A/N: Okay, so I have such an EPIC plot for this story, so far I only have this chapter perfected but I'm working on the next ones. So, erm yeah, incase you couldn't tell from the summary and title its based off the story of the Hunchback of Notre Dame ( loosely, I would say though I may incorporate more of the original plot into it as I go along, idk.) If you don't know the story I would HIGHLY recommend watching the Disney version, not 'cause it helps with reading this, just 'cause it's awesome! XD

Oh and the bell Emmanuel is actually located in the south tower of the cathedral but for the plots sake let's just move the 13 ton beast to Castiel's quarters in the west :P

Chapter One

Barely Existing

In the heart of Paris, on the eastern side of the Île de la Cité, resides an unfortunate angel, trapped and oppressed, in the bell tower of an age old cathedral; Notre-Dame de Paris - breathtakingly beautiful, ancient, gothic and holy, so very holy - has been the home of Castiel, Angel of Solitude and Tears since the day of his birth.

It is on the 9432nd day of Castiel's existence, 25 years into his miserable life, that things finally begin to change.

Dawn has broken and the sun is making its warm presence known, a sleepy metaphorical eye peeking from behind the wide expanse of the abandoned hills of the countryside. It shines its brilliant daylight into the windows of slumbering men, women and children, alerting the dozing town of Paris that the day has officially begun. The sunlight spreads, bathing the city in a cheerful yellow glow, crossing the Seine river, flitting through the evergreen shrubbery that surrounds the cathedral, inching up the religious portals carved into its west side and up, up, up, into the narrow arched windows of the bell tower.

He is woken by the feeling of warmth that pools on his cheek, the sun's customary morning caress the only one Castiel has ever known, and he groans as he realises it is time to get to work; he knows if he delays the ringing of the church bells any longer his master Raphael will see that he is punished in some godawful way.

He shudders as he remembers the slicing pain in his arms, his muscles screaming in agony as he pulled the weight of the largest bell in the tower for hours on end, the ringing in his ears, the sensitive drums inside throbbing with the echoes of Emmanuel's never ending ding dong, ding dong.

Raphael had gone easy on the poor angel that day.

Reluctantly, Castiel pulls his neglected body from the makeshift bed in the corner. He stands, clothed in a ragged green t-shirt and loose fitting brown slacks - the clothes he had adorned for most of his life, that miraculously still fit - and stretches, fingertips reaching upwards, mere inches short of the low ceiling. Finally, hesitantly, after scanning the room and making certain that no eyes were peeking through the towers windows, no-one was looking upon him from behind the bells, in the shadows, he unfurls his wings.

At first glance Castiel's wings appear to be simply black.

However, on closer inspection, if one had courage enough to see past the prejudices of today's society, which deem Castiel a dammed angel, tainted and ugly and unworthy of the life he has lived, and look at the angel in a more intimate fashion, then you would discover that the feathers of his wings range from the blackest ebony where they protrude from his back, to a beautiful dark midnight blue which covers the majority of them, ending with a cool crystal white at the very tips which trail ever so slightly along the floor.

Despite the obvious beauty of them, Castiel despises his wings; to him they represent a life of misery, whipped into slavery by his unforgiving master. A master who looked upon his parents faces with pity when they came to him begging for help, for they had produced such an ugly little creature which could never be considered an Angel of the Lord and therefore must be imprisoned in Notre Dame away from the world and put to use as a slave.

The Archangel Raphael had been his master ever since.

Castiel feels bile rise up in his throat at the very thought of him. Angel of what? Castiel isn't sure, only knows that it cannot possibly be anything good; cruelty like he has thrust upon Castiel could never have been achieved by any kind, wholesome angel. He never voices his opinions on his master though, simply does as he's told in order to avoid the blows of his incredible fists, the slash of his angel sword against his fragile skin. Sighing, Castiel pulls his tattered green shirt over his head and removes the yellowing bandages wrapped around his waist; he will need to find a new first aid kit from somewhere soon. Underneath, the gauze is blood soaked so he removes that too. Biting his lip he examines the sickening wound devouring the slight curve of his left side, the puckered skin doesn't seem to be healing very well and through exhaustion Castiel cannot get a handle on his Grace in order to speed up the process.

Raphael had really outdone himself this time.

Not one to dwell, Castiel pulls his fading t-shirt back on and smoothes it over his flat stomach, ignores the rumbling which is a sure sign that he is hungry and sets off towards the bells.

Along the way he stops at one of the many wooden beams which crisscross around the upper quarters of the tower, supporting the ceiling and rooftop. Over the years he has taken to marking them with one of his many stolen chisels in order to determine the date. Starting from the very first day he was flung into this tower for good (during early childhood Castiel had been allowed to wander the entire cathedral) which he knows to be the 25th of February 1992, he has etched into the ancient wood - only slightly though, just enough for him to be able to feel it. He remembers the one time he lost count and couldn't decide whether it was the 5th or 6th of a particular month and so, being the precise angel he is, had to recount 6 years of markings. It turned out that it was neither the 5th nor the 6th but the 7th and so Castiel had vowed never to lose count again.

If he is correct, today is Thursday, 17 June 2010 and he has spent a quarter of a century confined in this cathedral and over 18 years imprisoned in just the upper quarters. Well, he says 'just'; Raphael does not know of his secret, does not know that crafty little Castiel had found an escape route. A loose panel in one of the smaller windows which Castiel had spent days carefully dislodging without smashing the beautiful stained glass. Now he could easily remove and replace it seamlessly without Raphael noticing. Despite this though, Castiel had only used his escape route a mere 4 times: the first time was the night after completing the dislodging process, though through paranoia he had only crouched along the upper balcony and stole a few glances at the splendid city below from the shadows of the night before retreating back to his beloved bells. The second and third time had been exactly a year apart, Castiel knows the twentieth day of the eight month to be the day of his birth and so, feeling like he deserved something from this life other than the brutality he had forever been subjected to, Castiel slipped the panel aside and slid out onto the balcony twice more, revelling in the sounds of the bustling city of Paris and the fresh, cool night air stirring goosebumps on his skin. It was enough and not enough at the same time.

The fourth time Castiel had realised that he had been wasting his opportunities; he could be gaining things from these stolen nights of freedom. Having never used his wings before and afraid that by trying for the first time by simply flinging himself off the top of Notre Dame and hoping for the best he may end up killing himself, the angel had chosen to use the very, very old fashioned method of abseiling. He had scaled the cathedral with a length of rope he had come across once and put aside in case it someday turned out to be useful, keeping to the shadowy parts of the awe-inspiring building in order to remain hidden.

Once his feet were firmly on the ground and he fought down the initial overwhelming thought of run, run and never look back! Castiel began to think. He decided that a visit to a pharmacy would be the best use of his time. Luckily, it turned out there was one not far from the cathedral but unluckily it was run down and currently being refurbished.

Castiel decided he didn't care, he had to chance it so, cautiously he had broken in through the back and, after nearly choking on a cloud of dust, had managed to find some supplies: gauze, band aids, bandages, aspirin, a small pair of silver scissors and various antiseptic wipes all contained within a green box. He took two of them.

It was on the way out that he had stumbled upon the black bag of tools left at the foot of the back door, one of the builders assigned to the refurbishing must have left it. From the moment he opened the bag and saw the glint of the shiny silver within, Castiel knew he had to have it. Hastily, he shoved the two green boxes in the bag with the tools and made his way back to the cathedral, scaling the walls once again.

Remembering the experiences Castiel itches to creep to the window and pull it aside now and escape forever. Except he knows he can't, knows that if he did he wouldn't get very far, Raphael has half of Castiel's Grace collected in a pendant that hangs around his neck, a way of tracking down the angel if he so desired.

Besides, with Castiel's luck, or lack thereof, Raphael might just be the Archangel of Hunting and Castiel figures he wouldn't get very far in very long if he even tried.

He can never leave.

Moving on swiftly from that very depressing subject that had lodged its way into Castiel's mind he crouches to the floor and eases one of the floorboards from its place, revealing a dust covered, black bag full of rusted tools. He plucks his smallest, sharpest chisel from the pile, carefully etches a thin line into the wood of the beam closest to his bed and sets off about the rest of his day.

"Good morning, Emmanuel" He greets the bell as he would a friend.

Pathetically, it is the closest thing to one that he has.

For now, anyway.