Foreword: And chapter 3. Hope you like, and any reviews or comments are much appreciated.

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 this chapter for violence, threats of death, language.

VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE:

Chapter 1, 2, 3, and 4 have received major changes to the plot line in order to keep with continuity. The plot line as posted has not changed.


Chapter 3

Alright, so perhaps running right back to the store where this entire mess began wasn't the most ideal choice of action, but what other option did he have? He needed to set this situation straight, to make sure he was left out of this predicament so that no one, not the police or the witnesses or Richard the manager would drag him back in. He really had the most terrible luck sometimes, but that didn't mean he was going to let himself get involved with this gang of thugs, or whatever it was, immoral or illegal, Richard had to do with them.

The sign on the door stated "CLOSED," but Castiel tried the door anyway, relieved to find it unlocked and without another wasted moment, bolted to the front. Richard looked up at the approaching boy with his big eyes growing bigger, his jaw almost dropping.

"K-, kid what are you doing here, the store is closed!" he exclaimed, his eyes jumping frantically from where they were focused on the newspaper in his hands up to Castiel, fumbling clumsily with three appendages to flip it face down. When Castiel reached the desk he recognized the paper as the very one he'd read just twenty minutes prior so he grabbed the paper and turned it right side up, pointing to the article that mentioned the crime, and more distressingly, mentioned Castiel.

"This. Did you see this?" Castiel asked, swallowing hard past the dryness in his throat, "Did you say anything?"

Richard's eyes were still large and bug-like, not sure whether he should keep his eyes on Castiel's face or the paper so they simply buzzed in between. He cleared his throat and tugged his collar where it pinched just a little too close to his neck, "I'm… not sure what you're talking about. You have to leave-"

"Look, I know you saw me!" Castiel muttered tersely, somewhat under his breath even though he knew they were alone in the store, "I just. I never wanted to be stuck in here when that-"

"When what? It was just a robbery…" Richard's voice trailed off, insincerity coloring his words. Castiel silently fumed at his continued denial.

"Fine," he sighed, "Whatever you are calling it, I don't want any part of it. Did you talk about me to the police?"

Richard regarded Castiel consolingly, his brow creasing upward as he put his hands up awkwardly, fingers held steady with thick bandages. "Hey, I didn't mention you to anyone, I swear. I don't want you to get wrapped up in this anymore than you do. It's none of your business-"

The store owner trailed off as his eyes travelled to the front of the store, his throat working around a gulp. Castiel's brow furrowed.

"What. What is it?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder but finding nothing in sight.

That was when the doorbell jingled. But the store was supposedly closed.

"You gotta get out of here," Richard hissed under his breath after a beat of silence, snatching the newspaper back from Castiel, "Go, just—oh, there's no time, get outta sight!"

For a second Castiel just stared numbly at the store owner, but when he hissed out "Go!" again and pointed the direction away from the door, Castiel's base faculties came back and he scrambled to hide behind the deplorably familiar freezer.

This wasn't happening. This was not happening, crap, crap, no, this was not happening again! Castiel tucked his legs inward and hid himself in the minuscule space as much as possible, ducking his head between his knees and smacking his head repeatedly on the bony knobs of jean-clad flesh. Castiel, without a doubt, had the worst luck in the universe. The events of the previous week seemed to be breathing down his neck like cruel laughter to a crueler joke. He wanted out of this, not to be a recurring witness!

Castiel looked up quickly, remembering his mode of escape from the week before; the back door. It was a clear shot from the freezer, and a blind spot, really, just by the placement of the shelves. Only someone standing behind the counter would actually observe him hightail it out the door. Of course someone would notice the door open and slam, but by then Castiel would be running –hopefully—too fast for any thugs to catch up. It was his ticket out. He peered around the corner only a moment to catch a glimpse of several heads weaving through the shelves, and Castiel swallowed hard.

He could make it if he left now. He could put this entire mess behind him, once and for all. But… but he needed to know why. He couldn't sleep at night, he couldn't think, he could hardly breathe without the events playing through his mind, the rattle of the shelves when the store owner was slammed into them, and the words enunciated so clearly and crisply from the boss's calm tenor it cut through Castiel's skin savagely and as acutely as a razor. Maybe if he stayed, and witnessed it again without doing anything stupid like making his presence known, he could figure out what it meant when he was kept awake at night by seeing the boss's victorious smirk, and why he wanted to see it again.

It was insane. Asinine, ridiculous, everything Castiel shouldn't do because he wasn't supposed to get into trouble; he was the good boy that got good grades and paid his bills on time and didn't have questions about the adrenaline already pumping through his veins and begging for more stimulation. But he was smart, too. He knew if he stayed put, and said nothing to no one, this could be the last time. He just needed to clear his head. Witness this again and sort it out like a puzzle. That was all. Castiel slid down against the freezer, long since missing his window of opportunity, and waited out the event.

He didn't dare peek around as he did the previous encounter, not moronic enough to risk being discovered by frigid eyes as he unfortunately was last time. Castiel wasn't remotely in any position to test his luck.

The shuffle of footsteps was quiet and polite this time where they clacked on the tile floor, approaching the counter at a steady, unhurried pace. It was eerily quiet, the contrast from the last, explosive time they stormed in here making Castiel shift uncomfortably. He remained quiet and still as the grave, and so did Richard until the footsteps stopped. He refused to move, too stunned and stubborn to do otherwise. He chewed the inside of his lip and settled down for the long haul.

After a few more quiet moments Castiel wondered if the boss was even there. He contemplated the possibilities of whether the leader would waste his time coming to make a collection at a local convenience store. It didn't matter that he came by last time, it wasn't as though bosses of street gangs made regular trips to food stores for money; that was the reason they invested in henchmen.

"You got the money, Rick?" One of the men said, his voice low and smoker rough; nothing like his leader's. The young man frowned to himself and sighed quietly, dropping his chin to his knees and questioning why the pit in his stomach sank at the idea the leader was not accompanying his men today.

"Y-yes, of course, it's a-ah, here..." Richard muttered, trying to keep his voice steady and even.

Castiel should be relieved. The boss was not around to make his nightmares worse. The sooner he got away from this, and the memory of that man, the better. Still, something in Castiel almost yearned to behold the boss's presence again. The ruthless intensity of the gang leader's imposing figure had certainly left its brand. He reasoned that just a glimpse of his eyes again or the sound of his viciously demure tone of voice would put his nightmares and morbid curiosities to rest. Or maybe quench the nightmares' thirst for more. He wasn't sure he was curious enough to know which would happen.

It was hardly of any consequence, anyway; the boss was far away from this store and Castiel could put this entire catastrophe behind him. At least, that was what he told himself. Castiel shook that thought away and instead focused on any sounds he could pick up from the exchange only a few feet away.

Richard was shifting around, rather noisily pulling out drawers of the shop and rustling paperwork until he settled on one drawer to pull out... something. Castiel didn't hear any bag or suitcase or the regular items for carrying large amounts of cash. His brow creased in confusion but he stayed resolutely still, refusing to be caught like last time for investigating. Then again, if the boss wasn't there, what did he have to fear?

Castiel's curiosity was a deadly thing. He cursed himself and scooted to the edge so that he could peer around the corner just like last time, and he watched Richard hand one of the henchmen a small stack of bills; probably hundreds and fifties. Castiel resisted the urge to smack his own forehead and turned to face forward behind the freezer again. He was an idiot sometimes. Money transactions were hardly going to be the same as they were in movies. At least this was going to be over quickly.

"Hey, Rick, you're two hundred short here."

Or perhaps not.

Richard's voice was miniscule and shaky again, "What? Oh, no I'm not the b-bill was-"

"You're two hundred short on late fees, fat fuck, don't play dumb!"

"I can't pull out anymore, I can't, I'll have it next week. Just give me more time-"

The store owner never finished speaking, his quivering stutter cut off by a very distinct gagging sound. Castiel's eyes widened, his entire body locking up and forced still not just for self-preservation but from pure, abject fear. They were choking him. Each second that dragged on with nothing but muffled gurgles and the low laugh of one of the henchmen filled the air as long as a lifetime, and Castiel unwittingly counted every single one of his heartbeats that passed in the slow seconds, as if they were the last ones he'd ever hear. As if he was the one being strangled. The blood pounded through his veins hotly, throbbing through every nerve and through his ears, heightening the fear already scratching away at his composure. He clawed at the floor to keep himself still.

"That's enough, I think he gets the hint."

And then there it was; the soft, silky drawl of the boss split the air like static charge and Castiel took a deep breath the exact moment the manager gasped for breath. And as if the terror cutting its way into Castiel's stomach could not get worse, now his heart was beating hard, so painfully hard it forced hot blood through every fiber of his being so it was all he could do to strain over the sound of his own thumping arteries to listen to the rest of the conversation. The boss was here. He was here.

"S-sorry, I'm sorry!" Richard gagged out, coughing and panting for air.

"Don't be sorry," the boss purred, "Just hand over what you owe or I may just regret telling my buddy to let go."

If voices could kill. Castiel shivered and stayed still, the irrational side of him saying that if he moved they would hear the barest scrape of his shoes on the linoleum like predators hunting prey. Maybe not so irrational, with how perceptively the leader had found him last time. Crap, the leader was here!

"Okay, okay. I g-got it," Richard stuttered, and then a few, agonizingly long seconds later the boss was talking again.

"There you go, Ricky, was that so hard?" The boss chuckled, a lilted sound almost like a child pleased with getting a present. Why it made this man more frightening, Castiel might never figure out.

"Now remember, Rick," one of the henchmen spat out, "You don't say nothing to nobody."

"Of course. I won't."

There was just a beat of silence, and then the steady shuffling of footsteps heading back to the side of the store the entrance was. Castiel literally sagged in relief, sliding down the floor slightly and taking a deep, controlling breath.

"Uhm… boss?" The tentative voice of one of the lackeys piped up, and Castiel felt a cold trickle raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

When the boss spoke again his voice not on the other side of the store but right where it was before, next to Richard.

"You read the paper, Ricky?" He inquired, his tone almost mulling.

Castiel's brow creased, and the confusion in Richard's response mirrored Castiel's thoughts.

"Yes. U-uhm, sometimes."

"There's quite an interesting side comment about you…" There was a light tap of fingers, "Right here. You wouldn't have happened to try to get cozy with the cops?"

Castiel remembered that the paper was still on the counter, and sort of wanted to strangle Richard himself for not tossing that thing away before they came in.

"No! No, of course not, you know I wouldn't," Richard rushed out quickly.

"That so?" He drawled, just a hint of incredulity lacing his words, "Talk to anyone else recently?"

"N-no…"

"That's too bad."

A series of steady, careful footsteps followed his words. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way."

His voice was getting closer. Why was his voice getting closer?

"Boys, seems like we have a rat in our midst."

Castiel jumped at the silky voice right above him and snapped his head up to lock eyes directly with the boss, smirking down at him with a merciless curl to his lips like the cat that got the canary.

The criminal's eyes had been dark and penetrating when Castiel first looked at them, but with no real substance to his eyes or the rest of his features from the brief and distance look Castiel had barely had time to perceive. Now, Castiel saw everything in vivid detail.

Castiel zeroed in on the steel grey irises like twin knives splitting into him up close and personal, pinning him to the spot on the floor where he was petrified with fear. The gang leader leaned his narrow hip against the freezer, his arms crossed nonchalantly over his impeccably tailored, wrinkle-free jacket, fingers drumming over his bicep as he stared down his aquiline, narrow nose at the kid. He was tall, very tall with his salt-and-peppered hair slicked to the side in the ridged perfection of a statue.

Castiel just stared back into his dagger-grey eyes, too terrified to move, as a pitiful whimper squeaked out of his throat.

Shit.

"Might want to practice breathing through your nose. Mouth breathers tend to get caught," the boss purred, and the younger man didn't even have a chance to speak before one lithe, deceptively powerful hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him down into the icebox.

"Well well well, little rat is a mouse," the boss chuckled, tilting his head as he bored frozen eyes into Castiel's huge, frightened blue, and Castiel trembled against the freezer, "Still wet behind the ears, are we?"

"L-look, I-, I don't w-want any trouble, okay?" Castiel quavered out with the little breath he had, trying to keep his voice from cracking and very nearly failing. The gang leader, the boss Castiel hadn't been able to stop thinking about for days had him pinned to the icebox, after his silent warning, after letting Castiel go free without a single uttered word. Castiel was here again, and now he was fair game.

The henchmen all laughed as they approached the two, but the boss held up one hand to stop them. They stood back, still leering at their leader with a kid trapped beneath him, staring up into the eyes of the crime boss he knew was not going to give him a second chance.

"Now, that's not true," the boss clicked his tongue, "Stuck here once, that's just bad luck. Stuck here twice? Now that's just stupid."

The henchmen looked confused but said nothing, and Richard was nowhere to be found. The steady articulation of every uttered syllable was a mocking jeer, a joke to Castiel's predicament that no one in their right mind would ever willingly fall into, idiotic or not.

Castiel became irrationally angry for a moment and glared at him before snapping out, "I'm not stupid!"

The boss's eyebrows arched slightly at the outburst, a moment of silence he took to register the verbal retaliation that Castiel immediately regretted, and the low chuckles from the men reminded Castiel strangely of high school when he was slammed against the science table by the quarterback, and the other jocks all huddled around to watch the scrawny kid get trounced. The deep, adolescent trauma of his high school years suddenly paralleling in young adulthood would have been hilarious if Castiel wasn't infinitesimally close to pissing his pants.

Even though he was afraid of what this man would do, much more likely to hurt him than the jocks and much more mature, and tangible, with a much more profound crime record, Castiel couldn't stop the pounding of blood in his veins making every one of his nerves come alive, making the hand fisting his shirt and bearing down on his chest feel like a lead weight and those numbing eyes freeze him to the spot. This was the answer he needed. This was what he desired to know, why he couldn't sleep at night. The boss, whoever this man was, set his nerves and adrenaline ablaze so much his heart hammered in his chest as if he he'd been running for miles and he couldn't calm it back down. The beating of his heart and the vitality of his nerves made everything so acute and sharp, right to the press of every knuckle into the cotton of his shirt and into his hot skin. Before, the memory of how every nerve had jolted to life was enough to keep him awake; now right in front of him and happening to him, he never felt more alive than when he was staring death straight in his steel grey eyes. It was terrifying, and astonishing. He didn't want it to stop. But he also didn't want to die.

The rush was nearly enough to make him dizzy, but he made sure his eyes remained trained on the boss, who still hadn't spoken a word for the longest few seconds of Castiel's life, and forced himself not to flinch when his brow relaxed from the slight crinkle and a grin finally split over those thin lips, showing off pearly white teeth that seemed utterly shark-like.

"My apologies," he purred out, "An honest mistake. I mean... it's not often you meet a kid coming to get in trouble for kicks."

"Wait, what? No, I'm not-" Castiel began to protest but the boss's free hand clamped over his jaw and his mouth, digging into the bone to silence him. He hushed Castiel's incoherent objection which made him glare right back at the boss, but he couldn't move an inch, even as he twitched vainly under his hands to get him to release his face. The boss was powerful, much stronger than he gave him credit for by how lithe and angular he appeared.

Despite being unable to respond Castiel yelled in his mind that this man was wrong. Castiel would have to be sick to do this for kicks. It was a revelation, of course, that the adrenaline was spiking through him to make his nerves hot and come alive, but to get a kick out of this? To actually find a sense of pleasure in this brush with death? He was wrong. He had to be wrong. He… had to be wrong, right? Castiel couldn't mistake the heat inside him, the rush making him light headed but craving more. But it wasn't a kick. It couldn't possibly be.

"You so sure about that, kid?" It was like the man was in his thoughts now, prying them apart and forcing them into the open. Castiel felt his face burn slightly in anger, utterly silent with the hand still keeping his mouth shut.

He let go of his face and Castiel worked his jaw to get rid of the ache, but he didn't have time to snap out a retort. Because now that grin was getting wider; crueler and nastier and when the boss reached behind himself the soft clink of greased metal fractured the air, and then Castiel was met with the frighteningly cold muzzle of a gun. Oh, no.

"Wait...w-wait-"

Castiel stammered for any words of protest he could blindly grasp before the boss hushed him again and turned the gun upwards, digging the metal into the soft underside of his chin that forced a strangled whimper to escape Castiel's throat.

"This is what you came for, isn't it?" He whispered, each word a careful hiss that made the younger man petrified with fear again, the harsh muzzle grinding into his flesh more real than he ever wanted to experience. His heart was pounding so heavily it burned; his nerves felt like they were fraying apart. It was too much to handle. He wanted to feel the adrenaline again but nothing like this, nothing as real and frightening as this.

Castiel's perception narrowed and blurred away the other inhabitants of the store; it was just him and this unnamed criminal, his frosty hands immobilizing the younger as he trapped him against the harsh edge of the freezer. It was him and the gang leader's savage smile and the unforgiving edge of the muzzle of a gun.

Despite the icy dread trickling down his spine Castiel got the breath enough to speak. "You wouldn't d-dare," he managed to grit out, his eyes wide on the boss's.

The man's grin didn't even falter as he cocked back the safety on the gun, using the barrel to push the kid's chin up to get a better look at his face.

"Wouldn't I?"

"God, god! Okay, I get it don't- don't-" Castiel rushed out, his nails scratching against the metal of the icebox. It was cold, it was all so cold and he couldn't handle this, his felt like he was going to pass out.

But the boss clicked his tongue, humming almost soothingly. He leaned forward to whisper in the Castiel's ear.

"I can hear your heart from here, kid, and your face is all flushed. Don't tell me you're not here for the kicks."

"No!" Castiel gritted out, much less anger than before and more out of desperation. His face wasn't really flushed, was it? He couldn't help how hard his heart was working his blood, making him feel hot and cold all over all at once. He shivered when the boss spoke again, his cool breath tickling the short hairs curling around his ear.

"Mm, such an innocent little kid. Bet your cherry isn't even popped. Must be awful to die a virgin," the tone was just on the edge of teasing, even laced with the cruel, sardonic threat.

"I'm not-!" Castiel exclaimed, his face flushing darker at the implication, and the criminal chuckled into his hair, the sound like wind on a frozen day. The muzzle of the gun pressed up higher, digging its way into his skin like the gang leader was trying to force it up to his skull. The metal grey eyes unrelentingly scrutinized Castiel's every panicked writhe; the strong hand kept him constrained unforgivingly to the icebox and was all so overwhelming Castiel could hardly gather a tangible thought. All he knew was that he'd never felt with so much of his being before. Everything in his body was alive; brought on by fear, neither his body nor his mind cared. The spectacular reaction of his body and mind had left him almost aching for the next move, so long as it wasn't the twitchy shift of a trigger finger.

Regardless of what Castiel was waiting fretfully for, nothing could have prepared him for the boss's next move.

With the comment lingering in the air the gang leader was getting closer, impossibly closer, and a knee slid between Castiel's legs where they were sprawled over the edge of the icebox and treading ground, a thigh settling right up against his groin. Castiel was too stunned to even yell or jerk away.

"I think I missed what you said. You're here for…?" The boss left the question open, but Castiel could only respond with a hitching gasp, his eyes simply widened in surprise at the unexpected touch.

It wasn't even on purpose; his nerves were too sensitive from the boss was doing, his heart pounding hot blood through his body unknowingly but the light brush between his legs made his flush increase over his cheeks and ears, the adrenaline obviously taking the form of something else as the front of his pants tightened near immediately at the friction of another man's thigh. It was unmistakable though, to both him and the boss, and the grin on the older man's face was very nearly demonic.

"That's what I thought," he purred, and then grabbed Castiel's chin, his thigh still firmly pressed against his twitching groin. Oh no, this was it. He was going to die now with a gun to his face and the most embarrassing bodily reaction that could have happened—he might have even taken pissing his pants over this—but he couldn't even tear his eyes away. If he was going to die, he was going to look at the damnable man that did it.

Castiel waited, his teeth clenched tightly together and waiting for the end. But five seconds… ten seconds went by. The boss's gaze never left his, eyes that were almost flickering with glee before now hardened into something Castiel couldn't place. The smirk on the boss's face faded almost imperceptibly, and then he let go.

Castiel gasped spasmodically for breath he hadn't realized he was holding, collapsing to the ground and clutching his heart like if he didn't hold on it would stop without his consent.

"Come on boys, we're done," the criminal ordered suddenly, waving his gun for the henchmen to file out, and then slipped it back under into the waistband of his slacks. The henchman cast quick, perplexed glances at each other, their eyes darting silently before the boss just looked at them, arching an eyebrow that had them tripping over themselves to run out the door. He sauntered off after them, his hands slipped into his pockets as he hummed softly, and then looked back at Castiel. Castiel was shaking like a leaf, still flushed and distressingly hard on the floor, and so utterly confused. The boss chuckled, his ever present smirk already plastered back on his face.

"You're cute, kid. See you around."

And with that, he was gone. Castiel didn't know what to even think.


A/n: Hope you're enjoying, guys :)