"understand your own heart before you handle another." jh hard
☁
With all three of them sitting in the Impala, they were working fast and hard to try to locate the license plate. Charlie had her own computer, laying in the backseat, typing fast and quick. Her fingers typing on the keys, just typing in the license plate number and waiting for it to load.
Dean was calling different hunters who lived in the area, trying to tell them to keep watch of the familiar black van with the specific plate. His voice was ushered and quiet, trying to keep as calm as possible. Yet with every decline that the hunters had said, saying that they haven't seen the van, Dean would get more and more frustrated and alarmed, anticipating what would happen to Castiel.
It was three hours since Castiel had supposedly disappeared. Three goddamn hours. It only takes minutes to kill somebody, seconds to hurt them. The angel could have been out of state by now, to the middle of Nebraska or some other state like that. Internalized fear overwhelmed Dean, as he couldn't even fathom the immaculate pain that the almost-angel could be in at the moment. Lucifer was capable of so many horrific things, and he does not give any mercy to anybody. Even if it was his own blood.
Dean, sitting in the driver's seat of course, was trying to focus on his breathing. He continuously looked at his watch, but with each glance only a few minutes had gone by, and still nothing about the van. His heart churned like a salt water sea, the waves crashing down absently, just grateful that it managed to do so. He could feel his waves stopping, the moon disappearing as the waves of his chest ceased, thumping like a pinch so delicate as if it was a hazy, synthetic beat. The feeling of being complete, was now being taken away from him.
Castiel was the one who completed him, in a way that was so complex that words couldn't describe it. No dictionary, no thesaurus, no poem, could give into the details that Dean felt towards the almost-angel. No woman's body or no men's touch gave him the feeling that Castiel didn't even do to him. Dean hasn't seen him exposed, Dean hasn't planted kisses on him, yet Dean felt like he had so much more than that. He wouldn't be satisfied until women gave him their bodies, yet Castiel didn't do any of that, and Dean felt like he was complete just by being around him.
Yet, Dean wanted more. He was selfish, wanting him all to himself. Nobody wanted to touch him the way he wanted to like Dean did. He wanted to capture every moment on a camera, even though Dean wasn't the one for photography or selfies. Every moment he had with him was perfect, and somebody needed to capture the perfectionism that Castiel forsook to Dean. His touch, the way his hands felt under the sunlight, how smooth and unblemished they were, like he had never thrown a punch or never worked a day in his life. His voice, the velveteen of his voice, tasting like melted chocolate drizzling down a waterfall, edged with gray.
He couldn't take it. He couldn't bare the pain that somebody he loved was out there, possibly being tortured physically and emotionally. His dignity masked his face, trying to convey his emotions.
"Charlie, would you hurry the hell up?" Dean barked, turning around to face the mentioned.
Charlie looked up, her face painted with guilt. She was trying the best she could, looking at different surveillance cameras trying to follow the path the van had went. She saw the look on Dean's face, the look of despair and desperation, lost of hope. His face painted a thousand words, telling her, Charlie, please. I'm trying not to break down, I'm trying not to scream. I need your help. I love him. She understood from a single expression, she understood that Dean meant no harm, and that he was terrified.
"I've almost tracked it." she promised him something that couldn't be broken, and if it was, their own relationship would be broken itself.
Dean nodded, licking his lips and looking back at the road. Dean decided to turn on the car's ignition, Baby purring and ready to go. Sam looked up, slightly startled by the sound of the Impala.
"I got it!" she yelled, charging her fist in the air with triumph. "Clay Center. An hour and forty minutes away."
A hundred minutes. Six thousand seconds. That could be three thousands stabs, judging by the strength of Lucifer's vessel. Liters of blood, gallons of tears, hundreds of stabs, thousands of slashes. Dean ran his fingers through his hair, putting Baby in reverse. He could do an hour. Dean slightly smiled for the first time in two hours.
"We're coming for you, Cas." he said as he pushed the gas petal and started going eighty miles per hour. His green eyes focused on the road but his mind focused on blue.
☁
Castiel, sobbing tormenting tears, was trying to beg Balor to let him go. He wouldn't budge, no matter what Castiel said to him.
"Shut up, motherfucker!" Balor would scream, slapping him across the face, causing Castiel's tears to cease and his cheek to ache.
Now, Castiel was even more scared of cars. The van was going as fast as it could, trying to reach whatever destination it needed. With each bump that the van ran over, it would vibrate through the back, causing his already wounds to throb. He had slashes across his face, above his eyebrow and one across his cheek. He knew he didn't have time.
The van went to a subtle stop, the turning and twisting of the gears whispered to Castiel that they were there.
Fear rattled through each and every bone, and goosebumps appeared on his skin as the night's air was chilling. The van door was opened and Castiel could see the only light he would see in a while, the moon. The moon that rocked his waves, so delicately it was like soft, brittle hands playing the piano, and with each note was a broken bone. The moon that promised him the sun would come up soon, the moon that planted a light kiss on his face, revealing his tears.
He was heaved out of the van, being pushed around like an object, like he didn't matter. He knew that they were trying to hurt him, just not kill him, yet. Through it all, Castiel focused on who will be saving him, who loved him. It wasn't Sam, as Cas thought of him as a friend, he always supported him in his decisions and was always kind to him. It wasn't Charlie, as she was a close friend to Cas, she taught him how to express his love to Dean. It wasn't Bobby, or John, or any of his brothers.
It was Dean. It was Dean all along, from the moment Castiel screamed out in agony, from the moment of his last breath, it will always be Dean. Although Dean broke him, he was patient with him and put him back together. Piece by piece, Castiel fell for him over and over again. No matter where he was, no matter who he was with, he fell. He fell for the way he smiled, his teeth shining brighter than anything in the room. His eyes, and the unnatural iridescence it shone. His words, his voice, his breath.
He knew he would come and rescue him. Save him from the flotsam he felt imprisoned in, save him from the saline sea he was drowning in. Give him purpose, give him breath. Give him a reason to fall, a reason to be broken. Because, the worst thing that could possibly happen, was feeling hopeless for nothing.
Balor dragged the trench-coated angel into an uninhabited warehouse, with nothing inside. Nothing but both fresh and dry blood that was staining the concrete floor. Nothing but devilish laughter and smiles. Nothing but chains hanging from the ceiling, edged with rust.
"Dagon, take him." Balor declared.
The mentioned took him by the tie, choking him then fearlessly grabbing fistfuls of his overcoat. The demon pushed him against the wall and began shackling Castiel with the rusted chains, the rotting feeling gave him a taste of copper and iron.
It all felt similar, once again. When he was in agonizing pain, with his upper back chipping away from fear, giving out to the grace, breaking his wings. When he lost his masquerade of freedom, being given sight to what was real. What all felt real, what all was real. Touches that sent Castiel shivers down his spine. Feelings that gave him a sense of desire, wanting the different heartbeats he could feel. Wanting Dean.
It all never changed. He still felt the harrowing passion he had always felt for Dean. He still yearned for his touch, his voice. He wanted him, to plant kisses on his cheeks and his hands, comforting him, telling Cas that he would be okay, that they would be okay. He wanted him to comfort him through all of this, saving him, hunting things, the family business. He wanted to be apart of that, he wanted to fight for Dean, to fight for his family. Castiel desired to be included, to want attention. He felt selfish and greedy, but everybody wants attention, especially him.
Falling as an angel, he lost sense to innocence. He then understood what it felt like for his heart to beat for a purpose, to guide others into freedom.
Castiel struggled against the chains, having them above his head made him queasy and uneasy. The cold, ambiance of the air sent goosebumps around his arms and around his legs, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. He didn't know what any of these people would do to him, but he did know for certain why. He hated himself for becoming human, yet he loved it at the same time. He loved being human, just feeling real, having a sole purpose.
He watched, his eyes vigilant and tearful, as Dagon, a former demon as well, picked up an angel blade from a dead angel off to the side. Her blonde hair soaked with blood, laying limp on the floor. Castiel recognized her as Muriel. He didn't know much about her but he recognized her by the coaled black wings that were encrusted on the floor. His eyes snapped back up to Dagon, her eyes following his.
"So you are Castiel?" she asked, walking around him, twirling the angel blade in between her hands, the tips of her fingers tapping the top of the blade. "Are you going to be just as desperate for life as she was?"
She stepped closer to him, getting inches from his face as blood soaked down his forehead. The small blade slowly entranced the layer of Castiel's skin. His white dress shirt was opened up and already bruised with purple and green, yet the blade trickled down his stomach, slashing him down. "Or are you going to give up and tell us what you know?"
Castiel yelped out in pain, putting his head against the concrete pillar that he was attached to. He grunted through the agonizing slice, wishing it to be over at last. Yet, it didn't, Dagon taunted him more with harsh words and with the tip of her tongue, she called him worthless, nothing. Castiel looked back down, his head hanging in defeat already.
"What do you know about the Winchesters?" she barked, twisting the blade around his forearm, teasing him.
"Nothing." Castiel replied, his voice weak and infertile. He would do anything to protect them.
"Let me ask again," Dagon growled, her voice rising up in heat and anger. Her eyes snapped back up to face Castiel, the pupils of her irises expanding. "What do you know about Sam and Dean Winchester?"
Castiel sighed, trying to convince her. "I do not know anything about them."
Another slice across his upper arm made him grunt in pain. Castiel would risk everything for them, no matter what. He loved them all, wanting them to be safe. He couldn't imagine Lucifer finding their bunker and finding out all their secrets, killing everybody they knew and loved.
"Yes, you do!" her voice thundered.
Castiel didn't care about his life that was on the line. At the moment, all he cared about was trying to convince her that he knew nothing about the Winchesters. Yet he knew everything about them. He wanted to be their guardian angel, shielding them away from the demons and angels that would soon try to hurt them. He could not let that happen, even if it meant everything.