10 people to report you for unhealthy behaviors and an inability to care for yourself."
"Not the- Like, The Program for distressed subs?" Dean asks, just to make sure.
"Yes," Dr. Novak says. "And just by looking at you, I can tell you haven't been taking care of yourself, Dean."
He bristles, no longer caring about Dr. Castiel Novak's Domness or the fact that he's a doctor.
"I'm fine," he spits out. "No offense, Doctor, but I don't need to attend your stupid programs."
Castiel looks at him, and Dean's confusion only grows when he sees a flicker of amusement through the Dom's eyes.
"Ma'am, would you please give us a second?" Castiel says, addressing the principal, who nods and walks out of the room. As soon as the door closes, Dean startles when he feels Castiel's hand on his shirt. Manhandling him up and over his knee, Dean tries his best to fight him way out of Castiel's grip, but his hands are being tied behind his back with Dr. Novak's tie and he can't get away.
"What the fuck?" he asks, panicked. "What- what are you doing?"
"When you're being punished, sub, you don't speak unless I give you permission," Castiel says. "I'll give you more of your rules and time to understand them once we get settled, but the number one rule you will be expected to comply with is respect, Dean. Both for me and for yourself."
Dean yelps when Castiel spanks him, his head imploding. Pain blossoms throughout his entire ass, and he gasps when Castiel doesn't stop.
When there's finally a moment of relief, Dean tries to calm his breathing, which had only steadily sped up throughout the spanking. Dean had never been spanked before, and it was so extremely humiliating.
And yet, the screaming mess inside of his head was only getting quieter.
Pulling him up by his bound wrists, Castiel puts him on his knees in front of him, a hand under his chin.
"Respect, Dean," he says firmly. "Thank me."
Dean swallows, feeling the fire come back in spades, but Castiel slaps him. It's gentle, but enough to shove it back down.
"Thank you," he says begrudgingly, refusing to make eye contact with him.
Castiel sighs, but releases his chin.
"Come," Castiel says. "We'll talk more at home."