Author's Note:
Look! LOOK! An update o_O What is that? I don't know it's been so long. I'm so sorry. As some of you know school is taking its toll, plus living on my own and working 25 hours a week can make things even crazier. But hey, here we are with a new update! That deserves some good karma, right?
Anyway, thank you my wonderful readers, I love you guys. Please keep up the reviews, they really help me along!
Castiel breathed heavily into the dirty rag pulled tight across his mouth, it wasn't much of a gag, it only stopped him from making sense when he spoke. And it dug into his skin but he tried not to think about that. He kept his eyes squeezed shut despite the blindfold already in place to do exactly that, his heart was pounding, his face wet from crying and his throat sore from shouting. It was terrifying, he was scared out of his mind and nothing seemed important anymore. Nothing in his life mattered, nothing he did ever reached anyone and it never would. Cas wanted to go home to the safety of his tavern, to crawl into his bed an pretend none of it had happened.
But he couldn't do that; much like a few others in his town he was bound and gagged and being dragged along behind the Rough Riders. Cas didn't know how many others were there with him; he had no idea whatsoever but that didn't change the fact that they were taken for a reason. He just didn't know what that reason was. From what he could hear the others were women, some of the younger, prettier ones. Girls he'd gone through some schooling with. Castiel didn't quite get it but what could he do? Ask them why they hadn't killed him with most of the other men in the town? Stupid idea.
It hurt, he could feel the burn of his skin as the friction became too much, the riders weren't going that fast, just a trot, but after an hour of that kind of treatment a person's body started to complain. Cas' had done more than that at least twenty minutes ago.
Part of him wanted to beg, plead, anything that might get them to stop but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not because he was scared, not because his tongue was caught in his throat and he choked on his own terror. No, he didn't because of pride and energy conservation, because he knew it'd make no difference whether he cried like the others, as loud as they did, struggled as hard or if he didn't make a single sound or move a muscle. Cas knew he was stuck, knew that these men didn't take prisoners for fun, and the sure as fuck didn't keep them. He refused to die that way, pleading and begging for his life like some sad, pathetic little thing. He'd been that way his entire life, he was always taking the easy way, praying with the good folks of his town in church, buying just enough to support him and never any more. Couldn't take the risk he'd need that money for something else.
Couldn't take the risk.
There was no risk in where he was then; there was no risk involved with buying a few extra slabs of meat or bottles of wine. The worse he'd experience was getting to eat better one day and a little less on another. It was nothing close to trailing behind the Rough Riders. Men known for slaughtering anyone for looking at them funny, known to slit a man's throat or stab a woman with child right in the belly. Cas had heard more than enough rumours about the Rough Riders but the part that really drove it home, that part about the entire scenario that honestly made him afraid was the fact that he'd never heard anything from someone who'd been there. Never once had someone stopped by and said 'I ran into the Rough Riders.' And that was because no one ever just 'ran into' them; they would never be able to walk away to talk about it.
For Castiel that was the scariest part, he'd always heard stories on just about everyone else; the Winchester tales were epic, sure they came across as ruthless and horrifyingly destructive but there were stories about them. So many and from all over. People lived through it.
The dragging stopped, he felt the burn settle into his skin as he rested in the dirt, his limbs trembled and he felt the ache in his body from being in the same position for too long. His legs were tied together and his wrists bound ahead of him. There were loud voices rambling around him, yelling at one another but making no real sense from where he was. Cas' heart pounded in his ears as he tried to pay attention, they were talking about captives.
"What do you guys wanna do first?"
Cas swallowed hard and took a shuddered breath, he had to get himself together as best he could, to the highest point of pride he could muster; because that was probably going to be the last thing he did. From the sound of it though they were unpacking some things, the rest of the crew that had saddled the caravan's best goods and trading items were just riding up. 'We're at their campsite.' Cas told himself, just to put some perspective on where he was.
It had been some time since they'd exited the town but not all that much; they were still close enough for a rescue.
He almost laughed at himself for that. A rescue by who? Sheriff Michael? He'd just one-man-army his way into the neighbourhood and shoot up the entire Rough Rider gang, no problem whatsoever.
As he listened to the Riders unpack and set up he had to wonder more and more about it; why hadn't they killed him? Where had Sheriff Michael even been during the attack? The town was in ruins, bodies littered the streets, Castiel wanted to thank God that the Winchesters had gone. At least Dean was alive somewhere, even if their night meant nothing more than quick relief to the outlaw Castiel couldn't help the feeling he'd gotten from it.
Stupid Dean Winchester.
Suddenly he felt a harsh hand on him, yanking him upright and tearing the blindfold from his eyes. Castiel squinted and blinked repeatedly as he tried to get used to the amount of light forced upon him. An angry, battered face grinned down and he thought for the first time that he'd seen true evil. Hearing about it was nothing compared to seeing it, he had to truly face it to know the nightmare behind any story he'd ever heard.
"Hello, little cowboy." The man spoke and Cas knew it had to be the leader, that much he'd heard of. Alastair smiled wickedly and pinched his cheek, it hurt in the same way it would have if anyone else had done it but this man made it feel so much worse. "What's your name, son?"
Cas wanted to swallow himself alive and create a horrible space-time paradox of whether he was twice as big or disappeared completely, but he had no ability to do such a thing. Instead he looked the man straight in the face, thought of what Dean Winchester from all of his stories might do, and smiled right back, "Castiel." He never thought his name sounded like anything special but he spat it like venom anyway, what could he lose? He was already a dead man.
Alastair seemed impressed, a look of intrigue on his face as he squeezed Cas' cheeks, forcing his lips to push out and mouth to open, just a little. Cas took a haggard breath but didn't look away, if he was going to die he'd do it like his stories, they were all he had to cling to in that moment. "I like you, Castiel. Why do you think we kept you?" Alastair let go of his face and slapped his cheek.
"I look pretty?" Cas raised an eyebrow, he'd winced at the instant shock of pain but what did he care? Pain was pain and he assumed any man would react to a slap in the face.
Alastair laughed and it triggered everyone else, the roar of gruff and tortured men's laughter rumbled around him and only set his heart at a quicker pace. "You are a cute one, for a cowboy."
"I'm guessing you haven't seen the Winchesters, then." Cas remarked snarkily, mostly it was for himself though. He didn't care if they'd met Dean or Sam at all, but it was the last big revelation of his life and he wanted to reflect on that. The Winchesters weren't ugly, deformed men, they were gorgeous and that really changed Castiel's outlook. His endearment for the rumours of Dean Winchester changed so fast he'd gotten whiplash, the man had gone from a rough and terrible legend to such a beautiful mess.
"Not recently, but word is that you have, barkeep." Alastair ran a hand through Cas' hair, his fingers running close to his scalp over and over, messing up the already destroyed style he'd had. It was cold and it was wrong, Cas couldn't get any kind of reaction from that kind of touch. It was like when he got off with Crowley, the odd time the traders were in town with their mini-caravans. Castiel hated Crowley but he was the only man Cas had ever met that was interested in any form of homosexual relations. They'd done it every which way from Sunday but he'd never truly loved it, never ached for it other than the physical touch of another person. It was always so distant, cold and unloving. Alastair's hands were very similar in that way.
"They were in town, everyone saw them." Castiel replied, not letting his eyes shift from the monster's face. "Is that why you didn't kill me with the other men?"
"Sometimes…" Alastair leaned in close and smiled, his breath was awful and his face just made Castiel want to ram his head into the dirt, "you shouldn't question a good thing."
Cas frowned before his hair was gripped tightly, it pulled and it hurt enough to get him to scrunch up his face, his mouth falling open as he gasped sharply. Alastair dragged his head up and forced their mouths together, a slick and disgusting tongue slipped between his teeth. Castiel didn't think he just acted and bit down. The following seconds were a mixture of the iron taste he hated and a sharp pain in his stomach.
"Little firecracker, ain't ya?" Alastair chuckled, blood trickling down from the corners of his mouth as darkness encroached on Castiel's vision. "Feisty for a bartender."
Cas watched Alastair move a hand away from his stomach, his head feeling dizzy with the lack of air in his lungs. "You have no idea." He growled and that earned him another strike, this time his head was ringing and darkness closed in all over again. His brain screamed but his body wouldn't move, everything slowly shut down as consciousness faded.
Castiel never believed in miracles, he never imagined that a fantasy could truly become real but he couldn't help it that time. He hoped. He prayed. He thought;
'Dean.'
They were going to wait for evening, like Jet had mentioned it was better to hide in the larger crowd the big caravan would attract. Caravans went through that area often enough but they were always smaller, had much less to offer and worse quality things. Once every year or two years the big trading group would pass through, it was a combination of several successful businessmen making a group effort to combine their stock and travel around to all the major places, passing through smaller towns along the way. There was more variety in their goods and the items usually lasted longer. Granted the prices could skyrocket but that was just one bad thing for a whole whack of good.
It was also a great chance to steal for the outlaws, brigands and bandits roaming the areas. People like Jet planned out the scene, tried to make it perfect and strike when the time was right. He only took what he needed, paid for a lot of it but how could he really feel bad when half the guys he took from were criminals in the first place?
They sat together talking; the conversations had gone from stressful, personal stories to light-hearted stupid crap that really brightened the room, and everything in between. They were situated in one of the shacks outside Jet's hideout, sitting above ground like normal folk. Dean had just finished explaining what had happened in the last town, how genius the guy was to hide his dynamite under the floorboards, when he noticed a horse racing toward them.
"Hey, that one of your guys?" Dean asked as he pointed to the distant figure closing in fast.
Jet squinted for a second then rose to his feet, "No, that's the Sheriff." He grabbed his hat from the table and repositioned it over his head as he walked out; "You two stay put for a second."
Sam frowned and exchanged a look with Dean, "What would the Sheriff want here?"
"Jet's not exactly a saint, Sammy. Probably wants to tell him to stay away from the traders." Dean shrugged and looked back out, "Better stay inside and watch, see if it gets messy."
"Chevy and Impala are outside, I don't think the Sheriff is going to be fooled by the 'Winchesters aren't here' story." Sam snorted back at him, that little brother tone so clear to Dean.
"Well let's let Jet handle it for a second, okay?"
Jet walked to the edge of his acquired zone, his hands rested loosely on the hilts of his weapons as he watched the Sheriff's horse approach. It wasn't normal for Michael to go out that far, especially alone. Jet didn't flinch as Michael's steed slowed its pace and barely stopped in front of him, the horse shook its head and whinnied as if to challenge its obstacle. "Good afternoon, Sheriff, what brings you here?"
Michael looked down at him; expression went from the stern disapproval it always held to one of desperation. "The Rough Riders hit the town." He explained grimly and Jet could hear how hard it was for Michael to keep himself together. "Everyone's dead or missing, the Riders made off with the caravan."
His heart raced. 'The Rough Riders?'
Jet stared at him for a second then threw his arms up in the air for lack of a better reaction. "And where the fuck were you, Mr. Protector!?"
"I was looking for the Winchesters!" Michael snapped back, his usual composure out the window. "I was concerned they'd do something and now… now it doesn't matter where they are…" Michael trailed off and looked down, his face a torrent of emotion that Jet had never seen there before.
"What do you need?" He asked after a moment passed, his own features softening though the rest of him did no such thing. Jet was an amazing diplomat when he wanted to be, when he needed to be. Manipulating people was too easy but that wasn't something he was known for, people rarely noticed when he did it. No, Jet was known for something closer to controlled insanity, a brutality that only came out when he lost his temper.
"I want to go after them," Michael was hesitant and his face was tired. "I need your help, Jet. You're the best tracker within a hundred miles, I need you to help me find them."
"What for? Revenge?"
"That's all I can do." Michael didn't falter, steel coloured eyes locked with dark brown in a moment where neither was certain of what the other was thinking. "There are a few people left, people who were in homes left alone, people who were working further out of the town like where I was. They're all missing family, they all need something that I think I can give them."
"I think you'll find you understand me a little better now." Jet said simply and nodded toward the shacks, "Come this way, there are some people I'd like you to meet."
Michael furrowed his brow but dismounted all the same, leading his horse to a post and tying him up. "Who am I meeting now?" He asked as he caught up to Jet's stride, evidently not one hundred percent sure he trusted the whole scenario, from what Jet could put together.
Dean and Sam both lit up with curiosity as the door opened, they hadn't heard the conversation outside but Jet's expression was more than enough to tell them they'd be interested. "What happened?" Dean got up as they entered.
"Rough Riders," Jet looked Dean right in the face as he said it.
Dean felt his stomach turn and his muscles tense with just the thought, "You're lying."
"He's not," Michael stepped inside as well, his eyes snapping back and forth between the brothers. "They massacred the trading area and stole the caravan."
"Is anyone alive?" Dean asked with only one face in mind, a flash of bright blue eyes seared the back of his eyelids every time he blinked.
"Some," the Sheriff took his hat off and ran a hand through dark hair, "A handful might have been kidnapped, their bodies are missing."
Dean didn't want to ask outright, he wanted to know but he couldn't ask. 'He might be dead and you can't ask?' His brain shouted at him but he didn't listen to it all the same. "Take us there, I need to see it."
Michael looked at him incredulously, "You… want to help?"
"The Rough Riders have a bit of a history with us," Sam smiled tightly; Dean knew that expression, the sound of Sam's tone. He was pissed, murderously so. The information he'd given Michael was more than enough, anyone with history with the Riders couldn't have anything more than homicidal thoughts on the subject.
"Well you're both alive, so that's something." Michael gave them a nod of admiration, "That's a miracle actually."
"Yeah well sometimes it doesn't feel like it." Dean muttered as he walked out, Sam right behind him.
They reached the town again, Dean and Sam ahead of Jet and the Sheriff. While their horses were the best of the best there was something to be said for watching the back of the pack, which was why Jet didn't attempt to race them there. On a good day he might've.
Dean slowed Impala down to a slow trot as he looked at the pulverized and burned buildings, but mostly the blood splattered over the streets. It was like reliving a nightmare that he'd tried to forget time and time again. "Never gets old, does it Sammy?"
Sam didn't respond, he just passed Dean by and moved on to look around at the slaughter. "Bodies are left where they fell, not the norm for the Riders."
"They usually pile them up." Jet added as he hopped off his horse and tied it to a post, "This isn't too different from what I remember last time."
"You were in Rough Rider attack before?" Michael looked at him inquisitively.
"Yeah, Dean, Sam and I are all from the same place." Jet answered casually like it was nothing important but Dean knew better, he could see it the way Jet walked, how he looked around.
Michael had more questions about their childhood, vague and mostly about the Riders but Jet and Sam handled the answers; Dean had more important things to look for. He rode to the caravan site directly, there were some town people trying to clean it up but they could hardly bring themselves to do it. No one wanted to move or do anything, it was too soon. There were, of course, the working men who knew better, knew that the bodies would start smelling and that work had to be done immediately. It was a horrific sight, there were so many people in pieces and blood everywhere. Footprints and horse prints alike making art in the smeared pools, people muddying up the masterpiece with their lifeless forms.
Dean passed them by and rode to the saloon, he didn't want to look at that anymore, didn't want to think that Castiel died in that of all things. "Cas!" He shouted as he jumped from Impala's back, running inside and throwing the doors open.
It was empty.
"Castiel?" He called again, this time sounding a bit more worried. "CAS!"
No answer.
"Goddamn it…" Dean ran around to the back where Cas lived, past the hall where they'd fucked and to the bedroom where they'd slept. He could still feel the warmth of Castiel next to him, the soft sigh of Cas' breathing and light tickle of that breath on his skin. The bedroom was empty too, the whole place was.
In fact it didn't even have a trail of blood. Castiel didn't die in the tavern where he'd lived. Dean ran back outside and galloped back to the men who moved the corpses. "Excuse me! Do you know Castiel?" He asked this time, he didn't care anymore, he wanted to see Cas.
The guy looked up and nodded, "Everyone knows Cas."
"Have you… have you seen his…" Dean motioned to the bodies, his tongue tied into knots in his mouth. He couldn't say it. Why did that bother him? He'd seen countless people die before but Cas? Castiel Novak, the little bartender that dreamed of bigger things, things he'd heard of in stories, like an adventure, and things he'd never say out loud, like a real lover. Castiel Novak, smiling and laughing at the legends in real life. Cas, a man who showed more compassion in a single night than Dean had ever been given in his entire life.
Beautiful. Have you seen his eyes when they light up as a story is told? Have you seen how big he can smile when a terrible joke is made but he still thinks it's funny? Have you seen the way he walks and carries himself?
Dead. Have you seen his corpse? Have you seen him bleeding out on the ground? Have you seen him, frozen and broken? Have you seen him? Have you seen him?
"No, no sign of Cas." The guy shook his head, "Not that I've noticed anyway."
Dean nodded and moved on to the next person, and the next and the next until he was satisfied. No one had seen Castiel.
"He's one of the ones that was kidnapped, maybe?" Sam looked at Dean as he approached his brother's side. "Alastair takes men once in a while, not that often but sometimes."
Dean nodded, "Well we'd know that, wouldn't we?" he could feel his blood boiling. Castiel at that maniac's mercy, the thought of it made him wretch. "So we find them, gut them, and take back the people who were abducted."
