Tight coil, cold grin
Thanks for the fucked up future
We can learn to love misery
The light barely filtered through past the thick expanse of deep greens and dark browns. You would never see all the blood slowly soaking into the bark of the trees and the wet soil.
Castiel knew it was there though. He could feel the tackiness of it on his fingers as he’d pass by tree trunk after tree trunk, feeling his way through the woods. He shouldn’t need to go far, it was all still fresh.
He could hear something scraping across the forest floor, rustling the leaves, preceded by heavy footsteps as the body was dragged to the roadside—no doubt to lure someone else out to investigate.
He waited for the resounding thud and the crack of a skull on the pavement to approach.
The clearing near the road allowed him to make out his companion’s silhouette, a hand offered out towards him—another one of his gifts. Castiel could almost imagine the girl’s heart giving one last weak thump as Dean—no, not Dean, not anymore—crushed it between his fingers, blood spilling sloppily down to his wrist.
“Fine then. I’ll leave it here to waste away with the rest of her.” The heart dropped to the ground, its deformed shape attempting to roll lazily towards it’s former home. Castiel’s own heart beat in sympathy.
The former angel could see the shine of blood-matted blonde in the moonlight. “I thought she seemed nice,” he told Tom, his voice even now. It’s not like she was the first and she was definitely not the last—no matter what hope he might still have somewhere, that had burrowed down into his subconscious.
Tom approached rapidly, assuredly, forcing him to back up into the trees, to press himself to one. His hand rose to touch Castiel’s cheek, smearing still-warm slickness over it before he forced his head back. “What would you know about nice, Cas?” he sneered, leaning in closer to the man that had once been so much more. He sunk his teeth into Castiel’s throat, strong enough to bruise, strong enough to break the skin, blood surging to the surface and creeping onto his tongue as he slid it up to Castiel’s ear. “If you wanted nice you wouldn’t still be here,” he growled, rutting himself up against the other man’s body, hardness rubbing against Castiel’s thigh.
Cas whimpered in response, although he wished he could’ve helped it, as Tom hoisted him up, urging him to wrap his legs around Tom’s waist. His back was still tight to the tree bark, feeling the ragged sharpness of it through his shirt. “You know I’ll never leave you,” he murmured, blood drying and cracking across his face as he spoke.
Tom grinned and Castiel knew Dean never would again.