Chapter 9
The clock on the wall ticks nonchalantly, announcing that it's 11 am. The brothers sit in the kitchen around the table. Their coffee already is cold, but neither of them wants to touch it. An hour has passed since they began to sit in silence.
Dean's fingers draw abstract patterns on the table while his mind is far away. Dean knows that it is crazy and absurd, but he has come to the final realization that he likes Castiel. During the days they have spent together, the painter has become attached to his reaper. Little, funny things Castiel had done or the naïve questions he would have asked would have been enough to throw Dean into laughter.
The painter lets out a small sigh and his heart starts to ache. 'Cas, where did they take you?' he thinks and can't help but cringe at the memories. Those red angels seemed furious and Dean is sure Castiel will be facing some serious troubles, judging by his frightened eyes.
"Dean," Sam's voice finally breaks the tension and the painter flinches. "Tell me everything," the younger brother demands calmly.
Dean takes a sip of his cold coffee and thinks for a while. What can he tell Sam? His brother has seen Castiel's wings, and the other angels too. Damn, even those people saw it all, so blaming it on a hallucination wouldn't work.
"What can I tell you, Sam? You saw it yourself." Dean's voice sounds hoarse.
Sam stares at his brother with narrowed eyes, like the answer is written on Dean's forehead in a very small font. The younger Winchester shakes his head in denial.
"I want to know what happened. Who is Castiel? Or what is he? Dean, I should be fucking dead, or handicapped at least, and there are no wounds on my body!" Sam's voice cracks in the end.
Dean finishes his coffee in one gulp and wipes his mouth. He knows what to say to his brother. "Cas is an angel. He's my personal angel." Dean does not concretize what type of angel he is.
"You mean, like a guardian angel?" Sam asks in disbelief.
"Yes," he lies, because Castiel is not quite that type of angel.
"But how…I mean why…" Sam stutters and laughs nervously.
Angels. This is ridiculous. How is this even possible? Sam's mind still cannot fathom the information. His older brother had never believed in the existence of angels, but now, here he was saying one was living with him!
"I don't know, Sam. He just appeared into my life and said he wanted to get to know his charge better," Dean answers quietly and fumbles in his pocket. "So, you are leaving in the evening?" Dean says to change the subject.
Sam nods. "The flight is at 8:30."
"Promise me one thing," Dean sounds tense. "That you will take care of yourself. 'Cause I don't think…" he wants to add that he does not think Cas will be able to help Sam again, but shuts his mouth. "Here, I want you to have this." He gives the spare house key to Sam.
Sam's brows knit together in confusion, but before he asks anything, Dean cuts in. "Trust me, you'll need it soon. I may go on a trip in a few days and I want you to come here when I give you a call. This is very important." Dean makes the slightest hint about his situation, but of course Sam would not understand it.
"Um…ok. No problem, I guess." Sam takes the keys with a small smile.
Castiel is thrown into a dark and damp cell. It's freezing inside and the reaper cannot see a thing. The door slams shut behind him and the keys rattle as they lock him in the cell.
The floor of the cell is wet and Castiel can hear how the water droplets bounce off the floor in a specific rhythm. The sounds come from the right side, so the reaper instinctively tries to move from the wetness.
Castiel puts his hands against the wall and gropingly tries to find a corner. After a few minutes, he succeeds. He smiles faintly when the corner is not wet and sits down, leaning his back against the stone wall.
The angel wraps his arms around his knees and rests his chin on them. His mind goes back to Dean. Castiel thinks about what Dean might be doing in this particular moment. Probably sleeping or watching that miraculous box called a TV, or talking to his brother Sam.
Castiel knows he is in trouble because of Sam. But he knew this would happen if he helped Sam, so he cannot blame anyone but himself. And besides, Dean begged him for help. Castiel realizes that whenever he thinks of the painter, his heart starts to beat faster. The angel smells the T-shirt he's still wearing and caresses the material tenderly.
"Dean…" he whispers in the darkness.
After Sam leaves to catch his flight, Dean is left alone with his bitter, depressing thoughts. What is there left to do except to drink when you feel like shit like this? So Dean grabs a bottle of Jack Daniels.
He starts to drink, trying not to think about anything. But no matter how hard he tries, a certain person with piercing blue-eyes still invades his mind and vision.
"I'm sorry, Cas…" the painter mumbles as he stares at the ceiling. His right hand, which he holds the glass of whiskey with, noticeably trembles and spills the ingredients on the carpet.
Castiel loses track of time. He is not sure how many minutes, hours, or days have passed since he was thrown into this dungeon. The angel remembers his promise to Dean, that the painter would have his painting done in time. Castiel shudders, partly from the cold, but mostly from regret. Maybe the deadline expired a long time ago.
"I am sorry I let you down, Dean," the reaper says quietly and his eyes sadden.
But then the door of his cell opens and two angels – guards, walk in. They grab Castiel's arms painfully and drag him out. The reaper recognizes the way. It leads to the court room. So, there will be a trial. His trial!
The court room is a huge, white chamber with the marble columns. There is a big, red table at the back wall with thirteen chairs. The middle one, the golden chair, is empty while the rest are occupied by stern faced jurors. They give Castiel hateful looks.
The reaper is brought before them and the same red winged angels stand nearby, keeping their eyes on him.
"Castiel," one of the jurors hisses. His voice is sharper than Damascus steel and the reaper fidgets slightly. "Do you acknowledge and confess your crimes?" the voice rings like a medieval church bell announcing a misfortune.
"Yes, I do." Castiel bows his head.
"Do you regret making wrong choices and repent?"
Castiel clenches his fist and his knuckles turn white. He does not see a reason to lie, so he chooses to speak the truth. "I do understand what I have done, but no, I do not regret anything." Castiel lifts his gaze and looks at the jurors.
Indignant whispers fill the chamber. The jurors are displeased and angry at what he's said.
"Abomination!" one of them yells at Castiel.
"How dare you?" barks another one.
"Since when are you ashamed of your nudity, Castiel? Or have human life and customs rubbed off on you? You are a disgrace to the angels!"
Castiel just listens to their accusations. No reaper has broken the rules before him. He is the first – and the last, probably. His stomach flips when the jurors stand up and walk out of the chamber to make the decision.
Castiel feels the time has stretched unbearably. Seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days. Finally the door opens and twelve jurors walk in. They slowly take their places with predator smirks and their eyes blaze with an evil fire. The reaper's heart sinks with a bad presentiment.
"The court has made its final decision, and as your punishment you will receive fifty lashes from The Tamer," one of the jurors announces triumphantly. His voice cannot hide obvious merriment.
Castiel reels and almost falls. The Tamer? This is the special whip made from the fire of Hell, the only thing that can hurt angels. And fifty lashes? No, this cannot be happening! It's too brutal!
"But…but…" Castiel cannot finish from anxiety.
"Strip him!" the voice orders.
Two red winged angels tackle Castiel down to the floor. They rip the clothes off of him unceremoniously, despite the reaper's weak struggle. They haul him up to his feet once it's over.
As soon as he stands straight, something grabs his ankles. Castiel cries out in fear and looks down. There are chains with cuffs that hold his legs still. The reaper has no idea where they appeared from and he tries to move his feet, but in vain.
The red angels grab his arms and raise them towards the ceiling. Instantly massive, iron chains similar to the ones that hold his feet descend and angels lock the cuffs around Castiel's wrists.
Castiel is sure that beating of his heart can be heard outside of the chamber. His mouth is dry and his eyes are wide with fear. His breathing is heavy and labored.
"You should have been afraid earlier," chuckles one of the jurors, then he claps his hands. "Begin!"
Both angels go to the corner, where a golden treasure-chest stands, and they open it. They take steel gauntlets out and put them on their right hands. The steel covers their arms up to the elbows. Then, they take The Tamers out, one for each of them. The fire hisses and blazes, its sparks fly around and fall on the floor.
Castiel opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out. He struggles against the chains but cannot break free. He's like a small butterfly caught in a giant spider's web.
The angels stand on either side of Castiel and look at the jurors. Twelve heads nod simultaneously…
Despite Castiel's efforts to stay quiet during his punishment it is impossible to do so. As the whips touch his back the reaper lets out a horrible scream.
The sparks scatter around and Castiel's flesh burns under the angels' onslaught. Their blows come almost simultaneous, with one or two seconds in between.
After thirty blows Castiel loses his voice from screaming. His head is hung limply while he stands in a small puddle of blood. His own blood.
"Father…" he moans as his back receives another blow. "Father, please…"
His father does not answer his pleas and Castiel knows he is alone. Tears stream down his face and he whimpers as the angels strike his back with the last twenty blows.
As they finish whipping Castiel, the chains disappear and the reaper falls on the floor. He is only half conscious from tremendous pain.
"Put those awful things back on him, as he is so fond of them!" a finger points at Castiel's clothes.
The material scratches his tormented body even more and Castiel sobs bitterly.
"Castiel, remember, if you break the rules again you will be destroyed immediately. As soon as you recover, you bring Dean Winchester's soul to us. Do you understand?" the angry voice asks.
Castiel does not answer. He's in agonized pain and only trembles on the floor.
"Send him back to Dean Winchester!" the voice orders and the angels grab Castiel once again.
Dean has fallen asleep on the couch. His face seems worried even in his sleep. Time to time small, pained groans escape his mouth. Judging from the painter's expression, he must be dreaming of something unpleasant. The bottle of Jack Daniels is half empty and stands near the couch.
The painter's sleep is interrupted as a thunderous crashing noise comes from the kitchen. Dean's eyes snap open and he jumps from the couch.
"What the fuck?" he hisses and grabs the bottle as he does not have anything else near to use as a weapon.
He is ready to attack the intruder with the raised bottle, but he freezes in the doorway when he recognizes the body writhing on the floor.
"Cas?"
The reaper lifts his head and stares at the painter. Dean can see the tears in those blue-eyes.
"Please, help me," Castiel rasps and his nails dig into the tiles.
Dean hurriedly puts the bottle on the table and kneels beside Castiel. "God, what did they do to you?" he mutters as he sees the blood stains getting bigger with every second on Castiel's back.
To be continued...
