tale as old as time

[heavenonearth]

Aaron's hooves slam into the ground beneath him, a hard staccato beat that plays the earth like drums, and the chill evening air tugs at Castiel's thick cloak, whistles through the bare, gnarled trees and rustles his dark hair. He rides hard, the horse's strong hooves kicking up mud and dust as he streaks down the wooden path, lungs burning with effort, face flushed and breaths quick and heart hammering.

This is not the first time Castiel has left home, but surely he thinks it will be the last. He has never seen eye to eye with his brothers, and he runs now from their fury and abuse, leaving behind a soft life of velvet and cream that he has never truly enjoyed.

The youngest son of a noble lord, Castiel is educated and trained, but his ambition has always reached beyond home, past the cruel grip of his family, his brothers who always held their heads too high and ruled those beneath them with a tight fist. Soft, they had always called him, too warm, too kind; serfs and servants and commonfolk were little more than insects, puppets, tools to be used and squeezed for profit, and Castiel had tried to make change, used his father's protection to do what he could to ease the hard life of those he feels they are meant to protect and guard and provide for.

But his father is gone. Disappeared. Dead or abandoned them, Castiel cannot say, and the shock of Lord Novak's disappearance has rippled through them all, giving his brothers free reign to turn on him at last, to vent their fear and abandonment and anger all on him. Without his father to shield and sanction him, Castiel has fled, furious and chafed and angry, hurt, all of his paper thin self confidence pulled to shreds so quickly, like a straw hut in a hurricane. He had packed everything he could into Aaron's saddlebags, and fled.

He's well past his providence now, beyond the lines of his family's influence, for he knows he must melt into the landscape, and disappear as his father had, find himself somewhere safe to close himself off in, to sort himself out, to think.

The gnarled root rises from the earth in the shadows beneath him, neither horse or rider see it, and Aaron trips, stumbles with a whinny and Castiel is flung from the saddle with a shout, landing hard on the damp earth, unharmed beyond perhaps a few scrapes. But Aaron has thrown a shoe, and limps lamely, and Castiel feels the first hints of panic beginning to grip at his breast. It's quickly becoming dark, and they are miles and miles still from the nearest town, and in the distance Castiel can hear the mournful howl of wolves. Quickly, he snaps up Aaron's reins and guides him along the path as fast as he can, and it's only by chance that he sees the twisting, overgrown path that branches off to the east - on horseback, he never would have seen it, old and broken as it is, but when he squints through the shadows Castiel thinks he can spy a gate, some twenty or so yards down winding ribbon of earth.

It's his only hope.

With a gentle word and a palm smoothed along Aaron's proud neck, Castiel leads him quickly down the twisting, narrow road, pushing aside brambles and clinging branches until he finds the rusted iron gate looming up before them, its sharp spires piercing the grey, darkening sky, and beyond it.. a castle. The grounds are silent, the building itself tall and foreboding, beautiful in a sad and dreadful sort of way. There is no life here, no movement or anything to suggest that these grounds are inhabited. The doors are shut tight, the carriages overgrown and in disrepair, the marble paths and statues overgrown and choked with weeds and ivy - but lonely or not, it is the only option he has, the only safe shelter he will find before the sun sets, and when thunder rumbles dark and treacherous above, Castiel knows he has only this one option.

Shoving the creaking gates open with his shoulder, Castiel leads Aaron onto the grounds and closes the gate tightly behind them before he's leading the white stallion along the churned up path, over broken stones and toward the tall doors, dark and peeling, the hinges creaking and groaning loudly when he pulls the doors open - and it takes all of his strength to do it, sure that these doors can't have been opened for many, many years for how rusted the hinges have become. Tugging his hood up and his thick, fur-lined cloak tightly around his shoulders, Castiel ducks his head, and slips inside.

Comments

[dadssoldier]

If he were anything but pissed off at Castiel's words, he might appreciate the fact that he can even get angry in his face, that he has a fire that even his sharp fangs and claws and animalistic features can't frighten into submission. But he's a little one track minded at the moment.

"God, you're just like all those stuffy nobles aren't you? Someone always laying out your clothes and delivering your food to you on a silver platter. That's not how the rest of the world works. You hungry, why don't you go find us some meat and fruits or vegetables to make a meal. Otherwise, suck it up, princess. And I'll feed you when I find the time. So yeah, I expect a little bit of appreciation for the fact I gave you what you wanted. That I let your asshole of a dad go. And then I didn't toss you in a cell."

[heavenonearth]

"Oh, so I am to appreciate you for being a benevolent dictator? A kind warden? I am your prisoner, not your friend, and a gilded cage remains a cage. I cannot so much as eat without your permission, and you ask me to be appreciative?"

It's absolutely absurd, sounds foolish even to his own ears, now that he's said it out loud, and he really has to wonder just how long this creature has been locked away to not see that, as plain as day. To be so distanced from reality as to expect a prisoner to be grateful for the sweetness of the bars. Sure, it could be worse, but Castiel's freedom is forfeit, he is locked away in a filthy castle far from everything he has ever known, by a monster that imprisoned and mistreated his father.

Maybe he should be afraid. And he had been, a mere day ago, when Dean had thrown him into the wall and pinned him by the throat - but Castiel has always been a defiant thing, and if this beast wanted him dead, he would have killed him. Perhaps he shouldn't tempt fate, shouldn't rile him to murder, but he has far too much pride, far too much independence to stand it.

"This has absolutely nothing to do with my nobility, and do not presume to know anything about me. You've made of me a pet, but you cannot force me to love the leash."

[dadssoldier]

He's offered him an alternative to waiting to be fed, but he's not surprised that he ignores that completely. What noble brat would consider cooking themselves, let alone gathering ingredients to do so. He knows enough, some things never change and the rich have always been one of those.

here's nothing to say that can't be twisted, and he's not good enough with words to find a way to phrase them that would placate his prisoner. So, Dean chews on his words for a few moments as he stares at Castiel. "You are ridiculously dramatic." He finally says with a snicker.

[heavenonearth]

"You've locked me away for no reason, and I am dramatic?"

It's all but impossible to see through his fury, and Castiel yanks his arm away, out of Dean's grasp, and turns back toward the corridor again, to stalk toward his room, his voice low and tight. "Perhaps Beast is a better title for you."

[dadssoldier]

Dean lets him go with a tilt of the head, not quite sure how he should feel about any of this. Anger should probably be up there, but it's not. It's been so long since he's had a conversation with someone, even longer since it's boiled down to such an argument. It almost reminds him of his brother for a brief flicker of a moment. And it's hard for that to put him in a bad mood.

At least, it was until Castiel's final remark reaches his ears, of course it does, his hearing is far better than a human's, and they twitch at the remark, like it physically hurts to hear and he growls low before turning on a furry heel and heading out the door, the slam of the heavy front doors loud in the castle.

[dadssoldier]

There are plenty of ways to turn rabbit into food, and Dean's all but forgotten all of them. Stew. But he hasn't tended the gardens in years. He's not much of a veggie eater, after all, even before the change. But he doesn't even bother cooking it these days. It's almost a craving any more, the warm blood when he tears into soft flesh.

But he cooks it tonight. Skewers it and sets it in the fire until it's dark.

Look, it's the thought that counts, okay.

And since the dining room is still not exactly a good place to eat, Dean takes two plates into the sitting room before he stalks the halls to Castiel's room and bangs on the door with a heavy fist.

"Food."

[heavenonearth]

Castiel has kept himself cloistered, hasn't bothered to try to leave his room again because there's no real reason to just yet. He's curious, wants to explore every nook of the castle, but he's also sore and angry still, aggravated by his host, doesn't want to chance seeing him again lest he lose his temper.

So he remains tucked away, quietly licking his wounds, staring out of the window until his gnawing hunger finally evaporates into simple hollowness, and he doesn't feel it anymore.

When the bang to the door comes, Castiel nearly jumps out of his skin, shaken from his thoughts abruptly, and it takes him a moment, but soon he gathers himself and stands, smoothing his hands down over his shirt, and clearing his throat. He opens the door, but says nothing, offers nothing, only waits for Dean to speak, or lead him to wherever he's meant to go, whichever comes first.

[dadssoldier]

Really? Silent treatment? It's not the worst Dean has been presented with, and after decades of silence, it's really not the most effective way to get to him. Still, it reminds him of how young his captive must really be. Alone, trapped with a monster, exchanging his freedom for his father's when he doesn't even know who what his dad did.

So Dean sighs, tries his best not to sound gruff when he turns to start walking, sure
this time that Castiel will at least follow. "Um...You're welcome to the castle, you know, if you get bored of the room. There's...art on the walls." And he frowns inwardly at himself, "Oh, there's a library."

[heavenonearth]

It's a testament to Dean's arrogance and self absorption that he should think that he's getting the silent treatment, that Castiel's quietness has anything at all to do with him. He's not speaking because he does not want to speak, because he has nothing to say that would not end in argument, and he is weary of arguing. This creature is his imprisoner, plain and simple, there's no call to be friendly with him, no need for smalltalk, and he's far too chafed to care about him at all. To be perfectly honest, Castiel might be occasionally wrathful, but he is not vengeful, he's not here to make Dean suffer (much the opposite, if you ask him, but he's not in the mood to chat, either. He's not trying to get to Dean. Honestly, he'd much rather simply be left alone.

But apparently his imprisonment isn't torment enough, he's going to be forced to socialize as well, with the beast that abused his father, and seems to enjoy patronizing him for sport. He can't say he understands why Dean is bothering to make conversation, but Castiel isn't petty enough simply to ignore him for the sake of ignoring him. So he presses his lips together, and nods sharply while he walks. The mention of a library, however, certainly has him perking up just a little.

".. a library? Where?"

[dadssoldier]

Dean catches a slight change in Castiel's typical demeanor at the mention of a library and he smirks slightly. That had been his brother's favorite too. But he hadn't been in it in several years. Reading had only been a neccesity, never a pleasure. He learned just enough to do his job. Curses and sigils were rather word oriented after all.

"I'll take you there after dinner if you want." Under the unspoken condition that they get along well enough to make it through dinner.

[heavenonearth]

The library is definitely of interest to him; he can't think of a better way to pass the time in this dank, lonely place than by losing himself in books, in research and in stories, like a light in a dark place.

.. but the ultimatum is obvious there, in Dean's voice, and getting along and behaving himself through dinner may not be easy. Then again, Castiel has been raised in this sort of environment, bullied and harassed by too many older brothers with power gone to their heads, and he'd learned how to hold his tongue, how to keep his cool and retreat to a quiet place in his heart. He'll simply have to learn to do the same, here. So Castiel nods shallowly, and continues to follow.

[dadssoldier]

Well. That ends the conversation and Dean doesn't attempt to pick it back up. He leads Castiel into the sitting room where he's set up the small table in the center for plates. It's nothing more than half a torn rabbit, but at least it's cooked. There's a single fork and knife; Dean doesn't need either.

"So. Food." He repeats again, staying by the door and glancing expectantly at Castiel.

[heavenonearth]

Normally Castiel might notice the lack of utensils on one side, or the fact that it's a relatively meager meal, but he's so damned hungry that it doesn't even register, and the scent of cooked meat filling his nose is all that matters.

Stiffening up, Castiel stares openly, and if it weren't for his noble upbringing like as not he'd be diving on the plate and digging in with wild abandon, fork be damned if need be, but his good manners are deeply ingrained. He walks instead, to his seat, and sits without preamble, stomach rumbling loudly at the scent of the food even while he's reaching for his fork.

"Thank you."

[dadssoldier]

"Yeah, well, it really wasn't my intention to starve ya." He shrugs as he moves to sit down in the other chair. That had been an interesting task when he first tried and more often than not he doesn't bother with furniture, but he makes a point of it now. It always serves to remind him how he's some strange mutation between wolf and man, doesn't fit into either physically anymore. He really doesn't like those reminders. But right now Castiel is more on his thoughts than his curse, and that's...that's preferable. So he keeps his attention quietly on the other as he picks up the torn leg from the rabbit and easily tears into it with sharp teeth.

[heavenonearth]

It really shouldn't surprise him when Dean starts tearing into the rabbit like an animal, and he finally notices the distinct lack of silverware on his side of the table - but it's still a little surreal to watch. He doesn't really care, Castiel spends a lot of time outside his castle, spending time with the commonfolk, making a mess of himself and embarrassing his family, so he doesn't know why he expected him to eat a little more.. neatly.

But it's neither here nor there, really, and Castiel is ravenous enough that it takes all of his effort not to simply do the same, to dig right into the meat like a dog on a bone, but he controls himself anyway, cuts into the meat with fork and knife and brings it to his mouth. It's not gourmet, but he's so damned hungry that it still almost tastes like heaven.

"How long have you been living here?"

[dadssoldier]

He can feel Castiel's eyes on him as he eats, but this is one thing that's always been familiar. Even as a human he was a terrible eater, open mouth, loud chewing, messy meat eater. So there's nothing but a curious glance Castiel's way as he chews.

Sam had always been a neat eater. Maybe that's where he got the idea at all to pull out silverware. Or maybe it's an effort to get Castiel to like him.

At least he's making an effort to start conversation. Or maybe he's just the curious sort.

"...decades." He quit caring after his family passed about keeping up with any dates.

[heavenonearth]

It's not really a terribly fulfilling answer, doesn't give Castiel too much to work with aside from a rough outline of how long he may have been here - but decades is still quite broad, and if Dean's only going to be giving him one word answers, they're going to get nowhere fast and this already painfully awkward conversation will surely evaporate into strained silence.

Which is fine. Castiel is perfectly content to sit stiffly, quietly, and eat what has been given to him, but he's just so damned curious..

"How old are you?"

[dadssoldier]

Dean pauses in his chewing, pulls down his piece of rabbit from his face and licks at his teeth and gums as he considers. "I...don't know. Eighty? Maybe. I quit keeping track. All I know is that I was never supposed to live this long." That just wasn't how the lifestyle worked for people like him.

He takes a more controlled bite this time, "How young are you?"

[heavenonearth]

The phrasing there is odd, but when you're old, Castiel can only assume that's how you see things. He takes another bite, chews long enough to savor the smokey flavor, and swallows.

"I'm twenty-eight," he says, though honestly he's hardly interested in sharing details about himself, because Dean's answer has opened up an entire slew of questions. I was never supposed to live this long. That comment alone is enough to make it entirely obvious that what Dean is, what he has become, is.. unnatural. That it's likely that he was not born this way, but changed somehow. Werewolves come to mind; of course he's heard plenty of stories of wolf men, of merfolk and minotaurs and all semblance of creatures that are not quite human. He presses his lips together, trying to be tactful, but really, he suspects tact would be more or less lost on a creature like Dean, anyway.

"So you were.. not born this way?"

[dadssoldier]

Well. That kind of question kills what appetite he has left and he tosses what's mostly bone anyway back onto his plate before licking at his paw to clean it off. The answer is easy, talking about it is a little more difficult.

"No."

He answers only after he's finished cleaning his hand off. And he knows what comes next. The how. The why. And he's no more inclined to answer those.

So it's much easier to try to shift the topic of conversation. "That's old enough to have your own family. You don't have one?"

[heavenonearth]

Castiel can understand how it might be a sensitive subject. Having been changed into what he is.. Dean doesn't necessarily seem proud of what he has become, has holed himself away in a dusty, decrepit old castle, so he knows better than to push, even if he has a thousand more questions lining up behind the first. In time, perhaps, he can learn more, but for now he'll have to satisfy himself with this.

So Castiel clears his throat and glances toward his plate, but he hardly has a moment to reroute the conversation before Dean's doing it for him. Inhaling deeply, Castiel shakes his head. "I.. haven't been given permission to marry, no," he says, eyes down, expression smooth but hard. "I'm not sure I ever will, at this rate. But it's no matter, I'd rather study and travel, anyway."

[dadssoldier]

"Why not?" Dean asks, confused scowl on his face. "Isn't that what you nobles do? Buy brides that double your land and have boys to inherit them? You got someone in mind that the old man does't like?"

THat's the only thing that makes sense to him, but really, Castiel doesn't seem the type to fight his father. But then, Dean probably seems the type that would, so, first impressions can be deceiving.

[heavenonearth]

"No," Castiel says, tightly, all of his body language stiff and tight, shoulders tense and back straight. Talking about his family isn't something that Castiel really likes to do, and the only reason he is even answering is likely because he feels it is owed, for all he has probed Dean, but it's clear he doesn't like it, would rather simply move on.

"I am the youngest, and I have many brothers and sisters, so it will take time to find suitable matches for all of us."

[dadssoldier]

Of course it's obvious that Castiel doesn't want to discuss this topic, even for someone as socially retarded as Dean has become, but he doesn't exactly care. It's been long since he's needed to be considerate. And he doesn't think he needs to be now.

"That's hardly an excuse if the youngest is so old. Your father must be otherwise distracted, hm?" By things like hunting, he's guessing.

[heavenonearth]

"My father is.. very busy."

Truth be told, Castiel doesn't really know what his father has been up to. Surely he's been trapped here for the better part of several months, unbeknownst to his children, but even before that he had been.. reclusive. Quiet. He kept to himself, cloistering himself away in his study or libraries, spending entire days, sometimes months behind closed doors without whispering a word to anyone. The flow of politics had all but ceased, and while his children rushed to pick up the slack, there were certain things that could not happen while he was hiding himself away and refusing visitors.

"Not that it matters. I answered your question."