DCBB Black Glass pt.6

[babygatsby]

Part 5



“How’s your brother?” Lisa asked the next night over dinner. Dean paused, fork almost to his mouth.

“I set his wing,” he grimaced, remembering Cas’s shrill cries. The man never spoke in his life, and Dean could count on one hand the times he ever made a noise of any kind, and those screams had been the worst.

“It was a clean break; he’ll be fine once he’s on the mend.”

Lisa nodded, though she didn’t look all that pleased. Dean frowned and placed his hand over hers.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Lisa dropped her fork with a resounding clang, and the other patrons of the restaurant glanced at their booth but swiftly returned to their dinner and conversation.

“I’m pregnant, Dean,” she hissed, yanking her hand out of his, “and somehow you have avoided the topic of marriage this entire time.”

Dean clenched his jaw, returning to eating. Of course he had been expecting her to bring it up, but not so soon, especially not during his familial issues with Cas and their mother’s increasing illness. And ever since he and Cas…mated-as he was sure his younger brother would put it-the other night he couldn’t stop thinking about the man. He truly wanted to live with his brother, couldn’t imagine a life without him, and the incident outside the forest made that painfully real for him. He couldn’t bear to see him in pain, and most certainly didn’t want to see him disappear from his life because he couldn’t sort out his priorities. So Dean sighed, placed a few bills on the table-enough to cover the cost of the food and service and then some-then stood.

“I know our relationship has been a little rocky, especially with the whole thing with Cas and mom…I just need more time, that’s all.”

She glared at him and grabbed his wrist.

“Sit. Down.” She hissed, and Dean sighed but complied, if the man was anything he was a gentleman when necessary.

“That’s bullshit, Dean Winchester. I know what it is you’re hiding,” I doubt that, Dean thought, “And I know what those soldiers want, why they’re looking through the northern woods and villages.”

Dean swallowed thickly, but let her continue, she didn’t know what she was saying.

“I’ve seen them, you know, the glass shoes. I found them once when I was helping Sam clean up around the cabin. They aren’t any Winchester heirloom, I checked. They’re from the Empire, they have the royal insignia on them, Dean.”

The more she talked, the more Dean fought her grasp, and fought the notion of slapping a hand over her mouth because they were earning a few cursory glances from the surrounding patrons that he could do without.

“I also know you can’t read, as pathetic as that is, so I’ll fill you in on a little bit of information. Underneath the words meaning Holy Prince was carved a single word, do you know what that word was?”

Dean swallowed thickly, fighting back a blush at the insult and the memories of that cold winter’s day, all those years ago, remembered struggling to read those three letters before his father had taken them away forever. Reading was for Sam, fighting was for Dean.

“Castiel,” Lisa smirked, like the cat that caught the rat, “except you call him Cas, and he’s tied up in your cellar right now, as we speak. I would tell you how much the reward is for his safe return to the Empire but I know you wouldn’t understand the value.”

Dean scowled at her, wondering how he could have been so foolish to leave his brother after he had just taken what he wanted. He wondered how he could have been so foolish as to agree with Sam to take a woman. All he needed in his life was tied down to a table in the cabin.

“What do you want?” Dean growled, letting his drawl creep back into his words, something he had been carefully schooling away to fit in more with the townsfolk. He had done a lot of things to accommodate Lisa, and he had sacrificed much to keep Cas a secret, and could probably be blamed for their twisted relationship, if that’s what he had to call it. Whatever it was it certainly wasn’t healthy, and keeping Cas in the dark of the ways of the world had turned him into an animal, a base thing with base desires and instincts. And now he was alone, trapped in a cold cellar where he had been forced to live from an early age, with soldiers bearing down on him who would rather kill him than suffer to bring him back alive. Because if Dean knew Cas, and he was sure he did quite well by now, he wouldn’t go down without a horrifyingly grotesque fight. There would be blood, the snow would melt and thicken with it.

“I want you to forget about everything else and stay with me permanently. Raise this child with me, be its father, that’s all I’m asking Dean.”

Dean chuckled dryly, crossing his arms, “Don’t take me for a fool just because I can’t read and don’t understand the value of money as well as you or any other city folk like you. What’s stopping me from just taking off, right here, right now?”

Lisa’s cool demeanor dropped slightly, and Dean winced in momentary sympathy when he saw her sheer desperation. He was responsible for their child, and he knew she would be relying on him in the coming, crucial months; she was already so far along she was fit to burst, but Dean didn’t know how to handle her treachery.

“I still haven’t told the soldiers where he is, just that I’ve seen him.”

Dean nodded, jaw clenching as he slowly began to lose what little respect he held for the woman.

“And did you ever stop to think about why after all these years the Empire would come looking for him?” Dean asked. Lisa bit her lip, and Dean knew she hadn’t. She had just seen an opportunity to keep Dean, and she hadn’t been afraid to use it.

“And did you think about what Cas would do to those soldiers?”

Lisa still had it in her to look frightened, at least.

“Sam was only half right. He does think he’s an animal, but he has turned himself into one. He’s the perfect hunter, the perfect killer, and if threatened he will not hesitate to slaughter.”

Cas freed himself of his restraints, though it took some time. He had to move slowly, his wing still throbbed with every step he took, and periodically he had to stifle little grunts and whimpers of pain with every unconscious twitch of his wing. He moved about the cellar deftly and quietly, he couldn’t hear upstairs over the pounding in his ears, yet he could not smell Dean in the house. But he had no idea how long the man would be gone, so he had to make haste. He grabbed several pre-packed bags that were tossed into the corner, most likely by Sam when they returned from the tree line. He repacked all of his hunting gear, extra clothes and shoes, Cas’s clothes, so they wouldn’t fit Dean properly but he could always make more. He quickly crept up the stairs, he had memorized which places in the wood would creak under pressure and which were so settled into the framework of the cabin they wouldn’t make a sound. He silently packed away the few baubles and trinkets he knew Dean enjoyed having, even packed away the man’s savings in human coin, though Cas doubted they needed it, and after a moment’s hesitation even packed away the box on the mantle. He had looked inside once and saw sparkling glass shoes, and figured they would be valuable to someone.

With one final glance around the cabin he nodded to himself and left without a second thought. Sam would be home later, Mary was asleep upstairs, she wouldn’t miss him. Sam would take care of her. Cas would double back and hide in the dense forestry surrounding the path to the town and would appear when he saw Dean on his way back to the cabin. He knew Dean, and knew the man wouldn’t leave Cas tied up to that table for long, even though he wasn’t there anymore.

Cas found the perfect spot and hunkered down, drawing his wings around him as best he could and settled in for the long wait ahead of him. He sunk into the heady warmth emanating from his wings, puffing them slightly for a thicker cover from the falling snow. His broken wing had gone numb, and he was glad. He drew his knees up to his chest after some time, resting his chin on them, fighting off his drowsiness, but every time he blinked he found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He shook himself, dislodging the built up snow on his wings and shuddered, trying to wake himself. He slapped his cheeks and blinked furiously, focusing on the path instead of his growing fatigue. Soon though his vision began to blur and he couldn’t help but close his eyes just for a short while.

He snorted awake after what only felt like minutes, but judging from the accumulated snow on himself and his belongings and the position of the sun he had been under for quite some time. He listened intently, cocking his head, something had to have woken him up, that’s what always happened when he was on a solitary hunt, alone in the wilderness where his only protection was his bow, knife, and own instinct.

He heard low voices, though not from a great distance. They were hushed, whispers…He retrieved his hunting knife from his bags, sheathing it in his belt before melting into the wilderness, further from the trail. He watched from beneath his hood as strange clothed men meandered into his clearing, poking at his things and upending his bags. Cas didn’t mind, clothes could be rewashed and dried, bags repacked, but when they started rifling through Dean’s possessions he couldn’t help but stifle a snarl. Those weren’t their things, they were Dean’s things, they had no right to touch them.

He crept closer, noticing that feeling was returning to his wing and he winced, damning the cold and the snow for playing tricks on him. He had to be careful. He found his hidden places again in the snow, making no sound as he prowled closer, grip tightening to white-knuckled pain on his knife when they found the shoe box and opened it. They all gathered around it, putting their backs to him, and their conversation thrummed excitedly through the clearing, though Cas tuned them out. He was practically on them, knife raised to slit one of their throats when he heard a snap from their left. He quickly sprung back into his cover, wincing when his wing caught on a tree limb, stiff and unyielding in the frigid air. He hadn’t made the noise, someone must have been coming along the trail.

He tracked the strange men’s every movement, following them to the main trail, and lo and behold. Lisa Braeden, stomping along through the snowy trail, blown up like a gourd and making so much noise through the trail he could hardly think. His eyes darted from the encroaching men to the woman. He had his priorities, though neither of the two parties was high on his list. He could avoid the men easily if he wanted, but Lisa…Dean still felt for the woman, and even though Cas had every intention to take Dean away with him, by force if necessary, he knew the man would never forgive him if he allowed anything to happen to her.

So, albeit reluctantly, he closed in on the men, taking care not to get out of step or scrape his wings, making unnecessary sounds. Lucky for him the men were too focused on their prey on the trail they didn’t notice the men behind them being picked off, one by one. Cas had approached the straggler, had taken his head in his hands and wrenched, the sickening crunch of the man’s spinal column cracking was covered by the other men’s noise. He treaded to the next, slapping a hand over his mouth and slitting his throat with his hunting knife. Unfortunately his hand was not enough, and his gurgled half-scream was enough to catch his team’s attention before he bled out.

“What the hell?!” One of them shouted, and Cas caught a glimpse of Lisa as she fell to the ground in shock, which was fine by him, as long as she stayed there. The remaining men-there were three-circled him, backing him up till his heels hit the rough stone pavement of the trail. They leered at him, taking in his haggard appearance and obvious fatigue, though one of their number was too busy staring at his wings to make a comment.

“Cas!” Lisa screamed behind him, “Help me, please!”

“Shut up woman,” the obvious leader of the group snarled, and Lisa hiccupped, snapping her jaw shut though Cas could still hear her soft sobs.

“You killed my men,” the man drawled, fingering a heavy pommel at his hip, one encrusted with silver. Cas nodded, not letting his grip slacken from his blade, his wings twitched nervously behind him, bunching up unconsciously and he had to stifle a moan of pain.

“C-Captain, he has wings…” the younger one stammered, pointing and gaping like a foolish, small child.

“Yes, I can see that,” the captain snapped, drawing his sword and Cas crouched, ready to spring into combat.

“You a hunter, wildsman?” The captain asked with a sneer, eyeing his clothes. Cas nodded curtly, not breaking his stance. The man nodded as well, like he expected the answer. He paced around, obviously taking in his appearance.

“They said you would be a hunter, or maybe a farmer, like the other simple minded fools living in this valley. It’s good that you’re a hunter,” the man laughed, stopping in front of him at last, “means you know your way around that knife, means you’re not some bumpkin with a carving blade.”

He had to be like the wolf in a trap, get out get free get out get out-

“Let’s see what you can do…”

What remained when he came back to his senses was carnage. Blood had splattered thick and hot over his wings and face and he blinked rapidly to clear it from his eyes. He licked his lips, tasting copper as he walked forward, hesitantly. His side throbbed, but there was no blood, just dull pain that blossomed with each step around the clearing. He licked at the blood on his hands, wiping the saliva and excess on his ruined buckskin breeches. The men lay about on the ground, contorted from their death throws, and Lisa lay heaving on the path, bleeding and staring at him with fearful eyes.

By the time Dean found them in the woods it was too late. Lisa lay in Cas’s arms, bleeding out and in labor, heaving and sobbing his name. Cas had one of his hands on her shoulder and the other on her quivering stomach as she screamed in pain.

His brother’s eyes were wild, and his clothes and feathers were coated in splashes of blood and water and he looked up at Dean, and for the first time in a long time there was fear in his eyes. Dean didn’t know what to do, Cas clearly didn’t either, and he gaped and shook his head, looking at the bodies strewn about the clearing, their packed bags that had been kicked around in the snow and dirt, as well as the mess between his woman’s legs as she screamed out for him hysterically.

“Dean! Oh god, Dean, the baby’s coming…” Lisa broke off in a screech as she tried to curl up in pain, but Cas’s hands held her back. The man kept staring at Dean, pleading with him to do something, to do anything. The only births he had ever witnessed were of wild animals, they couldn’t be all that different, could they?

“Breathe, just breathe, girl, I’ve got you…”

Dean crouched in front of Lisa, hunkering down on his knees, preparing to start a fire. He looked up at his brother and saw the same conclusion in his eyes, the same resignation. This was going to be a long night.

Dawn was peeking over the edges of the trees when Lisa’s cries finally bled away and the fresh squeals of an infant rang through the stillness of dawn. Dean held the child-a girl he noted-in his arms numbly, watching as the light faded from Lisa’s eyes. Cas held her hands in his, in a vice grip that would surely leave him aching for hours. They hadn’t moved the entire night, and Cas’s battered and blood crusted wings had converged over them, forming a warm barrier against the snow, though the man himself shivered violently.

Lisa’s breaths were shallow, and every movement was labored, she could hardly reach for her newborn without wincing and moaning low in pain. Cas looked down at the sheer amount of blood between her legs and leaking from the wound in her side. Resolutely he looked back up at Dean, and Dean knew what he was telling him with that gaze. She would not last, no medicine would heal her, save for the mercy of a quick death. Dean sobbed and leaned over his newborn child, wishing this was all a dream, that he would wake up and all the years had not passed and he was safe at home with his father and mother and two brothers and nothing had gone awry, Cas had never been locked in that basement, that he would never develop into the thing he was today, that his father would still be alive, and he would have never met Lisa and she wouldn’t have had to die this way.

Cas released one of her hands, letting it fall softly to the ground and he gripped his bloody knife, bringing it to her throat, though she did not notice. Dean kept his eyes on Lisa’s as he took her hand carefully in his, mindful of the screaming infant in his other arm.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Cas slid the blade across her throat and the woman struggled in his grasp, though he merely set his jaw and held onto her, not letting her struggle too much. Dean watched her eyes and wept when he saw her life fade for good, when Cas shut her lids with his now freed hand and let his quaking wings fall around him. They remained that way for hours, infant and bodily aches forgotten. Cas stared at Dean through his fringe, through the feathers that hung in his face, and he certainly was frightened then. He didn’t know what to expect from Dean, he knew that, but he didn’t want to scare Cas, not after everything that had just transpired. He should be the least of Cas’s concerns. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware of holding and he slumped onto the ground, dimly aware of Cas shakily standing, using the tree behind him as leverage, and then he saw him drag Lisa’s body away.

Cas set about cleaning her body of blood, burned her clothes and wrapped her in a fresh sheet before turning to Dean. He didn’t want to leave her here. Wolves would feast on her flesh, same with the other carnivorous beasts of the forest. The ground was too chilled and solid to dig a proper grave. The only send off to the afterlife his woman would have was by fire.

Dean remained on the ground after telling Cas his intention, remained and frantically wondered what he would do with the child. He jumped when Cas placed his hand on his shoulder. He looked behind him and saw a makeshift pyre with Lisa’s body placed on top, white and almost bloodless, possibly ice cold and long lifeless. He swallowed several times, fighting the bile that bubbled in his throat. Cas nudged him, forcing him to stand and he carefully took the child from Dean’s arms, shushing both him and the baby as he moved to their fire, wrapping the still nude and unwashed child in his loose cape. Cas had already begun boiling water and had damp towels he used to wash away the blood and fluids from the child’s body. What he would do to feed and clothe the child he did not know, but he appreciated Cas’s effort.

He took a shuddering breath and staggered to the pyre. Lisa’s lifeless body awaited him, she the wick and he the flame. So he lit her body and watched it be consumed in light and heat till he had to take a step back lest he himself wished to be engulfed in the flames.

“I loved you,” he murmured, though he felt the bitter tang of the lie on his tongue and its weight in his heart.

Cas watched his mate burn the woman, watched him grieve. He would not intervene, it was not his place. Cas knew Dean had loved the woman, though he himself would probably deny it. He loved her in a specific way that didn’t entirely come from the soul, Cas understood that now.

He shuddered and dragged his near unresponsive wings about him, teeth chattering as he shuffled as close to the fire as he dared with the small baby held in his arms. The pitiful thing was wailing, burying into his blood encrusted clothes in search of her mother’s milk. He could not give her that. He leaned to the side, rummaging around in his food sack, he must have brought something he could give her. For she was his child now. His and Dean’s. He had to make sure she survived the night. Dean would never forgive him if he allowed the baby to die.

His hand closed around a small can and he tore it out in triumph. Condensed milk-bought from the towns for Mary’s recipes-though not mother’s milk, would still suffice. He took out a small pan and used his knife to puncture the lid, pouring some inside and allowing it to heat next to the fire. He reached into the sack again, trying to find some way to funnel it into the baby’s mouth. He cleaned his other hand off in the snow and used his fingers to stir the milk around, feeling the temperature, cradling the child in his crossed legs. How to feed it to her? He found a small, empty buckskin canteen. He raised his eyebrows in momentary thought, cataloguing everything he packed, and poured the milk into it. He cut a small hole in the corner-he could spare a single canteen for the child-and brought it to her small mouth, making soft encouraging noises, tipping her head up to the pouch.

Soon enough she latched onto the small trickling hole and began to suck, feebly of course, but at least she was on her way to being saved. He slumped in relief, rocking her back and forth and rumbling low in his chest. She snuggled closer and gazed up at him with the clearest green eyes he had ever seen. She had her father’s eyes.

The milk ran out, but he wanted to conserve their supplies, opting to save what was left in the can for later feedings. He poured the rest of the milk in a remaining pouch and sealed it, packing it away and settled onto his side, covering them with his uninjured wing. He watched as the little girl blinked wearily before she slid into much needed rest. He smiled, smoothing a thumb over her small cheek as he watched her sleep.

He heard the crunch of Dean’s heavy boots over the snow and gravel before he felt the heat of the man’s body against his back. He sighed when Dean poured the remainder of the heated water over his injured wing, rubbing the sore muscles and wiping away the blood, straightening the ruffled feathers. It had been awhile since Dean had properly groomed him, and he looked forward to the feeling, settling down further on the ground and cushioning the small baby in his arms. The girl was asleep, snoozing away nestled in his furs and the soft, downy underside of his wing and he purred when Dean straightened out a particularly gnarled feather, one that had refused to lay flat since the fight. He couldn’t help but feel overly warm in the presence of his mate, had to fight the urge to display himself for his use, that would be inappropriate in front of the baby, especially after Dean’s “loss”…

Dean didn’t speak a word for the rest of the night, not even when the baby girl woke and began to scream and wail for milk. Cas sighed and shifted onto his elbows, still enfolding the newborn in his wing, and reached for the milk sack. Dean woke from behind Cas at the first sounds, grunting in annoyance as he was shifted with Cas’s every movement. The winged man smiled bitterly as the girl suckled at the sack, staring up at him. Dean tugged on Cas’s cloak till the hunter got the hint. He rolled over onto his back, rearranging himself so the baby would be on his chest and Dean could be cocooned in his wings. Dean thankfully settled more on the frozen ground than his tender appendage, half draping himself over Cas for added warmth as he stared at them both; his hunter and his child.

“I don’t know what to do,” Dean spoke at last in a voice roughened with sorrow. He tentatively reached around Cas’s waist to trace his daughter’s cheek with a coarse thumb, who barely minded, too intent on feeding to notice. Cas flopped his wing impatiently against the ground with an added grunt, glaring at his older brother. They didn’t have to do anything if they didn’t want to. Dean knew that as well as he did. The threat was gone, in Cas’s opinion. Lisa was gone, the men were gone, they could continue living the way they wished to live. The townspeople would believe Dean, proof could be given if they doubted him anyway, and he would be free to move back to the cabin. He could live with his mate again, could live with Sam and with Mary again. He could raise his daughter there; the cabin was first and foremost a family home, and Cas knew no one else would mind.

Cas’s mind still lingered on those soldiers though. Something they had said disturbed him. One of the soldiers seemed almost hesitant to fight him upon seeing his wings. Such a curious reaction garnered his attention, but Cas could think of little else than the immediate future, of what dawn would bring.