Fic: Prisoner of Love (4/?)
[ MASTERPOST ]
A/N: Here I present this chapter to you with a troubling heart. If my writing is good enough, then you will at least have the slightest idea where this is going. If not, then I'd probably get thrown cyber tomatoes, which will evolve to rotten ones in the next chapter. (I love tomatoes, btw. As long as you don't throw me broccoli or bell peppers, I won't hate you.)
Warnings for this chapter: Brief graphic depiction of a bloody scene and mentions of suicide.
Please give a big round of applause to phaelsafe who patiently beta read this chapter.
In other note, the first two chapters were re-posted with beta by alittlewicked48. Bravo! This story is now posted in AO3 as well. Another bravo! Now you may proceed…
~:~:~
"This has to stop!" Castiel threw his food tray on the table, causing a loud bang. It was a miracle he didn't spill all his food. Chuck and the other two inmates who were engaged in an easy conversation jumped simultaneously. The two inmates quickly grabbed their trays and moved to other tables, leaving Chuck huffy with annoyance.
"The hell, dude? I was talking!" Chuck wailed.
"It's not my fault everyone is disgusted with me," Castiel hissed. Why shouldn't they be? Even he was disgusted with himself.
"Oh, please, don't be a bitch," Chuck said with a roll of his eyes. "Everyone knows you're Dean's girl, and nobody messed with Dean's stuff. That's all."
"I'm not anyone's stuff!" Castiel snapped, getting up and hitting the table so hard everyone turned to stare in his direction. As soon as the whole canteen went dead silent, Cas realized what he had done and looked around discreetly. Some of the inmates' jaws actually dropped, and he heard a few others snickering from afar.
He slowly sat back down and was relieved to see everyone turn back to whatever they were doing earlier.
"Half of the people here respect Dean," Chuck hissed over the table. "And the rest fear him. So should you."
Castiel rubbed both hands over his face hard. He raised his shoulders and waved a hand at the inmate in front of him. "What about you?" he asked.
"I am not afraid of Dean," Chuck replied grimly.
"Why? Because you see things?"
Chuck shook his head slowly and let out a small sigh. "You should see his soul, Castiel."
Cas snorted. He thought Chuck wasn't afraid of Dean because he overpowered him, not because of some stupid implication that Dean had a beautiful soul or whatever!
"If you really see his soul, Chuck," Cas sneered. He hated Dean. He never hated anyone as much as he did Dean at this moment. "You should be afraid of him for being the monster that he is."
Chuck shook his head again, this time wearily. "Let me ask you something." He lowered his voice as if he didn't want anyone to overhear them. "Did Dean ever hurt you?"
In reply, Castiel simply presented the bruises on his wrists, his eyes fierce with anger.
Chuck made a dramatic roll of his eyes. He moved his face across the table and beckoned Castiel closer. Cas complied skeptically and Chuck asked, his voice barely a whisper, "Did he ever penetrate you?"
Castiel felt the blood drain from his face. He was sure at that moment he was paler than a blank piece of paper. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. When he spoke again, his voice was so rough it reminded him of sandpaper. "How much did you see?" he asked, keeping his voice as low as he could.
Chuck gave a satisfied nod and backed away. "I see enough," he said.
Castiel gulped hard. Perhaps Chuck had good reasons why he survived this place.
~:~:~
"Gabriel!" Castiel called as the other guy was returning his tray to the scullery. He pulled the guy around the corner, away from the majority of people.
"How do I request a cell change?" Castiel asked. Since Chuck wasn't helping, he turned to the only other person he knew in this place.
"Why would you want a cell change?" Gabriel asked casually, removing the lollipop from his mouth as he did so. "I believe you're in good hands, judging from what I heard last night." He snickered and popped the candy back into his mouth.
Castiel rolled back his head and groaned. "I can't let this go on anymore! I need to move out."
Gabriel narrowed his eyes up at him. He popped out the candy and whirled it around in the air. "Look around you, Cassie. How far do you think you can run in here?"
"As far as I could," Cas straightened his shoulders as he replied. Gabriel had a point, but still he had to do something about it.
Gabriel just stared back at him, the candy stick rolling around between his lips. After a brief moment, he took it out, stepping closer, and asked into Castiel's face, "How can you be sure your new cellmate won't do the same thing to you - or worse - now that they've all heard how you moan?"
Castiel felt like fire was creeping up his face, out of embarrassment or anger he could not tell. "You should see what he's turned me into!" he hissed, raising a finger in the shorter man's face in disdain. True, he could be raped, worse ways than he had been with Dean, but Castiel was pretty sure none of them could make him feel so low; none of them could make him feel like both prey and predator at the same time.
If Gabriel saw the rage or loathing in Castiel, he didn't wince. Instead, he said calmly, "What I can offer you, Castiel, is more intensive lessons. I will give steps you can practice on your own in your cell. If you can fight Dean, you can fight anyone."
"I can't fight Dean!" Cas lashed. "No one can fight him."
"It's true no one here can fight him," Gabriel replied with a nod, "but that doesn't mean you can't. You have potential."
Castiel groaned in frustration, throwing a punch at the wall next to them, leaving more bruises across his knuckles.
Just then the alarm blared, signaling them back to their stations or cells. Gabriel moved away with two pats to Castiel's back.
"I'll see you later, bro."
~:~:~
Castiel spent the entire morning seething and practicing what he had learned from Gabriel the other day while Dean was out on his job. His 'kung-fu' master may be right. If he could fight Dean, he could fight anyone, but he was not convinced that he had potential, seeing how his movements looked more like waddling than footwork. Even after lunchtime, when he was called in to see the correctional officer, he was still fuming, the smoke so thick he didn't see it coming when someone yanked him into what felt like a janitor closet. He was shoved against lockers; an arm locked tight over his throat, threatening to block his airway. It was completely dark, and Castiel could feel the hand that covered his mouth and hot breath over his face. He knew it wasn't Dean and fear gripped his heart.
"Listen to me carefully," the guy spoke and his voice was so cold it sent a chill down Cas' spine. "I'm here to help. I'm not going to hurt you."
If he wasn't so panicked, Castiel thought he might actually roll his eyes. Why did everyone start the conversation with these words when they were clearly hurting him?
"I know you want to request a transfer and I can help you with that," the guy continued. "If you promise not to scream, I will turn on the light and we can talk. Nod if you understand."
Castiel weighed his options. He could not-nod and risk being left here knocked out, if not dead. Or he could nod and when the light was on, he could assess the place and find a way to escape. Or he could just nod and listen to what the guy had to offer. Either way, nodding was the most sensible option, so he nodded.
"Good," the other man said, then the arm that locked around his throat slowly eased off and Castiel gasped for air. A click sounded from the darkness and light swarmed through the room.
Castiel was quite surprised that the guy didn't look as scary as his voice implied. He had short blond hair and sad blue eyes. If not for the few scars on his face, Castiel would think he was just a white-picket fence husband gone wrong.
The guy carefully removed his hand and Castiel studied the room. It was definitely a janitor's closet, but why would there be such a room in a prison Castiel couldn't understand. He could think of fifty crimes that could happen in here, and he shuddered at the thought. The door, however, was only to his left. If he dashed out really fast, maybe he could-
"Sorry I had to drag you in here," the man said sheepishly. His tone was genuinely apologetic Castiel reconsidered running away. "You have Dean's eyes on you all the time and this is the only safe place we can talk. People think this room is permanently locked."
Okay, so the guy seemed to know what he was talking about. However, the last sentence didn't sound very comforting. If no one knew he was here, it could be days, or forever, before someone found his body.
"The transfer," Castiel urged the talk on with a clear of his throat.
"Yes, the transfer," the guy returned with a small smile on his face. "You can file a request at the warden's office, but the thing is," he paused, pointing one finger into the air, "you won't be transferred unless there's a vacancy, which currently, there isn't."
Castiel's heart sank. So he had to be stuck with Dean for God knows how long. Maybe he could file a request and wait until someone moved out? But considering this place was more of a permanent residence than a motel, he may not outlive that time.
"But," the guy continued. Did he just sing-song? "I can file another request and with two requests a transfer should be possible."
Castiel squinted his eyes. That sounded too good to be true. He didn't believe anyone here would do anything out of a goodness of his own heart. "Why would you do that?" he asked.
"Someone needs to stand up to Dean," he said, his face suddenly solemn. "You see how everyone appeases him and ignores what he did to you? I may have done wrong in the past, Castiel; doesn't mean I have to tolerate it now."
Yes! Finally someone sympathized with him and had the guts to go against Dean. Out of this context, Castiel would befriend him right about now.
Raising his chin, Castiel remained collected and asked, "Who's your bunk mate?"
"Uriel. I believe you have met him."
Castiel shuddered at the name. How could he forget? And now he had to move from Dean to Uriel? Uh-uh. He was glad he was smart enough to ask.
"Wait, in the shower the other day," Castiel asked. He remembered someone stopped Uriel from advancing upon him, though he couldn't quite remember the voice. "Was that you?"
The guy nodded slightly.
"I don't think I would want to share the bed with Uriel, though," Castiel said plainly. The guy must be mad if he thought he would choose Uriel over Dean.
"And I want to share it with Dean? Please!" He wailed with a puff. "I know the person who'd arrange the transfer; they can put us together. Now just think how fun it would be if Dean and Uriel were in the same cell," he said with that mischievous look on his face. "He won't see it coming if we kept it secret."
Castiel had to agree the idea was very intriguing, but could he really trust a guy who had just kidnapped him into a room that had no way in?
"I didn't get your name," Castiel said pointedly.
"Call me Nick."
"Alright, Nick." Because Castiel couldn't think of any indirect way to ask, so he asked bluntly, "Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't trust anyone here," Nick replied with a smirk. "But to prove that I am on your side, I can teach you how to pick this lock that nobody else can," Nick said. "It's designed to keep prisoners out. Really, it's just overly complex, and I've had a lot of experience with picking ridiculous locks." His expression faltered slightly, and he muttered almost too softly to be heard, "amongst other things."
A few 'felony' tricks would be nice while he served his time here. Considering the offer, Cas remained silent for a few more moments, waiting to see if Nick had anything else to offer.
And he did. "I can get you a job too," he continued nonchalantly, "Which would give you some leverage."
If asked, Castiel could only say a hundred different things ran through his mind at that moment. Eventually the sentence Castiel chose as a reply was, "No." Even though he knew he was in no position to negotiate, he did anyway. "Teach me how to escape restraints, and then we're talking."
~:~:~
That afternoon Gabriel worked him hard; the lesson went so far as to send Castiel flying in the air and landing with a thud. Castiel groaned in pain. He had managed to get himself more bruises in one day than Dean had inflicted on him in three.
"Ouch," Gabriel cried and winced dramatically. "That must hurt considering your ass was already bruised," the short man mocked him, whirling one hand in the air. The two tall guys, whose names Castiel learned were Danny and Roy, burst out laughing.
"Get your ass up!" Gabriel roared and Castiel complied with much difficulty. He wouldn't want to imagine how painful it would be if his ass was actually already bruised as they assumed.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Gabriel howled again, clutching Castiel's scrub top with both hands. Their faces were so close Castiel thought he might have felt the other's spit on his face. "Are you enjoying your time with Dean so much you don't want to fight him anymore? Spare me then and stop wasting my time!"
Castiel searched his brain for the right answer. He wanted so damn badly to fight Dean earlier but now that he glimpsed hope of moving out of Dean's cell and had the possibility of getting a job, he didn't see the point of fighting anymore. Castiel had always prided himself as one who solved every problem with a civilized approach as opposed to barbaric ones, and he'd very much prefer to maintain that integrity even in impossible places such as this.
But before he could get the transfer, he still had to spend nights with Dean. He may be able to escape the binding, but he still had to fight, and who knows when that bastard would think he had had enough and decide to shove his dick up Castiel's ass? So, yes, the answer would be a yes, naturally.
"No, I don't enjoy my time with Dean," Castiel replied through gritted teeth. "And yes, I want to fight him."
If anything, he needed to gain control over himself. He didn't want to think what kind of a person Dean would turn him into - if it was anything humane at all.
"Good boy," Gabriel patted Cas twice upon the cheeks. "Now put your hands up!"
~:~:~
Castiel was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because he was wearing his dark blue business suit and tan trench coat, whereas his sister, who was sitting on a blanket in the middle of the back yard, was only five. It was their parents' house, the house where they grew up, the house that existed no longer.
"Castiel!" Anna called out to him, smiling brightly, her beautiful red hair shining in the sun. She inherited the auburn from their mother's mother, while he got his dark brown from their father's side.
Castiel smiled back warmly, walking towards her. Anna was a smart kid. She could pronounce his name correctly since before she was two years old. He sat down on the blanket. His sister was having a tea party, her favorite role to play.
"What are you serving today?" he asked, looking at the plastic pots and pans and kitchenware that lay around her. The trimming on her lacy white dress embellished the checkered red-and-white blanket she was sitting on.
His sister looked at him, studying his face for a moment with a dramatic, serious look on her own. He knew that underneath the innocence of a five-year-old, Anna understood things her peers wouldn't until they were several years older.
"You looked stressed." She observed. "I see anger and… fear?"
Castiel chuckled gently. His sister's words and actions would be cute if they weren't so creepily accurate. "What do you know about anger and fear?" he asked, ruffling her soft, long hair. "You are only five."
Anna waved him away grumpily with both hands, offended. "I know your anger and fear come from many sources," she replied with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest.
"All right, angel," Castiel said, trying his best to feign a smile. Anna may be smart, but this definitely was not the insight of someone her age. It was disturbing rather than amusing, but he didn't want to hurt his little sister's feelings. "I'm hungry. Would you make me something to eat, please?"
Smiling widely, Anna pretended to cook a meal with her plastic utensils until she put an empty teacup, an empty water glass, and an empty plate in front of him. "Here's your chamomile tea. It should help you relax and help with your bruises, as will this spinach baked with cheese and pineapple juice."
Castiel tried hard to hide the way he cringed. Anna's expansive knowledge was downright eerie. How did she know which foods benefited what aches and pains? And how could she tell he had bruises? He glanced down at his wrists; they were milky clean.
"Castiel! Anna!"
He was chilled to the bones as their names were called. Castiel turned to look. Standing on the porch was their mother, as young and as vibrant as he remembered her from old photographs.
"Dinner is ready," she called again, a beautiful smile adorning her lips.
Anna beamed, dropping everything she had in hand and standing up. She waited until he stood up, then she stretched her arms up, her fingers barely reaching his shoulders. He took the hint and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up. She tangled her arms over his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist, nuzzling into his neck.
"When I grow up," Anna said over his shoulder while they were walking to the house. "Can I be your mommy?"
It wasn't the first time he'd heard this. Castiel laughed, happy to have his innocent sister back. "Why?" he asked, despite knowing full well why.
"Because I want to cook for you like mommy cooks for us!" She beamed happily.
Chuckling, Castiel replied softly, kissing her cheek, "You can still be my sister and cook for me, you know?"
"Oh," she cried in a very small voice, then rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "So, can I start now?"
Without waiting for an answer, she wriggled herself out of Castiel's hold. Once she set foot on the ground, she ran straight to the house.
"Anna!"
Castiel tried to stop her, but she had already disappeared. A few seconds later, a piercing shriek returned to him.
"Anna!"
In a state of panic, Castiel rushed into the house. He stopped, seeing Anna was standing in the hallway, her eyes widening in shock as she stared at something in the kitchen. Her whole body was trembling, and Castiel dreaded every step he took as he drew nearer.
Blood. As he rounded the island, he found crimson blood. Dark, viscous blood pooled on the floor, growing as he inched further. Foul smells hit him sharply, but he fought the urge to gag. Curiosity and terror battled for dominance over his wobbly legs. Finally his curiosity won out and he walked in, exposing himself to the horrendous scene laying before his eyes.
Lying there were his parents, their faces contorted grotesquely, out of shock or terror Castiel could not tell. Their limbs were also unnaturally bent; he wouldn't want to imagine the excruciating pain it took to acquire the posture. Even more horrifying, however, was their torsos. They were torn open, shredded with bloody, slimy, yucky guts spilling out onto the ground.
His knees buckled and Castiel flopped, throwing up right where he was. It wasn't until his stomach emptied and he felt prickly acid burn along his esophagus that he thought of Anna. His little sister could not see this - his naïve little angel.
"Anna!"
Looking around, he saw nobody. Then he got a glimpse of little red hair in white dress running out and away through the backdoor.
"Anna!"
~:~:~
Castiel jerked awake, sitting up, drenched in sweat. The dreams had come back to him again. Since that incident, not a night had passed without him having a nightmare about his parents' murder. Every. Single. Night. Castiel dreaded those dreams. They were too vivid and too cruel.
He had tried going without sleep, but there was only so much his body could bear. The dreams returned again when he finally passed out, mocking him like a mean prankster. After that, he resorted to sleeping pills, only to find even drug-induced sleep was not immune to those nightmares. Then he thought of suicide, attempted it even.
There was one night he woke up, feeling so fed up he thought that was it. That was the night he was going to end it all. He ran into the kitchen, grabbing the biggest knife at hand and setting it against his throat. He stood like that for twenty minutes, the cold metal hardly scratching his skin. When he realized that this kind of suicide needed more courage than he could afford, he threw the knife away and moved to grab the bottle of bathroom cleaner. Closing his eyes and gulping it down couldn't be so hard, he reasoned. That is, until he brought the bottle close to his face. Its sharp smell cut through his nostrils and he suddenly winced.
Putting the bottle back down, he dropped to the floor and sobbed until he was a mess. In the end, he resolved to accept it like a malignant cancer in his body; malignant because it ate away at his soul, slowly walking him to his death. His only wish was that it would happen sooner rather than later.
He flopped back onto his pillow, feeling exhausted. Now that he was having nightmares again, he hadn't realized he had been free of them in the first place. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually had one of those dreams. What had changed to stop them, and now, to bring them back? Did it have something to do with him being in prison?
The morning call blared loudly, startling him. He exhaled, long and hard, one hand clutching at his thumping chest. His heartbeat barely calmed down when he heard clattering from the bunk above and he cursed everything that contributed to him already being so jumpy today.
Dean slid down to the floor, and Castiel hoped Dean would quickly disappear like always. But Dean didn't. He paused at the open bars and Castiel waited with a frightful, throbbing heart. To his relief, Dean didn't turn back to him as he had expected, but continued striding out and away.
Dean-
Something was different. Castiel couldn't recall any unpleasant memories from last night. Either nothing had happened or he could not remember it. He examined his wrists. Except for the old bruises that were now turning dark and purple, he didn't see any new marks. Or he couldn't differentiate the new ones from the old. He rubbed his palm all over his body, to see if there were any additional cuts or bruises, any new pains, but there weren't any.
Something was seriously wrong.
~:~:~
Castiel rushed to the table where Chuck was sitting, bumping into a few inmates along the way. They just glared at him and walked away when he muttered his apologies. He sat down opposite them, and Chuck and the other two inmates stared back at him.
"G… good morning," he said, cautiously turning to meet their gazes. It wouldn't be nice if there were people around when he asked Chuck what he wanted to ask.
Chuck had resumed eating his breakfast. "Your friends?" Castiel asked, gesturing to the other two people at the table.
"I don't have friends," Chuck replied flatly. Judging from how the other two chuckled, Castiel didn't think they were offended. They even gladly moved away when Chuck shooed them.
Castiel took the first chance. "I need to ask you something," he started. "Did I-" he stopped. Did I what? Did I have sex with Dean last night? He didn't realize how awkward his question could be until he tried to utter it. "Did you-" he tried again and failed. Did you what? Did you hear me moan last night? Oh, God, could he be more disgusting?
"If you were going to ask whether I heard any indecent activities from your cell last night," Chuck extended the courtesy of asking the unsaid question himself, and Castiel couldn't be more grateful, "the answer is no."
Castiel let out a heavy sigh of relief. Perhaps Dean had lost interest in him, and now he could serve his sentence with dignity, not disgrace.
"Look," Chuck said, a serious tone in his voice. "See that table down the hall?"
Looking over Chuck's shoulders, Castiel saw rows of tables and he had no idea which one Chuck was talking about. He saw, however, his friend talking to some guys at a too crowded table.
"That guy," Chuck said pointing in Nick's direction. "Everyone calls him Lucifer."
Castiel shuddered at the name. He couldn't for the life of him understand why anyone would name the nicest guy in this place after the Devil.
"Look at everyone sitting around his table," Chuck ordered. Castiel did and he noticed Uriel was also among those people. "Remember all their faces. Imprint them in your mind, and avoid them at all cost."
Castiel gaped at Chuck's words. He didn't know how to begin asking for logical reasons behind them. Then Castiel figured if they worshiped the person who abused and molested him, and called the only person who sympathized with and stood up for him Satan, he may be hanging out with the wrong people.
Chuck got up, collecting his tray and walking around to give Castiel a pat on the shoulder.
"Brace yourself, Castiel. Shit is just getting real."
~:~:~
A/N: Feel free to let me know what you think of this chapter. The next one will be told from Dean's POV, and a lot of your questions will be answered. Until then... have a marvelous 2013!