I wanna cut me free, you wanna clip my wings
I'm made of flesh and bone, you wanna take control of me
You wanna dress me up, I wanna feel the sun
You wanna play pretend, I'm not about to bend, you'll see
This is not a game
You want the strings so you can
Pull at my soul and tear me down
You want it all, I'm not your marionette doll
So let me go
I'm taking back the day you tried to steal from me
I'm going to make my voice, you'll never get my choice to breathe.
Castiel hears it before he sees anything; the tapping on the glass of their bedroom window. It's not loud enough to disrupt him from the sleep he would have been having, had his thoughts not kept him up, but it's enough for him to take notice. He chances a glance at Dean, silently hoping that his husband isn't disturbed by the noise, and sighing with relief when he sees him sleeping soundly.
Carefully, he untangles himself from Dean to investigate. Only a faint warning goes off in his mind, this could be dangerous, but Castiel persists anyway, curiosity winning out over everything else.
What he sees first is enough to take his breath away. For a second he has to stop himself from hoping, has to ensure that this is not a dream or risk getting his already mangled heart broken again.
Still, no matter how dark it is outside, no matter how bleary-eyed he is from lack of sleep, he can see it clear as day; Sam's silver Honda Civic waiting right outside. Standing not too far from it is Sam, throwing pebbles at the window like some old, appreciated Shakespearean hero and Cas abandons all control over his emotions.
Tearfully, he waves a hand by the window for Sam to see him. When their eyes meet, Castiel feels incredible relief and happiness surging through him.
For awhile, he imagined Sam had forgotten about him. Even though Sam made promises after he gave Cas his amulet, the long stretches of time where he heard nothing from the other man had Castiel resigning himself to believe that Sam had given up or gotten distracted.
To Castiel, it just made sense. Dean was obstinate about never letting go of him and while Sam grew to resent his brother, there was no way around respecting his wishes. That is, if he didn't want another violent confrontation.
But there he is, smiling at Castiel and gesturing for him to come downstairs. Castiel is all too ready to oblige until he remembers Dean's orders.
Slumping, he bows his head in defeat and Sam takes all of five seconds before he is walking away, presumably forever this time. It makes Cas feel immediately stupid and worthless because he's losing Sam again and his heart lurches painfully in his chest. He begins to mentally berate himself as he watches the taller man's retreating form disappear from view until he hears the doorbell.
Cas stiffens and looks over to Dean, who merely turns over but doesn't wake. Then he is quietly leaving the room to answer the door to an angry but grateful Sam.
He doesn't wait for Cas to say anything before he is coming inside and pulling the shorter man into a fierce hug, mindful of Cas' bump. And Sam both feels and smells like everything Cas has been deprived of; love, hope, peace, of pinecones and fallen leaves. He basks in it, embracing the moment, so happy to have something like this again.
"I've come to take you back," Sam says quite determinedly, breaking the hug.
"I know and I want this just as much as you do," Cas smiles.
There is a pause as Sam studies Cas' face. Cas knows what he looks like, despite the hell Dean has put him through. The pregnancy has made Cas glow and his skin firmer and plumper. He looks great, but it's his eyes and the burn marks that have not yet faded on his arms that hint at the horrors he's had to suffer. Sam sees them and when he hugs Castiel again it's with a litany of whispered apologies.
Castiel wants to cry, but there's little time for that. "We must move fast," he urges, bringing Sam back to the situation at hand. If Sam really has come to rescue him then they have to hurry.
The taller of the two men nods his understanding. "Do I, um, need to command you?" Sam asks, unsure.
Cas nods. "Yes, in order to cancel out the commands Dean has given me."
At the mention of his brother's name, Sam's jaw tightens. There is still so much hatred, so much that Castiel can't even begin to fathom. There's a possibility that Sam probably hates Dean more than Cas does and that thought makes Castiel feel inexplicably guilty. They loved each other before, Cas could tell, but now he feels somewhat responsible for their animosity.
Still there isn't much he can do about it now. Sam smiles apologetically at him before murmuring the command that will free Castiel.
Sam waits by the staircase as a precaution in the case that Dean wakes up, while Cas gets one of the suitcases out of a nearby closet and just starts packing random things. They don't have a proper escape plan, but at this point, it doesn't matter. Sam is here and they are going to leave and everything is going to be all right, for once.
Castiel packs so quickly that he is finished in no time. He isn't sure if he packed anything significant, but he can't really bring himself to care - he just wants to hurry this up and get out.
Sam gestures for the raven-haired man to go outside while he lingers by the staircase, waiting. Cas obliges, though a sickening feeling hits his stomach, but he ignores it to do what he is asked.
The fresh air is such a shock that Cas stills immediately as it caresses his face. Despite the fact that it's early morning and a little dark out, he can see the beauty of the overgrowth and trees surrounding him. It's breathtaking and he could stand there all day, relieved and…free.
Someone touches his shoulder and he jumps, heart stopping in his chest until he looks up and sees that it's only Sam. He gestures towards the car, kindly not mentioning Cas' skittish behavior.
Castiel relaxes as Sam helps him into the passenger seat, positioning the seatbelt around his bump. Everything's going to be fine, he assures Emeline. She's surprisingly well behaved today. No kicking, but there's the sickening feeling he can't shake and that bothers him.
Why can't he just be happy? Or is it that happy is an emotion awarded to the young and innocent? To the deserving? And that he is absolutely none of those things?
Sam's boots crunch on the damp, brittle earth as he walks around the car to the driver's seat, bringing Cas back to the matter at hand. Castiel lets himself live in the moment, absorbing the sounds he hears around him and the sights. He hears cicadas in the distance, birds chirping and other unique sounds of nature and tries to believe that he isn't in a dream.
But then there are footsteps, ones that don't belong to Sam. He glances over to the taller man who has paused, his hand just ghosting the handle of the driver's door, apparently hearing the approaching footsteps as well.
From their position, it's hard to see who's nearing, however, they know it can only be one person: Dean.
Everything falls silent then and it's as if all time has stopped. Cas wants to speak, but he's afraid to. He doesn't know why.
A moment passes though it feels like an eternity. Then, Sam is opening the car door and getting in when the sound of a gun goes off. It's loud and startling and too close.
Cas hopes that it isn't what he thinks it is.
But in an all-too-slow motion, Sam's body stiffens, his shoulder lurches forward, a bullet emerging through the flesh of his shoulder. And then Sam goes down.
Castiel wants to scream, but nothing comes out. His eyes meet an irate Dean's from the driver's window and soon his husband is unbuckling him and dragging him out of the car.
Dean pulls him around and Cas' eyes settle on Sam's unmoving form. Tears come to his eyes. This is all his fault. Sam's hurt because of him. No, Sam could possibly be dead because of him.
"Please," Castiel begs Dean. "I need to see if he's all right."
"He'll be fine," Dean grunts. "It's you I'd be worried about."
He drags Castiel back into the cottage and immediately turns on him. "Stay here," he orders, anger heavy in the words.
Then he's going outside and Cas hears Dean curse. Dean has slammed the door, so Cas can only imagine what he's doing out there to Sam. No. He can't hurt him. It's Sam.
In a fit of his own anger, Cas throws himself against the door, beating it with his fists until they threaten to bleed. "Leave him alone! God damn you! Dean, just leave him alone!"
He sobs, he screams, he does everything, praying that someone out there will hear him, will save Sam from the monster that is Dean Winchester.
His efforts prove futile.
Dean returns to find Cas curled up on the floor, tears streaming down his face and knuckles bloody from their assault on the door.
Castiel looks up and their eyes meet. The green in Dean's is almost a sparkling emerald, the unconcealed fury evident in their depths.
"What did you do?" Cas asks, leaning up to get a better look at the man, no, the monster before him. Dean's clothes are soiled with blood and he's sweating profusely. He looks scarily like a murderer from a horror movie.
"He'll be fine. Winchesters have gotten out of tougher scrapes than this. Had to hide the body though, couldn't afford for anyone to see anything." Dean's voice is hard. He leans down to force Castiel's bowed head up so he can get a better look at the blue-eyed man. "I know why he was here Cas. To take you away from me. I'll have the police informed of this and as for you…" he points an accusing finger at Castiel. "You were going to go with him."
Castiel can't deny it. He was. He was going to be with Sam and have his freedom. He feels no qualms about telling Dean the truth. "Yes, I was."
"Then this is your fault. You're to blame," Dean decides, then with conviction: "I'm sorry, Castiel, but you need to be punished."
No, don't, don't do this, Castiel's mind screams with words it wishes his mouth would say. He remains silent.
"Sam's a bad man," Dean continues, heading to the kitchen sink to clean off what blood he can. Castiel can only watch. He wants to tune Dean out and it's almost easy to; his mind won't shut up. Your fault, your fault, your fault replays in his head like a broken record.
"He will do anything to take you away from me, babe. It's sick. But what's disappointing is that you were going to go along with it," Dean says, low and calm and cold as ice. His voice steadily rises from its soft reprimand to carefully controlled rage. "After all the things I've done for you, the nice house, the food on the table, the love and affection, this is how you repay me?
"I just don't know, Cas. I tried to help you, tried to make you better, but instead you disobey me. And as for my brother? He can't do anything for you. I love you, babe, don't you see? I just need to fix you, to help you."
Dean saunters over to Cas, who hasn't risen from the floor yet, instead wishing it would just swallow him up and take them both to Hell.
He reaches out a hand to caress Cas' cheek, but the ebony-haired man recoils. "Castiel," Dean speaks and in his tone is a clear warning. Cas can't bring himself to care. He doesn't want this. He wants to be with Sam, make sure he's all right. And even if he isn't, though that could be a strong possibility, he wants, no, needs to hold Sam and bear with him through the pain.
This is all his fault. Sam is in a ditch somewhere, bleeding to death because of him. If he hadn't been so inadequate, if he had only realized sooner that he was bad for Sam then the poor man would be better off.
Never mind that he chose to come back for Castiel. It made no sense. Cas wasn't worth it. He was a liability and a constant threat to Sam's life. After all, it would only take a simple order for Cas to betray him or even go as far as murder him in his sleep.
Cas was a liability and Dean was a monster. They were a perfect match made in heaven or, more precisely, a match made in the darkest corners of Hell.
"Castiel," Dean says again, anger returning to his voice. Castiel gazes up and he knows he looks wrecked, completely and utterly wrecked.
"Cas," Dean says, voice softening just a little. "I'm going to take you to the guest room now."
The 'guest room' is Dean's equivalent of solitary confinement. It never actually gets used by their guests. Rarely do they have people over, much less spending the night. So they use it when Castiel does something truly horrid that Dean just can't forgive.
In the early months of their marriage, when Castiel had tried to kill himself, Dean had banished him to this room for some conditioning. Back then, Cas had Benny for company and though it was so awful his jaw clenches whenever he recalls the memory, he was able to survive it.
He's not sure if he can a second time.
But he accepts his punishment, thinking he deserves nothing less. Cas allows Dean to lift him up off the floor and lead him upstairs to the room that he no doubt will be staying in for a long while.
The room is decent. There's a two-poster bed, a desk, a lamp, a clock, as well as a few pictures of Dean and Castiel on their wedding day. It's innocent enough, but it doesn't make Castiel hate it any less.
"Now," Dean rumbles from somewhere behind him. "You know the rules from last time. I don't want to have to repeat them. The door will remain locked. If you need to use the bathroom, just call me and I will escort you there. In here, you will have time to think about what you've done."
For a moment, Dean sounds apologetic. Castiel wants to laugh.
"You're also pretty far along in your pregnancy. For these remaining weeks, I will be home to take care of any needs you may have. I still love you. Cas, you're carrying my child. You just need to be taught a lesson sometimes." Dean moves in closer, taking up all of Castiel's personal space. Castiel can't help it. He flinches.
Dean curls a finger under Cas' chin and tilts his head up for a kiss. It's chaste, but Castiel recoils all the same. "You're a monster," he blurts out.
"Now babe," Dean starts. Castiel can see the change, the subtle transformation from sad and remorseful to fully angry. It scares him, but still he does not cringe. "Don't say things like that. Tell me you love me."
It doesn't take long before he feels it; the tightening in his lungs and the oxygen slowly being cut off. This isn't new, it's just one of the physical sensations he experiences when Dean gives him an order.
"I love you," he whispers, and he feels so weak and ashamed, he's shaking.
Dean smiles, anger having instantly dissipated. "That's better. Now get some sleep. And don't worry about Sam." He smirks and his eyes flash evilly. For a second, Cas is very scared. Silently, he begs Dean to stop, to say no more before he says something he will regret. "Forget about him. He is no longer your concern."
Cas throws his hands to his head to quell the fire. Forget Sam, forget Sam, forget Sam his brain screeches, but he tries to fight it. He can't forget Sam. Sam is all he has next to Emeline. But he feels it, the neurons firing, the synapses flaring, the blocks and walls rising and memories erasing. And then all is silent. The pain is gone and it's just him and Dean.
You can't fix yourself by breaking someone else… The words float through his mind. He can't place who said it or where it came from and it evaporates almost as soon as it emerges.
As the pain dulls to an almost nonexistent throb, Cas can focus on the present again. Dean is still smirking when he looks up. "Do you remember Sam?" he asks, coming ever closer to Castiel.
Castiel frowns. Should he? The name isn't even familiar. He shakes his head and Dean's smile grows wider.
"I love you, Castiel."
"I love you too, Dean." Because Dean will force him if he says anything otherwise.
The door closes as Dean departs, subtle click of the lock outside signifying the bolt is in place.
Panic sets in; he is alone in the guest room. He must have done something wrong though he can't remember what. Dean must have seen the burns on his arms or something similar to that.
He is alone in a room he can't stand with thoughts that want to poison him. The door and windows are bolted and there is no way out. Castiel goes over to the desk, takes a seat and stares at the sunlight peeking through the curtains. What is he to do?
He cradles his head in his hands and feels utter despair until his elbow hits something on the desk. It's a pen and right under it are leaves of paper.
Castiel thinks of the possibilities. He heard writing was very therapeutic and the little times he did write in the past had been very satisfying. But what would he write? Whom would he write to? It wasn't like Dean would deliver his letters. His family seemed like a viable option to write to, letters he knows he would never have the courage to deliver even if that became a possibility. But he doesn't think he can write anything to them that isn't hate mail.
Then he feels movement in his stomach. It's just Emeline, restless, but still oblivious to the world around her. A thought comes to his head. He'd heard of women making baby books for their children to read when they were of age. The idea had always seemed a little insipid to him and before, when the thought of Emeline only sent him into an overwhelming panic, he would have scoffed at the idea of writing to her. Now, it doesn't seem so bad.
Something nice to write to the one he loves.
He has no choice, either do it or suffer from boredom and self-defeat. So there in the early hours of the morning with the first traces of sunlight seeping through the curtains, Castiel writes.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoy the story so far! Thanks for reading!