Maybe returning to the Castle wasn't as bad as I put it out to be, returning to routine seems okay. I'm okay, I'm not freaking out, and I'm not seeing a dark figure haunting my dreams anymore. The Castle doctor called both Castiel and I in for a physical examination, just having two of the nurses do it together, politely asking Castiel to leave as the doctor inspected my breasts. He checked in on my baby, which was a little odd, my stomach was encased in this machine and then on a rather large screen I saw the render of the child hovering around in there. Something inside of me clicked, and then I was smiling fondly at it, it was beautiful.

"Would you like to know the gender, Lady?" The doctor grins happily, Castiel has stepped back into the room, sitting on a hospital bed with a small smile perched on his face.

"Yes, please." I find myself saying eager to find out its gender.

"It's a boy!" The doctor exclaims, pointing to a microscopic little penis on the screen, I almost laugh. There's a little boy in my stomach and I hope he doesn't have to end up with the name Demascus. I see someone standing next to me, almost thinking it's Castiel, but his nose is sharper. Christophe has a sharp nose poised up in the air, while Castiel's sort of just sits on his face unnoticed. He is still sitting on the hospital bed, not too bothered by Christophe, he seems to be deep in thought. Christophe has one of my hands in his and for a moment I will myself not to image it's Castiel's.

"So, we're having a boy then?" He asks, no one in particular, his little Fjordian twinge ever present, I've always found it cute about the Fjeld's, the way some of their words sound. Castiel doesn't struggle too much with the vernacular but sometimes I hear the little accent peaking through and I like those times, because it sounds so like him to pronounce words a specific way.

"A boy." I breathe out, "we're having a boy."

"Have you two thought of names for him?" Doctor asks, and I shake my head, this changes everything, now that I know it's gender, or rather his gender I can start racking my brains for a suitable name.

"Not really." Christophe answers for me and I nod in agreement.

"Haven't had time." I mumble under my breath and with that Castiel straightens up, and looks toward me with those pastel blue eyes. I wonder if the baby will get Castiel's pastel eyes or Christophe's deep pools of blue, or if he'll have the little blanket of snow blonde hair resting on his forehead, or rather a head full of small curls. For a moment, the smiling visage of Christophe and our son pops into my head, playing around in midsummer, happily grinning. I allow myself to fantasize, and hope that Christophe won't do the same to my son as he did to me.

Later that week, Castiel and I are messing about in the library. We have gotten comfortable with being around each other, and I like that. Sometimes he'll come stand behind me and hug me from behind, not caring if anyone else saw, but I know my father sees we're too comfortable around each other. I know he frowns when Castiel and I share a laugh, or a hug, or even when he catches Castiel playing with my hands under the table. I know he's going to say something about it, but right now Castiel and I are too enveloped in each other, we don't see any of it coming. He plays around with my perfectly curled hair, telling me about how nicely it frames my face, and I trace the contours of his face, smiling at the scruffy feeling of his stubble under my fingers. We're close, so close I can smell his minty breath, and feel every exhale onto my pink cheeks. He's close, nibbling at my nose like we're allowed to do it, and then I feel his soft lips on mine. It happens so fast that I don't do anything to stop it, but it feels so right. Castiel has me hooked on his lips, and I'm relishing every moment of it, absolutely never wanting it to end. It's nothing too bad, we've just got our lips linked, but then Christophe walks in. I hear his footsteps come, and stop, and I hear his angry gasp. Castiel immediately pulls away, and I stand up, ready to explain myself but the words just won't come.

"You know, Castiel. You've got some damn nerve." Christophe says coldly, gritting his teeth.

"It's just a kiss, Chris. You've done way worse." Castiel says nonchalantly, and I feel the air thicken. I know they're going to get ahold of each other and someone is going to end up with a black eye and maybe a fractured limb. I grimace at the thought of this conversation turning violent.

"Christophe." I say, my voice soft and pathetic like I can't formulate it to be better.

"What, Anaise?" With a quick jerk of his head, he's got his eyes latched onto me and I don't like the way they radiate coldness into the room. This is not Christophe, this shouldn't be him, I shouldn't be afraid of him. I chew nervously on my bottom lip, hoping this doesn't escalate into something rash.

"I-" I want to say something, I really do, but I don't know what, "I didn't mean to."

"Mean to what, kiss my brother?" He asks, sardonic, "please, Anaise. You're all over him, all the damn time."

"Don't talk to her like that." Castiel defends, clearly annoyed with the situation.

"Stay out of it, Cas." Christophe replies sickly, "I can talk to her anyway I'd like to."

"Didn't father teach you some manners?" Castiel says, practically seething. I want to shrink into a ball of self-pity and fear.

"Doesn't seem like he taught you any." Christophe laughs, like it's funny, but I see how something changes in Castiel's eyes, and he pushes past Christophe in an attempt to get out. But he doesn't, Christophe takes him by the arm, and whispers darkly, "I'm not done with you," his voice is low, and sick, he looks up, with a grin plastered on his face, "c'mon, Cas. Let me show you something."

"Get your hands off me." Castiel tries to scoff him off, but Christophe has other plans.

"Won't you join us, Anaise?" He asks sweetly, like it's an invitation to tea. I nod hesitantly and swallow hard, still biting down on my bottom lip.

"Where are we going?" I daunt.

"The Correction Room." He says simply, and my eyes widen.

"What in the hell do you want down there?" Castiel asks, voice laden with anger and a little anxiety.

"You'll see, dear brother. Patience is a virtue you failed to acquaint." He laughs, and then starts walking, pulling Castiel along with him. I follow silently, trying not to overanalyze the situation. I notice the guards following us down, and I don't know why. The Castle slowly darkens as we descend into the first couple areas of the Gaol. I've never been down here. Christophe releases Castiel, who pushes him away. He doesn't look too fazed, still got that deranged grin stuck on his face.

Castiel mutters something in his native under his breathe, probably swearing at Christophe, "what are we doing down here, anyway?"

"You'll see!" Christophe says cheerily, going over to the array of items on the walls. He settles for a bow and arrow, grinning wildly, "you remember how I used to take archery as a kid, Castiel? I used to be so good, I could hit any target."

Castiel stays quiet, just as confused as I am.

"Wonder if I'm still so good..." Christophe says, almost to himself, then his voice lowers back to that sinister tone he's picked up, "guards, do me a favor and line up the target." The two of them nod, leaving the other two still in their stationary position as they take Castiel by the arms and put him up against the wall. He struggles against their tight grip, small sounds of panic exiting his mouth.

"Let me go, damn it!" He says, but the guards don't budge, they keep him pinned up against the wall by his arms. I want to go over and pry their hands off him, but before I can do anything, two guards have me stuck in their iron embrace.

"Don't flinch, Cas. I wouldn't want to miss, now would I?" Christophe grins, adjusting the bow and aiming straight for Castiel's heart. I see all the colour drain from his face, his eyes widening as Christophe pulls the arrow back. It happens slowly, Christophe lets go and I struggle against the guards' grip. Somehow Castiel wiggles out of the guards' grip and moves his body away from the threat in a split second, the arrow misses his heart, but grazes his arm, leaving a bloody gash in it's place.

"Darn it," Christophe says, in mock failure, "I missed. Guess I need some more practice." He's still got his mock tone on, and then he realigns the arrow, shooting at the spot where Castiel was formerly standing up against, "next time I won't."

I don't realize I'm crying until I fall roughly onto the floor of the room, grazing my knee on the rough concrete. Castiel lies slumped up against the wall, with blood running down his arm, his hand over it as a half-hearted attempt to stop the bleeding. I move over to him, tears blurring my vision.

"What the hell was that?" I ask, my words almost hitching in my throat.

"That was my brother." Castiel says, out of breath. I can't breathe either, so I slowly remove his hand from the wound. His hand is stained red, and his face recoils in pain, biting down on his bottom lip. The wound still practically gushes blood and I look for something to wrap it up in. I don't think we can go up to the medical wing, how will we explain the events that just took place. It's just Castiel and me down here now, just my stupid tears and his blood lathering both our clothes. I rip the sleeve of my dress off, taking my minimal knowledge of wounds into consideration, and wind it tightly around his arm. I see his face contort in pain, biting on his lip.

"Sorry." I say softly.

"Ah, it's okay, ah. It just hurts." He says, laughing breathlessly.

"Sorry." I say again, only because I'm too dumbfounded by the events that just happened. I recall Christophe's crazed expression and how he was literally preparing to shoot Castiel in the chest with that arrow. Next time I won't. I pray to God there's no next time.

"Are you o-okay?" I stutter, my heart still racing.

"Yeah, I think so. It's just a cut." He says, but I know it's not just the cut, it's the look in Christophe's eyes, the crazy, murderous look in his cold blue eyes. I brush a sweaty strand of blonde out of Castiel's eyes in a stupid attempt to help him feel better. I help him to his feet later and then we go to the medical wing. He spins some stupid lie that neither of us buy, but the doctor wraps his arm in gauze, telling him to be less clumsy. Castiel smiles a sheepish, half-smile, laughing because I know it's easier than speaking. We leave the medical wing, both too shocked to speak. I don't properly know how to process the events that went down, I'm just too shocked. I can't believe Christophe did that, what possessed him? What was he thinking? Was he really prepared to kill his own brother? The thought chills me to the bone, and I look up to Castiel, his arm wrapped in gauze and the bewildered look still in his eyes. We've got our hands linked and I give his a soft squeeze, as to just ease some of the terror we just experienced.

"How will we ever explain this to anyone?" He asks, his voice higher than usual.

"Let's hope we never have to." I say, almost shuddering. I don't know how I will return to my normal routine after this, I don't even know how I did when he violated me. Was that really already two months ago? Was that really only two months ago? I look at Castiel again, my sweet Cas doesn't look too brave anymore, but neither do I. I don't know what possessed Christophe, so I shake my free hand as a stupid attempt to stop it's shaking and hope there never comes another opportunity for Christophe to aim and fire. I don't know how I didn't pick up this crazed vibe from him, one can't just simply go crazy one day. Castiel was always depicted as being the unstable one, for ending up with the crazy panic attacks, but no one ever mentioned the things Christophe did as a child. Sometimes I'd find him in the courtyard, with his little hands drenched in the blood of a small animal, and I'd run to my father. We'd find him with clean hands, and an angelic grin perched on his face like it never happened. And that's precisely what he's going to do at lunch. It almost infuriates me, Christophe is a psychopath. When I'm back in my quarters I scrub my hands until they feel raw, until it feels like I've washed the skin off of them, and then I wash them again, I wash them until they ache, but I can't seem to get the disgusting, red shine off them. I can't seem to get Castiel's blood and the damn memories of the Correction Room off.

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