Foreword: This story was inspired by my friend milarrrrr, and without her there would be no story :) This will be an eventual Alastair/Castiel, with light, one-sided Destiel. Warnings for language, violence, and eventual graphic violence and graphic sexual situations.
VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE:
CHAPTER 1, 2, 3 AND 4 HAVE RECEIVED MAJOR CHANGES IN PLOT LINE TO MAINTAIN THE CONTINUITY. They are longer and, hopefully, much better written now. Chapter 1 also has a different conclusion and the changes will carry on through chapter 2, chapter 3, and the beginning of chapter 4. No drastic changes have been made to the current plot line that has been posted.
Chapter 1
At least once in his life, Castiel was going to have a normal day.
The young man cringed and ducked down behind the ice freezer, bracing his hands over his head. He prayed to God, Buddha, Jesus, Zeus, Shiva, Earth Mother or whatever greater power was listening that no one barging in knew he existed and there was no way Castiel was going to die in a convenience store. No way. Not gonna happen. He despised living here.
Castiel slid further down the floor, hoping that the closer he was to laying down the more likely he was to be overlooked, and flinched when a fourth, fifth bang cracked through the air, thundering footsteps echoing down the aisles as the thugs kicked the door open to enter the store.
"Get out!" One of the voices shouted over the gasps and cries of alarm from the other patrons of the store. There weren't many and they weren't stupid enough to make him ask twice; Castiel heard the people scurry out like rats to the street.
Castiel gulped and was about to stand up to join the other intelligent people when a splitting slam into the shelf one row behind him made Castiel jump like a spooked cat and crash back down, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle a yelp. He quickly reassumed his position behind the icebox, drawing his legs up close to make himself as insignificant and as unnoticeable as possible. Crap. Crap. They thought the store was empty, they didn't know he was still here!
The slam was followed shortly by desperate, incoherent blubbering that Castiel recognized solely as the manager of the place.
"Rick, shut the fuck up before I go Columbian necktie on that fat tongue of yours!" One of the thugs barked out the words, his tone boorish and irate.
Castiel forced himself motionless and silent, shutting his eyes and feigning nonexistence. It was just a robbery; that was it. They would be done quickly and it would over and he could get out of the shop without them ever knowing they had a witness other than the store owner.
"No, please, God, I didn't- I forgot it was this week I swear, please-" The manager sobbed.
Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion where he sat curled into as diminutive a ball as possible. This week?
"We gave you ten days, you little shit, pay up!"
Realization dawned on Castiel then, his eyes widening. Living on the side of town where no one would dare walk alone at night, it wasn't the first time he'd heard gangs coming by to gather up payments, usually from petty things like gambles or bets gone wrong. Castiel bit his lip. It didn't matter that it was commonplace in these parts, Castiel had never actually been close to one of the incidents, and never with the fear of being discovered spiking down his spine like the slow pull of a knife on his skin. He never wanted to experience a confrontation as personally as this; he needed confrontation like a hole in the head.
Castiel was maybe a bit of a coward, but being a coward was what made him survive in the slums of the city. Castiel had a part time job at the local coffee house and went to school full time, so he needed the cheapest dwellings he could find. Gunfire or gang fights every night meant a rent cheaper than his food bill. Such was college life.
He knew he was in a bad place, but so far he was managing. So far. He was still decidedly trapped behind an icebox waiting for the inconsequential gang to finish their business and let Castiel continue his life pretending he wasn't inches away from the crime.
"You hear me, fuck head!?" The same thug started up, "You pay or-"
"Hush, you Neanderthal. I'm not cleaning up his piss if you make him soil himself."
There was a stutter then, a quiet jerk in the thug's voice that transformed all of his gruff anger into the beaten obedience of a child.
"S-Sorry boss."
Oh. Oh, that was unexpected. The color drained from Castiel's face when the smooth purr of carefully articulated words sliced through the air with a razor's edge. He thought this was just a group of asses shaking down the manager for money. He'd never heard of a boss being involved, never even fathomed that there was a leader to the gangs at all. A leader meant something bigger than just a gang, something more organized that intermittent crimes but Castiel didn't know what. If he wasn't so morbidly curious right now he would have been too terrified to move.
But true to his suicidal curiosity, Castiel gathered his breath, took a deep inhale to hold all that he could, and inched over to the side of the freezer to peer around the edge.
Two of the men, bulky with the physique akin to professional wrestlers or linebackers, had the owner Richard pinned up high on one of the metal shelves, his feet nearly off the ground and fumbling for purchase he would never find. Parted like the Red Sea the other men stood on either side of another, much older man, a good decade or so older than the rest. He was slimmer, taller and lankier than the quartet of thugs surrounding him and although he was the apparent boss of these lackeys, he wasn't dressed the way Castiel imagined a criminal would. He was trimmed cleanly and meticulously, not a wrinkle out of place on the stark white dress shirt or black and grey pinstriped slacks he wore; his dress shoes immaculately shined into black mirrors of obsidian that matched a pitch black jacket he wore with a steel grey waist coat. The man dressed like he was going to a banquet, not… like a loan shark looking for his dues. The criminal pulled off the look with a certain sharp elegance, the rigid, perfect posture composed like a viper staring down its prey. He looked good. Petrifying, but good.
"Now now now, Ricky, no reason to be so scared," the boss said softly, very nearly with kindness but Castiel could see in his dark, icy and lifeless eyes and a smile that didn't quite stretch his lips enough, he didn't reflect any true sympathy. Castiel flinched despite himself and honed in when the boss continued to speak.
"We won't kill you today. I'm in much too nice clothes, as you see," the boss continued, still smiling. Rick whimpered. "Now this is how we're going to play. Today, we're only going to break four of your fingers. Two on each hand. That way you can still count out the money you owe us when we come back next week."
His voice was nothing but a silky, frozen drawl, elegantly collected into a symphony of something similar to velvet and nails on a chalkboard. There was almost a lisp to his tone it as well, nearly enough to throw off the articulation if not for it coming out of this man. What it did do was make the pit in Castiel's stomach tighten, and he gulped down the barest amount of air to keep from fainting.
"No, no no no please-" Richard blubbered.
"You rather us slit your double fuckin' chin?" One of the thugs holding Richard up snapped.
The silence following was deafening. Castiel felt and heard his heart leap into his throat at the pause of the scene, like a carefully rehearsed stage play suddenly gone downhill when the actor said the wrong line at the worst possible moment. Castiel watched chilling, irritated eyes turn to the thug that spoke out of turn. Castiel chewed the inside of his lip and the others lowered their heads.
"Did I ask for input?" He purred, his voice low now, dripping with venom deadlier than a snake.
"S-sorry boss," the thug's voice quavered, "I-it won't happened again, promise, please don't-"
It happened so quickly Castiel nearly missed it; before he even finished the apology the boss's fist slammed into his lackey's side, making the much larger man drop like a sack of bricks to his knees where he wheezed for breath and clenched his eyes shut in agony. Another man stepped into his position without a word.
Castiel nearly choked on his tongue from the display of strength but he couldn't bear to look away now; it was too terrifying not to watch, but everything in him wished he was far away from here, anywhere but here. Castiel's wide eyes stayed fixed on the boss, the calculated curve of the criminal's lips just barely hinting at a sneer of annoyance. He was so controlled, so sharp and frigid Castiel could feel the ice scratching up his spine and turning his nerves to stone. The cold man turned back to Rick, straightened out his shirt, and smirked.
"Next week son. Save the date."
With that a sharp howl tore through the shop when the thugs snapped the last two fingers on both of Rick's hands, dropping him without a care so that the manager could curl on the floor and cradle his broken fingers. The boss just looked at him with a slight sneer, taking a step back so that manager would not fall on his faultlessly cleaned shoes. Richard gasped and choked back a whimper of pain.
"Get him up," this time the leader thumbed his nose at the henchmen still sprawled on the floor, and they moved quickly to obey. Castiel could feel himself shaking where he was slumped uselessly against the freezer, unable to look away from the ruthless criminal.
Just when Castiel thought he had the nerve get his bearings, stand up and scurry out of there, the boss's stony eyes lifted and looked right. At Castiel. Looked right at him, his gaze boring into him and the smirk that curled his lips told Castiel that the boss knew he'd been trapped there the whole time.
Castiel's heart stopped in his chest, becoming a tight, trembling knot as every nerve short-circuited with panic yet still he couldn't look away, quietly reciting a last will and testament before he died. He knew what these men did. He'd heard of people like them killing better men for less.
But the boss's smirk just widened, and he turned away with no indication he had spotted Castiel. He curled two fingers behind him in indication for the other henchmen to follow, and they left without a word.
Castiel slumped against the icebox, his eyes wide and heart hammering in his chest to find some semblance of a steady rhythm again. He…he hadn't experienced such terror ever in his life. It had set alight nerves and fears Castiel never knew he had, but harrowing in ways Castiel couldn't describe. It was exhilarating, and terrifying.
That look the boss had given him, though; if Castiel had made one move, one dumb mistake like make noise or try to run, he knew he would have died. Because the boss knew he was there. He had known, and spared Castiel. He was not going to take that generosity lightly.
He was never coming back to this store again.
A/n: Hope you enjoyed guys; comments, questions, and concerns are all appreciated XD