Fallen but Not Broken {Destiel}

Chapter 9: Am I Dreaming?

"So, what do you think it is?" Castiel asked from the backseat, trying to make conversation to end the silence that hah begun once they all piled into the Impala.

"Don't know yet. Like Dean said, no bite marks even though the blood was drained. Probably not vampires, but we can never be too sure," Sam peered back into the backseat to gain eye contact with the fallen angel.

"Could also be a Djinn," Dean squinted at the road through the clear windshield, straining to see past the headlights in the darkness.

"True, but those are rare, especially the ones that feast on blood instead of energy. I'm willing to bet that it's a clan of vampires that had a few sloppy rookies," Sam looked over to his brother, eyes dead on the road.

"Like you said, we can't rule anything out," Dean spat in his brother's direction.

~~~

Sam and Dean went inside the station to question the coroner. They didn't want to raise suspicion with Castiel's... tactics, so they asked him to stay outside. This was something they'd come to regret.

While Cas was admiring the stars, calling out to his Father, asking his where-abouts and why he hasn't answered him, he was struck in the back of the head. He fell with a thud to the thick cement, a slight drip of blood trickling down the side of his face. The man caressed with many tattoos dragged him around the corner and disappeared into the night.

~~~

Castiel was wrung up on some pole, hands tied together above his head, forcing him to stand, his body completely stretched which he knew if he was left like this it would prove to be quite painful. His head was aching, he could feel his brain throbbing against the back of his skull, threatening to pour out across the cold floor of the abandoned warehouse.

He slowly swung his head around form side to side, taking in his close surroundings through his pain-induced foggy vision. He made out tubes, tubes leading from IV bags, tangling themselves from the hospital stand to the ground, then wrapping around Castiel's body, further encasing him in a trap. He scanned the rest of the room and all he could make out was a warm touch to his head, and he looked up to meet a pair of glowing blue eyes. He felt his eyelids drag down and enclosed his vision with darkness before he drifted off.

~~~

"We're here," Dean beamed over at the boy in the trench coat next to him.

Castiel studied his face. He was definetly Dean, but somehow it wasn't. It was a much younger Dean, he would guess that he was about seventeen years old. He saw the figures darting out from the back of the car through the window as they skipped by. He knew one of them for certain, he could never forget that face; it was stained into his memory, reminding him of black dust in the form of wings spread on the gound around his brother's lifeless body. It was Gabriel. The other boy must've been Sam, his hair still long and shaggy just like the present Sam he knew well.

He wondered what he was doing there, one minute ago he was in a shabby, worn-down warehouse, and now he was seated in the Impala, with a beautiful boy smiling at him with light green eyes. Suddenly he knew why they were there. He remembered. Dean had invited him to accompany him to the arcade with their brothers tagging along.

When he noticed Castiel starring at him, he cheered, "Okay, ready to head in, Cas?"

Castiel felt himself smile at the mention of his name, "Yeah, I'm sure it'll be fun!"

They walked into the arcade, black lights decorating the ceiling and replacing other light fixures.

"Well, atleast there's no way I can lose you!" Castiel joked, glancing at Dean's white shirt, that was now illuminating a light shade of purple onto his face.

"Darn," Dean smirked.

Castiel watched Dean race around the world for what felt like hours, and knowing Dean's love for cars, it probably was. He stared off past the screen, thinking of the older Dean. 

Cas, Cas! Damn it Cas, stay with me! Don't you dare shut your eyes!

The young Dean pulled him from the haunting whisper. He saw Dean point to a machine and unknowingly agreed to duel him. He focused on what was happening and realized Dean was waiting for him at the Dance Dance Revolution game towards the center of the room. 

 He padded over to him. He couldn't hear what Dean was saying, he was too dazed with confusion. He saw Dean staring back at him, and realized he asked a question. "Whatever is good for you. I don't mind," Castiel shrugged.

"If you say so," Dean chose a song and stepped back onto the platform.

Castiel immediately recognized the song, and his tensing ceased. The song was Don't Stop Believin', which Dean had played countless times within the span that Cas had known him. When the brothers insisted the angel travel with them if he wanted to hunt, he gave in, and this was one of the first songs Dean had selected for their road trip.

Between his thoughts and confusion, Castiel hadn't even realized that the arrows had already started to appear on his side of the screen. He trampled over himself trying to keep up, but to no avail. Dean was doing fine and looked over at the other boy every once in a while and smiled.

Soon, it was too much for Castiel to handle. His own human feet gave out on him, and he found himself tripping over himself. Preparing himself for the fall, he was surprised to find himself in Dean's arms. Dean glanced down at Cas' lips, and leaned ever so slowly towards him. 

What is he doing? Why is he leaning towards me? Why do I feel like this?

"Ready to go guys?" Gabe approached, pulling off pieces of candyfloss from the wand in his right hand, and tossing some between his lips.

Castiel jumped at the chance to talk to his brother, who as far as he could remember, was last seen dead across the floor. Before Dean could look down, he had darted from his arms and to his brother's side. He made desparate conversation just to hear his voice. 

 "You guys have fun?" Castiel smiled, seeing his brother in what was years.

Cas! Don't give in, it's a trick!  the whisper from before had returned. He looked around to find the source of the voice, but only met the eyes of the man stationed at the prize counter, painted with tattoos. Castiel cocked his head to the side. Something seemed fimiliar about him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.