Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3419903.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/OMC, Castiel/Crowley
  Character:
      Castiel_(Supernatural), Crowley_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Rape/Non-con, Child_Abuse, Sexual_Abuse, Cas'_Step-Dad_is_an
      Asshole, Manipulative_Crowley, Manipulation, Rape_Aftermath, Cas_is
      Saved, Crowley's_not_such_a_bad_guy, Prequel
  Series:
      Part 2 of King_Crowley
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-23 Words: 2732
****** The Royal Bastard ******
by MothMeetsFlame
Summary
     "Even though he was only five years older than Castiel, rumors spread
     about him through the town like wildfire, and enough stories had been
     told about him that Castiel was sure of one thing: anyone who messed
     with Crowley would come to regret it."
Notes
     This is Castiel's back story, how he came to work for Crowley. Heed
     the warnings please. It's not very pretty.
     WARNING: Continues graphic sexual abuse of a minor, extreme underage,
     and mental/emotional manipulation.
Castiel braced himself against the bathroom sink and gritted his teeth. Pain
shot through him, up his spine, making every limb jerk in time with the
thrusts. A small cry slipped through his lips, and almost immediately a hand
came up to cut it off.
“Quiet.”
Cas struggled to breathe through through his nose, half clogged with mucus from
crying so hard, and wrenched his head from his step-father’s grasp. He heard
the slap before he felt the hard sting on his thigh, and he bit his lip to keep
silent, making it bleed. The throbbing took the focus away from the rest of his
aching body, from the thick member forcing its way inside and his step-father’s
rough grip on his hips.
There were bruises there now, he knew. There hadn't been before, not when it
had been just a couple of fingers here and there, sometimes an uncomfortable
toy. But now it was bad, worse. Now there were little purple marks on his hips,
ones he could see every time he showered, the ones he’d thought were little
dirt marks before and tried to scrub them off when he cleaned the blood off his
thighs, only disappearing when he’d rubbed his skin raw.
When it was rough like this, he knew what he had to look forward to—wincing in
pain every time he had to sit at his desk or on the bleachers at school,
wearing long-sleeve shirts that buttoned all the way to the top to cover the
bite marks and bruises on his neck, biting his tongue when his step-father had
friends over, sitting on their laps, letting them touch, letting them…
A hard thrust had him biting through his skin again, but this time it did
nothing to pull his thoughts away from the tearing sensation in his backside.
If there was any consolation for the pain, it was that his step-father often
finished earlier than when he took it slow, and this time was no exception. The
man buried himself to the hilt, and Castiel could feel the stickiness inside of
him. It nearly made him gag, but he held it back along with his sobs, and then
it was relief when his step-father pulled out and backed away.
“Clean yourself up.”
A zip, a sliver of light against the wall, his step-father’s silhouette, the
door closing, then dark, silence.
Castiel let out the sob he’d been holding in, but he kept silent, crying
against the lid of the toilet, gagging now that he was able to, and ridding
himself of the bile that had built up.
He turned on the shower as hot as it could go—didn’t care if it scalded his
skin, stung, turned it pink—and stepped inside. He scoured every inch of his
skin with soap, scrubbed himself raw, and made sure he was out of tears, eyes
puffy and red, before he stepped out and gingerly made his way to the bedroom.
 
Foregoing the bed, he opened the drawers and dressed, wrapping himself in
layers and layers of clothing, unable to stop shivering until he had three
layers on under the beige trench coat he’d gotten for his birthday.
A knock sounded at the door, and Castiel put happier times on hold. “Come in.”
The door didn’t open.
“Ralph called. I’m headed out for a few. Your mom’s working the graveyard
tonight, so you’re on your own for a while. Don’t wait up for me.”
Cas breathed a sigh of relief and waited until he heard the truck peel out of
the driveway, making sure he was well and truly gone, before he stepped outside
and locked all of the doors on his way out.
Two blocks over, Castiel caught the bus, and three stops later, he got out in
front of a modern building that provided the only solace Castiel ever received.
Not making eye contact, Castiel walked inside and went straight to the back
shelves of the library, surrounding himself with silent friends in the form of
books. He pulled two off the shelf immediately and kneeled down where he was to
read them. Even the cloth-padded chairs were too much for him, and standing
didn’t hold much appeal either.
“Trying to summon a demon?”
The voice caught his attention, but it was the accent that told him who it was
long before he saw the face that matched it. Castiel swallowed hard and stood
up, looking for an exit and realizing belatedly that in his attempt to escape
from the world, he’d secluded himself in a corner of the library with only one
way out: the one that was currently being blocked by the terror of Hoover
County. Even though Crowley was only five years older than him, rumors spread
about him through the town like wildfire, and enough stories had been told
about him that Castiel was sure of one thing: anyone who messed with Crowley
would come to regret it.
“Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite. Well…” Crowley’s smile was predatory. “Not
often enough to worry about it anyway.”
He held out his hand, and it took Castiel a moment to realize what Crowley
wanted, but when he did, he gripped the books tighter, trying to keep them in
his hold. Crowley merely smiled at him, cold eyes analytical, but the look was
amused nonetheless.
Crowley reached out and pulled the books away from him, and Castiel wasn’t
strong enough to stop him from flipping through the pages.
Crowley chuckled at the content, and Castiel glared at him, temper flaring.
“Not demons, I see.” Crowley held his eyes and smirked. He closed the book with
a thud and tossed it and the other onto the shelf beside him, far out of
Castiel’s reach. “Did you really think an angel would come and save you?”
Castiel suppressed a shudder.
“A demon I’d believe. But an angel…” Crowley shrugged. “Too busy cloud-hopping
to mingle with the likes of us. Tell me, what does a boy like you need an angel
for?”
“None of your business.”
Crowley shot him an amused look. “Is that what dear old dad says to you after?
If people ask about it, don’t tell them anything? It’s none of their business?”
This time Castiel’s shudder was visible, but he clenched his fists and glared
harder at Crowley. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
“I don’t think it’s me you want to leave you alone. Wanna know what I think?”
“No.”
“I think that it’s him you want to leave you alone.”
Castiel didn’t bother responding.
“Not that I don’t know what he sees in you.” Eyes raked him top to bottom, and
Crowley winked appreciatively. “You are a lovely piece, but a little young for
my taste. How old are you anyway? Eight? Nine?”
“Twelve,” Castiel growled.
“Well, maybe not too young then.”
Panic made Castiel tense.
“But that’s beside the point. How would you like to make a deal?”
His confusion broke through the panic enough to let him respond, but his limbs
kept their rigidity. “What kind of deal?”
“Let’s just say that we can help each other. I need something from you, and in
exchange, I can promise that the next time dear old dad lays a finger on you,
it will be his last.”
It was too much to hope for, but Castiel couldn’t help it. He hoped. “How?”
“Let me worry about the details. For now, how about a gift?”
Crowley reached into his pocket. He pulled out a box the size of his fist and
tossed it to him.
“Put one in every room the bastard’s ever touched you in. I’ll take it from
there.”
Castiel stared intently at the box in his hand, but he didn’t open it, not yet.
“What do you want from me?”
“Like I said. Let me worry about the details. Just make sure they have a good
line of sight.”
Castiel looked back at the box in his hand as if he could see through to its
contents. By the time Castiel looked up from his hands, Crowley was gone.
The bus ride home seemed much slower than the one to the library had been, but
it wasn’t long before Castiel was back inside, the porch light accentuating the
darkness of the living room. Castiel made his way to his bedroom and flipped on
the light. He set the package on his desk and opened it.
They looked delicate, almost erethral enough for Castiel to hesitate touching
them for fear of breaking the little figurines. About as wide as his pinky and
only half as tall, Castiel pulled seven little angels out of the box and sat
them beside each other on the desk.
“Every room he’s touched me in,” Castiel murmured.
He picked up six of the angels and set them throughout the house. Whether it
was the angels throughout the house or the fact that someone knew, Castiel
didn’t know, but he felt much lighter than he had in a long time when he got
into bed. He laid on his stomach and watched the little angel on his desk, one
thought on his mind as he drifted off to sleep: maybe Crowley was an angel
after all.
Light touches woke him, the pain in his backside rekindled. Fingers probed his
chin, forced his lips apart just seconds before something thrust inside of him,
waking him completely. His eyes flew open to the sight of his step-father, and
he closed them again, refusing to watch the look of bliss on the man’s face.
It took much longer than the first time, alcohol making it harder for the man
to come, but all thoughts of angels were struck from his mind as shudder after
shudder racked his body once his step-father left.
Morning brought with it a sense of morbidity that things would never change,
that he’d be stuck like this for the rest of his life. He heard muffled voices
through his door, both of them familiar enough that Castiel crawled painfully
out of bed and shuffled into the living room.
“Hey, there, angel,” Crowley greeted. “How was your night?”
Castiel shuddered.
“If you don’t mind, my and your old man have some business to discuss. Dean.
Take him to his room. And don’t touch.”
It wasn’t until the boy started forward that Castiel realized there was a third
person in the room, one that he recognized. Dean Winchester was in the grade
above him, new enough to town that people still talked, though it’d been over a
year since Castiel had first heard about him. The way small towns talked, it
was a wonder that anyone had any secrets left.
“C’mon, kid,” Dean said, steering him toward the back. “Why don’t you show me
your room? We can play with action figures or something while your dad talks.”
Castiel glared. “I’m not a kid. And I don’t play with action figures.”
Dean shrugged, unperturbed. “Whatever.”
Castiel led Dean to his room and watched the boy slink down in his desk chair
and twirl in circles. Castiel rolled his eyes at the sight, but he grabbed the
angel before he laid down on his bed, staring at it as if it would speak to
him.
An hour passed like that, Dean twirling in his desk chair, humming classic rock
songs while Castiel tried to move as little as possible.
His bedroom door opened, and Crowley stood there, hands in his pockets, looking
chipper for what little expression his face showed.
Dean stood up and stretched, pulling the glasses off his face and rubbing his
eyes. “It’s about time.”
Crowley shrugged. “We had a few words. It couldn’t be helped.”
At Dean’s expression, Crowley rolled his eyes.
“Go ahead. Get on. I’ve got a few more errands to run before I need you again
anyway. Midnight at the Parker place. Meet me there.”
“Midnight at Parker’s. Got it.”
And Dean was gone.
“You alright?”
Castiel shrugged and looked down at the angel in his hands. “I’m fine.”
“The truth will work better for you in the long run. Trust me.”
“I’m… a little sore.” Castiel looked at him. “And dirty. I was gonna take a
bath once…” he trailed off.
“No reason not to have one. I’ll even get it started for you.”
“I’ve got it.”
Crowley pursed his lips before he spoke. “Remember that something I said I’d
need from you?”
Castiel nodded slowly.
“Follow me.”
A shiver crawled down Castiel’s back, but he followed Crowley obediently down
the hall and into the bathroom.
“Strip,” Crowley ordered, not looking his way as he turned on the water.
Castiel peeled his pajamas off and left them on the floor, covering himself
with his hands and feeling far too uncomfortable in his own skin.
Crowley pointed to the tub. “In,” he said.
Castiel glanced at the figurine on the edge of the counter, remembering what
Crowley had promised, and he stepped into the water. He sunk down on his knees,
leaving his hands in his lap, but he shivered in pleasure at the touch of warm
water to his skin.
“I can definitely see why he wanted you. Watching you kneeling there gives me
more than a few naughty ideas. Do you mind?”
Crowley didn’t wait for Castiel to answer before he touched the soapy washcloth
against his shoulder and began scrubbing him clean. Crowley rubbed in soft
circles, leaving behind a trail of soap that tingled slightly, but it was far
from bad. Castiel didn’t notice that wherever Crowley washed, his muscles
loosened until his eyes drifted closed and he lost himself in the feel of
Crowley’s hands on his bare skin, cleaning the remnants of last night’s
activities off of him.
"He didn't ruin you, if that's what you're thinking. It was a bit excessive,
I’ll give you that, but you'll heal."
Crowley's hands drifted around front to rub over his stomach, and it fluttered
under his touch. The cloth went further down, trailing over his hips and down
his thighs, mopping over the faint bruises, the flecks of blood and come.
“Up.”
Castiel eyes flew wide with fear, but Crowley’s smirk was amused.
“Just a bath. Promise. Unless you want more, of course. I’m absolutely willing
to have another toy at my disposal, especially one with some... let's call it
experience.”
Castiel rose slowly up on his knees, and Crowley ran the cloth between his
thighs before moving further up, letting it slip between Castiel's bruised
cheeks.
"Pity you had to have him pop your cherry. Would've been much better if I'd had
the first go."
He rubbed over Castiel's hole, staying there long enough that Castiel began
squirming, but Crowley moved away before it got too uncomfortable. The cloth
moved back around to his front, gliding over his naval until it dipped lower.
Castiel hissed as the cloth came in contact with the sensitive flesh of his
prick, but Crowley ignored his half-hearted protests and cleaned him expertly,
even lifting his shaft to pass over his scrotum. Crowley’s fingers toyed with
his head, and Castiel moaned at the contact, surprised at how good it felt.
"We'd've had fun, you and I. Still could, you know. It won't be pretty kittens
and rainbows and skipping through the meadow, but I can promise a few stars now
and again. How's that sound? A few liberties in exchange for my protection? I
can make sure no one lays a single finger on you without your permission. All I
need is a yes."
Crowley's thumb rubbed slowly over his cockhead, and Castiel bit down on his
lower lip. He arched into the touch, and Crowley chuckled.
"What do you say, Cas?"
Castiel's eyelids fluttered and he moaned.
“Come on. Out with it.”
"Yes," he panted. His hips thrusted, trying to get more of whatever it was
Crowley was doing to him, but all contact disappeared, and Castiel was left
panting in the tepid water of his bath.
“I’ll have Dean show you the ropes tonight,” Crowley told him. “Until then,
rest up. I’m going to need you at full strength.”
“Ropes?”
Crowley smiled. “A bit of training and who knows? You may even pass Dean up one
of these days, though I’d say it’s pretty unlikely. The things that boy can do
with his hips.”
Castiel glared, and a rivalry was born.
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