Pairing: Can be read as Dean/Cas or just friendship

Genre: Angst, Dark!Fic

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 2,622

PLEASE READ:

WARNINGS:

Explicit NON-CON,

Slight Torture,

Object Insertion,

Forced Orgasm,

Forced Voyeurism/Exhibitionism,

Humiliation,

Bondage,

Angst,

Rape And It's Immediate Emotional After-effects.

Author Notes: This is a really DARK fic. Please don't read it if you are sensitive in any way, or easily offended. This will contain TRIGGERS for some people due to the themes mentioned above. You have been warned. Please take care.

If you've read my other writings, don't expect this to be anywhere near as nice. This is so far from nice I broke my OWN heart writing it. (Obviously, I'm a sadist).

I'm really nervous about posting this, because of how dark it is. Nevertheless, I feel I've given sufficient warnings, so please be responsible and please take care of yourself if you are easily triggered by anything mentioned in the warnings.

Spoilers: Set mid Season 6, but no specific spoilers.

Summary: He had no choice but to watch, and Castiel had no choice but to yield, but Dean would be damned if he'd let it destroy them.

Castiel lay motionless.

The only movement came from his eyes and occasionally his mouth, which twisted in a grimace of pain. Or fear. Or both.

Dean wasn't sure he could tell anymore.

All he knew was that there was an angel being violated in the most horrific way he could imagine right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Castiel could only move his eyes and mouth, but it was more than Dean could move.

He was backed against a concrete pillar, held by some seriously freaky mojo, and whoever was behind this obviously wanted Dean to watch every second, because closing his eyes for more than a few moments was actually painful.

A female angel – and Dean sneered internally at the term angel – hovered behind Castiel, her fingers smearing oil over the swell of his ass and between his cheeks.

Cas was naked and face down on a narrow table, pinned down with Enochian sigils inscribed onto his back with what looked like a mixture of ash and blood.

It faced Dean lengthways at eye level, not accidentally, he's sure, with Castiel's head turned towards him. His temple was flat against the table's metal surface, unable to look anywhere but at Dean.

Whoever set this up wanted them to look at each other as it happened. Wanted Dean to see Castiel's face, and Cas to see him watching.

It was cruel. For both of them.

The silver glint of the angel sword on the table next to Castiel made Dean shiver. He knew it wasn't to kill Cas. It was there to bring a different kind of punishment, something far more painful.

Shame.

He could only watch as the angel behind Castiel finished with the oil – at least the poor bastard had that – and Castiel flinched when a finger entered him, followed too quickly by another.

It was a poor attempt at preparation, unmerciful and rough. Castiel's eyes closed, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

At least they were stretching him somewhat, though. It was better than nothing. And then there was the oil…

Dean felt physically ill when it finally hit him. Bile rose in his throat and he struggled to keep from heaving. Body almost vibrating in sheer fury, he used every ounce of will and strength to fight the bonds, but there wasn't even a twitch. It was like he was filled with concrete.

If there was a choice, he'd be launching himself at the angel bitch right now and ripping her apart with his bare hands.

They didn't just want to violate Castiel.

The sick sons of bitches wanted him to enjoy it.

It was the ultimate humiliation, the perfect kind of punishment. Dean knew Cas – this would devastate him. This would crush the solid, upright, well meaning angel Dean knew.

It's a wonder there aren't more angels here to witness it, he thought bitterly. But then, there probably were, if the slight electricity in the air was anything to go by. His range of vision was limited and the room was large. The dicks had a tendency to hide too. He'd wager the Impala Cas could see them, though.

He tried desperately to shout, to call out, anything, but all that emerged was a weak rasp, and even that cost almost all his energy.

Castiel's eyes cracked open and had no choice but to land on Dean's.

There was determination on his face, but Dean could see his eyes beginning to water, the humiliation trying to settle in and find a home in the clench of his jaw and the pink on his cheeks.

Every single detail of this was deliberate, that was clear. Carefully planned to shame and humiliate Castiel in every way possible.

A submissive angel, degraded and abused. Tarnished by lust and finding pleasure in such carnal 'filth' in front of his peers, his brothers. Most of all, in front of the human he cared about the most. His closest friend.

They didn't just want to destroy Castiel, they wanted to destroy his relationship with Dean at the same time.

It was torture, pure and simple. There was no other word for it. A quick death was nothing in comparison to slowly breaking Castiel's spirit and taking away everything he lived for in the process.

He had no choice but to watch, and Castiel had no choice but to yield, but Dean would be damned if he'd let it destroy them like the winged bastards seemed to think it would.

Cas still had him. Always would. Family meant more to Dean than the angels and their 'brothers' could ever imagine. There wasn't a doubt that this, as horrific as it was, could ever change that.

For Christ's sake, had they met the Winchesters?

Dean hoped somehow the Cas could hear that thought, or at least feel his support. It was a long shot, but it was all he could think of. The slight softening in lines around Cas' eyes might have been his imagination, but he clung to it just the same.

For all his hunter smarts and instinct, he was finding it hard to come up with a way out of this one. A chance would come, he was sure, but at least he knew now they wouldn't be killed. The angels would no doubt leave them both alive to deal with the emotional fallout, the whole purpose of this sick stunt. It still wasn't much comfort.

Then the weapon was in the other angel's hand, blade backwards and Dean's heart rate tripled. She trailed it slowly over the curve of Castiel's backside, separating his cheeks to rub the cold metal over the sensitive flesh between.

Castiel shivered violently.

Dean could tell the moment the base of the hand-grip breached him. His blue eyes flew wide open in shock before the pain of the intrusion squeezed them closed again, dark eyelashes moist against his pale skin. His whole body shuddered slowly from head to toe.

Castiel's eyes flickered open again but soon glazed over and grew distant as the other angel's hand began working the thick shaft in and out, twisting on every stroke inwards. Each small thrust inched deeper before withdrawing completely to sink into him once more. It would be like being entered for the first time, the push and give, that initial burning invasion, over and over again.

The sensation must have been close to overwhelming. Dean could see Cas tuning out right before his eyes. He couldn't escape and he couldn't resist. It was so unlike Castiel to give in like that, and it confirmed to Dean that the Enochian was unbreakable.

It was possible it was an act of course. Castiel could be forming a plan, playing dead, so to speak, though somehow he doubted it. If there was a way out, Cas would have taken it by now. The angel was a sneaky, calculating bastard at times, but Dean had never seen him like this… terrified into submission.

Dean knew the moment the blunt tip found Castiel's prostate because the spell suddenly broke.

Every muscle in his slim body tightened and froze, mouth falling open in surprise at the tiny burst of pleasure amongst the pain. Having found the spot she'd been looking for, the bitch stopped thrusting and began circling gently, deliberately rocking against it.

Castiel's stunned expression morphed into fear and confusion. Then a kind of outrage, not at the perpetrator, but at his own body for betraying him. And it was, Dean supposed. Albeit, with a little help from dickless-with-wings over there.

Mostly though, it was sheer panic that was written all over Castiel's face, and it was unlike anything Dean had ever seen on the angel. It made the fear on Castiel's face at the brothel in Maine look like a goddamn smile.

Probably because it was the exact moment the hilt found that spot that Castiel, too, realized what they were doing. What they intended him to feel.

And that it was the hilt of an angel killing blade that would be bringing him off just rubbed salt in the wound. The only object in the world that could kill him, was the object that would bring him his first ever orgasm.

Despite the realization, it wasn't long before Castiel was rutting against the table in small, jerky movements. The sigils kept him in place, but allowed just enough leeway for the angel to rub himself against the hard surface.

Dean felt sick again. Cas' first time was never meant to happen like this. Bile rose in his throat yet again at how utterly wrong the sight before him was. He couldn't even begin to imagine how Cas was feeling.

This wasn't pleasure. It was forced desperation, a vulgar, cruel, physical stimulation. A virgin in every sense, Castiel was easily taken over by his body's instincts. After all, he had no practice in resisting them. He had no experience in this type of sensation whatsoever. And they knew that.

Now the only experience he had would always be shadowed by guilt and disgrace.

The muscles in Castiel's thighs tightened rhythmically, his slender hips pressing down against the table in search of friction. Dean doubted he knew exactly what he needed or how to get it, was just instinctively seeking pressure.

It was obscene.

Wrong.

He could see the horror on Castiel's face at his own actions, but he couldn't stop, and the horror only intensified. Eons of knowledge was useless when he had no point of reference for anything his body was feeling. It must be like free fall, Dean thought; like tumbling over a cliff into a terrifying nosedive.

As Dean expected Cas didn't last long. After only a few minutes the angel's whole body froze, eyes clenched tight and nose screwing up as his mouth stretched around a silent scream. His body convulsed once, twice, then fell completely limp, his face slack.

The image of a puppet with it's strings cut came into Dean's mind.

Chest heaving, the angel gulped in one desperate lungful of air after another. His once pale skin was flushed and sweat gathered in the dip of his lower back. It was such a human state. He watched as Castiel's breathing slowed, his dark blue eyes glued to his again.

Dean really wanted to think that the events of the last hour hadn't sent hot tears searing down his face, but his blurry vision and soaked shirt told another story.

He tried not to look as a trickle of off-white fluid leaked from the crevice between Castiel's hip and thigh. It inched toward the edge of the table, where a drop fell to the floor in a long, sticky string.

It was easy to see just how mortified Castiel was, knowing that Dean had watched it all, every second of his humiliation, saw the evidence seeping from beneath his groin. The angel's eyes slipped closed as a horrified blush spread from his throat to his face.

To Dean, a blush felt almost ridiculously inadequate for all that had transpired. Just a coloring of the face, an expansion of blood vessels. Nothing close to expressing the emotions that must have been churning inside the angel. A being never created to feel, well, much of anything.

Castiel had been eerily silent from the beginning, no words or sounds. Not even a whimper had left his throat. But he cried out when instead of withdrawing as they'd both expected, the other angel pushed the eight inch handle deep inside him. It left only the dangerously sharp blade visible, protruding from between his legs in a vulgar display as he lay there, sweaty and naked in a puddle of semen.

There was a snap of air and the female angel was gone. After a few seconds, the electricity in the air eased and a strong breeze sucked through the room. Dean knew all the angels watching had left too.

He swallowed, a lump in his throat and his jaw tensed with rage. He thought about how he'd like to take apart the sons of bitches behind this – preferably slowly, feather by feather with some holy fire on the side. He'd hunt down every last one of them even if it meant he had to die and search every inch of Heaven for the cowardly bastards.

Without warning, the invisible pressure holding Dean disappeared and he fell to his knees with a grunt, his hands outstretched to catch him before he cracked his forehead on the hard floor.

He was up on his feet in a heartbeat but then froze, looking over the angel, scared to touch, not wanting to frighten him. He wasn't sure what state Castiel was in. Should he should remove the sigils and free Cas first, or - he looked toward the blade still inside him…

"Cas?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

The angel was out of it. Awake, but his eyes were glazed over and distant, unseeing. Dean felt a fresh wave of nausea and this time he doubled over, dry retching.

He had to get himself together. Had to help Cas. He'd been traumatized just watching, but it was nothing compared to what Castiel had been through.

Dean was almost afraid to contemplate it, to imagine that an angel might shed tears - for any reason - but the moisture on Castiel's face and pool of wetness under his cheek wasn't just sweat.

He swallowed and drew in a deep breath.

Cas' eyes were only open a crack, but enough to see they were more pupil than blue. He was breathing slower, but he wasn't calm.

More like numb.

If Castiel freaked out, Dean couldn't do anything to help, he could end up hurting himself, maybe even hurt Dean in blind panic. Or worse still, disappear and end up god knows where in god knows what condition.

But he couldn't stomach the thought of touching Cas, especially so intimately, while he was still bound.

"Cas? Cas, man, you gotta look at me. I'm going to help, OK?" Dean kept his voice as quiet and calm as he could. He was relieved when Castiel's gaze shifted and met his with more awareness.

There was hardly any expression on Castiel's face as he looked at Dean. He blinked slowly, focusing more, this time with recognition. Dean tried to smile gently in reassurance, but failed miserably.

But other than his breath quickening a little, Castiel didn't move at all. He blinked again before casting his eyes past Dean to the wall behind him.

Dean's jaw hurt from grinding his teeth, trying to keep the anger back, silencing the stream of curses in his throat. There was a monster of a headache forming behind his forehead from stuffing everything back in before it exploded.

But he could feel later. Right now he had to act.

"Cas, what can I do? What do you want me to do?" Castiel was too ashamed to meet his gaze, but he spoke softly, his voice barely audible.

"Dean," he said to the wall.

"Yeah, Cas, it's me," he whispered. Moving forward, Dean slowly placed a hand on Castiel's clammy shoulder. When the angel didn't flinch or fight, he let out a relieved breath. Castiel blinked, briefly glanced at Dean then away again.

Cas was together enough to know he was safe. He knew it was over.

Dean drew a cleansing breath and focused on what to do. He'd clean Cas up first, then get them out of here. Yes. It was okay. He could work with this. He could fix this. Everything would be alright. He'd make it alright.

When Castiel closed his eyes again, he kept them closed.

~end~