DCBB Black Glass pt.4
Part 3
“Cas, are you alright?!” Dean shouted in alarm, jumping up from his place at the table when the younger man trudged through the door. He nodded and pointed two fingers up where his ears were and jammed a thumb at his chest, drawing a cross as he shut the door with his foot and shook off his bow and quiver.
“A wolf…So I wasn’t imagining…”
He nodded, glancing at the woman who was also sitting at the table. They were eating dinner, but Dean’s plate stood untouched, right next to Cas’s. Dean sighed and scratched the back of his neck.
“What did you do with it?” Mary whispered softly from the head of the table, glaring at him. Cas returned her gaze but did nothing by way of reply. He merely sat next to Dean and began to eat. Sam and Dean looked at each other, Lisa fiddled with her flatware, and Cas could feel the tension oozing in the air and he sighed, pushed back his chair violently and grabbed his plate and glass, stomping down the stairs to his den in the basement.
He still heard their voices even after the door slammed on its hinges, could hear Dean’s voice loudest of them all, protecting him, defending him, his mate. He whirred and fluffed up in momentary warmth. He ate with his fingers, and hastily slurped down his drink, but was shocked it was wine and spat it back into the glass, reaching for one of his water filled canteens instead. He washed away the flavor of sour grapes and venison and paused when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He flattened himself to the ground, drawing his wings about him and snuggling into the furs, expecting it to be Dean. He jerked up and made a soft sound of inquiry when it was Sam, not Dean, who stepped down into his den.
“Hey Cas.” Sam looked at Cas’s abandoned glass of wine and drank it down; Cas had to hold back a wicked grin.
“Did you kill it?”
Cas’s smile dropped and he shook his head no, shrinking back against his bed of furs when Sam frowned down at him. Cas would never properly show it, but he was extremely intimidated by his other brother, he dwarfed physically in comparison and in the primal state of his mind he knew he hardly stood a chance physically against the giant if Sam really intended to hurt him.
“Why not?!” Sam hissed, towering over him and pushing Cas further back. He hissed, like a cornered animal and lashed out at Sam, knocking him back a few paces, but whimpered and flinched in on himself when Sam raised a fist as a threat. His nest mate had never hit him, it was always an empty threat, but again Sam’s size held little room for argument.
“Does Dean need to start hunting with you again, Cas? Do you need another reminder about why we kill wolves?”
Cas bit his lip and looked down at his scarred, unbound hands. Dean also had scars now, scars that would never heal, just as their father would never wake up after he got his scars. Mary still kept a pistol under her pillow, as did Sam.
“Do I need to drag you to the cemetery and shove your face down on our father’s grave so it can get through that thick skull of yours?!”
Cas growled, and this time Sam was the one to flinch. Cas stood in one quick, fluid movement, unbuttoned his shirt and shoved it off to the side, so Sam could see his own scars, rips and tears that never healed properly that left deep gauges and valleys, warped and pale against his tan flesh. Sam swallowed and looked away. Sam alone was the only one unmarred by that night attack. Cas also drew his wings forward and batted them against his nest mate’s shoulders, attempting to convey what he couldn’t say. He implored him with his eyes, with his face.
“You’re not an animal, Cas. Not like them, at least.” Sam sighed, hesitantly running a hand over one of Cas’s tawny pinions in wonder, gripping the delicate wing joint like Dean always did when he wanted Cas to listen and stay still.
“Just promise me, Cas…” Sam’s grip tightened for a fleeting moment of pain before relaxing again, “Promise me you won’t let something like that happen again.”
Cas mewled and butted his head playfully against Sam’s chest, smiling when he felt the giant chuckle, all was forgiven. He released his wing and smiled, taking Cas’s empty plate and glass and headed back to the stairs.
“You should come back up,” Sam said, pausing at the foot of the steps. “Mom’s gone to bed and Dean really needs your approval with Lisa.”
Cas’s eyes flashed at the mention of the woman’s name, but nodded all the same. He waited a few minutes, listening to the low rumble of conversation from his place beneath the floor boards. He used to sleep upstairs where it was warmer, curled up by the fireplace where all he needed were his wings for additional warmth. The day after John’s death, though, when he was still recovering from his injuries he was moved to the basement. Mary didn’t tell him why or when she did it, he just woke up in night in a cold damp place, alone.
He was only ten at the time, and he had whimpered and keened all night till his throat was sore, he was even able to wrench out a faint squeal of fear when a rat ran past his foot. He was used to fire and warmth and company. He was used to curling up at the foot of Dean’s chair, sleeping on his feet and covering his bare toes with his then downy little wings. But then he couldn’t see a thing, no light shone anywhere in his new damp prison and he nearly passed out from fear. Dean found him the next morning, curled up in a shivering ball across the room, blood oozing from his agitated wounds. It had been too dark to discern where anything was in the night, and Cas had been too scared to feel around.
Dean had lifted him in his arms, shushing his hoarse sounds and wrapped him in a blanket. He took him to his own room, depositing him on the warm bed that smelled like home and left him there. Cas could remember the shouts that rang through the house, could remember Sam coming into the room periodically to feed him and clean his bandages. He remembered drifting in and out, remembered a hand brushing through his hair and he remembered pain and sadness, he especially remembered the illness that ravaged his body after that night in the damp cellar, which at that point hadn’t exactly been outfitted to be a living space.
Cas learned after that day to not be scared of the dark.
He trudged back up the stairs after a few more minutes, satisfied that Mary had gone back to bed. The woman had turned sickly and bitter as of late, and had a tendency to blame everything on either Dean or Cas, but neither of the brothers minded all that much, not anymore.
“Welcome back, Cas.” Dean grinned from the table, removing his hand from where it had covered Lisa’s, Cas grinned at that.
“I wanted to thank you for the dinner, Cas, it was delicious,” Lisa commented, smiling. Cas’s smile dropped as he turned. He sat down by the fireplace to warm his hands and shrugged.
“Well, he was the one to kill the deer, but I was the one who cooked it,” Sam said from the sink as he washed Cas’s plate.
“Which of the two tasks do you think is harder, huh?” Dean laughed from the table, and Cas couldn’t help but smile and turn around when Sam chuckled. Dean caught his eye and leaned forward on the table, Cas could tell he was about to tell a story, he always looked like that when he was about to weave a wonderful tale. He found himself drawing closer till he crawled up on John’s old armchair, wings fanning the air softly behind him to maintain balance.
“Here we were, in the dead of spring with no money and no food to speak of, except for Cas’s old squirrel jerky stash, which, needless to say, was hardly satisfying.”
Lisa laughed, but Cas was too focused on Dean’s face to care that she was interrupting his story.
“One day Cas just got it in his head that he hadn’t journeyed far enough into the woodlands to hunt any decent game. We couldn’t last off of just rabbits and squirrels forever, so he set out when winter had hardly thawed. He took only a few days’ worth of rations, but he was gone for nearly two months, trekking who knows where.”
Cas blushed and looked away. Truth be told he had actually lost his way for about a week of his journey on the way back.
“Anyway, we hear talk of strange bird sightings up north and of hulking mystery men that stalked around in the night who howled like wolves. All a bunch of horse shit, of course, but still funny as hell to listen to.”
“I remember that,” Lisa laughed, looking back at Cas with a smile.
“Yeah, he gave us all a fright, thought he had gone native and left us for good. But the day before I wanted to rally a posse to go search for him the man turns up at the door like only an hour had passed and he only took a stroll around the lake.”
Dean laughed, and Cas could tell he was remembering the moment as he told it.
“He had, of course, dozens of squirrels and rabbits to replenish his stash, as well as a few wild boars he piled on a sled. And then, the biggest catch of ‘em all,” Dean grinned, gesturing to the grand set of antlers adorning the mantle above the fireplace.
“Apparently he spent weeks tracking that buck down, driving it closer to home till he finally took the shot about an hour out.”
Cas grinned and whirred in delight, puffing his feathers in embarrassment and pride, he remembered that victory as if it had been yesterday.
“He sounds like an excellent trapper.” Lisa said, and Cas made an abortive grunting noise, scowling.
“He doesn’t set traps, he hunts, he doesn’t think setting traps is honorable.” Dean corrected, and Lisa frowned.
“That just sounds like an incredible waste of time and effort; traps are much easier I can assure you.” Lisa said, not noticing Cas’s silent fury at her every word. “Besides, they’re animals, honor has nothing to do with it.”
Cas snarled and bristled in anger, but Dean held up his hand slightly from the table and pleaded him with his eyes to stay put. Cas grumbled and whined throatily, but settled back on the ground.
“He doesn’t like it because he considers himself to be an animal, and he would rather kill or be killed in a proper duel of hunter and hunted than trapped like a rat to be slaughtered.” Sam said, stopping in the kitchen doorway, drying his hands with a ragged old towel, one Cas still remembered from their childhood.
Lisa’s back stiffened, and it was then Cas knew he had made the impression he desired. He was an animal, a beast that hunted and killed and slaughtered and he looked like them. He had the wings of an eagle and he sought to shoot his own kind out of the sky for foodstuffs. He was a cannibal, then, worse than the animal predator he had devised himself to be.
The woman finished her meal in silence, save for a few hushed conversations with her beau-how Cas hated the thought that she intended to mate with a man that was already his-before gathering her things, quickly leaving without a backward glance. Cas preened by the fireplace, happy with this new revelation.
He wasn’t a hunter, he was a monster.
“Cas, are you alright?!” Dean shouted in alarm, jumping up from his place at the table when the younger man trudged through the door. He nodded and pointed two fingers up where his ears were and jammed a thumb at his chest, drawing a cross as he shut the door with his foot and shook off his bow and quiver.
“A wolf…So I wasn’t imagining…”
He nodded, glancing at the woman who was also sitting at the table. They were eating dinner, but Dean’s plate stood untouched, right next to Cas’s. Dean sighed and scratched the back of his neck.
“What did you do with it?” Mary whispered softly from the head of the table, glaring at him. Cas returned her gaze but did nothing by way of reply. He merely sat next to Dean and began to eat. Sam and Dean looked at each other, Lisa fiddled with her flatware, and Cas could feel the tension oozing in the air and he sighed, pushed back his chair violently and grabbed his plate and glass, stomping down the stairs to his den in the basement.
He still heard their voices even after the door slammed on its hinges, could hear Dean’s voice loudest of them all, protecting him, defending him, his mate. He whirred and fluffed up in momentary warmth. He ate with his fingers, and hastily slurped down his drink, but was shocked it was wine and spat it back into the glass, reaching for one of his water filled canteens instead. He washed away the flavor of sour grapes and venison and paused when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He flattened himself to the ground, drawing his wings about him and snuggling into the furs, expecting it to be Dean. He jerked up and made a soft sound of inquiry when it was Sam, not Dean, who stepped down into his den.
“Hey Cas.” Sam looked at Cas’s abandoned glass of wine and drank it down; Cas had to hold back a wicked grin.
“Did you kill it?”
Cas’s smile dropped and he shook his head no, shrinking back against his bed of furs when Sam frowned down at him. Cas would never properly show it, but he was extremely intimidated by his other brother, he dwarfed physically in comparison and in the primal state of his mind he knew he hardly stood a chance physically against the giant if Sam really intended to hurt him.
“Why not?!” Sam hissed, towering over him and pushing Cas further back. He hissed, like a cornered animal and lashed out at Sam, knocking him back a few paces, but whimpered and flinched in on himself when Sam raised a fist as a threat. His nest mate had never hit him, it was always an empty threat, but again Sam’s size held little room for argument.
“Does Dean need to start hunting with you again, Cas? Do you need another reminder about why we kill wolves?”
Cas bit his lip and looked down at his scarred, unbound hands. Dean also had scars now, scars that would never heal, just as their father would never wake up after he got his scars. Mary still kept a pistol under her pillow, as did Sam.
“Do I need to drag you to the cemetery and shove your face down on our father’s grave so it can get through that thick skull of yours?!”
Cas growled, and this time Sam was the one to flinch. Cas stood in one quick, fluid movement, unbuttoned his shirt and shoved it off to the side, so Sam could see his own scars, rips and tears that never healed properly that left deep gauges and valleys, warped and pale against his tan flesh. Sam swallowed and looked away. Sam alone was the only one unmarred by that night attack. Cas also drew his wings forward and batted them against his nest mate’s shoulders, attempting to convey what he couldn’t say. He implored him with his eyes, with his face.
“You’re not an animal, Cas. Not like them, at least.” Sam sighed, hesitantly running a hand over one of Cas’s tawny pinions in wonder, gripping the delicate wing joint like Dean always did when he wanted Cas to listen and stay still.
“Just promise me, Cas…” Sam’s grip tightened for a fleeting moment of pain before relaxing again, “Promise me you won’t let something like that happen again.”
Cas mewled and butted his head playfully against Sam’s chest, smiling when he felt the giant chuckle, all was forgiven. He released his wing and smiled, taking Cas’s empty plate and glass and headed back to the stairs.
“You should come back up,” Sam said, pausing at the foot of the steps. “Mom’s gone to bed and Dean really needs your approval with Lisa.”
Cas’s eyes flashed at the mention of the woman’s name, but nodded all the same. He waited a few minutes, listening to the low rumble of conversation from his place beneath the floor boards. He used to sleep upstairs where it was warmer, curled up by the fireplace where all he needed were his wings for additional warmth. The day after John’s death, though, when he was still recovering from his injuries he was moved to the basement. Mary didn’t tell him why or when she did it, he just woke up in night in a cold damp place, alone.
He was only ten at the time, and he had whimpered and keened all night till his throat was sore, he was even able to wrench out a faint squeal of fear when a rat ran past his foot. He was used to fire and warmth and company. He was used to curling up at the foot of Dean’s chair, sleeping on his feet and covering his bare toes with his then downy little wings. But then he couldn’t see a thing, no light shone anywhere in his new damp prison and he nearly passed out from fear. Dean found him the next morning, curled up in a shivering ball across the room, blood oozing from his agitated wounds. It had been too dark to discern where anything was in the night, and Cas had been too scared to feel around.
Dean had lifted him in his arms, shushing his hoarse sounds and wrapped him in a blanket. He took him to his own room, depositing him on the warm bed that smelled like home and left him there. Cas could remember the shouts that rang through the house, could remember Sam coming into the room periodically to feed him and clean his bandages. He remembered drifting in and out, remembered a hand brushing through his hair and he remembered pain and sadness, he especially remembered the illness that ravaged his body after that night in the damp cellar, which at that point hadn’t exactly been outfitted to be a living space.
Cas learned after that day to not be scared of the dark.
He trudged back up the stairs after a few more minutes, satisfied that Mary had gone back to bed. The woman had turned sickly and bitter as of late, and had a tendency to blame everything on either Dean or Cas, but neither of the brothers minded all that much, not anymore.
“Welcome back, Cas.” Dean grinned from the table, removing his hand from where it had covered Lisa’s, Cas grinned at that.
“I wanted to thank you for the dinner, Cas, it was delicious,” Lisa commented, smiling. Cas’s smile dropped as he turned. He sat down by the fireplace to warm his hands and shrugged.
“Well, he was the one to kill the deer, but I was the one who cooked it,” Sam said from the sink as he washed Cas’s plate.
“Which of the two tasks do you think is harder, huh?” Dean laughed from the table, and Cas couldn’t help but smile and turn around when Sam chuckled. Dean caught his eye and leaned forward on the table, Cas could tell he was about to tell a story, he always looked like that when he was about to weave a wonderful tale. He found himself drawing closer till he crawled up on John’s old armchair, wings fanning the air softly behind him to maintain balance.
“Here we were, in the dead of spring with no money and no food to speak of, except for Cas’s old squirrel jerky stash, which, needless to say, was hardly satisfying.”
Lisa laughed, but Cas was too focused on Dean’s face to care that she was interrupting his story.
“One day Cas just got it in his head that he hadn’t journeyed far enough into the woodlands to hunt any decent game. We couldn’t last off of just rabbits and squirrels forever, so he set out when winter had hardly thawed. He took only a few days’ worth of rations, but he was gone for nearly two months, trekking who knows where.”
Cas blushed and looked away. Truth be told he had actually lost his way for about a week of his journey on the way back.
“Anyway, we hear talk of strange bird sightings up north and of hulking mystery men that stalked around in the night who howled like wolves. All a bunch of horse shit, of course, but still funny as hell to listen to.”
“I remember that,” Lisa laughed, looking back at Cas with a smile.
“Yeah, he gave us all a fright, thought he had gone native and left us for good. But the day before I wanted to rally a posse to go search for him the man turns up at the door like only an hour had passed and he only took a stroll around the lake.”
Dean laughed, and Cas could tell he was remembering the moment as he told it.
“He had, of course, dozens of squirrels and rabbits to replenish his stash, as well as a few wild boars he piled on a sled. And then, the biggest catch of ‘em all,” Dean grinned, gesturing to the grand set of antlers adorning the mantle above the fireplace.
“Apparently he spent weeks tracking that buck down, driving it closer to home till he finally took the shot about an hour out.”
Cas grinned and whirred in delight, puffing his feathers in embarrassment and pride, he remembered that victory as if it had been yesterday.
“He sounds like an excellent trapper.” Lisa said, and Cas made an abortive grunting noise, scowling.
“He doesn’t set traps, he hunts, he doesn’t think setting traps is honorable.” Dean corrected, and Lisa frowned.
“That just sounds like an incredible waste of time and effort; traps are much easier I can assure you.” Lisa said, not noticing Cas’s silent fury at her every word. “Besides, they’re animals, honor has nothing to do with it.”
Cas snarled and bristled in anger, but Dean held up his hand slightly from the table and pleaded him with his eyes to stay put. Cas grumbled and whined throatily, but settled back on the ground.
“He doesn’t like it because he considers himself to be an animal, and he would rather kill or be killed in a proper duel of hunter and hunted than trapped like a rat to be slaughtered.” Sam said, stopping in the kitchen doorway, drying his hands with a ragged old towel, one Cas still remembered from their childhood.
Lisa’s back stiffened, and it was then Cas knew he had made the impression he desired. He was an animal, a beast that hunted and killed and slaughtered and he looked like them. He had the wings of an eagle and he sought to shoot his own kind out of the sky for foodstuffs. He was a cannibal, then, worse than the animal predator he had devised himself to be.
The woman finished her meal in silence, save for a few hushed conversations with her beau-how Cas hated the thought that she intended to mate with a man that was already his-before gathering her things, quickly leaving without a backward glance. Cas preened by the fireplace, happy with this new revelation.
He wasn’t a hunter, he was a monster.