Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2556071.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Castiel, Sam_Winchester, Michael_(Supernatural), Ellen
      Harvelle, Jo_Harvelle, Original_Male_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Rape, Cowboy_Dean, Cowboy_Sam, Cowboys, Alpha/
      Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Alpha_Dean_Winchester, Omega_Castiel
  Series:
      Part 2 of Vintage_Tales_of_ABO
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-02 Chapters: 2/? Words: 6995
****** Desperado ******
by J3_(CaseMatthews)
Summary
     Michael always says Castiel's safer when he travels on his own. But
     when their train pulls over in the middle of the night and men with
     guns storm it; there's not much Castiel can do but hope and pray they
     don't find him.
     Of course they do. And that's where outlaw, cowboy Dean Winchester
     comes in. And who the hell is he to pass up an omega?
     Cowboy!Dean, come on now...
Notes
     Inspired by obsessing over The Assassination of Jesse James because
     it is awesoooome.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Desperado *****
Castiel always travels in a separate carriage—he doesn’t like it, but that’s
just how it works.
And at least this way he’s left to his own thoughts—and the mindless chatter
from strangers merging loudly into his conscious is never a worry, he’s rarely
left terrified that someone will ignore his oppositions. But an omega on the
road is dangerous at best, so he stays well hidden—no lantern or candle to
light his way and no company to keep him occupied on cool summer nights like
this. Michael goes out of his way to convince Castiel that this is the best
route, no questions asked, and Castiel is inclined to believe him. At least, he
doesn’t have a choice but to.
 It’s cool, but it’s not cold, and the ragged shirt hanging from one sun-kissed
shoulder, the wool slacks and leather boots do their job to a decent
satisfaction, so he can’t complain. Although a coat would make a decent blanket
through the midnight sky, this will do because it always does. He doesn’t have
that luxury.
They’ve been travelling for three days now, from Mississippi through the
Western territory to reach Nevada before Castiel’s heat. Michael feeds him only
on pit stops and he’s accompanied with prying eyes to the privy when the time
claims him, but otherwise, he’s alone. Except, maybe, for the nest of birds
currently sleeping along the wooden rafters – Castiel thinks that maybe they’re
Blue Jays, from the colouring of one quick wing he saw the other night. Then
again, Castiel’s knowledge of bird species is about as varied as his knowledge
of snakes, in that, if put down to it, it doesn’t exist. Beyond knowing to
leave them well alone, of course.
A few more minutes of silence save the steady rhythm of the wheels on the track
and the chug of thick smoke filling the night sky, and the train comes to a
screeching stop. It’s slow at first, but then Castiel’s thrown neatly into the
corner of the carriage from his upright position near its centre, his head
connecting harshly with the wood. He rubs it as he listens.
If they were at a stop (and Castiel highly doubts they are) the bustling sound
of restless people would make itself known, even in the darkness, but
everything’s just…silent. Eerily so.
Castiel hauls himself up with a hand on the wall and toes as quietly as he can
over to door—where a long, inches wide crack has merged itself into the wood.
He peeks out into the darkness and waits patiently.
They could have just broken down, of course, but…
And then the gunshot sounds and the lights (lanterns) appear—five, six, seven –
illuminating men with bandanas over the bottom halves of their faces, hats
shadowing their eyes, each one clutching a rifle in their gloved hands and
climbing onto the train further down than Castiel’s own carriage with merry,
terrifying jeers.
Screaming sounds and Castiel’s heart pounds heavily in his chest as he throws
himself backwards; drums reminding him of his past, of his very near, very
dangerous future if he’s discovered.
Wind rolls past and the scent of alpha makes itself stubbornly known as Castiel
wonders mutely if he might throw up. He deduces it’s a high possibility.
More gunshots and men file into the train as soon as Castiel breathed deeply
enough to look, all of them gone until just one’s left back outside on the
dusty bank beside the track, a lantern held high over his head. Castiel can
make out the hat, the bandana and the duster reaching his ankles, but that’s
it—the rest cast in threatening shadows as he watches and waits with unnerving
finality. Castiel’s breath leaves him in heavy gulps.
Shouting carries itself through the air—coming from outside the carriage,
floating through the windows and the man outside waves a hand to the train,
lifts his gun and fires into the air, smoke billowing around him. Castiel jumps
then and leaps back again, crawling over the floor on his backside until he
connects with the back wall and huddles up there, clutching at himself, hoping
they don’t think the dirty carriages at the back are worth checking over,
praying they don’t wander close enough to smell him.
He waits like that, limbs curled tightly to his body in protection, waiting,
watching the sliver of silvery light at the crack along the bottom of the
sliding door.
Minutes go by: ten, twenty, each one filled with gun shots, screams and
shouts—before finally, once Castiel’s decided that his body trembling isn’t
from the cold, noise moves outside the train again.
“Have a nice trip!” one man calls out, his voice close enough to be understood
through the night air. Castiel crawls back to his corner and tries not to
breath.
“Billy, will you shut up, please. Christ sake, get over here and help me.”
“Yap, yap, yap. You know, I’m getting tired o’ your orders. I ain’t your slave
boy.”
“Shut up and load the horses, will ya?”
Three separate men, all close enough, all within scenting distance. Castiel
couldn’t breathe even if he wanted to at this point.
“Hang up now, we ain’t checked this one.”
Fuck.
Castiel gulps in and almost chokes on the air, pressing himself impossibly
tight to the wood at his back, his knees to his chin.
“What, you wanna steal some cattle? Great, yeah, ‘cause that ain’t suspicious.
Come on, we’re going, we’ll leave your sorry ass here.”
A creak sounds from someone’s hand at the carriages door, so close Castiel can
smell the old leather and dust worn wool, the sun warmed alpha beneath it all.
He stands because he’s not a coward. His legs tremble beneath him, but he drags
himself upright, propped against the wall to face the impending threat, drawing
in breaths until his chest is huffed out. He waits.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”
And the hand goes. The shadow of boots along the door’s bottom disperses and
heavy boots on the dust outside grow slightly fainter as the figure draws
further away. Castiel wonders if his legs are going to give out from the sheer
relief…
“Hey, Benjie, wait a second. You smell that?”
Castiel freezes.
“Yeah, smoke, come on, you lazy bastard, we gotta go…”
“No, shut up a minute. Come ‘ere.”
Footsteps draw near again, two sets until Castiel can see their thighs outside,
right up against the carriage’s door. A breath catches tight in his throat as
he waits, already knowing how dead he is…
“Damn, fuck—”
And the door slides open.
Castiel wants to scream, but he doesn’t let himself—he just stands upright,
with his head held high, his whole body trembling as he watches the two men
climb in, leather clad and terrifying, their faces completely covered. The only
kind of save and grace though is their scent. They’re both betas.
“Well, looky here,” one says, holding up a lantern to illuminate Castiel’s
trembling form. His voice is humoured. “What d’you know, Billy, you were
right.”
“Told you I smelt somethin’,” the other replies, walking in closer, his gun
poised in his hand.
The worst part is that Castiel knows he won’t be killed, at least not yet. An
omega, days away from his heat, useless and young and locked away in a train
carriage is worth a hell of a lot more than any dead body. And that scares him
more than anything else ever could.
“Go get the others,” the one with the lantern says, and the gunslinger jumps
down and goes. Lantern man tugs down the bandana and tilts his hat back,
revealing a relatively light face narrowed with curiosity and humour. He steps
forward, Castiel flinches back. His voice is soft when he smiles and says,
“Jumpy little thing, aren’t you? Now what are you doing all by yourself, all
alone in a dingy old carriage?”
Castiel doesn’t answer, but he tilts his chin up defiantly, holding his arms
steadfastly to his side so they don’t hug at torso instead. He doesn’t need to
be perceived as any weaker than he already is.
The man chuckles at the same second three more men join the other beta in
climbing back aboard the carriage. When Castiel breathes, he wants to cry.
They’re all alphas. Three of the bastards, pulling their bandanas down and
tilting their hats back like the lantern beta, each peering at him with nothing
more than morbid, deadly curiosity, guns in holsters or clutched in their
hands.
One steps forward, an average heighted man with a scruffy beard, which he
scratches in what can only be described as contemplation. He sinks to his
haunches.
“Damn,” he breathes.
Castiel feels like a Van Gogh painting, drawing harsh, piercing eyes like
nothing else and he’d like nothing more than to curl up and just die, because
he knows what’s going to happen. He knows exactly what he’s going to become.
The alpha steps forward briskly when he stands, crowding at Castiel, pushing
him bodily until he’s completely flush with both the alpha and the wall,
strong, callused hands move to his arms, pinning him down.
He huffs out and hopes it didn’t sound like a whine, a nose moves to his neck
and scents him.
He growls at the intrusion, shoves back as hard as he can, but the alpha
doesn’t budge. A laugh is huffed into his throat.
“Feisty little fucker, I like it,” the alpha says.
Absently, Castiel hears more feet thud along the wood, climbing into the space.
He twists and shoves, until finally the alpha steps back, hands raised
sarcastically, a grin appearing on his face. He winks at Castiel, who growls
again, rumbling in his chest.
“He’s a cute little thing, isn’t he?” the reappeared beta says, stepping
forward instead, flicking his gun casually in Castiel’s direction. “Lucky thing
I found him then, ain’t it, Dean?” He turns towards another alpha stood against
the opposite wall cockily, swinging the trigger guard of the pistol around one
finger. The alpha all but ignores him, pinning a heavily breathing Castiel to
the wood with green eyes that pierce even through the darkness. Like a wolf.
An beta moves closer (too many of them to count, Castiel can’t manage it),
repositioning his hat with his free hand over a mop of curly blonde hair. He
sniffs and leans over Castiel, a hand above his head. He grins.
“So, you ready for us, baby?” he says. He whistles in Castiel’s face. “Seven
eager men, little one, I’m not convinced, you sure you can take that?”
Castiel musters everything inside of himself to push up, spit squarely in the
beta’s face, and shove him back once he’d reached up to scrub it away. He lands
heavily on the wooden floor and erupts in a humiliated, deadly growl, glaring
daggers at Castiel, hauling himself back up to a defensive stance. The others
laugh under their breaths and Castiel stands straight too, tilting his chin up
in his own defensive position. He smells like fear, he knows, but he’s not just
some whore they can have their way with. He will fight to the death if he has
to.
“You little piece of shit,” he hisses, moving closer, reeking of anger. He
shoves Castiel until his head connects with the wood, until he’s pressed up
against it again, between body and wall for the second time in less than two
minutes. Hands fist at his collar, a voice hot and heavy in his ear. “I’m gonna
fuck you hard, just for that, you hear me? I’m gonna make you bleed and I’m
gonna take you so close to the edge and I’m gonna leave you there, you little
shit.” He shoves again, Castiel winces. “I’m gonna make you hurt like you never
have before,” Castiel jerks away when a hand leaves his chest and trails down
his stomach, all the way to the front of his breeches, where it slides down
inside and cups his soft penis. He grips it, tight, Castiel hisses a sob,
clenches his eyes shut. “I’ll make you regret it, you fuck.”
“Hey, back off, Benjie,” the beta with the lantern says, his voice bored.
“Don’t freak him out before we can play.”
Benjie moves off with a final push, shoving Castiel back into the wood, his
hand moving from its grip in his pants.
“Look at those eyes, all angry and scared,” another alpha taunts, ducking his
head to get a better view. “Like the ocean in a storm. Pretty pink nipples,”
Castiel tugs his shirt to cover his chest, hurriedly fastening the few buttons.
The alpha laughs anyway. “And I bet you’re packing a decent sized cock, ain’t
you boy, huh? Well, for an omega, at least.”
That’s when green eyes steps in, moving closer, navigating around a giant of a
man before stopping sure and steady before Castiel, his hands in his pockets.
He’s way to pretty to be any real outlaw…
“What’s your name?” he says, tilting his head curiously.
Castiel turns his gaze stubbornly away, lips terse, eyes narrowed as he stares
down at the floor just beside the alpha’s feet.
Like lightening, a circle of steel presses itself to Castiel’s temple, burning
into his skin – he jolts as far away as he can, but a hand’s fisted itself into
his collar, holding him like a rock against the wood. The gun presses in
closer.
“I said,” the alpha says calmly, his warm breath brushing Castiel’s clenched
eyes. “What’s your name?”
Castiel sucks in a breath and on the exhale, gasps out a, “Castiel.”
The unrelenting metal doesn’t move from his face though, the man doesn’t move
from his body. He just shoves a leg between Castiel’s thighs and stays there,
practically holding the omega up, every inch of them touching. Castiel flinches
as much as he can.
“Castiel,” he says, as if tasting the foreign word on his tongue. “And how old
are you, Castiel?”
Castiel pauses again and the thigh between his own jolts upright, lifting him
to his toes until he hisses out, “Seventeen,” and chokes, “I’m seventeen.”
The pressure’s released somewhat, the gun moves from digging into his skull and
the man’s face floats back until Castiel opens his eyes and meets with the
forest green orbs. He gulps at the alpha’s predatory smile.
“Sammy, truss him up for me, will ya?” the alpha says, his eyes still boring
into Castiel’s.
They wait like that for a few seconds, the alpha’s knuckles bruising Castiel’s
sternum, until he finally lets go and walks away, turning his back and swirling
his brown leather duster around his legs. He jumps to the dusty floor without a
second glance back.
The giant moves towards Castiel with lengths of rope, holding them out in his
huge hands.
Castiel darts. He darts to the side, actually managing to dodge Sam’s huge
frame, though the alpha doesn’t even move to catch him—he misses the beta he
spat on and makes it all the way to the door before a hand closes around his
shirt and he trips and tumbles harshly to the ground, rolling into the dust
without breath in his lungs. He’s left gulping and gasping for a few seconds,
before he notices from the corner of his eye who Dean’s talking to.
“Michael?” he says, crawling to his knees, his hands fisting the dirt. Sure
enough, his big brother’s hand is held in Dean’s, shaking with meaning in his
eyes. He glances over when he hears Castiel, however, and thick relief floods
Castiel’s whole body that he’s in cahoots with the bandits and he’s going to
save his little brother, Castiel won’t be raped. “Michael!” he shouts,
scrambling up.
But he’s halted with hands at his arms, strong and unyielding, tugging and
tying his wrists together with lengths of rope.
“Michael!” he screams now, struggling away, but his brother’s not moving, he’s
barely even glancing over but then he finishes his shake on Dean’s hand, turns
his gaze away and trudges back onto the train, shutting the door behind him.
Castiel can’t see from the liquid in his eyes, but he keeps crying out, keeps
screaming for help he knows has to come, his brother wouldn’t protect him to
such an extend after everything they’ve been through to just see him off with a
gang of criminals. “Michael!” his voice is hoarse, but he keeps going. “Please,
brother! Michael, please, please help me, Michael, please!”
His arms are tied to his sides, his ankles and thighs trussed together but
Castiel isn’t paying attention. He’s watching the steam start to chug again,
the wheels screech to a start, the whole thing start to move, but his brother’s
still on there, Castiel knows he won’t leave without him.
But he is. Castiel’s watching it happen.
“Get off me!” he growls instead, struggling like a mad man in the grasp and
ties. “Get the fuck off me, you sick piece of shit!” He bucks, but it’s
useless, he’s just writhing in the dirt. “Michael,” he sobs. “Please don’t
leave me with them, please…” But the trains going past, the final carriage
passing his head and no one gets out. Not even Michael.
Everything seems to drop like bricks on Castiel’s head then, his situation, the
steadfast realisation that he’s stuck no matter what he does, that his brother
doesn’t care. His brother left him to become a toy for a group of criminals and
now he has no choice. And he’ll be going into heat in a matter of days…
He’s sobbing in earnest when Dean comes back over to collect him, when the
train’s just a noise and cloud of smoke in the distance.
Strong hands drag him up, haul him until he lands heavily and unsteadily on a
stern shoulder, the same calloused hands holding him in place. “Up you come,
Castiel,” he says, his voice somewhat strained. “You’re better off without him,
little one.”
“Get off me!” he cries, bucking, until more hands have to hold him steady,
until he’s shoved onto the flank end of a horse, almost invisible beneath him
in the black of the night, canvased by a dense forest. Everything’s out of
order from the level of light he’s allowed, his angle of the world bowed over a
black horse. “Fuck you! Get off me!”
He almost regrets the screaming and bucking when a strip of cloth drags itself
between his teeth and holds, tied off tight at the back of his head, catching
individual pieces of hair. He whines and writhes, his sight marred with the
tears, but then Dean climbs onto the saddle of the horse, jerks the reigns and
they’re moving, galloping through trees and Castiel can feel his legs brushing
past sharp twigs, leaves stroke at his hair.
He stops struggling after a few too many opportunities of falling off and being
trampled by the following horses so he stays perfectly still, his muscles
tensed to stay stationary. He doesn’t stop crying until the sun begins to rise
though, until Dean huffs out, lifts his hand to stop the procession of
murderers and the whole group of them obediently stop within a second.
Castiel freezes with the knowledge that he’s about to be molested by seven men,
all pissed off at him, he keens in the back of his throat when Dean climbs off
and unties Castiel’s ankles and thighs. He nearly throws up when he’s pulled
off the horse to land solidly on his feet.
“Give me a second,” Dean says to the others, manoeuvring Castiel in his arms.
Castiel would beg if it weren’t for the dirty rag stuffing up his mouth. Dean
winks at him, his eyes even brighter in the early morning sunrise. “Baby ain’t
a big fan o’ you riding on her ass,” he snorts at his own joke. “So you get to
ride up front with me.”
He lifts Castiel with a tiny grunt so the omega’s sat normally in the horse,
pressed up tight against the horn of the saddle when Dean settles in behind
him. With another pull on the reigns, the horse is moving again.
The motion isn’t comfortable, especially with his arms trussed behind his back
and pressing into Dean’s taut stomach, but it’s better than the rib crunching
experience before, so he doesn’t complain too much.
***** Blame It On Me *****
Chapter Notes
     Quickest update ever lol.
By the time they arrive somewhere that looks remotely like a dusty, back end
town, it’s at least midday if the sun in the sky has anything to do with it.
And Castiel starts struggling when people start looking and pointing, kids
coming up to the horse to stare and grin, laughing as they run along with the
trot.
Apparently Dean’s not at all bothered by being watched with an omega tied and
gagged to the front of his horse, and Castiel’s slightly unnerved by the
complete lack of horrified looks they get.
And then he jolts with the idea that this is a usual thing for them to do and
he’s just going to be dumped in a cell with other omegas to be used at the
townspeople’s whim.
He flinches violently when Dean climbs off and reaches out for him, too
violently apparently, because the next thing he knows, he’s toppling straight
off the other side and landing heavily on the dust ridden ground, straight on
his shoulder. He cries out beneath the gag, clenching his eyes at the searing
pain running all up his arm and he lies like a bug, curled into himself in the
dust. He hears Dean’s chuckles, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. He just cries
against the pain, his tears sticking the dirt to his face, rolling until the
pressure moves from his most likely dislocated shoulder.
He notes dust floating over him from a kicked out boot, hoots from voices he
vaguely recognises, but other than that, he just lets himself sit there, dazed
and shaken and angry and fucking terrified.
He doesn’t move when Dean picks him up again, neatly missing the shoulder—he
doesn’t even do anything when he’s balanced back on Dean’s own, perfectly fine
shoulder, just clenches his eyes shut and waits for more pain.
They’re walking a while later, Dean’s hand stroking calmly over his flank like
he might a spooked horse—all the way up until exterior turns to interior and
Castiel finally opens his eyes to a relatively bright tavern (considering what
it is) and inquisitive faces glancing their way.
“Boy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” a woman’s voice says, Castiel
would estimate somewhere near the bar, Dean’s back’s in the way.
The alpha pauses, one hand at the small of Castiel’s back, the other around his
thighs.
“I’m carrying an omega, what’s it look like I’m doing?” he says.
“Not in here, you’re not, take it outside,” the woman says.
“Ellen, for Christ’s sake, I’m taking him up to a room to check out his
shoulder. What, I don’t get a ‘hello’ anymore?”
Castiel doesn’t appreciate being called an ‘it’ if he’s being honest.
“Boy, I am not having that kinda crap in my saloon, you either take it out to
the barn or someplace else entirely. I can’t have that sorta thing round here,
he’s going into heat, for God’s sake, you’re gonna start a riot. Out.”
“Woman, he’ll be out before his heat, I promise you that. And I ain’t leaving
town, Ellen, I can defend him, you know. People do tend to listen to me.”
Dean’s hand strokes his backside again, the motion probably supposed to be
soothing, but it just riles Castiel up even more.
The lady sighs. “Dammit boy. Fine, you take him up there quick, you here? Hurry
it up and don’t go bragging, not everyone listens to me.”
Dean rumbles in a laugh beneath Castiel and starts walking again, “Well, then
they’re stupid, clearly. Thanks, Ellen.”
They start on the stairs and when Castiel lifts his head, he can see the woman,
stood stubbornly behind the bar with a dishtowel and whiskey glass, eyeing them
up. She rolls her eyes, “You gagged him? Jesus, Dean, what the hell’s wrong
with you?”
Dean huffs at the top step and turns around. “Oh, hush, he was spookin’ the
horses with all his crying, what else could I do?”
“Not kidnap him?” it’s a younger woman this time, pretty, blonde hair, probably
a beta, though Castiel can’t tell. She stands beside the older woman with a
hand on her hip, cocked like her eyebrow. She looks nice, smiling cockily,
something distinctly Dean like about her appearance, despite the simple looking
dress. Castiel can see boots beneath it.
“His brother practically sold him to me, I’m not leaving him with that jackass.
‘Sides, the boys took a fancy.”
Castiel doesn’t pay attention to anything until he’s dropped heavily on a bed,
his arms still locked at his back, his shoulder still ringing bitterly from its
unusual place. He avoids watching Dean with everything he can muster as the man
drops his coat on a chair, places his hat on top, winks at Castiel and leaves
again. He calls through the shut and now locked door, “And don’t get it in your
head that you can run away, kiddo. Everyone in this town is on my side; they’ll
just take their fancy and leave you naked and bruised on my doorstep. I’ll be
back when I’m back.”
And then footsteps move away.
Castiel turns instantly to his side, relieving any unnecessary pressure on his
throbbing shoulder, huffing out tears onto the dusty comforter.
It’s a small room, usual for most tavern rooms, Castiel assumes, with a small
chair in one corner, another door probably leading to a bathroom, and the bed
against the centre of one wall.
Castiel supposes the most he can do now is hope they put his shoulder back into
place before they fuck him; it’s bound to be bad enough without a dislocated
limb.
Everything’s just mute to him now—he doesn’t even think about Dean’s words,
Michael selling him to a group of train robbers of all things, he doesn’t
consider Michael leaving or the words, “the boys took a fancy”, he just awaits
his fate like a good little whore. Fight to the death. Death would be a bitter
relief right now. He would fight if all his limbs still worked, if he hadn’t
seen his brother willingly walk away, if he wasn’t in a town where everyone
could be interested in fucking him.
So Castiel forces his eyes out of the small window and shoves any thought that
isn’t the blue sky and puffy white clouds from his mind.
Footsteps return about an hour or so later, lighter, smoother, until the door
opens and the blonde girl from the bar steps in with a tray. Castiel smells
food and his stomach rumbles instinctively, to the point where the girl hears
it and smiles, but he turns away stubbornly. Fuck them. He doesn’t need to be
babied.
She sits on the side of the bed and reaches over to pull the gag down.
“Castiel, is it? Well, Castiel, you need to eat. And drink. So close to your
heat, you should take care of yourself.”
“Fuck you,” Castiel hisses through his dry mouth, shuffling away. “You don’t
know anything, so fuck you.”
He knows he’s being childish and he knows she could hurt him with total ease if
she wanted to, but he doesn’t care. He might not be fighting, but he is
certainly not rolling over.
She just sighs again.
“Kid, I’m doing you a favour, you get that? Dean ain’t gonna feed you, no one
else is willing to offer, so you either get over yourself rapidly or I take
this away and you starve, got it?”
Castiel stays stubbornly, ignorantly, still.
Another sigh, and the weight leaves the bed, footsteps walk slowly to the door,
turning the handle before Cas turns back slightly and says, “Wait,” like a
desperate child.
She stills, but otherwise doesn’t respond. “Please,” Castiel tries, shuffling
closer. “Please can I have some food?”
And when she turns around with a smile, Castiel huffs back in relief. ‘You
idiot,’ he thinks to himself, ‘don’t show more weakness.’ But then she sits
back on the bed, places the tray near him and lifts off the fabric covering the
bowl, he can’t bring himself to care too much. He’ll worry about the
consequences when they’re happening.
It’s a stew of some kind, beef and it smells so good, Castiel’s stomach
violently agrees with him and makes itself known, rumbling loudly.
It’s just as good as it smells, apparently. The beta’s silent when she feeds
him with the spoon, Castiel’s lifted himself into sitting cross legged because
he didn’t want to ask to be untied. He finishes it within seconds, the water
too. She smiles when she gets up to leave.
“What are they going to do with me?” he asks, before his brain can catch up
with his too inquisitive mouth. He turns away, cheeks beet red when she looks
back at him.
“I don’t know, Castiel. But Dean’s a good man, despite what you’ve heard. He
won’t kill you without reason.” And then she leaves and relocks the door.
He goes back to looking out the window for the next hour, relinquishing the
pressure completely from anywhere near his shoulder in sitting upright.
He thinks shortly about what the beta girl said. So far, Castiel doesn’t think
he’s done anything to warrant murder, but then again, he is an omega and
generally, average rules don’t apply to him. He knows he’ll be raped, that’s
inevitable, he knows Dean will do it and he knows some others will, too. He
doesn’t know how many, he doesn’t know when they’ll tire of him, or use him up
until he’s worthless. Is that a good reason to kill? Growing bored of someone
you’re fucking?
He hears movement outside the door, shadows dance briefly in the gap at its
bottom.
“So how come you get the whore?” someone says, an alpha from the train. Castiel
doesn’t know his name.
Their voices are muffled but Castiel can easily make them out. “He’s not a
whore yet, Christian, but we’ll get there.” Dean.
“But you’re keeping him? How come?”
Dean scoffs, “Because I just robbed us twenty thousand dollars, I think that
means I deserve an award. And, hey, maybe if you’re good, I’ll give you a
ride.”
Castiel sinks back down to laying in the sheets when the door opens again and
Dean steps in, nearly slamming the door on the other alpha’s face.
This time, Castiel watches him with hawk-like eyes, staring as he pops the
buttons of his waist jacket, landing heavily in the old wooden chair with his
coat and hat on its back. He wrestles off one boot before chucking it
carelessly across the floor, then doing the same with the other, before fishing
in his coat pocket for a cigar and a pack of matches, lighting the thing up
before those green orbs move to stare blatantly at Castiel. The alpha flicks an
eyebrow up in amusement before Castiel relents and averts his gaze.
Dean huffs out a laugh.
“What is it you think I’m gonna do to you?” he asks, and when Castiel glances
back over to him, a cloud of smoke has lifted from his mouth and circles
haphazardly over his head like a demonic halo.
Castiel blinks at him and gulps.
“Whatever you want, I suppose,” he replies quietly. “No one’s going to stop
you.”
Dean’s eyebrows lift fully and he sucks another gulp of smoke in, huffing it
out when he says, “Yeah, you got a point, kiddo.” He taps the cigar out on the
chair’s arm, letting the ash fall to the floor. “But what do you expect me to
do?”
Castiel clenches his jaw pitifully, huffing through his nose like a stubborn
mule, before answering in a tiny, useless voice, “Fuck me. Let everyone else
fuck me.” He sighs. “No one would bat an eyelid, I’m an omega.”
“No they wouldn’t,” the criminal says. “Castiel. What kind of name is that?”
Castiel starts at the change in conversation. “I don’t know. My mother named us
all after angels, I’m not sure where it came from originally.”
Dean nods. “You’re momma, she rich?” Another puff of smoke.
Castiel gulps and flickers his eyes to his crossed legs, heaving himself back
to sitting. “She was, I suppose,” he breathes.
He nods again. “So she’s dead. How’d it happen?”
This time, Castiel looks right into his eyes when he says, “A train robbery.”
Something primal inside of Castiel flinches when Dean laughs. “This must have
really shit you up, then. She an omega?”
Castiel nods slowly. “Yes.”
“They rape her?”
“Fuck you,” Castiel growls.
“Did you see it?” he leans forward, blowing smoke in Castiel’s direction.
There’s an awful pause as Castiel remembers it, his head nodding without his
consent. He saw everything…
Dean whistles and leans back again. “So this ain’t your first. Tell me what
happened.”
Castiel shakes his head and juts his jaw. “No.”
The alpha goes back to leaning forward again, but this time with more of a
threatening edge. “Tell me.”
Castiel can feel his whole body shake, his bound hands clench together,
vibrating in anger. “No,” he growls again.
The alpha smiles, showing teeth, bearing his teeth as a threat. Like a wolf. “I
tell you what,” another drag, “you tell me what happened and I won’t fuck you
dry, how ‘bout that? I’ll play with you for a while, get you all hot and wet,
beggin’… But you don’t tell me, I’ll fuck you like you are until I come and
then I’ll pawn you off to someone else, sound good? Maybe Benjamin, the beta
you spat on in the train? I know he’s just itching to play a game with you.”
The trembling heightens through fear this time, apprehension and he can feel
the bitter, scolding tears make tracks down his face, cutting through the dirt
marks like razor blades. He looks up like an angry puppy and growls out lowly,
“I’m no less of a human than you, yet you treat me like a common mutt.”
Dean actually smiles. “You’re right, you are human. But you’ve got a hole to
fuck and lips to suck, and round these parts, that’s all that counts.” He
shrugs. “So get tellin’.”
Bastard.
Castiel gulps down air and glares at the murderer across from him, sucking on a
pipe, planning Castiel’s rape. But Castiel does as he’s told anyway because the
idea of being sold off to Benjamin after angering him so much only a few hours
ago is like hell. And if Dean can actually make the inevitable good, then all
the better.
He’s still glaring when he starts.
“We were travelling from Texas to Virginia, myself, my mother, and my three
siblings.” He fights to keep his voice level. “I was the youngest, I hadn’t
presented yet, but the rest of them were beta’s, except…my mother. It was
during the day, the train stopped, men were outside on horses with guns. Some
came in, they dragged her out…hurt her out on the bank and killed her. She was
begging them not to hurt us, so they came in afterwards and dragged my brothers
and sister outside too, and they shot them.”
“What about you?” Dean asks, his voice surprisingly soft.
Castiel scowls up at him. “Anna hid me. A couple let me let under their table
and Michael met me at the next stop.”
“And Michael’s your brother.”
Castiel pauses. He grits out, “Yes.”
Dean nods in agreement. “Yeah, I agree, he’s a total piece of shit. What about
your dad?”
“He died before I was born, but he left behind his brother and his money.”
Castiel can tell his voice is bitter with resentment.
Dean chuckles. “Like that, is it?” Castiel nods and Dean whistles. “So what’s
the deal with you and Michael?”
Castiel draws in a sigh the same time Dean draws on the cigar and they let
their breath out together, one decidedly cleaner than the other. “We travel
around a lot…we used to,” Castiel feels his shoulders sink, but he doesn’t dare
look up at Dean. “As soon as I presented and we had to travel on the trains, he
would rent out a whole carriage for me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t let me out of
his sight.”
“Why’s that?”
Castiel shrugs. “I used to think because of train robbers, but now… He didn’t
do anything. He just got back on the train.”
Dean chuckles again, his breath leaving in puffs of smoke. “He found us, you
know. Told us when and where the train was gonna be, the carriages we should
check. He didn’t tell us about you, mind, but he didn’t tell us we couldn’t. I
asked him, when I shook his hand. I asked him about you, he said he had no idea
who you were, you must have heard his name somewhere along the way. Said you
were crazy.”
Castiel chokes on one breath and glares up at Dean through suddenly clouded
eyes, wrenching for the first time in hours on the bindings holding him back.
“You’re lying,” he hisses, scooting back on the mattress. “That’s not true,
Michael wouldn’t do that, he looked after me, you must have…blackmailed him,
he…”
“Is that what it looked like to you?” Dean says, reclining against his coat. “I
forced him to let us keep you? If you want my opinion, he got fed up of his
duties and saw a good way to get rid of ‘em. Don’t get me wrong, the guy’s a
total bastard, but he didn’t seem all that bothered. He watched you get tied up
by strangers, alphas, so close to your heat…he’s goin’ to hell, no doubt about
it. He’s a dick.”
“Stop talking,” Castiel hisses, shoving his head to his knees. “Michael…Michael
wouldn’t do that, he always said he’d protect me, especially be-”
He cuts himself off abruptly.
Dean doesn’t miss it though. “Especially because what, Castiel?”
Castiel sniffs, but otherwise doesn’t respond, hoping Dean might just forget.
He doesn’t. “What, Castiel, tell me.”
“Please don’t,” he begs quietly, though even as the words leave his mouth, he
knows they’re going ignored.
“Did he fuck you?”
Castiel gawps up, surprised. “How did you know?”
But the murderer just shrugs. “You just told me, I was guessing. So he fucked
you, huh? Gotta tell you, I’m not surprised. What, he take you into a secluded
corner somewhere, have his way with you. Did you do it because you thought you
owed him for taking care of you? ‘Cause that’s some fucked up logic.”
“You can’t tell anyone, Castiel, they’ll take you away and I won’t be able to
keep you safe anymore, you wouldn’t want that, would you? They’ll send you to a
whore house.”
Castiel gulps again. “Something…something like that,” he says, barely audible.
They both whip their heads to the door when the knock sounds, though it opens
before they can react. Sam’s head peeks through, half covered by his long hair
as he searches over Castiel for the other alpha. He narrows his eyes on Dean
and steps into the room, still clad in his boots and coat, though his hat seems
to be forgotten somewhere.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean grins, standing up in greeting. “Hey, did you know our
little omega here used to fuck his own big brother?”
Castiel gapes up at the man with wide, betrayed eyes because that is not
something everyone needs to know—Sam’s own float suspiciously over to him. So
Castiel shrinks and turns away, exuding don’t come near me from his pores and
hoping anger surrounds him like an aura.
“I didn’t know that,” the alpha says, turning fully to Castiel with his hands
in his pockets. He waits like that for a few seconds, just staring with
curiosity, before he seems to remember something and move forwards, his hands
outstretched for Castiel. The omega jolts away, but Sam has him in the next
second, holding onto him by the ropes until Castiel cries out and sobs from the
tug on his shoulder. “Sorry,” Sam says gruffly, threading the knots through.
By the time they’re all untied and Castiel can move again, he doesn’t want to.
He does move one arm, but that’s just to cradle the other and he peers at it,
willing it to be okay, even though when he tries to bring it back forward, it’s
stubborn in its static position. He can feel the tears, but he won’t let them
grow louder than heavy breathing.
“Here,” the taller alpha says, flicking his fingers for Castiel—apparently—to
advance. Right. He doesn’t move an inch. “It’s dislocated, I’ll put it back in
place for you.”
“It’s fine,” he growls stubbornly, shuffling until his back hits the bedpost
and he’s far enough away. He’ll never be far enough away.
“No it’s not,” Dean offers lazily, leaning back against the chair and kicking
his feet up until they rest on the bed, billowing his smoke into rings above
his head. “Remember what we talked about, buddy? You wanna think on that for a
second?”
Fuck…dammit.
Sam advances again, one brow raised up and Castiel doesn’t flinch this time. He
doesn’t exactly mask the angry hum vibrating through his chest like an
irritated cat, but that’s all either of them are getting.
And he absolutely, point blank refuses to scream when Sam counts to two and
shoves his joint back together.
He doesn’t even glare at Dean when he lets out a chuckle.
End Notes
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