Poisk Istiny [Finding Truth] - Chapter Eight B
Location Unknown
Castiel held his breath as he watched Michael stumble back like he’d been slapped, wearing an expression of pure shock on his face.
“You? How?” Michael shook his head quickly and Castiel stopped trying to follow the movement as he continued to hold his breath. “No! No! It can't fuckin’ be! It’s not possible. Water!” Michael ordered looking around the room and waiting until one of the men stepped forward holding two bottles of Poland Springs. Michael jerked them from the shestyorka’s grasp and immediately unscrewed the caps. He stalked back to Castiel and dumped both of them over his head, whipping the empty plastic against the far wall.
Castiel gasped and sputtered as the cold water drenched him, knowing that it was going to wash away the last remnants of the cologne. He knew that when Michael went to smell him again, he would know his secret, that the entire Bratva would know what he had fought so many years to hide. His stomach twisted as he realized they would also know he was mated to a Winchester.
Michael’s hand darted forward, his fingers twisting painfully in Castiel’s hair but he refused to gasp, he refused to show his older brother any fear as his neck was wrenched back. Michael leaned back in and took a deep breath, cursing as he shoved Castiel’s head backwards and stepped back with wide eyes.
“It is you! My own brother, our fuckin’ Pakhan, is a God damned Omega! A knot slut!”
The sound of buzzing in Castiel’s ears blocked the whispers from the rest of his ‘Family’ as Michael gripped his shirt at the collar, ripping it open, revealing his mark. “A mated knot slut. Who’s whore are you, Brother?” Michael leaned back down and Castiel tried to pull away, only causing Michael to dig his fingers into his shoulder.
“Sit still, slut!” Michael scented him once more, his grip leaving Castiel no room to move. “Pine?” He drew back, the disgust clear in his voice. “You mated a Winchester? A fuckin’ Italian! You really are a slut, willing to give it up to anyone.”
Michael released Castiel’s shoulder and tapped his chin, humming in contemplation. Castiel let out a slow breath, trying to calm himself. He forced himself to keep his eyes trained on Michael, to not look at the reaction from the rest of the Bratva behind him. He’d had a million nightmares before of having his secret revealed, a million ways in which the Bratva would find out the truth. But this? This had, honestly, never crossed his mind. He flexed against the ropes strapping him to the chair and waited, glowering coldly at his brother.
“Which Winchester,” Michael sneered, “did you let make you his bitch?” He kept his eyes locked on Castiel’s, then he snapped his fingers and his face lit up with cruel mirth. “Don Dean Winchester? I’m right, aren't I, Brother? After all, even if you are an Omega whore,” his voice dripped with disdain, “you are a Krushnic, and we only accept the best. You two,” he harrumphed, “seemed awfully cozy last week and you did let him stay at your house. Come to think of it... his brother stayed there also. Were you fucking them both, Castiel?” He looked at his brother, not bothering to hide the veiled meaning. “Were you taking both of their knots like a good knot whore? Did you have one tie you at each end, using you like the cock-sucking slut bag that you are?”
Castiel glared and Michael only smirked and shook his head. “No,” he snickered, “you wouldn't do that, would you, Brother? You wouldn't do that to your true mate.”
Michael waved at the air in front of his face as if he smelled something foul and turned half his body, as if he were addressing the rest of the Bratva too. But Castiel knew who this was for, knew that Michael couldn’t care less who was in the room now that he had Castiel exactly where he wanted him. “Cinnamon. I smell the cinnamon laced in with your sickening orange blossom scent and that of the Don’s pine.” Michael snapped forward, gripping Castiel’s throat as he bent down to meet his eyes. His voice was hushed, and Castiel wasn’t sure if anyone could hear his brother’s next words over his rapid heartbeat. “You know what else I smell? Faint, very faint, but it is still there. Vanilla, Castiel. I smell van-il-la,” he dragged the word out. “The same sweet smell my Hael carried when she was pregnant.”
Michael moved his hand off of Castiel’s throat and placed it on his stomach, the sudden pressure causing a small gasp to escape from Castiel’s lips.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” Castiel growled, trying to wrench away from him. Michael lifted his hand off of Castiel’s stomach and backhanded him across the face, the crack echoing in the now silent warehouse. Castiel snapped his face back forward and spit the glob of blood that filled his mouth out on Michael’s gleaming shoes.
Michael drew back and struck him again. “These are my favorite shoes, bitch!”
Castiel shrugged before he smirked at Michael, letting his tongue trace over his top teeth, his entire mouth tasting of copper. “Call me all the names you want, Brother,” the words came out of his mouth in a hiss and he saw his brother’s eyes flashing dangerously. “It still doesn't change the fact that our father thought that I, an Omega, and his youngest, would run this Family better than you, his oldest Alpha son!” Castiel spit at him again and grinned. “You have been taking orders from me for years. So, really, Michael-- doesn't that make you the bitch?”
Michael sneered and slapped Castiel once more before he leaned down and gripped both of Castiel’s forearms, the chair beneath him biting into his skin painfully. Michael’s breath was hot against his face as he hissed, “I am going to take everything from you, Castiel. I’m taking control of the Bratva. I’m going to kill your beloved true mate. I’m going to cut your unborn pup from your stomach and then I’m going to take your life, dear Brother.”
Castiel glared back at him until Michael stood and walked away. Castiel knew there was probably already a table set up with every one of his brother’s favorite instruments. He swallowed hard and forced his gaze away from Michael’s back to look around the warehouse at his Bratva, at his Family. Each and every expression he saw was one of pure disgust, save Balthazar who looked back at him with pity in his eyes. It made Castiel’s gut clench. He raised his chin defiantly. How could he and Dean have ever thought they could change the minds of these men? That they could have truly been together and had any kind of normal life?
Castiel took a deep breath. He knew he was never going to make it out of this warehouse alive. There were too many men, and Michael’s drive for revenge would only guarantee he wouldn’t leave this place until Castiel’s body was cold. Hell, even if he did get the chance, he didn’t know this warehouse, didn’t know the layout, and would be a sitting duck in any of the rooms.
He could only hope now that Michael would not be able to get the drop on Dean, that his Alpha would make it through this alive. Castiel wished he could say his goodbyes to Dean, wished he could tell him that they may not have had much time together but he cherished every moment. He was glad it was Dean who was his true mate, and honestly? Castiel wouldn’t change anything.
Castiel wasn’t afraid to die, it was part of the business, there was always that risk. He was afraid of dying without Dean knowing how much he truly meant to him. From the table Michael was standing, the telltale sound of a saw blade being started up made Castiel straighten his shoulders and set his face as straight as he could. He stared ahead, refusing to meet any of the eyes pointed at him, forced himself to look indifferent.
He would not give Michael the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. He would send up a million silent prayers as Michael did his best to break him, would say a million times everything he wanted Dean to know. And when he breathed out his last breath, Michael would only have broken his body and hopefully, somehow, Dean would know everything.
Dean Winchester’s House
12 Hutchinson Lane
Quincy, Massachusetts
“Fuck!” Dean slammed his phone down on the table, the action so common over the past six hours that no one around the table even jumped. Sam sighed from his spot behind the island as he was fixing up a bowl of soup to take to Jess.
“Dean…” he said softly and Dean turned to glare at him.
“Don’t, Sam,” Dean cut him off. “I had to listen to you for three days when we were looking for Jess, so don’t you dare give me shit over--”
“Boys, boys,” Alastair crooned, cutting off the impending argument as he slid in front of Sam at the sink to wash his hands. Dean glared at him, then looked down at the blood tinged water as it dripped from his hands. “Enough with the drama. We really are getting a little too old for this, aren’t we?”
“How’s Jess?” Sam countered, getting a spoon from the drawer and dipping it into the hot bowl of soup. Alastair finished washing his hands, letting them drip for a moment in the sink before he answered.
“Well, she’s much livelier than my usual patients.” He shook out his hands. “I suppose that’s what you’re really asking?”
“Alastair, cut the crap,” Dean muttered, letting his head fall into his hands. He opened his eyes and stared down at the black phone sitting between his elbows. All he wanted was for the damn screen to light up and for it to be someone other than Gabriel.
“We have sixteen stitches to a laceration running from her left shoulder blade to mid back. Some steri-strips were all that were needed on some of the other larger lacerations. I’ve set her leg, I’m sure,” he looked nonchalantly at both men, “you heard the pleasantries she shouted at me, and as long as she listens to Doctor’s Orders, an immobilizer is all she’s going to need instead of a cast.” Alastair ticked off each thing by sticking up a finger, pausing at length between each and it made Dean want to strangle him.
“What about infection? Does it look like everything’s clean?” Sam asked, scowling at Dean as if he knew what he’d been thinking.
Alastair raised up a black cooler, the Boston Medical Center’s logo displayed across the front. “Once the lab lets me know, I’ll let you know, Sammy.”
Sam glowered. “Don’t call me that.”
Alastair smiled in response and wiped his hands dry the rest of the way on his pants. Dean watched as Sam shook his head and then exited the room. Alastair waited a pause before he slid into the chair across from Dean.
“So… where’s tall, dark and handsome?” His voice was like velvet, almost a purr, and Dean heard a growl escape his throat as he stood up, his chair falling back and slamming against the tiled floor.
“I think you’re fucking done here,” he hissed and Alastair’s smile widened.
“I didn’t know we had the same taste, Don Winchester.” Alastair clicked his tongue and looked Dean up and down before adding, “I always knew you had it in you.” They stared at each other and Dean was relieved when the mortician bent down for his bag of supplies and the cooler. “In all honesty, he was a little too ‘pretty’ for my taste.”
“Good night,” Dean replied through his teeth and let Alastair take himself to the front door. When he turned back around Sam was standing in the doorway, rolling his eyes.
“Pissing contest with Alastair? Really, Dean?”
“Unless you have a way to help me find out where the fuck Cas is? Don’t talk to me, Sam.” Dean threw himself back down at the table, this time in Alastair’s seat, and Sam sighed as he moved around the back and righted the fallen chair. He slid into the seat and pointed across the table where his laptop had been set up from when they’d been looking for Jess.
“I know a guy,” he lifted the top of the computer, “we were friends when I took those few college courses…” Sam powered it up and started clicking away. Dean rolled his eyes, remembering how much of a shit show those few months had been. He’d never seen John mad at anyone in their family the way he had been when Sam suggested not ‘working’ for the family business.
Dean stared down at his phone again, listening as Sam clicked away on the keys. Sam tapped his left hand on the table as he waited, and finally he spoke. “Ah, hello Dr. Badass.”
“What?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam. “Doctor Badass? That’s what your friend is called?”
Sam shrugged and started typing again. “Yeah, he thinks it’s a cool name.”
Dean stared for a second then sighed. “Your friend is a waste of time. He’s never going to find us shit, especially if his name is fucking Dr. Badass. You know who calls themselves badass, Sammy? Losers who want to make themselves cooler. People who actually are badass would never--”
“He got me into the club’s database,” Sam interrupted and Dean stopped short.
“What?”
“I’m in, Dean! I’m in their servers. Okay… hold on…” Sam started clicking away again and Dean reached between his legs for the bottom of his chair, the legs scraping as he dragged it over to sit next to his brother so he could see what was happening on the screen. There was a large screen displayed, slightly blurry, but Dean could see that Sam was clicking around a desktop that looked like the ones in Castiel’s office. In the top corner was a text box with ‘Dr. Badass’ typed across the top of it.
Sam had been trying to crack into Cas’ emails from the tablet Dean brought back in his suitcase. It belonged to Castiel, but he hadn’t had any luck other than locking himself out for too many wrong passwords.
Together, Sam and ‘Dr. Badass’ made their way through the firewalls and into the employee email server. Sam pulled up a list and went to click on Michael. Dean reached out and stopped him, shaking his head.
“Start with Lucifer. We know Lucifer was working with Bellomo. Maybe his emails will show us everyone he was working with, in case there’s more than just Michael.”
Sam nodded and rolled the mouse and within a few clicks, they were looking through Lucifer’s Outlook. Most of the emails were from Castiel or cc’d from Castiel-- subjects ranging from meeting with the Winchesters, to recruits to the family and business details. Dean’s heart stopped when he caught Singer, Robert and he pointed at the same time Sam clicked.
They scanned the email, seeing that it was a list of their shipment information, the men that would be working each shipment, and when shipments could be expected. Dean was about to open his mouth but Sam shook his head.
“Look.” He pointed and together they scanned the top of the email and saw that Bobby had been sending shipping information to Michael, who had been forwarding the information to Lucifer. “But… why,” Sam questioned, “would Lucifer care about our shipping information?” Dean shrugged and Sam clicked back out to scroll through a few more emails before finding one from DiChiara, Peter.
“That’s one of Bellomo’s Capos,” Dean supplied and Sam nodded as he opened the message.
To: Peter DiChiara: dichiarap116@netzero.net
From: Lucifer Krushnic: lkrushnic@padshiyeangley.com
CC: Michael Krushnic: mkrushnic@padshiyeangley.com
Subject: Shipments
May 28, 2016, 15:46PM
Peter-
I have attached the shipping manifest from the Winchester’s Consigliere as well as the information given to me by ‘Pakhan’ Krushnic. I require fifteen additional soldiers to train for this next shipment.
Please ensure they know how to aim this time. Your last group left much to be desired.
Lucifer
“Well,” Sam said as he clicked back again, “that explains how Bellomo knew about our shipments even after we moved them to the pier in New York.” Dean nodded and watched as Sam clicked through a few more of Lucifer’s emails, finding no new information.
“Michael then,” Dean said as Sam went back to the list of employees. “I didn’t think Lucifer was the brains of the operation…”
Sam nodded and logged into Michael’s emails, a much longer and more diverse list loaded. It appeared that Michael had emailed most everyone in the Bratva. Dean racked his brain quickly to see if it was normal or not for an Avtoritet to be so involved with the rest.
“This!” Sam’s voice was loud and drew Dean’s attention back to the screen as Sam opened up an email. “It was sent about a week ago.”
To: Liborio S. Bellomo: bellomols116@netzero.net
From: Michael Krushnic: mkrushnic@padshiyeangley.com
Subject: Change in circumstances
August 8, 2016, 08:16AM
Bellomo,
It is unfortunate that my brother, Lucifer, has met an early demise. Castiel was getting too close to you, Lucifer had too big of a mouth, so really I was doing you a favor. Of course, this changes our original plans of dividing up territories and I assume that taking over the areas Lucifer was going to be responsible for would not be in anyone’s interest other than mine.
I propose another territory meeting. One that does not involve that Beta from the Patriarca Family. I am not sure what Lucifer was thinking with that one, but seeing as he’s all but lost his head… I believe a new plan is in order for both you and I anyways.
I propose this meeting not be as public as the first. It should be you and me, of course, and a few of our most trusted. What we are planning to do here is not meant for all ears, and although I am fully capable of running my Bratva--as I am sure you are with your family-- it is best kept on a need to know basis until things start to move forward.
I believe the warehouse in your district will provide sufficient privacy and space for what we need to communicate? If all goes well, I will be bringing a guest of honor and I believe those soundproof walls are just what the doctor ordered.
Be well.
Michael
“Guest of honor,” Dean pointed at the screen, “Sam, they mean Cas!” He immediately reached for his phone again as it started buzzing across the table. ‘GABRIEL’ showing up in bright, white letters.
Sam looked over his shoulder and sighed softly. “Are you going to tell him what’s going on?”
Dean shot him a look and then hit the answer button, holding the phone to his ear.
“Where the fuck is my brother, Winchester,” Gabriel screamed out the moment the call was answered. “And who the fuck do you think you are, dodging my calls like a girl I broke up with back in fucking high school?”
“Gabe--”
“No, I don’t want your excuses! I don’t want ‘oh it’s fine, Cas is great, just busy with Bellomo’ bullshit!” Gabriel’s voice was rising with each passing word, “I may be fuckin’ crippled, Dean-o, but I will get to Boston mighty quick and kick your ass! Vy dolzhny dumat', chto ya grebanyy pridurok…”
“Okay, Gabe just listen, alright?”
“No!” Gabe cut him off and was off again, ranting into the phone. “You had your chance to talk to me when I called you fifteen times in the past twenty-four hours! You ignored every single call except one! You think I want to hear your fucking sultry voice or some shit? I am not my brother! I find nothing attractive about your arrogance-”
“Hey!”
“And you would think, being a fucking leader, that if someone was trying that badly to get in touch with you and it wasn’t because they’d had a taste of your fucking knot and were all fucked in the head, that they would have some goddamn valid information for you!”
Dean ran a hand back through his hair, scratching at the base of his scalp as he gave a soft sigh. “You’re right, Gabe.”
“Damn straight I am right,” Gabriel snorted on the other end and in any other circumstance, Dean would’ve cracked a smile.
“I would be happy to hear your information,” Dean soothed quickly. “But right now is really not the time, okay? I promise that I will call you back as soon as I get this thing taken care of--”
“Would this thing have anything to do with the fact that Michael has Castiel and is meeting with Bellomo to torture him and take his ‘rightful’ place as Pakhan of the Bratva?”
“How… What?” Dean sputtered, getting Sam’s attention and switching ears as he pulled his brother in closer. “How do you know this?”
“I got an email. Michael sent it Bratva wide, though it was cryptic. I don’t know very much but I do know that it was scheduled for today. Which is why, you pridurok, I have been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday! Fucking moron!”
“We didn’t see any Bratva wide email when we cracked into Lucifer’s…” Sam said, clicking back into Michael’s email account and heading for the ‘sent’ section.
“Right, because Michael would waste his time emailing a corpse,” Gabriel replied and Dean gave half a shrug as Sam pulled up the message. Dean let Sam scan the message, his stomach suddenly protesting and a wave of nausea hitting him. If Michael had gotten Castiel today… would he even still be alive? The room was suddenly spinning and Dean had to force himself to focus on what Sam was saying to him.
“It says they’re meeting in their newly acquired property.” His eyes scanned the message. “Where is that? Dean?” Sam looked over and gave Dean a reassuring smile before taking the phone from him and pressing it against his own ear, interrupting another of Gabriel’s Russian rants. “Hey, it’s Sam. Yeah, he’s… fine. Just, let’s do this okay? Do you know where Michael is talking about? A new ‘property’? Would that be the lake house your family has?” Sam paused, listening to something Gabriel was saying on the other end. “No, you’re right… I’ll have to look through his records then. Well, do you have a better idea? It’s not like you can call them up and ask where the meeting is going to be…” Sam gave a small laugh at whatever Gabriel’s response was and then nodded to the computer screen before he started typing. “No, I got a guy. I’ll keep you updated, or make sure that Dean does, okay?”
Dean was aware of his phone being shoved back into his hands, but time seemed to stop. Beside him, Sam was clicking away furiously, more windows were popping up and there was coding flooding the text box with ‘Dr. Badass’. It just made Dean want to puke.
Numbers and emails, what were they going to accomplish? Right now Castiel was probably being tortured, was probably bleeding and sweating in a cold, dirty warehouse somewhere thinking that Dean hated him. What kind of Alpha just walks out on his mate and ignores him for three days? What kind of Alpha gets mad at their mate for not having a conversation with him, and then decides to not have a conversation with them? Dean’s blood suddenly turned cold.
He fumbled for his phone and found Crowley’s number, hitting send before he could even fully think of what he was doing.
“Good evening, Darling,” Crowley answered and Dean felt his hand tighten on the phone.
“Did you do it?” He ignored the questioning look Sam sent him. “Did you do it? Or is he still with our child?”
“Ah, so I see that the happy couple wasn’t completely on board with the young Omega’s plan,” Crowley crooned. Dean closed his eyes tightly, squeezed the phone harder. “You could just ask him, Don Winchester.”
“Crowley… please.” It took every ounce of Dean’s will to sound calm and in control. “Just answer the question, okay? It’s really important.”
Crowley clicked his tongue and Dean held his breath. “I believe that this is a conversation you should be having with your mate, Don Winchester. As it stands, this is a matter of patient-doctor confidentiality and unfortunately, you are not my patient. Have a good evening, Mr. Winchester.”
The silence of Crowley disconnecting deafened Dean for a few seconds.
“Fucker!” He looked up to see Sam staring at him, confusion on his face. “Just… we need to find him, okay?” Dean answered and Sam nodded, pointing at his computer screen.
“I did. Well, Ash did, um Doctor Badass.”
Dean leaned forward, looking at the title transfer Sam had pulled up for a warehouse just outside of Brighton Beach. Dean nodded, reaching over to squeeze Sam’s shoulder.
“I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Dean, I’m not letting you go alone,” Sam immediately argued, slamming the laptop closed. “We both know it’s basically going to be a suicide mission with the entire Bratva there. And I would be shocked,” he stood from the stool, packing up the computer, “if Castiel still had his identity hidden from them which means they will know who you really are.”
“So what, Sam? He’s my mate,” Dean said hurriedly as he pulled on his jacket. “He may be--” He censored himself and then let out a rushed sigh, “He may be carrying my child. I’d go to fucking hell and back for him. But,” he held his brother back, “I am not asking you to walk into that… Not when we just got Jessica safely home.”
Dean watched the emotions play out on his brother’s face and then Sam shook his head slowly. “You’re right, I just got Jessica back. And she’s here, in your home, safe. You helped me achieve that, Dean. And,” he shrugged on his jacket, “I’m going to do the same for you. We both deserve our families. So quit fucking arguing with me and go get your guns ready. We’re going to need them…”
Without waiting for a response, Sam pushed away from the table and walked behind Dean’s chair to the living room. Dean sat in his place, listening to the soft sounds of Sammy relaying their new information to Jess, though he couldn’t make out anything specific. After a few moments, Dean picked up his phone and tried Castiel one more time, his voicemail clicking on without any ring.
“I’m coming for you, Cas,” he whispered into the voicemail. “Just hang on for me.”
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