The World Has Moved On, Chapter 9
Title: The World Has Moved On (9/?)
Author: phar_ahkmenrah (halfblood alchemist)
Genre/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, AU
Rating: NC-17 (for strong sexual content, blood and gore, violence and language)
Spoilers: None (AU)
Wordcount: WIP
Warnings: This fic will be riddled with strong sexual scenes, violent deaths, torture, graphic imagery, and scary scenes. Far far future fic, modeled after "the Gunslinger" series by Stephen King. NOT A CROSSOVER! (Has similar concept as the Supernatural series, but different presentation. *Character parallels, concept parallel etc*)
Summary: As a great author once said, too many years long since passed, "The world has moved on…". Two brothers find themselves travelling across the lands of a world that time forgot, travelling to avenge the destruction of their village, and the death of their family and friends. On their journey they discover their destiny lies in the secret profession of their late father and find their world turned upside down when they discover a dark force is threatening to destroy mankind. Left to stop this devastation from wiping out their whole world alone, they find allegiance in the unlikeliest of partners: a young, inexperienced mage, renegade from his clan and rebellious to their arrogant, narrow-minded ways. This rag-tag trio of heroes holds the fate of the world in their hands… if they can face the truth.
~*~
Chapter 9
The air was frightfully still, heat bearing down on the riders as they sought their destination in haste. Deanolo lead the small band across the barren landscape, Robert and Ashten at his sides whilst Ellena brought up the rear of their group. His eyes never left the unyielding horizon, pleading if he could just urge Impala on that swifter…
Charles' words echoed in his mind, ringing a pounding migraine wrought with worry and fear that nauseated him as he rode. However, it was not the time to lose himself to his warring emotions. Swallowing the bitter ire, Dean pushed himself and his steed to the breaking point, the landscape finally breaking its rustic desert façade for the softer greens of Enochian territory.
"DEANOLO, FOR THE SAKE OF GOD, STOP!" Robert shouted, rearing his own horse to a stop as he glanced about the scenery with worry. He half feared that Deanolo would continue his suicide quest without proper aid or a plan; he was wrong, thankfully.
Deanolo, too, reared his horse in as he shot a glance to the elder hunter over his shoulder. "Robert, we have no time to stop! Castiel is in need!"
"You idjit, if you get yourself killed, Castiel will have no hope at all. We must formulate a plan to rescue him properly; going in blindly will only end in disaster!"
Dean panted heavily, realization dawning in his emerald eyes as he glanced about the fields surrounding them. Running a shaking hand through his wind-tousled hair, he sat back in the saddle awaiting their "plan".
"Deanolo, I understand, but Robert is right. We must act rationally if we are to succeed." Ellena offered, hoping to placate the distressed man. She reached out, taking his hand into her own with a small smile.
Dean returned the gesture, his own smile not quite creasing his eyes. He appreciated Ellena's mothering touch… he just couldn't shake the thought that he was losing valuable time. "We must act fast. Finding a way past the border guards is our first prerogative. Then… we must…" he drifted off, realizing his own fate. He had no clue how he would successfully slip into the bowels of the community to rescue an injured prisoner. It was futile. Groaning in disgust with his own ineptitude, Deanolo pressed his forehead to the nape of Impala's neck, exhaling in a frustrated puff. "There must be a way…"
It was then that their answer came to them in the most unlikely of circumstances.
Ashten spoke up, surprising all of them. "I feel I may have found our ticket in…" he replied, his head aimed away from the group.
The others all followed his gaze to his reasoning: a boy, atop a young dapple gelding, was staring at the troupe with what appeared to be a sense of determination and success in his eyes. "I've found you…" the boy said in a hoarse voice, urging his young mount forward.
Dean watched the boy, recognizing him even weeks after their flight from the Enochian encampment.
"You are Castiel's hand servant." He said with realization. The others about him gave incredulous looks, but these went unnoticed.
The hand servant, Maion, nodded, extending his small hand to Dean's. "Yes. My name is Maion. I've come to assist you in your rescue but we must hurry… there isn't much time left!"
Dean felt a harsh clenching in his chest at the revelation, but he nodded tersely, pushing his wayward thoughts aside. "Is there a way to find him without alerting your kind to our approach, young one?"
Maion nodded, guiding his dapple around to lead the group on. "Yes, but you must be of absolute silence! Come. They have left him; therefore our chance is limited to their lack of interest. Who knows how long it would last before they turn back and…" he stopped, glancing nervously over his shoulder at his master's partner, soft brown eyes filled with worry for Castiel's mate.
Dean swallowed, feeling a roué of anger and distress swelling inside him. He urged Impala onward, following the surprisingly quick-paced gelding as his troupe took up the rear. His eyes burned in the salty tang of wind-blown sting, his gaze never diverting from Maion.
"Stay strong, Castiel… I will find you."
~*~
Charles reentered the tavern, his eyes landing on the still form of Pamela. He overstepped the threshold, approaching the blind soothsayer with silent steps. He sat before her and extended a hand to her own, smiling when she responded. Unseeing eyes found his own quite easily, Pamela nodding her consent to Charles' unspoken words. She took his free hand as well, interlacing their fingers in preparation.
As their palms connected, a great flash filled the air of the tavern room, bursting forth from the windows as feeble glass shattered around them. The otherworldly light cast from the two engulfed them as ancient words of lore spewed forth from their flaming mouths; shrieks and cries of the spirit world found passage through their very beings, filling the room with unbearable sensations.
Pamela's blind eyes flew open, her hand separating from Charles' as she scrabbled for the nearest quill; he, too, sought any writing implement he could find. Blinded by their spiritual bond, the two stood and ripped the tapestry from the near wall of the tavern room, tearing the ancient cloth in half. The two seers slammed their piece of the tapestry down on the floor, kneeling before their makeshift canvases with blazing eyes as the image of their new prophecy burned brightly before them.
From the adjoining room, Crowley and Joanna took flight, bursting in to find both Charles and Pamela on the floor, knelt before the expensive tapestry torn to ribbons.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Joanna shrieked, her eye locked on the image of her mother's destroyed art. But as she stepped forward, she felt a strong grip on her shoulder, stopping her mid-step. Her eyes flew to Crowley's, silently demanding reason for his interference.
"Be still, Joanna, and observe the birth of a new prophecy." He hissed, giving her a knowing look before returning his attention to the scene before him.
Charles, oblivious to the exchange behind them, plunged the tip of the sharp quill into the soft flesh of his wrist, drawing his "ink" from his own body. Pamela did the same, blood welling forth as they filled their pens and drew hasty, harsh strokes on their respective canvases. The lines were bold and rough, staining the weathered tapestry in growing images. As they worked, the very power within the room grew immensely, engulfing the two watchers.
Crowley hissed in pain, clapping his hands over his ears from the onslaught. "JOANNA, DIVERT YOUR ATTENTION! THEIR POWER GROWS TOO QUICKLY!" he shouted as best as he could to the young woman next to him.
She shrieked in fear, burying her face in the crook of the Daemon's shoulder as the two seers worked before them. Their masterpieces continued to grow, murals of blood taking on a life of their own as the artists lost themselves in the heat of the moment.
It was then that all hell broke loose within the walls of the tavern.
Windows shattered inward, spraying the inhabitants with bits of glass. Joanna shrieked once again in terror, dropping to her knees as Crowley ducked down over the young woman, shielding her from the onslaught. Through the overwhelming confusion, the rogue Daemon caught sight of an attack on the tavern, a caucus of intruders breaking in to disrupt the work of the two seers before them.
"NO!" he cried, leaping up to stop the intruders from disrupting Charles and Pamela. He extended a hand to them, summoning his own enchantment to halt them in their pace.
No effect. The Daemon's work deflected from their person, slamming him back into the wall with his own force. Crowley grunted in surprise, sliding down the wall as flashes of pain danced behind his eyes. "No… it can't be…" he hissed, looking up at the burglars.
"Well, Crowley, what a pleasure to see you again." The enemy Daemon smirked, striding over in quick, confident steps. He thrust his clawed hand towards Joanna, flinging her across the room with nearly bone shattering force.
Crowley narrowed his eyes at his past superior, standing with some difficulty. "Malphas. It has been too long, although I cannot share your enthusiasm with our meeting." As he spoke, the two rounded on each other, taking a casual fighting stance to bear down upon the other in hopes of intimidation.
"Still playing favorites with the humans I see. What a pity. You had such great potential, boy. The Lord was pleased with you until you began consorting with one Robert Singer. Pity, really, that you should give up you rightful place amongst your people for that mud bag you call an ally."
"You've no place to insult Robert, Malphas! Release the humans; your fight is with me." Crowley spat, taking an advancing step towards his enemy.
Malphas laughed, a cold and heartless knell that chilled even the blood of his former ally. "Come off it, Crowley you've no hope of defeating me. Your time amongst human blood has stained your essence. Besides, my place is not here to fight an age old feud."
At these words, Crowley grew uneasy, taking slow, careful steps to separate the injured girl from his clutches. "What do you mean?"
However, as he spoke, his eyes drifted from Malphas' deceptively fair features to the scene behind him. As he watched, his blood ran cold, fear dawning on his face.
The Daemons were bearing down on the seers.
"YOU CANNOT STOP THE PROPHECY, MALPHAS!" he cried, striding forward.
Malphas smirked, throwing a hit that sent Crowley spiraling from his touch. "You cannot stop me. The prophecy must be broken before it is fully forged. You wouldn't want our side to lose, now would you?"
"FUCK YOU, MALPHAS!" Crowley jeered, standing with some difficulty. He raised a hand to strike, but alas, he was too slow.
Malphas screamed an incantation in his native tongue, the very air about them exploding with pent up power, light emanating in a powerful, blinding wave that rocked the foundation of the tavern.
And just as quickly as it came, all fell silent.
~*~
Dean followed the young boy with bated breath, fear and heightened perception tickling every nerve in his body as he slipped through the shadows in Maion's wake. It had been decided that Deanolo would go alone with Maion, the others waiting behind with the horses to make their escape clean.
Dean swallowed hard, sweat beading at the nape of his neck. He pawed at the sensation, glancing over his shoulder at the dark trail they had just traversed in silence. He felt grateful for Maion's presence; his knowledge of the interior of Enochian territory made his way that much easier, and within a relatively short time span, the two had managed to slip under the motherhouse in the main courtyard, unseen.
Maion shushed the man over his shoulder, slipping along the dank walls of the underbelly. Their need for complete secrecy had left them without the aid of light, the two making their way in solid darkness.
Finally, Deanolo felt the boy stop before him, and his heart crawled up his throat in anticipation.
"The dungeons are just up ahead. I cannot go further, for my Grace will be noticed with much more ease than your human essence. I shall wait here, though, to take you both back to your comrades."
Dean nodded, patting Maion on the shoulder in thanks. Without another word, he slipped past him, inching into the dungeons with worry. Glancing about, he deemed his way clear and sprinted across the dungeons, glancing into each cell with a practiced eye.
After several minutes of searching, however, Dean paused in frustration. Castiel was nowhere to be found. "Cas!" he whispered into the dark in hopes for a sign. None came.
But just when Dean turned to leave in defeat, he caught sight of a door he had passed in the dark not five minutes before. With a small gasp, Dean bolted forward, reaching for the handle quickly. But just as he turned the knob, a chill ran up his spine and he paused, staring at the handle. It felt too convenient.
Looking up, he noticed a small sliding door at eye-level, and he reached for it with tentative fingers. The slot opened with a loud creak and he winced visibly at the offending sound. But when no one came to investigate the noise, he sighed, glancing inside.
The room was nearly pitch-black, save for a small torch in the corner of the chamber. The walls, the floor, the ceiling were all stone cold and wet, sparse to no furniture inside. The only piece he could spy was a large wooden table along the back wall, laden with objects that appeared suspiciously torturous. Dean swallowed, glancing about the room inside as best as he could from his poor vantage point.
As his eyes continued to adjust to the meager lighting, he caught a glimpse of something hanging from the ceiling. Deep in the shadows it was hard for Dean to make out easily, but from what he could see of the dark pool beneath it, it looked strangely like a slab of livestock, strung up and left to drain of all the remaining blood in the flesh. This struck Dean strangely. Why would they drain a slab of beef below the motherhouse as such?
Dean adjusted as best as he could, standing on the balls of his feet to get a better glimpse inside. As he peered, however, he caught sight of the item more clearly and he froze in horror. The limbs of the carcass were stretched out from either side, and the slightest of movements from the item told Dean exactly what he did not want to know. It wasn't an animal strung up to bleed out for a feast.
It was Castiel.
Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Dean wrenched the iron door open and sprinted inside towards his partner. He felt sick at the sight; Castiel remained in his inverted position, his face unnaturally pale and stained dark red.
"Cas! Castiel! Please wake up…" Dean begged, cupping his lover's face in gentle hands. Tears sprang to his eyes at the sight of Castiel so broken; broken by the hands of his own people. He felt a lance of fury through his heart at the Enochians, but stayed his rage for the time being. Now was not the time to lose his head. Castiel needed him.
After a few moments of gentle prying, Castiel opened his eyes, coughing slightly. Dean felt a light spray of something warm against his face as his lover tried to clear his lungs, and dared not to think of the crimson spatters on his own face.
"D-dean… I-I…"
"Shh, Castiel. Do not speak." Dean shushed him, gazing into broken, blood-shot eyes. He ran his fingertips over the mage's fair features, trying to offer up whatever comfort he could. After a moment Dean stepped back enough to survey the damage, and nearly vomited at the sight.
Eyes fully adjusted to the dark, he could clearly make out the extent of Castiel's injuries. It amazed him that he was still alive, the gaping wounds leaking blood even still, rivulets of red staining what little skin was left untouched. He caught sight of the lesion to his chest, the pattern carved frighteningly in the same shape as his tattoo, the painted flesh missing. "Castiel… what have they done…"
Castiel shifted in his binds, whimpering slightly at the pain of his over exerted shoulders. This caused Dean to spring into action, finding the pulley that kept his lover suspended above the unforgiving cold stones below. He lowered him gently, enough to reach the binds around his broken ankles and released his lover finally from the chains. He caught him easily, loosening the ropes to each wrist. Dean rocked movement back into the torn and bruised ligaments, folding Castiel's arms to his chest to ease some of the tension.
As he held him, however, warmth seeped into his arms, wet and sticky. He knew what he would see when he turned the mage over, and although he did not want to, Dean glanced down at Castiel's back.
The flesh was missing entirely.
"Fuck…" Dean sobbed, watching in grief as Castiel winced in agony, tears seeping from bruised eye sockets. If only he had been able to find him sooner; he feared his absence had been the cause of the extent to Castiel's injuries.
The hunter rocked his lover gently, pressing quaking lips to the sticky locks in gentle kisses. The brand to his shoulder burned in sympathy and Dean longed to bond, if only to offer up his conditional comfort and love to ease his partner's being.
Castiel bit his torn lower lip, willing himself to remain stoic even in his state. Taking a shallow breath, he looked up at his lover with reverence, forcing even the smallest of smiles on his marred features. "Be still, my love. There is nothing more you could have done to help me." Castiel coughed again, shivering at the pain such a small action caused him. "You should not be here, though. My people… the Enochians will surely find you here. I dare not allow such a thing to happen to you. Please… spare yourself and go."
"No!" Dean growled, gripping his lover more firmly to his chest. "I will not leave you here to die." Despite the mage's protests, Dean pulled the cloak from his back, wrapping his naked form in the soft cloth gently. "I will free you from this place. Y-you will be well again. I swear to it."
Castiel did not protest, simply falling limp in the soothing embrace. As he was lifted from the stone floor, Castiel buried his face in the warmth of Deanolo's chest, taking in his scent.
Dean adjusted his grip, slipping silently from the room with his precious cargo. He glanced quickly about the dank confines of the dungeon corridor, seeking out any guards. When none came in sight, he made swift escape, seeking out his guide.
"Maion!" he hissed, eyes scanning the dark corridor for the boy. His brow furrowed in confusion.
He was nowhere to be found.
"Shit…" Deanolo sighed, readjusting his grip on the smaller man in his arms. Damned if he remembered the direction he had come from mere moments before.
Trying to gather his bearings in the corridor, Dean made his choice, slipping into the night. The corridor felt vaguely familiar to him, confidence growing slowly within his breast each moment he did not meet an enemy in his trek. "I've got you…" he murmured, soothing the perpetually mussed hair on his lover's crown.
Castiel smiled, his eyes slipping shut in exhaustion. He trusted Dean; he always would.
After mere minutes, a light ahead of him caught the hunter's attention, and his heart leapt with joy. A few more paces, and they'd be free.
It astounds all how fate may change the course of one's path.
As Deanolo darted into the chamber before him, his heart leapt into his throat, fear gripping his heart in the vice of doom.
He had walked directly into an ambush.
Riddling the lighted room were dozens of guards, armed and lying in wait for the attempted escape. Upon Deanolo's entrance, they sprang into action, surrounding the hunter and his mage and effectively cutting off his escape.
Dean's eyes scanned the war-hardened faces of the Enochians, his grip firm and unwavering. He growled in fury, eyes landing on the smug façade of Zachariah. "You bastard…" he hissed, taking a defensive stance against his enemies. He dare not let his attempts go in vain, not to this man.
"I see you have found your way into our territory after all. Pity you won't make it out alive…" Zachariah sneered, drawing his sword with casual grace. "Relinquish our prisoner, and we will let you go free. You have no business in our walls… However, I can make exceptions for the Sons of Prophecy."
"I will do no such thing, Zachariah. And if dying by your hand defending my mate is what it takes, then so be it." Dean spat, inching away from the ever shortening distance between them. His eyes landed on the far doorway, gauging his way.
"I see…" Zachariah sighed, tipping the sword to the stones below. "Then I can make no exceptions for you Deanolo." Raising a hand, he concentrated on the motionless form in the hunter's arms, murmuring an incantation directed in the dying man's way.
Castiel cried out, arching in Dean's arms as the spell wracked his body excruciatingly. The drug wrought into the Nameless Blade burned red-hot in his veins, causing him great distress.
"CASTIEL!" Dean cried, dropping to his knees as he held the writhing man close. "ZACHARIAH, CEASE THIS NOW!"
"I am dreadfully sorry, Deanolo." The elder mage murmured, dropping his hand reluctantly. Almost instantly, Castiel fell still, slipping into oblivion. "Live by your insolence. The both of you shall pay." As he spoke, he readied the guards, awaiting the prime moment to strike.
That moment never came. The moment Zachariah gave word to his men, the far door Deanolo had been watching burst from the hinges, scattering the mages in shock. As the murky dust cleared, Dean made out the form of old Robert Singer, the Colt in hand and smoking at the muzzle.
"YOU IDJIT, LET US FLY!" he shouted, aiming the Colt in the direction of the Enochian leader.
Dean needed no second bidding. He sprang to his feet, carrying the unconscious Castiel in his arms as he bolted for freedom through the mayhem.
Zachariah roared in disdain, following in close pursuit of his unintended escapees. "YOU IDIOTS! FOLLOW THEM! CATCH THEM!" he screamed to his men, bolting after the hunters and prisoner.
Dean panted heavily, overexerted by the effort to carry Castiel at such a pace. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, weighing the distance between them. There was not much to spare.
"DARE YOU LOSE CONCENTRATION, BOY!?" Robert yelled. He gripped Dean's elbow with force, dragging him close behind through the labyrinth of the motherhouse dungeons. "Ellena and Ashten are standing guard! HURRY!"
Very nearly they had been captured once, having almost been taken by surprise by the impending guards. Dean's footing gave out as one such burly guard lunged for him, and he flinched in anticipation, gripping Castiel close. However, the old man's swiftness proved true, wrenching Dean from the mage's grasp. Adrenaline pumped hard through aching veins with each hurried gasp for air, choking and oxygen deprived. It seemed a never ending blur of cold, grey stone just outside their peripheral, dizzying them; the shouts of the mages echoed loudly in the halls, disorienting them further.
Deanolo feared he would never see the light of day again, clutching tightly to his dying partner as they were swarmed by the mages. It darkened his heart, but he pushed onward, pride and unwillingness to give up pressing his fears back. He was a Winchester, and Winchesters did not succumb to the grievous hand of surrender.
The chase finally winding down, Deanolo found his strength waned ever quickly, steps slowing with each moment. He feared his quest would be in vain after all. Dean gasped, a stitch of exhaustion lancing his side as he adjusted his grip mid-step. They'd never make it…
"AHEAD! The exit is ahead!" Robert called, turning to fire another round into the guards. He gave a satisfied smirk, hearing the anguished cry as the bullet found its mark. Nodding once, he turned and followed the hunter, finding comfort in their only hope. The doorway to their freedom lay just ahead.
As the crack of gunfire filled the chambers the Enochians scattered once again, disbursed by the frightening sound. It was unlike anything they had encountered before in their lives, and fell still, unsure of what to do. Only the knowledge that their intended prisoners stood mere feet from the doorway to freedom spurred them on, following in quick succession.
Dean spared one last glance over his shoulder, noting with some confusion that they had gained the upper hand on the chase. "Why have they slowed?" he inquired, the vocalized question directed in rhetoric.
"They do not know how to handle such a thing. To them, this simple weapon is black magic." Robert replied, kicking the doorway open at long last. He allowed Deanolo through the narrow passage, following quickly to barricade the doorway as best as he could for the time being. He knew it wouldn't be long before the mages managed to break down the wooden barrier; he only hoped it would stall their progress enough to allow their escape.
Meanwhile, Ellena rushed forward, aghast at the sight of the wounded man in Deanolo's arms. "Let me…" she murmured, helping Deanolo ease the man onto Impala's back. "I shall support him, you mount. And be quick about it!" she ordered, supporting the unconscious man.
Her heart leapt out to Castiel's bloody form, skin far paler than healthily possible in the day's light. She understood now why Deanolo was so in love with him; even in his gored state, the mage had a tragic beauty about him, sharp angles and fair skin. Perhaps all that looked upon him fell in love to an extent.
However her eyes drifted to the naked man's form and froze, locked on the image of the handprint seared into his right hip. It matched the one burned into Deanolo's shoulder. She gasped in realization, eyes snapping up to meet Dean's. "So it is all true…" she murmured, eyes wide. She clasped a hand to Deanolo's forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Fly, Deanolo. Return this man to safety." She murmured, passion burning in her eyes for the two lovers.
Dean nodded, mounting quickly before wrapping a strong arm around the wounded man's waist. "Stay strong. We're almost free…" he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the bruised temple. He frowned, glancing at the sight of the broken man before him.
Castiel's flesh burned with such intensity it frightened his lover terribly. The sweat pooled in crevices, the divots in his collarbones, salt stinging the already infected wounds more severely. The fever wracked his being, sending the poor mage into shock.
It took all Dean had not to cry at that instant. Even in his efforts, Castiel's being succumbed to its own devices, slipping further and further into an unfathomable void that threatened to snuff the life out of him. Dean ran a comforting hand over his lover's brow, pressing a gentle kiss in his fingers' wake to the clammy skin beneath.
His moment of solace was disrupted almost as quickly as it had begun as the remaining three humans mounted their own steeds, shouts filling the air as the magi began to break through the barrier.
"Let us move! We must get out of Enochian territory before they catch us!" Ashten shouted, galloping ahead to lead the group. He was soon followed by Ellena and Dean; Impala lagged in his step by the added weight of the second rider.
Robert brought up the rear of their little band, glancing over his shoulder to see that his barrier had been broken, too easily for his liking. "MOVE!" he shouted, hearing the familiar twang of crossbow string as they were fired upon. "WEAVE FROM THE BOLTS!"
Dean ducked low, protecting Castiel from the projectiles as he urged Impala on his crazed trip, weaving more effectively than he had the first time he dealt with the Enochians and their arrows. He smirked, watching a wayward arrow imbed itself in the ground, missing him entirely.
The group rode hard and fast stretching the distance between themselves and the Enochian strongholds with each hoof beat on the steadily barren landscape. Now outside the border of Enochian territory, they were able to break from the guard's limited hold and into freedom.
The guards in question came to a reluctant halt, watching their quarries escape. Their lack of preparation kept them bound to the limitations of their own territory, and the Enochians feel into fitful silence. They feared they had failed their mission, and all present withdrew from the eyes of Zachariah, bowing their heads in submission.
The elder mage watched the humans flee with their prisoner in tow, yet he felt no anger to his people. "Be still, my followers." He said aloud, surprising all the guards present.
Each one shared a momentary glance, confusion for this leniency strong in their eyes.
"It seems that we were not to capture them after all. For remember what our Father has bidden: all things happen for a good cause." He turned to them again, a dark smile on his lips. "Be it known that you did not fail our people. The humans may have escaped, but our traitorous brethren cost himself dearly. Brother Castiel will not live to see the morn. And once his precious mate is no longer breathing, Deanolo will realize his folly. It is only a matter of time, my people." As he spoke, he turned to reenter the borders of their land with silence.
"But sir!" one young guard called, halting Zachariah in his footsteps. "What of the boy?"
Zachariah smirked, nodding his wizen head once. "The boy. Indeed that is a question to be sought. Find him, and ensure that his traitorous actions are rewarded accordingly." He spoke as he walked, guiding his men.
"Rest now and prepare to leave our borders. Our time is drawing near."
~*~
For the first time in hours, Dean felt his heart begin to settle, but this waning adrenaline only allowed his mind to wander to the grievous state of his lover, and worry pitted his stomach once again.
"We must slow, the ride is only harming him!" he cried, his grip faltering as Castiel nearly slipped from the saddle.
Robert nodded, slowing his own steed as the group came to a stop. He watched his charge handle the near-corpse in his arms with reverence, taking in the sight. "These people have done this to their own kind… it is… unthinkable…" he spat, anger welling within him.
D
ean nodded, but dared not to speak. Castiel had opened his eyes once again. "Castiel… focus on me, love." He whispered, holding him close.
Castiel groaned, curling into the warmth of Dean's arms. "Deanolo… have we succeeded…" he gasped, eyes heavy with exhaustion and blood loss.
Dean smiled weakly to his partner, brushing the dried locks from his eyes. "Yes, love. We survived their attacks and we are free. I will take you to a safe place, and you will be well again. I swear to you. But you must promise me that you will hold on as long as you possibly can on your own. When we reach a place to lay you, then we can properly help you heal."
Castiel didn't respond, a disbelieving thought in his eyes. "I cannot… I cannot guarantee anything…."
"Please… for me." Deanolo's eyes begged fervently.
The silence stretched on for another moment, before the silence was broken by the softest of grunts, surprise laden in Ashten's eyes. "My friends… I do not think… we have good news ahead." He murmured, eyes widening to the horizon before them.
At these foreboding words, the group turned their attention and dread filled their hearts.
Smoke floated to the sky, and it heralded from the location they were currently headed.
"Oh no… the Roadhouse! JOANNA!" Ellena cried, galloping hard past the others to each what she could only picture as the remains of their home. She was quickly followed by the others, the following moments a blur as panic took them over once again.
All too soon, the group came to a stop, staring in disbelief and shock at the remains before them. The Roadhouse was in complete shambles, smoke and fires burning low, wind howling through the remains like ghosts of their past crying out in the destruction. No movement caught their eyes for a moment, and Ellena wept silently for her daughter.
Dean stared in shock, his heart falling once again. The only place he could have taken his lover to mend was destroyed, everything gone. He gazed over the ruins, wide and shocked eyes scanning weakly for any sign of salvation amongst the rubble.
It was he who caught sight of the slightest of movements in the center of what had once been the tavern. "MOVEMENT! I see movement within the rubble!" he shouted, urging Impala forward slightly.
As the troupe came forth, the rubble shifted once again, and Crowley stood, clutching the terrified girl to his chest. His brow had been bloodied, his condition severely weakened, but he stood strong, his face ever the mask of dignity.
"JOANNA!" her mother cried in relief, rushing forward to take her trembling daughter into her arms. She smoothed a hand over the dirty golden locks, urging calm back into her daughter's form.
"Pamela is dead…" Crowley announced, clutching his broken ribs painfully. He turned and moved the rubble aside to reveal Charles.
He, too, was alive, but unconsciously. Below him the remains of the prophetic tapestry lay, his image complete. The other half of the prophecy was missing, along with its artist. "The prophecy is incomplete…" The Daemon added this last statement in a hushed tone, the thick silence engulfing them all. Nothing but the sounds of crackling wood fire filled their ears, the smoke thickening their air until they nearly choked.
"We must find shelter… and quickly." Robert said, breaking the silence that befell them. "There is a small town several leagues off that harbor fugitives. Their medical care is not very good, but it is the best we can do for him at this time…" he said to Dean, looking down at the too-still form of Castiel.
Dean nodded, silent as he listened. After a moment, he looked up, eyes determined. "Fetch Iofiel. He will ride most comfortably upon her. I will stay to guide him and keep him safe. Hurry. Night is falling."
As the others went about their business, preparing to find refuge in a town nearby, Dean cradled the dying mage close, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead and lips.
"I won't leave you…" he murmured, glancing up to the red sunset before him. "No matter what happens, I will be with you, Castiel. To the death."
Next Chapter (coming soon)
(Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8)
Author: phar_ahkmenrah (halfblood alchemist)
Genre/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, AU
Rating: NC-17 (for strong sexual content, blood and gore, violence and language)
Spoilers: None (AU)
Wordcount: WIP
Warnings: This fic will be riddled with strong sexual scenes, violent deaths, torture, graphic imagery, and scary scenes. Far far future fic, modeled after "the Gunslinger" series by Stephen King. NOT A CROSSOVER! (Has similar concept as the Supernatural series, but different presentation. *Character parallels, concept parallel etc*)
Summary: As a great author once said, too many years long since passed, "The world has moved on…". Two brothers find themselves travelling across the lands of a world that time forgot, travelling to avenge the destruction of their village, and the death of their family and friends. On their journey they discover their destiny lies in the secret profession of their late father and find their world turned upside down when they discover a dark force is threatening to destroy mankind. Left to stop this devastation from wiping out their whole world alone, they find allegiance in the unlikeliest of partners: a young, inexperienced mage, renegade from his clan and rebellious to their arrogant, narrow-minded ways. This rag-tag trio of heroes holds the fate of the world in their hands… if they can face the truth.
~*~
Chapter 9
The air was frightfully still, heat bearing down on the riders as they sought their destination in haste. Deanolo lead the small band across the barren landscape, Robert and Ashten at his sides whilst Ellena brought up the rear of their group. His eyes never left the unyielding horizon, pleading if he could just urge Impala on that swifter…
Charles' words echoed in his mind, ringing a pounding migraine wrought with worry and fear that nauseated him as he rode. However, it was not the time to lose himself to his warring emotions. Swallowing the bitter ire, Dean pushed himself and his steed to the breaking point, the landscape finally breaking its rustic desert façade for the softer greens of Enochian territory.
"DEANOLO, FOR THE SAKE OF GOD, STOP!" Robert shouted, rearing his own horse to a stop as he glanced about the scenery with worry. He half feared that Deanolo would continue his suicide quest without proper aid or a plan; he was wrong, thankfully.
Deanolo, too, reared his horse in as he shot a glance to the elder hunter over his shoulder. "Robert, we have no time to stop! Castiel is in need!"
"You idjit, if you get yourself killed, Castiel will have no hope at all. We must formulate a plan to rescue him properly; going in blindly will only end in disaster!"
Dean panted heavily, realization dawning in his emerald eyes as he glanced about the fields surrounding them. Running a shaking hand through his wind-tousled hair, he sat back in the saddle awaiting their "plan".
"Deanolo, I understand, but Robert is right. We must act rationally if we are to succeed." Ellena offered, hoping to placate the distressed man. She reached out, taking his hand into her own with a small smile.
Dean returned the gesture, his own smile not quite creasing his eyes. He appreciated Ellena's mothering touch… he just couldn't shake the thought that he was losing valuable time. "We must act fast. Finding a way past the border guards is our first prerogative. Then… we must…" he drifted off, realizing his own fate. He had no clue how he would successfully slip into the bowels of the community to rescue an injured prisoner. It was futile. Groaning in disgust with his own ineptitude, Deanolo pressed his forehead to the nape of Impala's neck, exhaling in a frustrated puff. "There must be a way…"
It was then that their answer came to them in the most unlikely of circumstances.
Ashten spoke up, surprising all of them. "I feel I may have found our ticket in…" he replied, his head aimed away from the group.
The others all followed his gaze to his reasoning: a boy, atop a young dapple gelding, was staring at the troupe with what appeared to be a sense of determination and success in his eyes. "I've found you…" the boy said in a hoarse voice, urging his young mount forward.
Dean watched the boy, recognizing him even weeks after their flight from the Enochian encampment.
"You are Castiel's hand servant." He said with realization. The others about him gave incredulous looks, but these went unnoticed.
The hand servant, Maion, nodded, extending his small hand to Dean's. "Yes. My name is Maion. I've come to assist you in your rescue but we must hurry… there isn't much time left!"
Dean felt a harsh clenching in his chest at the revelation, but he nodded tersely, pushing his wayward thoughts aside. "Is there a way to find him without alerting your kind to our approach, young one?"
Maion nodded, guiding his dapple around to lead the group on. "Yes, but you must be of absolute silence! Come. They have left him; therefore our chance is limited to their lack of interest. Who knows how long it would last before they turn back and…" he stopped, glancing nervously over his shoulder at his master's partner, soft brown eyes filled with worry for Castiel's mate.
Dean swallowed, feeling a roué of anger and distress swelling inside him. He urged Impala onward, following the surprisingly quick-paced gelding as his troupe took up the rear. His eyes burned in the salty tang of wind-blown sting, his gaze never diverting from Maion.
"Stay strong, Castiel… I will find you."
~*~
Charles reentered the tavern, his eyes landing on the still form of Pamela. He overstepped the threshold, approaching the blind soothsayer with silent steps. He sat before her and extended a hand to her own, smiling when she responded. Unseeing eyes found his own quite easily, Pamela nodding her consent to Charles' unspoken words. She took his free hand as well, interlacing their fingers in preparation.
As their palms connected, a great flash filled the air of the tavern room, bursting forth from the windows as feeble glass shattered around them. The otherworldly light cast from the two engulfed them as ancient words of lore spewed forth from their flaming mouths; shrieks and cries of the spirit world found passage through their very beings, filling the room with unbearable sensations.
Pamela's blind eyes flew open, her hand separating from Charles' as she scrabbled for the nearest quill; he, too, sought any writing implement he could find. Blinded by their spiritual bond, the two stood and ripped the tapestry from the near wall of the tavern room, tearing the ancient cloth in half. The two seers slammed their piece of the tapestry down on the floor, kneeling before their makeshift canvases with blazing eyes as the image of their new prophecy burned brightly before them.
From the adjoining room, Crowley and Joanna took flight, bursting in to find both Charles and Pamela on the floor, knelt before the expensive tapestry torn to ribbons.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Joanna shrieked, her eye locked on the image of her mother's destroyed art. But as she stepped forward, she felt a strong grip on her shoulder, stopping her mid-step. Her eyes flew to Crowley's, silently demanding reason for his interference.
"Be still, Joanna, and observe the birth of a new prophecy." He hissed, giving her a knowing look before returning his attention to the scene before him.
Charles, oblivious to the exchange behind them, plunged the tip of the sharp quill into the soft flesh of his wrist, drawing his "ink" from his own body. Pamela did the same, blood welling forth as they filled their pens and drew hasty, harsh strokes on their respective canvases. The lines were bold and rough, staining the weathered tapestry in growing images. As they worked, the very power within the room grew immensely, engulfing the two watchers.
Crowley hissed in pain, clapping his hands over his ears from the onslaught. "JOANNA, DIVERT YOUR ATTENTION! THEIR POWER GROWS TOO QUICKLY!" he shouted as best as he could to the young woman next to him.
She shrieked in fear, burying her face in the crook of the Daemon's shoulder as the two seers worked before them. Their masterpieces continued to grow, murals of blood taking on a life of their own as the artists lost themselves in the heat of the moment.
It was then that all hell broke loose within the walls of the tavern.
Windows shattered inward, spraying the inhabitants with bits of glass. Joanna shrieked once again in terror, dropping to her knees as Crowley ducked down over the young woman, shielding her from the onslaught. Through the overwhelming confusion, the rogue Daemon caught sight of an attack on the tavern, a caucus of intruders breaking in to disrupt the work of the two seers before them.
"NO!" he cried, leaping up to stop the intruders from disrupting Charles and Pamela. He extended a hand to them, summoning his own enchantment to halt them in their pace.
No effect. The Daemon's work deflected from their person, slamming him back into the wall with his own force. Crowley grunted in surprise, sliding down the wall as flashes of pain danced behind his eyes. "No… it can't be…" he hissed, looking up at the burglars.
"Well, Crowley, what a pleasure to see you again." The enemy Daemon smirked, striding over in quick, confident steps. He thrust his clawed hand towards Joanna, flinging her across the room with nearly bone shattering force.
Crowley narrowed his eyes at his past superior, standing with some difficulty. "Malphas. It has been too long, although I cannot share your enthusiasm with our meeting." As he spoke, the two rounded on each other, taking a casual fighting stance to bear down upon the other in hopes of intimidation.
"Still playing favorites with the humans I see. What a pity. You had such great potential, boy. The Lord was pleased with you until you began consorting with one Robert Singer. Pity, really, that you should give up you rightful place amongst your people for that mud bag you call an ally."
"You've no place to insult Robert, Malphas! Release the humans; your fight is with me." Crowley spat, taking an advancing step towards his enemy.
Malphas laughed, a cold and heartless knell that chilled even the blood of his former ally. "Come off it, Crowley you've no hope of defeating me. Your time amongst human blood has stained your essence. Besides, my place is not here to fight an age old feud."
At these words, Crowley grew uneasy, taking slow, careful steps to separate the injured girl from his clutches. "What do you mean?"
However, as he spoke, his eyes drifted from Malphas' deceptively fair features to the scene behind him. As he watched, his blood ran cold, fear dawning on his face.
The Daemons were bearing down on the seers.
"YOU CANNOT STOP THE PROPHECY, MALPHAS!" he cried, striding forward.
Malphas smirked, throwing a hit that sent Crowley spiraling from his touch. "You cannot stop me. The prophecy must be broken before it is fully forged. You wouldn't want our side to lose, now would you?"
"FUCK YOU, MALPHAS!" Crowley jeered, standing with some difficulty. He raised a hand to strike, but alas, he was too slow.
Malphas screamed an incantation in his native tongue, the very air about them exploding with pent up power, light emanating in a powerful, blinding wave that rocked the foundation of the tavern.
And just as quickly as it came, all fell silent.
~*~
Dean followed the young boy with bated breath, fear and heightened perception tickling every nerve in his body as he slipped through the shadows in Maion's wake. It had been decided that Deanolo would go alone with Maion, the others waiting behind with the horses to make their escape clean.
Dean swallowed hard, sweat beading at the nape of his neck. He pawed at the sensation, glancing over his shoulder at the dark trail they had just traversed in silence. He felt grateful for Maion's presence; his knowledge of the interior of Enochian territory made his way that much easier, and within a relatively short time span, the two had managed to slip under the motherhouse in the main courtyard, unseen.
Maion shushed the man over his shoulder, slipping along the dank walls of the underbelly. Their need for complete secrecy had left them without the aid of light, the two making their way in solid darkness.
Finally, Deanolo felt the boy stop before him, and his heart crawled up his throat in anticipation.
"The dungeons are just up ahead. I cannot go further, for my Grace will be noticed with much more ease than your human essence. I shall wait here, though, to take you both back to your comrades."
Dean nodded, patting Maion on the shoulder in thanks. Without another word, he slipped past him, inching into the dungeons with worry. Glancing about, he deemed his way clear and sprinted across the dungeons, glancing into each cell with a practiced eye.
After several minutes of searching, however, Dean paused in frustration. Castiel was nowhere to be found. "Cas!" he whispered into the dark in hopes for a sign. None came.
But just when Dean turned to leave in defeat, he caught sight of a door he had passed in the dark not five minutes before. With a small gasp, Dean bolted forward, reaching for the handle quickly. But just as he turned the knob, a chill ran up his spine and he paused, staring at the handle. It felt too convenient.
Looking up, he noticed a small sliding door at eye-level, and he reached for it with tentative fingers. The slot opened with a loud creak and he winced visibly at the offending sound. But when no one came to investigate the noise, he sighed, glancing inside.
The room was nearly pitch-black, save for a small torch in the corner of the chamber. The walls, the floor, the ceiling were all stone cold and wet, sparse to no furniture inside. The only piece he could spy was a large wooden table along the back wall, laden with objects that appeared suspiciously torturous. Dean swallowed, glancing about the room inside as best as he could from his poor vantage point.
As his eyes continued to adjust to the meager lighting, he caught a glimpse of something hanging from the ceiling. Deep in the shadows it was hard for Dean to make out easily, but from what he could see of the dark pool beneath it, it looked strangely like a slab of livestock, strung up and left to drain of all the remaining blood in the flesh. This struck Dean strangely. Why would they drain a slab of beef below the motherhouse as such?
Dean adjusted as best as he could, standing on the balls of his feet to get a better glimpse inside. As he peered, however, he caught sight of the item more clearly and he froze in horror. The limbs of the carcass were stretched out from either side, and the slightest of movements from the item told Dean exactly what he did not want to know. It wasn't an animal strung up to bleed out for a feast.
It was Castiel.
Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Dean wrenched the iron door open and sprinted inside towards his partner. He felt sick at the sight; Castiel remained in his inverted position, his face unnaturally pale and stained dark red.
"Cas! Castiel! Please wake up…" Dean begged, cupping his lover's face in gentle hands. Tears sprang to his eyes at the sight of Castiel so broken; broken by the hands of his own people. He felt a lance of fury through his heart at the Enochians, but stayed his rage for the time being. Now was not the time to lose his head. Castiel needed him.
After a few moments of gentle prying, Castiel opened his eyes, coughing slightly. Dean felt a light spray of something warm against his face as his lover tried to clear his lungs, and dared not to think of the crimson spatters on his own face.
"D-dean… I-I…"
"Shh, Castiel. Do not speak." Dean shushed him, gazing into broken, blood-shot eyes. He ran his fingertips over the mage's fair features, trying to offer up whatever comfort he could. After a moment Dean stepped back enough to survey the damage, and nearly vomited at the sight.
Eyes fully adjusted to the dark, he could clearly make out the extent of Castiel's injuries. It amazed him that he was still alive, the gaping wounds leaking blood even still, rivulets of red staining what little skin was left untouched. He caught sight of the lesion to his chest, the pattern carved frighteningly in the same shape as his tattoo, the painted flesh missing. "Castiel… what have they done…"
Castiel shifted in his binds, whimpering slightly at the pain of his over exerted shoulders. This caused Dean to spring into action, finding the pulley that kept his lover suspended above the unforgiving cold stones below. He lowered him gently, enough to reach the binds around his broken ankles and released his lover finally from the chains. He caught him easily, loosening the ropes to each wrist. Dean rocked movement back into the torn and bruised ligaments, folding Castiel's arms to his chest to ease some of the tension.
As he held him, however, warmth seeped into his arms, wet and sticky. He knew what he would see when he turned the mage over, and although he did not want to, Dean glanced down at Castiel's back.
The flesh was missing entirely.
"Fuck…" Dean sobbed, watching in grief as Castiel winced in agony, tears seeping from bruised eye sockets. If only he had been able to find him sooner; he feared his absence had been the cause of the extent to Castiel's injuries.
The hunter rocked his lover gently, pressing quaking lips to the sticky locks in gentle kisses. The brand to his shoulder burned in sympathy and Dean longed to bond, if only to offer up his conditional comfort and love to ease his partner's being.
Castiel bit his torn lower lip, willing himself to remain stoic even in his state. Taking a shallow breath, he looked up at his lover with reverence, forcing even the smallest of smiles on his marred features. "Be still, my love. There is nothing more you could have done to help me." Castiel coughed again, shivering at the pain such a small action caused him. "You should not be here, though. My people… the Enochians will surely find you here. I dare not allow such a thing to happen to you. Please… spare yourself and go."
"No!" Dean growled, gripping his lover more firmly to his chest. "I will not leave you here to die." Despite the mage's protests, Dean pulled the cloak from his back, wrapping his naked form in the soft cloth gently. "I will free you from this place. Y-you will be well again. I swear to it."
Castiel did not protest, simply falling limp in the soothing embrace. As he was lifted from the stone floor, Castiel buried his face in the warmth of Deanolo's chest, taking in his scent.
Dean adjusted his grip, slipping silently from the room with his precious cargo. He glanced quickly about the dank confines of the dungeon corridor, seeking out any guards. When none came in sight, he made swift escape, seeking out his guide.
"Maion!" he hissed, eyes scanning the dark corridor for the boy. His brow furrowed in confusion.
He was nowhere to be found.
"Shit…" Deanolo sighed, readjusting his grip on the smaller man in his arms. Damned if he remembered the direction he had come from mere moments before.
Trying to gather his bearings in the corridor, Dean made his choice, slipping into the night. The corridor felt vaguely familiar to him, confidence growing slowly within his breast each moment he did not meet an enemy in his trek. "I've got you…" he murmured, soothing the perpetually mussed hair on his lover's crown.
Castiel smiled, his eyes slipping shut in exhaustion. He trusted Dean; he always would.
After mere minutes, a light ahead of him caught the hunter's attention, and his heart leapt with joy. A few more paces, and they'd be free.
It astounds all how fate may change the course of one's path.
As Deanolo darted into the chamber before him, his heart leapt into his throat, fear gripping his heart in the vice of doom.
He had walked directly into an ambush.
Riddling the lighted room were dozens of guards, armed and lying in wait for the attempted escape. Upon Deanolo's entrance, they sprang into action, surrounding the hunter and his mage and effectively cutting off his escape.
Dean's eyes scanned the war-hardened faces of the Enochians, his grip firm and unwavering. He growled in fury, eyes landing on the smug façade of Zachariah. "You bastard…" he hissed, taking a defensive stance against his enemies. He dare not let his attempts go in vain, not to this man.
"I see you have found your way into our territory after all. Pity you won't make it out alive…" Zachariah sneered, drawing his sword with casual grace. "Relinquish our prisoner, and we will let you go free. You have no business in our walls… However, I can make exceptions for the Sons of Prophecy."
"I will do no such thing, Zachariah. And if dying by your hand defending my mate is what it takes, then so be it." Dean spat, inching away from the ever shortening distance between them. His eyes landed on the far doorway, gauging his way.
"I see…" Zachariah sighed, tipping the sword to the stones below. "Then I can make no exceptions for you Deanolo." Raising a hand, he concentrated on the motionless form in the hunter's arms, murmuring an incantation directed in the dying man's way.
Castiel cried out, arching in Dean's arms as the spell wracked his body excruciatingly. The drug wrought into the Nameless Blade burned red-hot in his veins, causing him great distress.
"CASTIEL!" Dean cried, dropping to his knees as he held the writhing man close. "ZACHARIAH, CEASE THIS NOW!"
"I am dreadfully sorry, Deanolo." The elder mage murmured, dropping his hand reluctantly. Almost instantly, Castiel fell still, slipping into oblivion. "Live by your insolence. The both of you shall pay." As he spoke, he readied the guards, awaiting the prime moment to strike.
That moment never came. The moment Zachariah gave word to his men, the far door Deanolo had been watching burst from the hinges, scattering the mages in shock. As the murky dust cleared, Dean made out the form of old Robert Singer, the Colt in hand and smoking at the muzzle.
"YOU IDJIT, LET US FLY!" he shouted, aiming the Colt in the direction of the Enochian leader.
Dean needed no second bidding. He sprang to his feet, carrying the unconscious Castiel in his arms as he bolted for freedom through the mayhem.
Zachariah roared in disdain, following in close pursuit of his unintended escapees. "YOU IDIOTS! FOLLOW THEM! CATCH THEM!" he screamed to his men, bolting after the hunters and prisoner.
Dean panted heavily, overexerted by the effort to carry Castiel at such a pace. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, weighing the distance between them. There was not much to spare.
"DARE YOU LOSE CONCENTRATION, BOY!?" Robert yelled. He gripped Dean's elbow with force, dragging him close behind through the labyrinth of the motherhouse dungeons. "Ellena and Ashten are standing guard! HURRY!"
Very nearly they had been captured once, having almost been taken by surprise by the impending guards. Dean's footing gave out as one such burly guard lunged for him, and he flinched in anticipation, gripping Castiel close. However, the old man's swiftness proved true, wrenching Dean from the mage's grasp. Adrenaline pumped hard through aching veins with each hurried gasp for air, choking and oxygen deprived. It seemed a never ending blur of cold, grey stone just outside their peripheral, dizzying them; the shouts of the mages echoed loudly in the halls, disorienting them further.
Deanolo feared he would never see the light of day again, clutching tightly to his dying partner as they were swarmed by the mages. It darkened his heart, but he pushed onward, pride and unwillingness to give up pressing his fears back. He was a Winchester, and Winchesters did not succumb to the grievous hand of surrender.
The chase finally winding down, Deanolo found his strength waned ever quickly, steps slowing with each moment. He feared his quest would be in vain after all. Dean gasped, a stitch of exhaustion lancing his side as he adjusted his grip mid-step. They'd never make it…
"AHEAD! The exit is ahead!" Robert called, turning to fire another round into the guards. He gave a satisfied smirk, hearing the anguished cry as the bullet found its mark. Nodding once, he turned and followed the hunter, finding comfort in their only hope. The doorway to their freedom lay just ahead.
As the crack of gunfire filled the chambers the Enochians scattered once again, disbursed by the frightening sound. It was unlike anything they had encountered before in their lives, and fell still, unsure of what to do. Only the knowledge that their intended prisoners stood mere feet from the doorway to freedom spurred them on, following in quick succession.
Dean spared one last glance over his shoulder, noting with some confusion that they had gained the upper hand on the chase. "Why have they slowed?" he inquired, the vocalized question directed in rhetoric.
"They do not know how to handle such a thing. To them, this simple weapon is black magic." Robert replied, kicking the doorway open at long last. He allowed Deanolo through the narrow passage, following quickly to barricade the doorway as best as he could for the time being. He knew it wouldn't be long before the mages managed to break down the wooden barrier; he only hoped it would stall their progress enough to allow their escape.
Meanwhile, Ellena rushed forward, aghast at the sight of the wounded man in Deanolo's arms. "Let me…" she murmured, helping Deanolo ease the man onto Impala's back. "I shall support him, you mount. And be quick about it!" she ordered, supporting the unconscious man.
Her heart leapt out to Castiel's bloody form, skin far paler than healthily possible in the day's light. She understood now why Deanolo was so in love with him; even in his gored state, the mage had a tragic beauty about him, sharp angles and fair skin. Perhaps all that looked upon him fell in love to an extent.
However her eyes drifted to the naked man's form and froze, locked on the image of the handprint seared into his right hip. It matched the one burned into Deanolo's shoulder. She gasped in realization, eyes snapping up to meet Dean's. "So it is all true…" she murmured, eyes wide. She clasped a hand to Deanolo's forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Fly, Deanolo. Return this man to safety." She murmured, passion burning in her eyes for the two lovers.
Dean nodded, mounting quickly before wrapping a strong arm around the wounded man's waist. "Stay strong. We're almost free…" he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the bruised temple. He frowned, glancing at the sight of the broken man before him.
Castiel's flesh burned with such intensity it frightened his lover terribly. The sweat pooled in crevices, the divots in his collarbones, salt stinging the already infected wounds more severely. The fever wracked his being, sending the poor mage into shock.
It took all Dean had not to cry at that instant. Even in his efforts, Castiel's being succumbed to its own devices, slipping further and further into an unfathomable void that threatened to snuff the life out of him. Dean ran a comforting hand over his lover's brow, pressing a gentle kiss in his fingers' wake to the clammy skin beneath.
His moment of solace was disrupted almost as quickly as it had begun as the remaining three humans mounted their own steeds, shouts filling the air as the magi began to break through the barrier.
"Let us move! We must get out of Enochian territory before they catch us!" Ashten shouted, galloping ahead to lead the group. He was soon followed by Ellena and Dean; Impala lagged in his step by the added weight of the second rider.
Robert brought up the rear of their little band, glancing over his shoulder to see that his barrier had been broken, too easily for his liking. "MOVE!" he shouted, hearing the familiar twang of crossbow string as they were fired upon. "WEAVE FROM THE BOLTS!"
Dean ducked low, protecting Castiel from the projectiles as he urged Impala on his crazed trip, weaving more effectively than he had the first time he dealt with the Enochians and their arrows. He smirked, watching a wayward arrow imbed itself in the ground, missing him entirely.
The group rode hard and fast stretching the distance between themselves and the Enochian strongholds with each hoof beat on the steadily barren landscape. Now outside the border of Enochian territory, they were able to break from the guard's limited hold and into freedom.
The guards in question came to a reluctant halt, watching their quarries escape. Their lack of preparation kept them bound to the limitations of their own territory, and the Enochians feel into fitful silence. They feared they had failed their mission, and all present withdrew from the eyes of Zachariah, bowing their heads in submission.
The elder mage watched the humans flee with their prisoner in tow, yet he felt no anger to his people. "Be still, my followers." He said aloud, surprising all the guards present.
Each one shared a momentary glance, confusion for this leniency strong in their eyes.
"It seems that we were not to capture them after all. For remember what our Father has bidden: all things happen for a good cause." He turned to them again, a dark smile on his lips. "Be it known that you did not fail our people. The humans may have escaped, but our traitorous brethren cost himself dearly. Brother Castiel will not live to see the morn. And once his precious mate is no longer breathing, Deanolo will realize his folly. It is only a matter of time, my people." As he spoke, he turned to reenter the borders of their land with silence.
"But sir!" one young guard called, halting Zachariah in his footsteps. "What of the boy?"
Zachariah smirked, nodding his wizen head once. "The boy. Indeed that is a question to be sought. Find him, and ensure that his traitorous actions are rewarded accordingly." He spoke as he walked, guiding his men.
"Rest now and prepare to leave our borders. Our time is drawing near."
~*~
For the first time in hours, Dean felt his heart begin to settle, but this waning adrenaline only allowed his mind to wander to the grievous state of his lover, and worry pitted his stomach once again.
"We must slow, the ride is only harming him!" he cried, his grip faltering as Castiel nearly slipped from the saddle.
Robert nodded, slowing his own steed as the group came to a stop. He watched his charge handle the near-corpse in his arms with reverence, taking in the sight. "These people have done this to their own kind… it is… unthinkable…" he spat, anger welling within him.
D
ean nodded, but dared not to speak. Castiel had opened his eyes once again. "Castiel… focus on me, love." He whispered, holding him close.
Castiel groaned, curling into the warmth of Dean's arms. "Deanolo… have we succeeded…" he gasped, eyes heavy with exhaustion and blood loss.
Dean smiled weakly to his partner, brushing the dried locks from his eyes. "Yes, love. We survived their attacks and we are free. I will take you to a safe place, and you will be well again. I swear to you. But you must promise me that you will hold on as long as you possibly can on your own. When we reach a place to lay you, then we can properly help you heal."
Castiel didn't respond, a disbelieving thought in his eyes. "I cannot… I cannot guarantee anything…."
"Please… for me." Deanolo's eyes begged fervently.
The silence stretched on for another moment, before the silence was broken by the softest of grunts, surprise laden in Ashten's eyes. "My friends… I do not think… we have good news ahead." He murmured, eyes widening to the horizon before them.
At these foreboding words, the group turned their attention and dread filled their hearts.
Smoke floated to the sky, and it heralded from the location they were currently headed.
"Oh no… the Roadhouse! JOANNA!" Ellena cried, galloping hard past the others to each what she could only picture as the remains of their home. She was quickly followed by the others, the following moments a blur as panic took them over once again.
All too soon, the group came to a stop, staring in disbelief and shock at the remains before them. The Roadhouse was in complete shambles, smoke and fires burning low, wind howling through the remains like ghosts of their past crying out in the destruction. No movement caught their eyes for a moment, and Ellena wept silently for her daughter.
Dean stared in shock, his heart falling once again. The only place he could have taken his lover to mend was destroyed, everything gone. He gazed over the ruins, wide and shocked eyes scanning weakly for any sign of salvation amongst the rubble.
It was he who caught sight of the slightest of movements in the center of what had once been the tavern. "MOVEMENT! I see movement within the rubble!" he shouted, urging Impala forward slightly.
As the troupe came forth, the rubble shifted once again, and Crowley stood, clutching the terrified girl to his chest. His brow had been bloodied, his condition severely weakened, but he stood strong, his face ever the mask of dignity.
"JOANNA!" her mother cried in relief, rushing forward to take her trembling daughter into her arms. She smoothed a hand over the dirty golden locks, urging calm back into her daughter's form.
"Pamela is dead…" Crowley announced, clutching his broken ribs painfully. He turned and moved the rubble aside to reveal Charles.
He, too, was alive, but unconsciously. Below him the remains of the prophetic tapestry lay, his image complete. The other half of the prophecy was missing, along with its artist. "The prophecy is incomplete…" The Daemon added this last statement in a hushed tone, the thick silence engulfing them all. Nothing but the sounds of crackling wood fire filled their ears, the smoke thickening their air until they nearly choked.
"We must find shelter… and quickly." Robert said, breaking the silence that befell them. "There is a small town several leagues off that harbor fugitives. Their medical care is not very good, but it is the best we can do for him at this time…" he said to Dean, looking down at the too-still form of Castiel.
Dean nodded, silent as he listened. After a moment, he looked up, eyes determined. "Fetch Iofiel. He will ride most comfortably upon her. I will stay to guide him and keep him safe. Hurry. Night is falling."
As the others went about their business, preparing to find refuge in a town nearby, Dean cradled the dying mage close, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead and lips.
"I won't leave you…" he murmured, glancing up to the red sunset before him. "No matter what happens, I will be with you, Castiel. To the death."
Next Chapter (coming soon)
(Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8)