heavenonearth | tale as old as time

tale as old as time

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.

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The castle is certainly old, worn, has enough history that it had to be scrubbed clean of spirits more than once. From the entrance it looks like nothing else has inhibited it for years. But there are hints in the dust gathering in the entryway, years and years worth, layers building upon layers, but there's a drag here and there, large pawed strides that disappear down the hallway. There's no light. No heat, just cold darkness awaiting it's guest.

The castle is far from unoccupied. It's been home to one cursed being for more years than he cares to count. He doesn't often leave the west wing of the castle that he's made his own prison, spends his time pacing and digging through the library for ways to break a witch's curse. It's a solitary life. So much so that the sound of hinges from several feet away echoes like a bang to his sensitive ears that are used to hearing no other sound than his own, and the occasional ghosts.

He closes the book with a clawed hand and listens with perked ears that twitch with every sound.

A hunter. It's the first thing that comes to mind. And his fingers twitch angrily at his side. He'd almost happily meet his death if he could die. But it seems his curse isn't that simple to break. There's scars in various spots all over his body where he's tried, where others have tried. Nothing has worked. Now the pain just annoys him.

He stalks down the hallway, dirty colored tail stiff and fluffed out as he moves in almost perfect silence. He was quiet as a human, as a beast, he's nearly untraceable. He pauses on the upper level of the stairs, the dark a cloak for him, the pillar even more so. But green eyes flash even in the shadows as they follows the steps of the covered intruder.

Castiel doesn't hear any movement, or any soft footsteps for how stealthy the occupant of the castle is, so it's all soft, thick silence and dimness that's difficult to see through, especially as his vision is adjusting from the light of the outdoors. He squints into the shadows when he thinks he sees movement, a flutter in the darkness, but no sound comes, and no one moves to greet him.

Glancing back toward the door, he presses a palm to Aaron's warm muzzle before he's venturing further inside, one hand clutching his cloak more tightly closed, his footsteps echoing against the tall stone walls, ringing into the vaulted ceilings above.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkness, his head turning quickly when he sees what he thinks is a flash of green in the dark, but he can't be sure. The castle seems for all intents and purposes empty, for the lack of life and sound, but something still feels alive, his natural intuition hinting to him, twitching nervously, and Castiel swallows dryly as he steps further into the foyer. "Is anyone here?"

There's a break in the darkness from the window above the staircase, and Castiel steps right into it and while most of him is hidden under the obviously expensive cloak, there's enough of his face exposed that has Dean's sharp gaze softening somewhat. It's been...decades since he's seen anyone other than the rare hunter. And he's never seen anything this pretty. It makes his stomach twist in the only kind of fear he can really feel anymore. It makes him hesitate to return that greeting, but before he can there's the echo from his prisoner.

"Help!" It's loud to Dean's ears, and he's long forgotten how well humans hear. Maybe it can't be distinguished at all. Or maybe it can. Either way, it gives him a legitimate reason to hesitate in revealing himself and he watches for a reaction instead, curious to see what this pretty creature is doing in his castle.

The first sound to break the silence is the cry for help, and it's faint but distinct, unmistakable for what it is, and all but immediately Castiel feels his blood run cold - in so dank and dark a place as this, a cry for help feels ominous. His head turns, blue eyes wide and searching as they sweep the area around him, and all but immediately he's moving further into the room, cocking his head to discern the direction of the cry for help.

"Hello? Where are you?" he asks, quick and panicked while he moves swiftly toward the Eastern archway, where he thinks he might have heard the voice coming from. How could someone have made it here, to this place so remote and alone? He's made it here, of course, but had he not stumbled across it accidentally, he never would have known that this was here at all, but to think that two people could have found their way to this hidden hole in the world..

Well, that doesn't matter, really, not right now; what matters is helping whoever is calling for him; Castiel can't really help his altruistic nature, and lending a hand is a snap, instant decision. Tugging the hood of his cloak down, he ducks into the Eastern arch, peering into the dark corridor. "Can you hear me?"

The reaction is all but immediate, and suddenly Dean wonders if this person came here searching for his prisoner. It makes sense. He captured someone to keep them from running off and sharing his location with an angry village, and he still gets invaders in his castle.

He follows quietly enough behind.

"Castiel? Is that you?" The voice is undoubtedly Castiel's father, trembling from cold and fear and sudden hope. "Help me. Find the key." And his hand reaches through the bars of the dungeon he's in, hoping the movement will catch Castiel's eyes and lead him to where he's being imprisoned. "Hurry."

As he gets closer, the voice becomes clearer, and by the time Castiel is running into the dungeons with his cloak sweeping behind him, he knows exactly who it belongs to. Castiel's heart clutches tight in his chest, and he drops to his knees, grasping both of his father's hands through the bars and they feel so cold, he can't help but wonder how long he's been here. Instantly, he feels guilty for ever doubting him, for ever thinking he would have abandoned them voluntarily, and he wonders how he could have been so lucky to have stumbled upon this place entirely by accident. Perhaps he had been guided here by divine intervention.

Squeezing his father's chilly hands, he looks to the left and right before he spies the keys hanging from the nearby peg, and he's quick to scramble to his feet, and snatch them up.

"What in the world are you doing here?" he asks, while the keys jingle in his trembling hands, and he chooses the first key, any key, and jams it into the lock.

"Castiel, look ou-" It's the only warning he gets before Dean is charging into the room, catching the intruder easily around the neck with a long clawed hand and slamming him into the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dean snaps, careful even as he bares his teeth, not to cut into the delicate flesh of the man in his grasp. He's too pretty to maim without reason. And while it's obvious these two know eachother, that this boy must be here to save the man, he can't help but suspect that there's another reason that brings both of them here. "This is my prisoner."

"Leave him be!" Comes the protest from the cell before it's interrupted by a bout of loud coughing.

Castiel doesn't expect it, doesn't see it coming, is taken entirely by surprise when the creature leaps at him from behind, snagging him right around the throat by a strong, clawed hand that's more like a paw, and slams him hard into the wall. He gasps, both in surprise and from the force used, that knocks the very breath from his lungs, and even though his thick cloak he can feel the dank chill of the dungeon walls seeping through his clothing.

Fear cuts sharp and quick as a hot knife right through him, stabbing into his belly, making his insides tight and Castiel tenses up, both hands immediately coming to grasp at the strong, furry wrist of his assailant.

It's difficult to see through the dimness, but there's just enough light for him to make out a hulking figure, strong and lean, thick with fur and wolflike ears but he cannot make out his features, or anything beyond the haloed outline of a great, large head and broad shoulders. "Please," he rasps, eyes wide and breath quick. "Why have you taken him?"

Dean can hear his heart beating wildly under his fingers and he can't help but remember the curse placed on him, that snarling bitch's smug words about always being feared. And he doesn't blame anyone. He would have put a silver arrow between his own eyes if he saw something like him charging. His fingers loosen just slightly.

"I didn't take him. He came here to kill me. He's lucky he's alive." Truth being that Dean didn't kill humans. He refused to be that part of a monster. But he had grown increasingly angry and cruel in his isolation. Didn't see anything wrong with imprisoning someone who would have him dead.

"I didn't-!"

"Shut up!" Dean roars, head turning to the cage that immediately grows quiet.

The grip loosens, and Castiel gives a rattling exhale, feels as if he's able to breathe a bit easier but he's still only barely restraining his terror.

Monsters, of course, are well known tales, and Castiel has grown up on stories of vampires and werewolves, banshees and ghosts and demons, though of course, like any other, he had never thought them to be real, to exist, but even though he cannot make out the features of this creature, it's clear enough that it is far from human. That's.. fascinating, in a way, and were his life not in immediate danger he thinks he would be curious, enthralled, but he can think of only the sharp claws at his throat, and the state of his poor father, sick and freezing in the cell just behind them. Quickly, Castiel's eyes flicker toward the bars, where he can just make out his father's face in the slanting light, and Castiel swallows thickly, then raises his eyes to the beast's face.

"Please.." he says, a little more softly, his grasp on the creature's grasp loosening, though he flinches at the roar that all but rattles his eardrums. "Please release him, he won't harm you. He's.. he's very sick, and he's needed at home-"

Dean watches the boy's hand loosen on his own before his eyes dart back up to his face. Even in the dark, he's easier to see up close, and he thinks the light suits him better than the shadows.

"I know a hunter when I see one." Dean snaps, "He should have considered that before he left. He's mine. And he stays."

He does though, reluctantly, drop his hand from that fragile throat, "You need to go."

For all he's detached from humanity anymore, it's obvious this one isn't a killer. "And know that anyone you send back here won't have as lenient a fate."

The large paw drops away, and Castiel releases an exhale that is clearly relieved, one hand lifting to rub at his throat beneath the folds of the cloak where the monster's thick fingers had only just been grasping, and for all he has been threatened, he thinks perhaps.. this creature won't kill him. Or at least, it does not want to. It could have easily snapped his neck or torn him to shreds by now, likely already would have if it truly wanted to, and even though his father is kept imprisoned, he is still alive. That has to mean something

It's enough assurance, at least, that Castiel is brazen enough to challenge it, too fiercely protective of his father for his own good, perhaps, and the Lord Novak, he's sure, can see it in his face, knows that Castiel won't let this go without a fight.

"No," he says, at last, softly, before he's moving quickly to the cell, pressing his back to it with one hand open over his father's fingers that grasp still at the cold, rusted bars. "I won't go without him, I can't abandon my own father." And for all his voice is soft, there's a defiance that flashes in Castiel's eyes, a stolid force that suggests he means what he says, that there shall be no convincing him to leave. Instead, he lifts his chin and swallows thickly, already afraid of his own words and what they mean, but he forces them through anyway. ".. I will stay in his place."

"Castiel..." Comes the soft voice from the cell, a warning. Of course the man in the bars doesn't believe this course of action will do anything other than get them both locked up. Or his son's untimely death. Or he could return home, gather up his stronger brothers, and return for him. ...If he lasted that long in the cell.

Dean though, simply stares at him. He remembers that kind of devotion. He would have done the same thing for his own father in a heartbeat. And immediately he recognizes Castiel's conviction, knows that he won't leave his father behind. Dean could throw him out, but he can't stop him from coming back, again and again, until he's forced to do something worse with him.

So he doesn't have to ask if it's something Castiel would really do, it's obvious enough in that fierce look in blue eyes. He prefers that to the fear he saw earlier.

With a snarl he shoves Castiel away from the cell bars, rips them open with his hands, forgoing the keys on the ground and wretches out the older Novak. Without a word he picks up the panicked, protesting lord and quickly takes him to the entrance of the castle and then out to the barn where his horse has been kept.

He tosses him toward the ground and turns around in a dismissive flourish. "Return and I'll kill you." He warns, before he's moving back into his home, slamming creaking doors. Now it's just him and...his new house guest.

It all happens so fast - honestly, Castiel isn't sure what to expect, doesn't know if this beast will relent or not, or if he will have to plead his case even longer, if he will be thrown back out into the dark woods with only a lame horse and his own wits to protect him.

But then the creature is moving, tearing open the bars and yanking his father out without preamble, all but dragging him to the front doors to toss him out into the night before Castiel even has a moment to speak with him. He follows after, quick on their heels, cloak billowing behind them as he all but trips over his own feet in his haste, crying out for him to wait, please! but there's no chance, and it's only through a dusty window that Castiel is able to watch his father go. His only comfort is that at least he has his horse, and will hopefully be able to make it home safely, even in the dark of night..

Once the doors slam shut, a cold silence falls over the castle, and Castiel feels the first hints of apprehension grasping at his heart. What has he done? What will happen to him here? Will he be forced to live out his days in a cold, dank dungeon too, until the chill and sickness take him?

.. it will be worth it, he must convince himself, in order to see his father freed, to have the lord of the land restored to his place. He will have to simply content himself with that.

Dean can smell him the moment he steps back into the castle. It's alive and fresh and he decides he likes it all but immediately. It's certainly better than the dusty scent that has settled over much of the castle. It hasn't been cleaned in so long. And then suddenly he's wondering where the hell he's going to put Castiel. The cells would hide his scent, would keep them separated by bars. And for all this is the hunter's son, he hadn't come here to harm him. Imprisoning him for caring about his father is kind of a dick move. And it's not like he could kill him if he even found the courage to try.

So with a huff, he moves over the window Castiel is lingering at. "...Well, come on. I'll show you your room."

Castiel jumps a little when he hears the footsteps approaching, and the low, growling breath of the beast, and he watches him approach, throat squeezed tight, hand in a fist, holding his cloak to his neck.

"My.. my room?"

Castiel sounds hesitant, confused, his brow drawn tight over his eyes as he tries to search the face of his new captor, to discern his features but it's still so dim, and night is fully upon them now, makes it all but impossible to get a read on what he really looks like. It seems too that he's purposefully staying out of the shafts of light, hiding his visage purposefully.

Dean friend at the surprise and hesitation in Castiel's voice and he growls his displeasure. "You want to stay here?" The question is rough enough to sound more like a lecture, it's unintentional, but it's been a long time since he's needed to temper his anger, or any emotion for that matter.

"Come on, before I change my damn mind."

Castiel falls silent for a moment, before he takes one last glance toward the window, watching the dark landscape through the grimy panes before he dips his head and acquiesces, dropping his eyes to the floor, the thick carpet dusty beneath his riding boots, though it feels thick, like it was once plush and beautiful. Much of the castle, he can only assume, must have been something to behold, majestic and impressive, with its tall gothic arches and high windows and marble pillars.

He can't appreciate the beauty of it right now, though. Not when he feels cold inside, lost and confused and trapped. It feels good to at last have an answer regarding his father's whereabouts and safety, but it's Castiel who must endure here now, with this unpredictable creature he cannot hope to trust, or begin to understand.

Clenching his jaw and clasping his hands tightly together, Castiel follows in silence, his eyes down and his stomach churning.

"Haven't exactly had many visitors in a while, you might have to dust your room a little bit." He grumbles, voice a little lower, trying to reign in the gruffness that always accompanies his voice now.

But he doesn't bother saying anything else. His conversation skills are rusty, and that's being kind. He used to be good at it, a natural, really, but it's been so long.

He pauses next to the double doors of one of the more elaborate rooms in the mansion. He never bothered claiming it for himself, he's fine in his dank little part of the castle. It must have belonged to a king once upon a time. There's strong sturdy furniture, all ornately decorated. There's chests and bureaus still filled with robes and silks and jewels, and a vanity in the corner. There's an unused fireplace. All of it covered in cobwebs and dust.

"I'll bring you some clean furs."

Castiel can't say he understands why this creature is being so, well.. kind to him, in comparison. Not that he's a particularly pleasant thing, and Castiel's anger at the treatment of his father and subsequent imprisonment still burns low in his heart like molten magma beneath a dormant volcano, but still. He'd expected to be thrown into a dungeon, to be locked away in the cold, not given a.. a room, and fresh furs.

It's a nice room, too. Thick with dust like everything else, but the furniture is fine and the windows and arches are beautiful, and there's a good view overlooking the overgrown, ill-tended gardens. Castiel can't help but feel like a bird in a gilded cage.

"Thank you," he says, stiffly, standing ramrod straight in the center of the room, his features schooled into perfect unreadable stone.

Dean stares at Castiel's cloaked backside for a long moment before he moves to close the door, but he pauses right before. "Stay on the grounds." He orders, before he does close the door.

He hesitates outside the door, wondering what the odds are that Castiel will make a run for it as son as he thinks he can.

Probably not tonight. Not with the lame horse he saw outside, not when the wolves in the area are in full activity. But such things don't scare Dean. And considering he has no food inside, he needs to go for a hunt anyway.

Leaving Castiel alone is something he's reluctant to do, but he can't let him starve. So he uses his night to go for a hunt.

The door snaps shut with a final sort of snap, and Castiel is left alone to the quiet, with nothing but the sounds of the empty, ancient castle to keep him company, and it isn't until now, when he's alone, that he can really here how very silent and still the place is, almost as if it is suspended in time, lost and forgotten, tucked away from the outside world; Castiel is sure he's never felt so isolated in his entire life.

Without the need to hold his head high, however, Castiel finds himself weakening, his shoulders slumping and his eyes closing, a soft breath leaving him like a sigh, and he feels his stomach tighten, a sob held behind his teeth, but he swallows it down.

Everything had happened so quickly.. he has hardly had the time to process it, to understand what has happened here, to process everything that has passed. He's a prisoner now, locked away like a prize in a tower, guarded over by a hulking monstrosity. He could attempt escape, likely at some point will, but for now it seems too dangerous, too risky, so.. better instead to wall himself off, to do all he can not to draw attention to himself until he somehow finds a way out of this terrible, knotted mess.

So Castiel sits at the edge of the large unused bed, his arms tight around his abdomen and his eyes squeezed shut, feeling small in this enormous room, insignificant in the burdening silence, but still that small fire of anger burns in his breast and he will keep it alive, nurse it as long as he needs to to keep focused.

It's hours later when Dean knocks on the door with candles and furs. It came as an afterthought that he probably should have brought them before. he went hunting for food, but well, hosting wasn't exactly his forte. At least he remembered at all, and he doubted Castiel was asleep. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep with if he was prisoner in a monster's castle.

"Hey, I brought you things." He offered, keeping to the side of the door where the shadows were better. There'd be nothing to hide him in the morning, but if he kept some of his features hidden until then, maybe Castiel would at least step out of the room. And he wanted him out of the room. He wanted him to talk to him. He wasn't stupid to expect anything more than a tentative acquaintance, but honestly, he'd take it. Hell, the idea even excited him a little bit.

Edited 2016-06-14 02:09 (UTC)

Castiel sits in silence for a long time, doesn't notice the passage of time as the evening dusk sets into dark, deep night, and he finds in his room he can hardly see for the thickness of the shadows, at least until the moon begins to rise and cast its eerie silver light slanting through the windows. It lays in patterns on the floor, and where he sits still, back straight, Castiel stares at the shifting squares of light, unfocused and lost in his thoughts, going over and over everything in his mind until he's thinking himself in circles.

It's too overwhelming to parse right now, to figure out what it is what he needs to do, to even begin to wonder at how he got himself into this mess in the first place. It feels strange, surreal, like this could not possibly be his life, what he has become, as if he's watching a play unfold, reading a story in a book written about someone else's life, another man's misfortunes, and not his own.

He's too tired, too spent to consider what he needs to do, so he ends up only feeling sorry for himself, and getting nowhere.

When the door finally snaps open again, he's snapped from his cyclical thoughts, reminded again of his hulking captor filling the doorway, and it certainly doesn't escape his attention that he's standing in the shadows, doing everything he can to conceal his form. Castiel supposes he can't blame him. Standing, he moves slowly toward the doorway, to accept the items.

".. thank you," he says, after a halted moment, and then, squinting into the shadows, he tilts his head and ventures - "Who.. who are you?"

Dean's hand is only held out as long as it takes for Castiel to take the items before he's pulling it back, tucking it out of view.

That Castiel lingers in the doorway longer than is necessary to take the furs and candles is a little surprising all in itself, and he can see with eyes far too adjusted to the darkness that he's trying to get a better look at him. Curiosity. And he doesn't blame him for that.

But that he actually asks, well that has him blinking in surprise. Even more shocking though is that he asks who, not 'what'.

"...It doesn't matter. You can call me whatever you want." Beast. Monster. Creature. All of it's fitting, probably more so than his actual name that he hasn't heard uttered since his brother passed years ago.

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tale as old as time

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