Inspired and created by texting. And as always, thank you Hikarilightz for being my beta~
The ticket read "Crowley's Creatures: The Most Terrifying Freak Show in the World!" Black-ink devils and fork-tongued snakes grinned maniacally along the borders, their dark eyes holding a dangerous allure. Dean slid his thumb along the bottom edge, barely slicing the skin.
"Sam, there's no way I'm going to this."
Sam gave a sheepish smile. "Look, Jess and I made reservations to this really great restaurant and I can't back out." He paused then added, "Besides, you like that kind of stuff."
Dean frowned and stared once more at the card. The beasts were calling out to him, Why not? Why not?
"There's a big difference from researching for the sake of quality journalism and watching them just for the fun of it." The tone was steadfast but his resolve began to waver. There was something tempting about this, something alluring in the cursed. What would it be like to see these monsters up close? To stare into their cold, snake-slit pupils without any fear?
Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, it's cool if you don't want to go. But it starts in an hour, so you'd better make up your mind fast." And with perfect timing, Jess rang the doorbell and the two were off, leaving Dean to finger the ticket.
Why not?
It was nothing like he had ever seen before.
Dean pulled up to the freak show tent in his Impala, taking in the sounds of growls and laughter, the sight of the big top glowing gold under the blanket of stars. Lurkers of the night—the ones with glass eyes and long, yellow nails—strolled inside with ease. The feared had nothing to fear.
Behind the black velvet curtains revealed the show. It would be just like any other circus event if it weren't for the shackles in the center of the ring, glimmering underneath the harsh lights. The wails and roars of the creatures were even louder now. The sound could shatter bones.
Dean handed his ticket to a Harlequin gal. She showed off her black incisors with an eerie grin and whispered, "Aisle 6, row 3." He nodded and turned to take his seat, but she gripped his arm, her fingers digging into the leather. "Enjoy the show."
She cackled at his expression before letting him go. He rushed to his seat, ignoring the snickers of gnarled strangers. His seat was front and center, the chains in perfect view. A trail of black blood led up to them, coating the inside of the cuffs and dripping onto the straw. It glistened like liquid onyx or tar.
A microphone descended from the ceiling like a black widow spider. A man with coal-fire eyes and pale white skin walked into the middle of the ring, relishing the single spotlight. The crowd and the animals behind the scenes felt the weight of the moment and fell silent.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he proclaimed. "Welcome to Crowley's Creatures—the most terrifying freak show in the world!"
The crowd erupted in applause, shrieks of laughter and a few shrill whistles punctuating the cheers. Dean clapped along with them, trying to maintain a pleasant smile despite the cold look the ringmaster gave.
"What you are about to see might disturb you-may even be your worst nightmare come to life! But that's why we're all here, isn't it? Because it's fun to have a good scare!" He flashed a snaggletooth grin as the audience laughed, barks and hoots of amusement from the foulest of mouths. A shiver crept up Dean's spine like a bloodless finger dragging across the skin.
"Our first act is something tame, just to give you all a taste for this evening's festivities." He licked his lips. "Behold! The Siberian werewolf!"
The crowd cheered madly, almost loud enough to cover up the howls coming from behind the tent. The beast's massive, black shadow lurked across the tent walls before the wolf finally showed itself. Its eyes were a fierce gold, his white fur matted and clumped with oozing blood. It snapped its jaws, flashing jugular every time it opened its frothing mouth to let loose a guttural snarl. It thrashed its head in all directions, lunging at the laughing audience but only able to move a few feet from its silver chains. He howled and barked and roared, nothing but a primitive urge to rip flesh and devour carcass. The crowd only mocked him; those who were close enough threw popcorn at the monster's skull, relishing the barks of fury.
The trainers pulled the beast into the middle of the ring, barely able to keep their limbs away from his gleaming fangs. Thick, knotty chains hung from his ribs and neck, hardly allowing for its lungs to exhale. He roared and thrashed but to no avail. The onlookers wore matching grins.
"Growl all you want, puppy. You're not going anywhere." Crowley's mouth twisted into a devilish grin, and he pulled out a silver knife from his coat pocket, holding it out for the audience to see. Those that knew what was about to happen laughed and leaned forward in their seats, nothing but excitement and anticipation showed in their eyes. Dean watched the werewolf shake and tremble, its amber eyes fixated on the knife as it tried to back away. Pure terror enveloped the creature.
Crowley winked at the crowd and plunged the blade into the beast's chest. It howled in pain, a wave of blood pouring out from the laceration and dripping onto the ring's floor. Crowley wiped a few blots of blood off his face with one gloved finger before stabbing him again in the shoulder. It was brought to its knees in pain, its once mighty growls turned to shrieking wails. Blood pulsed from each wound slowly, like its heart was a few beats from going out.
The crowd was shrieking in laughter, absolutely delighted in the torture of this wretched animal. Dean's eyes were wide and unblinking, his mouth open in complete horror as the werewolf roared in complete anguish.
Over and over again the dreaded blade pierced its skin, blood coating every hair in the beast's fur. He cried out until he was hoarse and choking on his own blood, the ruby fluid coming out in sticky globs from its throat. Kneeling became too much effort and with a dull thud, it fell to the ground.
A new wave of applause erupted from the audience, everyone shouting and whistling their approval of the unconscious beast. Dean could feel bile simmering in his throat, nothing but disgust and anger for what was being passed as entertainment. It was only through morbid curiosity that forced him to stay for more.
Two trainers dragged the limp, near-bloodless form out of the ring, letting its head whack against the risers without any care. Peanut shells and stray pebbles were flung at the werewolf's body, some booing and cursing him out just for the fun of it. Crowley paid no mind to the wolf or the crowd's heinous mocking, simply bringing the microphone to his lips and said, "If you liked that act, then you'll be pleased to hear that there's plenty more where that came from! Let's see what else is in store!"
Beast after beast, monster after monster paraded out to be tortured and scorned. Shifters, wendigos, striges, vampires, rugarus…every creature imaginable met the same fate. Skin sizzled and popped from black flames, salt and acid encrusted gushing wounds, holy water charred the skin. Crowley even took a pair of pliers and yanked out a vampire's fang. Each act was met with laughter and cheers. Dean could only watch in horror as each creature met their worst fate.
A shape shifter had just been skinned by a pair of rusty scissors when Crowley announced, "And now for the final act!" he waited for the crowd to hush before continuing. "This is a personal favorite of mine—a rare and exotic freak. Behold: a real live angel!"
Boos and hisses erupted from the audience as a pale form made its way from the shadows. Dean had to hold his breath. The angel was bewitchingly beautiful despite all the jagged scars marring his pale skin. Tangled, black hair was dripping with blood, some wounds on his side and legs oozed with filmy white pus. His black wings were filthy, feathers crunchy and unmoving from dried up blood. He could see bald patches around the wing's bone from where they plucked feathers just for amusement. The angel kept his head low, trying to protect himself from the audience spitting at him, using the Lord's name in vain just to see him wince. His blue eyes looked so empty, so dead, it was hard to believe he could still breathe.
Just as with all the others, the angel stepped into the middle of the ring to be shackled. Dean could finally see the holding symbol etched into his chest, black with permanent poison. This time though, the trainers took two huge iron clamps and pinched them onto the tips of his wings. The angel cried out in pain but remained motionless, too weary and intelligent to dare attempt escape.
"Isn't he gorgeous?" Crowley's question was met with more hissing and booing, popcorn flung at the poor angel's bowed head. They screamed out in anger, yelling at God and calling him a cruel devil, a lying, deceiving, and corrupt bastard. The angel began to tremble.
"Settle down now. He will be receiving his punishment soon enough." A trainer walked up to him, waving a coiled whip for all to see. Crowley took the weapon with a grin, fingering the leather tip with mild amusement. "What do you think? Fifty lashings ought to do it?"
A mixture of boos and jeers leeched out of the audience's mouths. "Let him die!" "Spill his blood!" "Make it a hundred!" "He deserves this punishment!"
Crowley was too eager to please. He strolled over to the angel and held his jaw so they could look each other in the eye. "You'd better love this, angel. I want to hear you scream with happiness." The angel gave him a cold glare only to be met with a back-slapped hand. Crowley spit on him in disgust and stalked behind him, cracking the whip once and letting it reverberate against the tent walls. The crowd was delirious with excitement.
"One!" He reeled back and snapped the whip with a deafening crack. A wave of blood splashed out from the impact, a long tear running down his spine revealing red hot muscle. The angel screamed, eyes scrunched shut and back arched away.
"Two!" Again the whip slashed into his body, the tail end of leather sticking to the veins and ripping out pieces in the drawback. Blood drenched his back and poured out onto the straw. The screams increased, drowning out the shrieking laughter of the crowd.
Over and over again the whip ripped into his body. Crowley was grinning like a lunatic, relishing every cry of pain. His face was contorted into pure anguish, his throat glistening with blood and saliva. Dean couldn't even hear the counting anymore, too horror-struck by the sounds of cracked leather and verbal torture. His body shook as hard as the angel's, rage and pain and shock enveloping them both.
After an eternity of brutal beatings, the whip finally fell to the floor. The angel could barely stand, his body shaking and convulsing from the pain. Crowley wiped a line of sweat off his brow and grinned at his handiwork. The crowd went wild.
"I hope you enjoyed this evening's events!" he said with a smile. "It is our pleasure to scare and entertain."
Everyone clapped and applauded; nothing but joy and happiness showing on the faces of the damned. It was only Dean that sat there quaking with rage and suffering sadness. He watched the ringmaster bow while the trainers grabbed the angel and dragged him away, his limbs sliding across the straw, and took him into the backroom. Music began to play signaling the audience to leave. While everyone else left, animatedly chatting about the gruesome bloodshed, Crowley slunk into the back room, the whip from prior clutched in his grip.
Against all sense of reason, Dean followed Crowley behind the stage, his vision tainted red and black with livid anger. No one noticed him entering, too focused on trying to control their monsters. He walked a few paces behind and saw him stroll into one of the changing rooms. A fresh line of blood marked the door.
He paused at the entrance, deciding to first listen to the behind the scenes action. What he heard was far worse than what the show gave.
"Hello, angel." Dean heard a whimper of reply, his blood going cold at the sound. What was the angel doing in there?
"I hoped you liked the show, precious. You seemed delighted when I brought out the whip." Lies lies ugly sinful lies! He balled his hands into fists, still listening at the door. The angel said nothing.
"I wish I could do more with you in the ring. Show them all what we do for fun behind the curtain." He paused and then whispered, "But I kind of like having you all to myself."
He heard a wince of pain and the sound of fresh blood dripping onto the floor. "Do you like that, love? You naughty angel…" There were more winces and then a soft cry of torment. His voice hitched as he wailed.
"You're so beautiful, so unbreakable…Whatever am I going to do with you?" Curiosity got the better of Dean and he angled himself so he could see what was happening. Bile burned his throat.
The angel was prostrate, the shabby loins of before stripped off and discarded. His arms had been freshly sliced, the blood spiraling down and dripping onto the ground. He was crying and whimpering, eyes squeezed shut. Crowley stood behind him, one hand positioning a knife at the angel's throat, the other going for the buckle of his pants. Nothing but wicked glee showed in his demonic grin.
"It's going to make you feel so good, angel," he whispered into his ear. "You'll be begging me for more…" He shoved two, dry fingers into him, relishing the screams of pain as he thrusted in and out. His pants and underwear were on the floor now, cock hard and positioned at the angel's entrance.
"P-please! Stop!" He was wailing now, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the blood. The knife at his neck gently caressed the skin.
"Stop moving," Crowley ordered. "Trust me, angel, you're going to feel so good." Another finger was shoved up, earning another scream of pain. Dean couldn't stand to watch anymore, and looked around for any weapon he could find.
"You like that?" Crowley purred as he pulled out his bloodied fingers. "Because I can give you more…all you have to do is ask."
The knife sliced a small cut into the angel's throat, a stream of blood running down his back. He cried out in pain and forced out a cry of, "Yes! Yes!"
Crowley smirked. "That's a good angel." He put his putrid lips to the angel's temple and gave him a kiss before thrusting his whole member into him at once. The angel screamed, his back arching away from Crowley's cock, throat so dangerously close to the knife's edge. Sobs wracked his body, his wings beating the air like a broken bird. Blood trailed down his crack and thighs. Crowley just laughed like all the others and slammed into him even faster, a maniacal grin pulling up the corners of his mouth.
Finally, Dean spotted the perfect weapon: the whip that had been used to slash the angel. It was lying only a few feet away, tossed and forgotten into a crate of costumes. Rage overtook him at the sight of the rape and he barged into the room, grabbed the whip, and cracked it so loud, it sounded like gunfire. "Get your hands off him right now!"
They both whirled their heads around. Crowley's eyes widened and he dropped the blade, letting it clang on linoleum with a resounded ring. The angel didn't waste a second and pulled out of Crowley, leaping away from the monster.
"What the hell are you doing here!" Crowley shouted as he tried to yank his pants back up. "Put that whip down!"
Dean didn't hesitate for a second. He pulled the whip back and slammed it forward, the bloodied tip slicing Crowley's bare thigh. He howled in pain, the monster falling to the ground, clutching his bloodied leg. The angel immediately understood and ran over to Dean's side, his blue eyes sparked with righteous fury.
"I don't know who you are, but hand me that whip." He was no longer the broken victim, but rather a livid, unearthly being with a murderous glare.
Dean placed the whip in his outstretched hand. "Have fun with it."
The angel's mouth pulled into a demented smile. He spun around and cracked the whip with all the force he had. The biting leather slashed Crowley across the chest, leaving a line of bright hot blood. He screamed and tried to hold the cut flesh together, but the blood just came pouring out. The angel cracked the whip again and again into his body, lacerations covering his legs, stomach, and balls. Pieces of flesh fell to the ground with sickening splats. His skin turned a sickly white and with one final scream, his eyes rolled back and he fell to the floor, completely unconscious.
They had no time to relish his bloody body. "C'mon," said Dean, grabbing the angel's hand. "We have to go now."
They fled past the trainers and monsters, sprinting out from behind the curtains and past the walls of torture. A few yelled at them and chased them down, but they were too fast. They ran out of the tent and into the night air, not once looking back.
"Over here." Dean pulled the angel in the direction of the Impala, completely invisible in midnight's shadow. Some shouted, "What's going on?" "That's the freak angel!" "Stop them!" But it was too late. They threw themselves into the car, slamming and locking the doors the second they could. Dean jammed the key into the ignition and smashed down on the gas pedal. The tires squealed against the dirt, engine growling like the trapped freaks, before they finally sped away, nothing but a pair of headlights in the distance.
They were about half a mile away before the adrenaline died down long enough to speak. The angel spoke first. "Who are you?" There was an edge of distrust to his gravelly voice.
"Dean Winchester," he replied. "I'm a journalist." He could see the angel's tense body turned to glare at him and he added, "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you or turn you in or anything. I'll keep you safe, I promise."
The angel's body visibly relaxed, relief undoing the tight lines of tension marring his forehead. "Thank you, Dean."
The corners of his mouth turned up. "No problem." He paused and then asked, "So what's your name?"
"I'm Castiel." Dean glanced over and caught him smiling. He looked so beautiful like that, he couldn't help but mirror him.
"Nice to meet you, Cas."
With nothing but a promise and a pair of names, the two became intertwined, inseparable. Just riding under a blanket of stars, no idea of what would come.