Title: From the River
Author @tanis-in-a-trenchcoat Artist @hellion-cat
Wordcount: 58,036
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence,
Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Alternate Universe â Victorian, Suicidal Castiel, Blood and Gore, Human Castiel, Monster Dean Winchester, Codependent Castiel and Dean Winchester, Monsterfucking, Minor Character Death, Happy Ending
Final Summary: Castiel Novak is a wealthy heir to a thriving fishing company. Money, fine clothes, carriages, and partiesâhe has everything he could possibly wantâexcept the noble title his demanding father, Charles Novak, craves and the freedom to love whomever he desires within the rigid confines of London's high society.
One foggy night, Castiel throws himself into the Thames, hoping never to return.
One foggy night, a mysterious man with golden eyes brings him back to life, and Castiel becomes so obsessed that he doesn't care about dying at the hands of thieves and monsters as long as he finds his savior: Dean Winchester, a handsome sailor with green eyes instead of gold, the only detail that seems to be wrong.
Excerpt: Someone slapped him gently across the cheek, and Castiel only whimpered and curled up a little more, clenching his fist over the pebbles until the sharp edges scraped his skin and sand and dirt got under his fingernails.
"Leave me here, I beg you," Castiel murmured, a babble that sounded complete in his head but it left his lips like shards of glass.
"Do you really want to die?" The voice caressed his face with rancid but warm breath. It sounded distant, profound but soft like silk and gauze, like a strange lullaby dug from the deepest pit. He could hear that voice forever, if that meant it would take him to that abyss with it.
"I deserve it," Castiel responded without a second thought.
He could see his father's cold yet angry expression, the subsequent indifference, feel his blatant attempts to marry him off to any young woman with a pedigree suitable for the family. The anger, the coldness, all those balls with their lavish and elegant suits and dresses, peacock feathers made explicitly to attract and seduce, to trap, to cage. He was assaulted by the scent of all those flowers, the ones he was forced to buy and send for nothing, the ones that decorated the grand ballrooms, the flowers on the wrists of the ladies when they offered him their gloved hands to dance. Flowers, dancing, letters, anger, coldness, everything starting all over again and again. All of that made him want to vomit, to crawl back to the Thames, but he felt too cold to move, and it was better that way, really, to just let go.
Something flapped amid wet sounds against the ground. Castiel inhaled sharply, feeling the knives of the night against his teeth, his throat, then his lungs. Once again someone brushed the hair from his forehead and temples, caressing him with still-wet, incredibly gentle fingers.
"I'll take that as a no, okay?" The voice murmured back with a gurgle of water.
Castiel protested, trying to move away from the pleasant hands that were starting to hold him. In vain, the world spun around, and he knew that the voice had settled him and was rocking him in a burning embrace. When he opened his eyes to the pain and the cold, he saw gray mist, blurred light, and the indistinct face of a man with warm moonlit eyes. Castiel murmured something unintelligible, but it made his savior smile sharply.
"Relax, take it easy." The stranger stroked his forehead again, sliding his fingers suddenly rough, viscous, across his cheek.
Castiel blinked slowly, letting his cheek rest against those wonderful fingers. The mere act of feeling caressed sent shivers of pure pleasure through him, eager for any sign of affection, however small, no matter who it came from. The gloom was treacherous, but he made out a perfectly sculpted profile, a strong jaw, full, luscious lips. Hair too long for a gentleman, badly shorn, probably dirty, but strangely pretty. And the eyes⌠Eyes like gold, gazing at him with something that was neither anger nor pity.
"You're beautiful," he admitted in a tiny whisper.
The unknown man smiled more sharply, hissing through teeth. Something was doing that sharp clack-clack, clack-clack all over. Castiel didn't know why, but he recognized joy, contentment, a pleased sound there, in that hiss that should have chilled his blood, but instead made him cling to the man's clothes, seeking warmth. The young man hugged him tighter, his lips brushing against his forehead, and Castiel closed his eyes, terribly exhausted, letting himself be cradled.
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