--WARNING: RATED M FOR SEXUAL ABUSE ok, so there's a 90 percent chance I'm going to Hell for writing this, but if u like it, then ok :) No slash!
Challenge WOW: Blanket--
A Slaughtered Lamb
He took a drink from the glass the bartender had slid down the worn bar. He didn't drink much, hardly ever. Actually, this was the third time he had. But he was stressed, and if he drank enough of this it might take some of the edge off.
He drank almost the entire beer before he started to feel funny. The room swayed back and forth, sounds becoming muddled and distorted. He stood, throwing the first bill he grabbed onto the bar and tried to gain his balance. He was unsuccessful. He staggered out, feeling dizzy and nauseated. The cold night air slammed into his face, only making his disoriented state worse.
The night had blanketed the city in darkness. He wished he could see. He wished he knew where Sam and Dean were at so he could go there right now. They would understand what was wrong with him. He stumbled into the alley next to the bar, reaching for his phone.
The screen wouldn't focus; he couldn't see!
His stomach turned, pain coming to the forefront of his head.
He grunted, trying to force this human body to concentrate. Seven numbers, that's all he needed, seven numbers.
He started to dial and something hit his back, hard, taking him off guard. He fell, hard, his face hitting the asphalt.
His phone was knocked away, out of sight, out of reach. No hope.
"Looks like he got our drink, boys." A voice above him said. He was dragged by his hair deeper into the alley, the shadows, away from people. He could barely register what was happening to him. He was dropped to the asphalt again. Laughter filled his ears when he cried out. He wished his vision would clear so he could at least see straight. He heard fabric tearing. His trench coat and blazer were pulled away. His belt was torn away from his pants so hard it broke each loop. He struggled against strong hands, trying to push himself up. A knee in his back sent him back on the ground.
"No! Don't!" He grunted. His shirt was ripped off, buttons flying. His tie was loosened from his neck and tightened in his mouth.
He didn't know what they were doing. He grew scared very quickly, especially when his hands were tied with his own belt and his pants were ripped away. He tried fighting them. He tried not to whimper and shake in fear. But he didn't know what to do. He didn't even know what they were going to do to him.
"Hold still, hold still!" One barked, breathing in his ear and holding a knife to his neck. "You scream and I'll cut you." He hissed.
"P-please." He tried to say, but the gag -his tie- made it impossible.
Cold, rough hands held his hips too hard. He cried out, writhing weakly to get away from them. The others were jeering and egging him on, laughing at the tears that welled in the angel's eyes.
He didn't understand what was going to happen, but he knew it wasn't good.
"I'm gonna fuck you good, blue eyes." The man hissed.
A pain unlike anything Castiel had ever felt tore through his body, blinding him. He screamed against his will, and soon after he did the blade was pressed to his cheek. He was cut no more than a second later.
The awful agony continued. He started bleeding from the force of the man's thrusts.
Tears fell easily down his cheeks as he was violated, the man's grunts and moans in his ears, hot breath on his neck.
"Dean," He whimpered between sobs. "Dean, p-please help me!"
A hand ran over his tense muscles, the other cupping his neck, squeezing slightly harder as the man's experience intensified.
The laughter around him made him feel ashamed, like he had done something wrong. The cold stone pressed against his cheek, absorbing his tears.
The man kissed his neck and ears, soft, unwanted touches covered his back and face.
"No m-more. N-no more, please!" But they couldn't hear him. "D-Dean, D-D-Dean…" He said the name over and over again, knowing he was the only one that could save him from…from whatever was happening to him right now.
The pain and the cold made his situation unbearable. He was humiliated and broken. His innocence was being ripped away with each thrust, which were growing more rapid.
It would never end, he was very sure of that.
He sobbed hard, his cries muffled. He prayed to a father that never answered and to brothers that wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire. And it was this knowledge that made him cry Dean's name. Dean would be there for him, even if it was too late.
Whatever they had given him in his drink still hadn't worn off. He was still dizzy and disoriented. And the worst part of it, he couldn't move anymore. His body felt like it weighed so much more than it did.
And the constant pain throughout his whole body, his physical being, his heart and his mind. This man was taking something from him, something important.
"So good, so good…" The man moaned. Castiel shuddered and fought a burning substance that had come up in his throat. He turned his face into the hard ground when the lips came for his face again.
"No, no, no, n-no," He whimpered, trembling. He felt like a coward, but there was nothing he could do, nothing. "D-Dean. Pl-please…"
The man shuddered and did something Castiel didn't recognize inside him. He didn't like it. The man pulled out, making the angel yelp in pain and cry. He heard a zipper close and a chuckle under heavy breathing.
"Alright, boys," He growled dangerously. "Who's next?"
It took a long time for Castiel to try and move. He dragged himself –using his torso- toward where his clothes were, where his phone was.
He got about five feet away from his coat and collapsed next to his phone, which was smashed. His chest and knees were scraped, stinging and adding to his agony.
He sobbed, twisting his raw wrists and biting into the gag. He'd never been so humiliated. So scared, so very very scared.
He heard footsteps at the end of the alley, coming toward him.
He knew it was them. Or at least one of them. The one that had violated him first. The one with the knife. The one that called him blue eyes.
He cried frantically, huddling into a ball, crying in horrible fear.
"Shit!" The person said once they were close enough. They bent down next to him. He clamped his eyes shut, whimpering, hiding.
The belt came off of his burning wrists, the gag was carefully loosened and taken away from his mouth. He tried harder to get away from this person. They were going to hurt him, he knew it. Because he was this vulnerable, this broken, his naked body shaking in the bitter cold, they would. They would because it was too easy.
"Hey, hey, easy, Cas, look at me." He knew that voice. He hardly dared to believe who was speaking to him. But when he opened his eyes he saw what he'd been praying for.
"D-Dean?" His voice was small and feeble, like a scared child's.
That's what Dean saw in his eyes, a deep innocence and fear. He scooped Castiel's freezing body into his arms, holding him tight.
"I'm here, Cas. I'm here." He assured softly.
"Dean…Dean…" He sobbed. Dean looked at him steadily, still holding him to keep him warm.
"Cas, what happened to you?"
--C?!?! Hell for me! Please r&r--