Good evening my lovely Supernatural gods. Here is the first chapter to my very first fanfiction. Obviously, I don't own any of the characters or the show. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to post the following chapters but winter break is coming up and I'll be writing like it's the last day of my life. I tried my best to get out all of the kinks. If you notice anything wrong, please let me know. I want my writing to be mistake free. So, enough with my boring rambling. Get to reading!
Chapter 1: Bloody Hell
Musk and dirt. This room smelled like shit. Dean took a moment to scan their budget-hotel room and noticed the rippled, textured wallpaper and the cracks in the off-white popcorn ceiling. Getting the most bang for his buck considering he only had a few. The two beds were draped with dark green, cardboard thin quilts and the same material hung over the small window on the east side of the room. He kneeled next to the bed and pulled up the quilt so he could peer under the bed. A rather large dead spider lay on its back, its legs curled upwards. It reminded Dean of a severed hand of a corpse.
Dean threw his keys on a tiny table in disgust, nose turned up, and proceeded to collapse on the bed, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He resisted a sneeze.
Sam threw open the motel room door, ducking slightly so he wouldn't knock his head on the low, splintering door frame. Dean lifted his head off the pillow and raised his eyebrows in question.
"Got any booze?" Sam rolled his eyes in response and searched for the TV remote. He hated how his brother called alcohol "booze." Dean was much too acquainted with alcohol as of late.
"No. And you don't need any either." Dean huffed.
"Not even as a celebration? Come on, we just sacked a witch! We chased that bitch for a week." His voice rose a bit but he only settled into the bed more, meaning he had no intention of actually getting up to hit a bar, if he could even locate a bar in this little town. Sam was grateful for that. He's had enough of "Drunken Dean" and too many nights he'd waist gallons of gas searching for bars and nightclubs. It was getting old. "Whatever, man. You're a bore." His eyes closed, relaxed, as Sam crawled into the opposite bed, ignoring the threadbare, itchy sheets and the grime on his clothes.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. You remind me every night." Sam put his arms behind his neck and studied the popcorn ceiling like he would clouds and watched as they formed random objects and images. "Hey, have you heard from Cas lately?"
The reply was delayed but curt. "Nope. Bastard probably has some 'war to fight' or 'God to find.'"
Sam starts to ramble. "It's a bit weird. We haven't seen him in so long and he normally checks in every once-and-a-while. I hope he's alright. I mean, I know the guy's busy and all but he's pretty punctual."
"Punctual?" Dean laughed. "Guy's got the worst timing ever. I say he just doesn't give a damn." In truth though, Dean called him- called him with his phone and with his head. He even prayed…Once. At this point, Dean didn't give a crap anymore. Apparently Castiel didn't care about his "drastic" efforts to contact him.
"No. I mean that he always appears when we need some help or if we're stuck in a rut. I wonder why he didn't come when we were tracking down the witch. I'm glad we found her before the curse she casted could take full effect." Dean winced. He didn't want to remember the curse. It had collided with him and started making his brain itch. He almost went delirious and committed suicide by trying to slice his head open to 'let the wasps out.' Urgh.
"Yeah. Dickhead. He's like a lizard. He's always around when you don't want him but when you look for him, he's never there."
"Mmm." Sam was drifting. It wasn't long after that the hotel lamp died out. Dean wouldn't admit he was peeved at the lack of the angel's presence. He did, after all, almost kill himself over a silly little curse. He absently grazed his fingers along the handprint burn on his arm—a weird twitch he started over the past few days. Where was he? Maybe he's taking up some cloud-seeding like he suggested. He smirked in the dark yet it felt bitter and fake. He was bitter. His brain churned until Sam's light snoring commenced and calmed Dean's thoughts and mind. At least he could rely on Sam to always be there.
The next few days were calm. Sam busied himself at his laptop searching for another lead on a hunt and Dean lounged around and took extra-long showers, reveling in the much needed respite. Apart from that, he sat and listened to the continuous click-clack of Sam's typing. It was nice to not have to worry. It was also nice to not have a reason to think.
Dean was lying down on his side as he slid a hand over the bed quilt, tracing its diamond stitching. His fingers found a loose thread. As he twiddled with it, his brain became silent and eyes still, transfixed on a stain on the wall.
Sam pulled on his boots and slammed his foot into the heel, resulting in a loud thud. Standing up, he glanced at Dean's blank face. His lips turned down and he abruptly turned around, strutting to the door. "I'm going out to eat. Want anything?" He asked out of habit but he knew his older brother would answer the same way he has over the past few weeks.
"Nah. Not hungry." Of course. But Sam always brought him back something and Dean would always eat it. What the fuck is wrong with Dean? He's so absent. He slammed the door behind him as he walked out, pissed off at Dean's rather ignorant attitude.
Dean recognized the voice of his baby, his Impala, hum to life. The gravel crackled and groaned as her tires sped her away.
He sighed. He didn't know what was wrong with him and why he was feeling so blurry and hazed out. He let go of the loose thread and stood up. It was right then that things started to get weird. Bubbles prickled in his stomach and his breath came out in harsh rasps. "The fuck…?" The bubbles started to roll as if his gut was a vat of boiling water. He then recognized a familiar pricking in the back of his skull. He was angry. He reached across the nightstand and grabbed his neglected notebook and threw it across the room. The pages flapped and landed in a crumpled heap like a dying bird. He clenched his fists and covered his eyes, not understanding the reason for his weird outburst. But, damn he was mad. He let out an annoyed huff.
"UUGH!" A curtain of red flashed around the edges of his eyes and his hands wrapped around something cold. He felt his arm muscles thrash and his mind detach from his body.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
He opened his eyes to a blanket of white and the world colored itself back into existence. As he shifted his weight, he heard the shuffle of glass beneath his feet. Damn it. He fucking broke the fucking lamp. "What the hell…?" His handprint burn tingled and he brushed it with his fingers again. He slumped onto the bed and buried his head in his hands. "What's wrong with me?" He said it aloud in a whisper even though no one was around to hear.
After a few minutes of continuous breathing, Dean collected himself and began to pick up the glass being very careful not to cut himself. He wondered what he'd tell the hotel manager. Shit.
After explaining to the manager a rather unconvincing story about a bird that flew though the open window and crashed into the lamp, he shuffled back to the room. The Impala was parked out front the one story building, covered with a thin dusting of gravel. On a whim, he pulled a spare car key out of his jeans (the ones he hasn't washed since 2001) and climbed into his baby. He cranked her up and tore out of the parking lot, not even bothering to caress her dashboard like he usually did. All his relationships were turning to shit lately. It was then he realized he forgot to say hi to Sammy. It was then he realized he didn't know where Sammy was. It was then he realized he didn't really care.
He drove around in circles for a few hours (not wanting to drift too far from the hotel in fear of getting lost) until he headed back to home base. The inside of the car was quiet. For some reason he didn't feel like listening to music. He just wanted a blank head. A loud plop echoed from the windshield. A water drop; a rather large water drop. Another one smashed onto the windshield, then another, until it was raining heavily. He turned the wipers on, whispering coaxes for them to work. Hey, sweet nothings usually got him what he wanted. Flashes of lightening streamed across the bruise colored sky and a booming roll of thunder split though the air. Nature was scary. The rhythm of the battering of rain and wipers relaxed him.
The dim neon pink, "El Cheapo Motel" barely glowed though the rain produced waterfall on his windshield as he turned into the parking lot. He accidentally hit a few flooded pot-holes, knowing the Impala was getting splattered with chunky mud. Once parked, he turned his leading lady off and reluctantly stepped out. Almost immediately he was soaked. But that was okay. He'd just take another long, hot shower. He sighed, contented by the thought.
Relaxing his shoulders, he tilted his head up to the sky. His eyes squinted in protection against the large drops. Oddly, even though it was raining, the sky was clear. Why? He remembered it being so dark earlier… He watched as a comet sliced through the sky. It burned a bright white and blue—a beautiful sight to such a dull, filthy town. A wave a peace flowed down Dean's body, settling warmly in his sternum. He welcomed it, relishing in the rare comfort. He sighed loudly once again and closed his eyes, letting the water stream down his face. "Make a wish…" He licked his damp lips when deep rumble rolled under his feet.
A screeching sound pierced though air at such a high pitch, Dean's hand immediately flashed up to cup his ears. The warmth that was in his chest disappeared. "Aaah!" He collapsed to the ground, knees colliding on the rough gravel and splashing mud onto his jeans and jacked. The screech transformed into a scream—a horrible kind of scream. It echoed deep in his heart and shook his spine. Then it hit him.
His scar burned. It burned with a kind of ferocity that reminded of his time in hell. He dropped one of his hands and he groped the scar over his twitching bicep, almost certain his arm would fall off. For one horrifying moment, the combination of the piercing sound and the burning of his arm, which spread across his shoulder and up his neck, he thought he was going to die. For real this time. The agony was blinding. As soon as his vision turned black, it stopped.
The first sensation he became aware of was the sluggish drip of blood running from his ears.
He stood, disoriented and swaying, allowing the world to settle in his vision—a mixture of asphalt grey, navy blue, and green. The first thing he saw clearly was a billowing pillar of smoke, roughly a mile away from where he was standing. The reason for the smoke was hidden in the depths of the thick forest. A cold and sharp gust of wind blasted past him, clearing his vision and well as smacking his face with needle pin-pricks of rain. Each water-needle pierced though his brain and brought him clarity.
Without thinking, Dean hopped back into the Impala and tore out of the parking lot, heading straight for the smoke. He knew something very important just happened. Going 15 miles above the speed limit, he finally stopped on the edge of the forest- closest to the smoke. He scrambled out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut, trudging into the woods without a flashlight…And without a weapon. Dammit.
The ground was wet and mushy under his boots. He nearly slipped trying to jump over a few roots and the rain continued to pelt his cold body. It was so dark. He knew he was getting closer as he smelled sulfur. Under the sulfur stench was something light. It was…It was…Jasmine.
He heard a sizzle as he finally stumbled upon a small clearing. Five feet ahead of him was a hole dredged (or was it burnt?) at least 50 feet into the ground. "What the…?" He staggered forward, taking a quick moment to wipe away the blood that continued to trail along his jawline and neck, tugging at his light stubble.
The ground before him leaked steam—fucking hot steam. It sizzled and hissed aloud and spit small sparks—like evil little sprites. The atmosphere was warped by the heat; the Impala's hood often did the same while under the burning Ohio and Texas sun. He stepped closer and peered into the depths of the hole, suddenly realizing how stupid he was for doing so without a weapon.
His brain automatically shut down upon peeking into the hole. His tongue went dry and his eyes widened. It felt like his heart made a fucktrillion mile trip to the earth's core and back in five seconds.
Inside the hole was an angel. Castiel.
Dean was on auto pilot. He jumped into the pit, not noticing how the heat from the hole burned through his boots and warmed his feet. He didn't even look at Cas's face. He slid his arms under the body's knees and shoulders and lifted him up. Get. Cas. Safe. Now. Time rushed by. One moment he was stepping out of the hole with Cas in his arms, then he was running to the car.
Blood pounded in his head, ears still ringing. Cas was unbelievably light, which helped the journey, but didn't stop him from getting his stupid-ass boot jammed on a root. His body lurched towards the ground and he lost his grip on Cas. The angel's body slipped out of his arms and collapsed onto the filthy forest floor with a thud and a disgusting crunch. Unable to control his fall, Dean landed on top of him in an awkward dance of flailing arms and legs. His elbow came into direct contact in between Cas's shoulder blades. Another blood-curdling screech sliced thought the forest, only this time, Dean recognized it was Cas's true angelic voice. It sounded like a train speeding on a broken track mixed in with claws on a chalk board. Dean faintly noticed the gentle ringing of bells in between the pain slicing though his head.
"Uurgah! Cas, stop! Quiet! You're hurting me!" The screeching subsided into the soft bells. The tinny jingles sounded faint and broken. Dean picked up the wrecked body again. Three minutes later, he made it back to the Impala and awkwardly laid Cas in back seat, very careful not to touch his back.
The next thing he remembered was pulling into the hotel lot. He felt the sensation of cold sweat prickle on his arms and neck, mixing in with the dampness of the rain in his clothes. He glanced in his rearview mirror at the comatose body in his backseat before stepping out of the car. He grabbed Cas's ankles and pulled him towards his body, effectively sliding him into his arms.
He came upon the hotel door and kicked it open, not caring as he heard the lock shatter. Sam startled awake from his bed, jumping up with wide eyes. "Holy FUCK. What the hell happened?" Sam practically screeched and he raced towards Dean, wrapping his massive hands on Cas's shoulders. He frantically patted the angel's limbs- checking them- while Dean lowered him onto the bed. He glanced at his own arms.
Dean realized that mud wasn't the only dark semi-liquid covering his body.
Only at this moment did Dean take a moment to look at Cas—really look at him. The first thing he noticed was how white his skin was. Bone white. He was also soaked; he was soaked in rain and in blood. The red liquid drained sluggishly from his nose and ears. Upon taking in the gory sight, Dean ran a hand though his hair. It was impossible to tell where Cas was injured. There was too much red. His hands were bound tightly at the wrists with a silver thread that looked far too delicate to have held the power to keep them together. He was clothed only in his slacks. His belt, shoes, and socks were missing. Dean climbed on the bed and slid his arm under Cas's shoulders, pulling him up while attempting to roll him to his side. His neck muscles were completely slack and his head slumped back. Poor bastard. "Shit."
Sam held his hand over the angel's nose and mouth. "Thank God, he's breathing!" Dean sighed in relief though his rough panting, adrenalin pulsing through his veins. "How the fuck did this happen?"
"I don't know! I came up to the hotel, heard a really loud noise, and I found dredged in a ditch." Sam blanched beside him when Cas's body lurched. Blood spurted out of his mouth and his ribs spread. Cas coughed. Dean and Sam noticed the white of a rib slide out of a gash in his skin. "Bloody hell."
"Crap." Sam withheld another gag.
"Go to the store to get some first aid supplies, now!" Dean spit out the words in a wicked frantic jumble.
"But…Don't…"
"NOW!" Sam grabbed the Impala's keys and ran. Dean prayed for a split moment that he left enough gas in the car for Sam to get back. Then he got to work. Cas's eyes were sunken yet swollen at the same time. His nose was cut and his lips were battered so bad…So bad. His hair was matted down with dirt and what also appeared to be fresh blood. "Oh, my god Cas, what happened to you?" His expert fingers delicately wiped away most of the grime and dried blood on Cas's chest so he could see his injuries more clearly. Some lines started to form in his sight.
Dean threw up over the side of the bed.
Cas's chest was grotesquely carved on. The slices appeared to be symbols but translated themselves into meaningless jumble to Dean's brain. Shivering from guilt and sorrow, he grazed his fingers carefully along his ribs, counting 4 to be broken, including the one slightly poking out of the skin. He gently but forcefully shoved it back into the body, hearing it crack as it slid in its proper place. He took in a sharp breath. "How could this happen to you, Cas?" Dean shook his head and closed his eyes, taking a quick moment to breathe in through his nose to calm the red rimming along his vision. Oh, he was pissed. He gently pressed his fingers to the symbols see how far deep they were carved into the skin.
The instant his fingertips tapped a particularly large gash, Cas's eyes opened. They bore into the ceiling, lacking any emotion. Dean froze—his heart leapt into his throat.
Cas remained expressionless for a second and then his face collapsed into a mask of raw agony. His eyes slammed shut and lips curled back as he opened his mouth. Dean expected to hear a scream, a grunt…Anything. Cas didn't make a sound. Only the faint tingling of bells seemed to chime in Dean's brain.
"Cas, Cas…Can you hear me? Please look at me. Cas, please. LOOK." Dean cupped his dirty hands on either side of Cas's face. He opened his eyes a sliver and his deep blue gaze slammed into Dean's soul. He gasped and his handprint scar burned with a newfound fury. Cas's pupils blew, only leaving a halo of blue around their black nothingness.
Dean felt like he was punched in the gut with an invisible force. He lurched forward and his forehead slammed into Cas's. He closed his eyes from the attack of images and sensations.
Black. Inky blackness. I feel like I'm falling. Am I falling? No. Cold. There's something cold on my wrists. They're bound together. Why am I bound? What's rattling?
Dean realized he was being fed this sensation. Are these Castiel's memories?
My feet hurt. My head hurts too. What's going on? Ugh…Where's Dean? Where's DEAN? Ugh…Is he safe?
I hear footsteps.
"Hey, there. The pretty little angel woke up we see. How darling. How precious. How…honored….we are to finally meet you, angel. I was wondering if we hit you a little too hard up there. Those wings are mighty gorgeous I might add. It was lovely to watch you fall. Would you mind…? Oh, of course you won't mind. How silly of me. Oh, now, stop moving dearest, I only want to see your wings again and your pretty little face. How sweet, how precious."
The slick voice snaked through his mind and Castiel's vessel began to shiver under Dean's hands. Dean felt like a mess. His head swarmed with confusion and pain and fear. Dean didn't know Castiel could be afraid. Oh, god.
"Stop fighting, pet. Didn't you hear? We only want to play with your wings. It's alright now. There's no need to fret. If you move any faster you're going to slip and fall. Oh, see. I told you. Little angel took a tumble. Oh, stop it with that face. This doesn't hurt. This doesn't hurt at all. It shouldn't hurt an angel. No way. You're safe here, angel. "
The voice won't stop. The pain won't stop. Make it stop, please.
Please, make it stop. Stop hurting Cas, you mother fucker!
"Who is this you're talking about? 'Dean,' huh? Is he someone special? I bet he is. You keep calling him. Can't you hear yourself? Oh, shush. It's alright. You feel that? That's this new thing I invented. It's for tapping into the spine. It affects the central nervous system. Sweet angel, stop whimpering. It's not becoming. A-ha! I found it. How wonderful. Stop yelling, dearest. You're making this hard for me. Don't you want to be cut up clean? You're a mess. You're a stupid mess."
Stop. Stop. STOP. STOP.
Oh, god. STOP. Why are you doing this to my friend? Let him be! Dean felt himself sob, forehead still pressed to Castiel. He wondered if he was feeling Castiel's emotions himself. He couldn't stop the sobbing. The crying. The pain. His scar continued to scald.
"Oh, well would you look at that. I think I just found your Grace. How do you like that you filthy creature of a fake god? I finally found the right tool. Perfect. Look at your Grace leak out of your eyes. That's pathetic. Stop screaming! Stop it! That'll teach you. The more you scream, the more I work."
"Obey me, little boy angel. Do what I tell you. Do what I want. Do what I please. He-he-he. Your Grace is bleeding now, angel. How do you like it when I cut your Grace? Oh, shut up! Stop screaming! Stop screaming!"
PLEASE! STOP! I'll stop screaming! PL-EASE!
"Shut up you stupid idiot. Dean's not coming. He's nowhere. You're worthless. You're nothing. Good, good. Behave, you dog. If you don't behave I'll have to…Damn it! Stop moving you worthless whore! Is this what you wanted?"
I didn't want any of this. It hurts. I can't fly away. They have me. They'll always have me.
The vision stopped. Castiel's eyes bore into Dean's. Both were wet with tears.
I hope you enjoyed it. :) I know it's a bit short. Hopefully the next chapters will be longer.