foolintherain | join me in the slave au dumpster

join me in the slave au dumpster

[ They were told, all of them, that Dean Winchester could be found at an auto salvage shop in South Dakota, but he isn't there. A whole network of people are scouring the United States for one man, but it's Castiel who finds him. Dean's car, a 1967 Chevy Impala is parked in front of a gas station in Pontiac, Illinois, and Castiel parks his Lincoln Continental behind it.

This is the only gas station for miles. It's a shack on the main highway, surrounded by thick woods. It's ideal, Castiel thinks. This meeting was planned. He was meant to find Dean here. This is God's plan for him, to be the one to find Dean Winchester, here in this remote place.

He pushes open the glass door, and the bell above it jingles. Dean is there at the register, and neither he nor the cashier look up until Castiel calls out to him. ]

Dean Winchester. I need you to come with me.

[ There's no question in Castiel's voice, just a deep, gruff tone of inevitability. He stands straight-backed with a stuff sort of confidence. The suit he wears is a size too large; the trench coat swims on him, practically concealing his hands. His tie is pulled loose. He's been driving for a very long time, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the fact that he's the one who found Dean, that Dean is here, and that he'll be the one to bring Dean home, no matter what Dean has to say about it. This is preordained. Castiel believes that. He'll do whatever it takes to see his mission through. ]

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[ Dean doesn't say much about the gas attendant, but what he does say is interesting. He doesn't beg for his life or address the man. His life seems at the bottom of Dean's priority list, an inconvenience in a way that isn't cold but it's warm either, more resigned, and Castiel finds that fascinating.

Distracted, Castiel is slow to respond to Dean's question, and he seems a little flustered by it. ]

Ah, of course. My apologies.

[ He doesn't turn his back on Dean, but takes a long step backwards, pushing open the door, holding it open with his back so there's room enough for Dean to walk past, as if he's a polite fellow shopper rather than a religious fanatic attempting to essentially kidnap the man. ]

[ It's probably callous of him, cold and cruel; but Dean's simply trying to survive. He doesn't know why this wackjob was sent after him or what the plans are for him once he's apprehended Dean, but he's pretty sure that they aren't gonna be good. ]

I don't think so, buddy. You go on out the door, I'll follow you.

[ He has zero plans of getting that close to the guy, and he doesn't lower his weapon yet, either.

He also has no plans of actually going with. It's just a ruse to get him out of Dean's way without shooting anyone.

Maybe not so callous, after all. ]

[ Is it a ruse? It doesn't matter. Dean could used the opportunity to get in close to him and shoot him point blank, but instead, he's agreeing to go with him, or trying to escape. That's what Castiel prefers, and so he agrees automatically. ]

My name is Castiel.

[ Not "buddy." There's no reason not to introduce himself to Dean, and it occurs to Castiel now as he backs further out, letting the door fall shut behind him as he steps to the side and waits there, between the building and his own car, that perhaps he should have given his name sooner. Maybe that would've prevented the whole gun predicament. His instructions for this encounter were... vague. Certainly nothing about the courtesy with which Dean should be approached. Live and learn. ]

[ He could. Castiel was dumb enough to try and let an angry man with a pistol get close enough to put a bullet in his head, but Dean didn't do it. He plays at cruelty, at being hollow and soulless, but deep down...? No. he doesn't want to kill anyone. Especially not the innocent idiot behind the counter who hasn't lifted a finger to help or call the cops.

That's probably for the best, considering Dean's pretty sure he's wanted in Illinois, too. ]

I don't care.

[ Dean really, really doesn't care. He follows Castiel out the door, but puts plenty of distance between them as he starts to back towards the Impala, gun still cocked and aimed. ]

Whoever you are, I think it's time you hit the road.

Edited 2021-06-21 22:59 (UTC)

[ Well, that was rude. Castiel frowns, wondering if he'd introduced himself sooner, whether Dean might have cared then. It's unlikely, he decides, which... Fair. He doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Why in the world would his name have any significance to Dean? It shouldn't, and it doesn't, and Castiel shouldn't be bothered by the idea. The creeping sensation of disappointment is inappropriate. He pushes it aside.

Dean backs towards his own vehicle, and and Castiel doesn't move. His hands remain at his sides, at once as tense and calm as when they began. ]

I'd like to leave this place, but I need you to come with me.

[ It's what Castiel had said before, but if Dean is still trying to leave, obviously he doesn't understand the gravity of Castiel's mission. ]

There is an army of my brothers and sisters all seeking one man: you, Dean Winchester. None of us is permitted to return home until one of us has found you and brought you there.

Dude, there's no way I'm coming with you. Are you kidding me? You're a nutcase who thinks he's on a mission from God. I don't think so.

[ What Castiel says next is kind of alarming, though - and Dean pulls a face; confused, annoyed, definitely a little concerned. An army of crazies coming after him? What the hell?

Sure, he might've pulled off a few bank jobs in some podunk towns a la Bonnie and Clyde (minus Bonnie, but occasionally he makes do), and okay, maybe he's hustled his way through a poker circuit a few times. He's run from the cops, spent a few nights in county jails for being a drunk idiot, and maybe he's wanted in a bunch of states for grand theft auto, larceny, breaking and entering, credit card theft, forging checks...

Okay, true, he's not winning any Boy Scout badges here, but damn.

Though with all that on his shoulders it's no wonder some religious freaks are after him. Some kind of creepy conversion therapy? Makes his blood run cold. No fuckin' way.

Still. Castiel's been...sort of honest? So he'll ask-- ]

Why me?

Edited 2021-06-21 23:29 (UTC)

[ "Nutcase" is a bit harsh, and Castiel's frown deepens. It's not that he's never heard himself or his family referred to in those terms, but... Dean was supposed to be different. He was supposed to understand. Castiel wonders, not for the first time since he found Dean, if maybe there was some mistake. But no, his information was thorough. He isn't looking for some Dean Winchester, he is looking for the man in front of him. The one currently pointing a gun at him. Castiel doesn't move, and Dean, strangely, hasn't gone for his car yet, either. At the question, Castiel's chin tips upwards, his eyebrows lifted, and his tone sounds stiffly rehearsed, as he tries to assure not only Dean, but himself. ]

You were chosen by God.

[ This man. This disbeliever was chosen. It's not Castiel's place to question, to wonder, but he does. Nevertheless, he explains, since Dean has done him the favor of not shooting him yet, but rather talking to him, instead. ]

Your purpose in the world is greater, higher than... all of this. All of the people you've met, and all of the cities you've been to: the Earth as you know it are beneath you. You are chosen, Dean Winchester. Transcendent. Righteous.

[ As far as Castiel is concerned, Dean doesn't need conversion. He is already purer, more sacred than himself. It's a bit disturbing, honestly, to be faced with such righteousness in the form of... larceny and pool hustling, but who is Castiel to question the work of God? ]

[ Well, Dean doesn't particularly think it's harsh - he thinks it's a perfectly apt description, because everything that's coming out of Castiel's mouth is completely insane. Dean stares at him, trying to digest what he's being told, but it's the most absolutely demented thing he's ever heard. ]

God doesn't exist.

[ Dean takes a step back towards the Impala, both hands still gripping the gun as he keeps it trained on Castiel. He's gotta get out of here before this guy really does Kimmy Schmidt him.

He doesn't even know what part of any of that to respond to, and the smile that flickers over his lips is one of utter disbelief. ]

I'm pretty sure you've got the wrong guy. I'm... literally anything but righteous.

[ This whole experience is far, far more frustrating than Castiel was anticipating. To listen to Dean blaspheme so proudly is certainly a test of faith. This man is God's chosen. This is God's will. Castiel cannot falter. ]

Regardless of what you may think, or feel, or assume, Dean... God does exist, and you are his chosen. Now, will you come with me?

[ Castiel doesn't move, doesn't reach for a gun or approach Dean, but there's iron in his tone and determination in his expression. He doesn't want to take Dean by force, but if there aren't any other options, it's what Castiel will do. While his instructions to apprehend Dean are the same as what were given to all of his brothers and sisters, the method of apprehending him is left up to... personal preference. It's better if Castiel is able to bring Dean in, compared to the possible alternatives, regardless of his personal opinion of Dean and his disappointing blaspheming. He doesn't want anyone— his brothers or sisters, or Dean— to suffer. God's will or not. ]

Think I'm gonna pass, Jim Jones.

[ Dean's managed to back himself up against the Impala, and he's groping for the door handle with one hand while keeping the gun steady at Castiel. ]

I'm not chosen by 'God', or...or his freaky ass Messengers, or you, or anyone. I want you to leave me the hell alone, you hear me? Get away from me, or I'll shoot you, I swear I will.

[ And while he doesn't want to, clearly he doesn't or he would have by now - Dean will, of that there is no doubt. He's done talking, he's done having this conversation.

It's time to go. ]

Get in your car and leave, man. C'mon. Don't make a stupid decision.

Edited 2021-06-22 01:02 (UTC)

[ Apparently, Dean is capable of making this encounter even more frustrating than it already is. The name's obviously a reference to something, obvious nothing like the name he gave for Dean to use, and Castiel's eyes narrow at the slight, before widening and lifting to the Heavens to ask God for help. Why this, why him, why this test? Castiel sighs. ]

You're right.

[ He finally agrees, dropping his head to look at Dean again, though there's a hardness to his eyes, and a new looseness to his shoulders. ]

I can't afford to make a stupid decision.

[ Which, Castiel knows, is to leave Dean now that he's found him. If he drove off now after finding Dean, and any of the community became aware of it, he would be killed. Not finding Dean is one thing, but returning home without him, or finding him after their months of efforts, only to allow him to leave... Castiel would be killed. Of that he's sure, which makes his decision now, to capture Dean or die trying, the obvious one.

If he reaches for the gun holstered against his breast, he'd be shot immediately. Castiel isn't stupid enough to underestimate Dean's reflexes. Instead he turns slightly, as if to walk back towards his car, and then he strikes, sliding the blade from his coat sleeve and throwing it in Dean's direction. Whether it lands or not doesn't matter. It's a distraction, and Castiel uses that moment of surprise to unholster his gun and shoot repeatedly at Dean: at his arms, his legs, or anywhere obviously extended and non-vital.

If he hits Dean's car in the process or if his own is hit in the return fire, it's not Castiel's concern. He isn't sparing any ammo or running away from this fight. He moves towards Dean as he fires instead not away, unblinking, with all the fearlessness of someone who isn't afraid of being shot back, injured, or killed. His life's meaning is in this moment. Apprehending Dean and bringing him home alive is Castiel's only goal. ]

[ Dean doesn't like that look on Castiel's face, the determination in his eyes, the blatant lack of fucks to give. He's seen the expression before, the look that belays not just fearlessness, but also the sparsity of concern for his own life.

That, Dean recognizes. He's seen it in himself, when he looks in the mirror. Castiel doesn't give a damn if he dies - his mission is to collect Dean, or die trying. It's obvious, and it's scary.

Religious fanatics are, generally speaking, not usually Dean's problem. He's never had a run in with them before, never had any dealings with them. Why would he? Dean doesn't care for religion and has no time for it, never bothered with church or Sunday school. He read the bible at some point because his momma had been a good, devout Catholic and he'd been curious, but on the whole, Dean didn't subscribe to faith.

(doesn't stop him from carrying a rosary in his jacket pocket, the mother of pearl beads worn and loved, the silver tarnished from praying fingers counting stones.)

Nah, Dean didn't subscribe to faith, didn't believe in God, doesn't know about all that heaven mumbo jumbo - how can you just 'confess' your deeds and be forgiven? That's bullshit. There's no get out of jail free card, not like that.

He should know, he's spent enough time in holding cells.

Dean does know there are fringe groups out there that are erratic, dangerous; their activists so, so deeply entrenched they're downright nocuous.

Dean is finally starting to realize all of this; the man with the too big suit and messy hair in front of him isn't someone he should be playing with. These are the kinds of idiots that strap bombs to themselves.

When Castiel turns to go, Dean doesn't buy it. Not for a second, and his instincts pay off. The knife comes flying in the blink of an eye and he dodges it, letting it bounce off Baby and clatter to the ground.

The distraction, though - it works, because next thing Dean knows, this batshit crazy wackadoodle is shooting at him, and Dean's immediate reaction is to try to scramble away, shoot back, empty the clip into Castiel's chest which does nothing because he's wearing a goddamn vest.

Course he is.

All around him, bullets smash into the Impala's siding and Dean bellows his fury, though his immediate concern should really be the bullets that aren't hitting the car, and are ripping through his body, instead. Into his arm, his thigh. The blinding pain drops him down to his knees, clutching his arm, bleeding from bicep and thigh both, unable to stand. ]

Are you crazy? What's the matter with you? You shot me!

You resisted.

[ Castiel's chest burns with bruises from the bullets that landed: five hot points of impact spread across his stomach and chest, and one far sharper ache in his right shoulder that he ignores, still pointing the gun at Dean steadily with his left hand, his aim leveled lower and lower, always at Dean's head, as Castiel closes the distance between them and Dean drops to kneeling from his injuries.

Despite the fiery heat and sensation of wetness dripping down his right arm, Castiel's expression is stony. His voice is sandpaper rough as ever, but calm. ]

My orders are to retrieve God's chosen one by any means necessary. Now, are you ready to make the "smart decision" and stop resisting?

[ At this point, Castiel knows that Dean won't come quietly, though he should. Bleeding from two bullet wounds now and with an empty clip in his handgun, there's no winning this fight. Dean should know that, and yet, Dean is a soldier of a kind, and Castiel sees himself there in Dean. Death before surrender is what led to this shootout, after all. No, the words aren't meant to persuade Dean, but to enrage him enough to act as a distraction while Castiel retrieves his dagger from the ground, summarily shoots the Impala's back tires out, and levels the sight of his gun at Dean again, more than an arm's length out of reach. He isn't going to have the gun pulled from his hand. Castiel's social graces may be lacking, but his military experience clearly isn't. ]

[ Point it at his head, Dean doesn't care. At this point, just judging by Castiel's resolve, his fanaticism, the way he's looking at Dean -- it all tells him this leads nowhere good, and Dean would probably rather die than see this particular path through.

Still, Castiel knows what he's doing, and it does piss him off; Dean snarls, clutching his arm and doing his best to struggle to his feet. It's quite a task, since there's a bullet lodged in his leg, and he just...kinda hopes it hit an artery so this will end before it gets any uglier. ]

Stop shooting my car!

[ Talk about hypocrisy; Dean is all about Stupid Decisions(tm), and Castiel will probably have to shoot him again because once Dean is up he's lunging at Castiel, the box cutter he carries in his hand.

Don't judge. It was the closest thing. And he knows there's a saying about knives to gunfights but his clip is empty and this is what he's got. ]

[ He's been shot twice, and he's still yelling about his vehicle. Castiel can't tell if Dean is managing to joke despite his injuries or if he's really that upset about the damage to his car, but it's a moot thing either way. The car is meaningless to Castiel, and now Dean's opinions are meaningless, also. The time for negotiation is long past.

Dean lunges for him, as expected, though the box cutter in his hand is a surprise, and Castiel silently chastises himself for being caught off-guard. He's not the only one to carry multiple weapons, after all; he should've expected this. Still, Dean is injured, and that makes him slower and clumsier than he would be otherwise, with only adrenaline to power him. Shooting him again would be easier, less risk of being injured again himself in Dean's desperate attempt to survive, but Castiel steps forward to meet Dean's lunge instead, kicks at Dean's hand with the knife, to either injure him beyond the ability to use it or force him to drop it, and once he's disarmed again, Castiel brings the butt of the rifle down on the back of Dean's head hard.

When Dean falls and goes still, Castiel looks around and confirms that the attendant is still inside behind the counter, attempting to remain hidden as he looks through the glass. Castiel briefly considers burning the station down. Others would. The loss of life and property would be in the service of God, they would say. But it feels so unnecessary. They have other ways of remaining secret and keeping themselves safe. After holstering his own gun and retrieving Dean's, Castiel drags Dean's unconscious, blood form up onto his shoulder and, after some maneuvering, deposits him in the Lincoln's back seat. After another brief scan of the area, he locates the attendant's car and, with two carefully aimed shots, flattens its back tires as well.

He climbs into the driver's seat, starts the engine, and pulls out from around the side of the bullet-riddled Impala, back onto the pebbled road. It's not until he's on the highway and off the highway that he pulls over again. When Dean wakes up, he'll still be in the backseat of the Lincoln, divested of his pocket knife, his hands and ankles zip-tied. There's a first aid kit in his lap, and Castiel is digging the bullet out of Dean's thigh with a long pair of tweezers.

Good morning, sunshine. ]

[ It's a losing battle, Dean sees it now. He still isn't really sure why he's been 'chosen', what this is really all about - but he knows he's in deep shit when he sees the butt of the gun come down, that last little flickering flame of hope snuffed out.

The lights go dark and that's it for a while. It's a dreamless state at first, but sunlight filtered through glass dances over closed eyelids, and Dean dreams of a childhood memory yellowed by sunlight and age, running through cornfields, grain silos glinting in the distance. Fallen stalks crunch under pounding feet, laughter in the distance in the shape of his mother.

His leg hurts, though. So does his arm. It all hurts a lot, and little Dean looks down, because he doesn't remember this part, holds a hand up in horror because it's slick with blood. ]

Ow, [ Dean groans, dragged from the happy memory, pulled out of his childhood and back into harsh reality that probably has no good end. It hurts, and he opens his eyes and immediately tries to jerk away, panic flaring, kicking his tied legs in Castiel's general direction. ]

Stop it! Stop touching me, you freak--!

Edited (word choices) 2021-06-22 16:36 (UTC)

[ It's a slow awakening for Dean, and Castiel can hear it, can feel the tension rising in Dean under his hands. He works quickly, digging for the bullet, the tweezers striking metal, sliding— And then Dean kicks out, and Castiel is jarred backwards, and the tweezers drop from his hand, leaving another bloody splatter across the beige leather backseat. He elbows Dean's legs back down and drops a knee on them to keep Dean's lower half pinned as Castiel rolls his eyes, a full-body motion, and keeps a guarded hand up to keep Dean from striking at him (or making contact if he does, anyway). ]

Calm down. If you keep moving like this, you'll injure yourself worse.

[ Rude, also. Honestly, this is all so much more frustrating that Castiel expected. He had been so sure that Dean would understand, or would even already be expecting someone to find him. Instead, Castiel has to deal with this insanity. He should've brought a sedative. ]

[ Dean gives him a look, exasperated, momentarily pausing. ]

Dude. Do I look like I care?

[ Castiel is seriously jaded or brainwashed or...something, but Dean isn't going to come quietly. The brief reprieve is ended by Dean beginning to struggle again, twisting this way and that, fighting to get any kind of leverage so he can get away.

Somehow.

From inside a car with zip tied hands and feet.

Good plan, Dean. ]

[ If he did manage to overpower Castiel, it would certainly be interesting to see what his next step was from there. Outside the windows of the car is a dirt road and more woods. He would have to find one of his knives and free himself first. Would he drive the car or try to run?

Either way, Castiel isn't going to allow it to happen. He'd be dead if he lost Dean now. There is no way for him but forward. He fights the way Dean does, with a desperation just beneath the calm, like underwater creatures writhing beneath the water's surface. ]

Dean—

[ It takes a minute of breathy scuffling for Castiel to catch Dean's hands as he bucks, trying to break Castiel's hold. He uses his weight, and Dean's, releasing Dean's feet from the weight of his knee only to shove them up towards Dean's wrists, and with another minute of shoving and pinning Dean to the backseat, blood a mess through the bandage on Dean's arm, from his freely bleeding leg and in growing blots on the shoulder of Castiel's coat, he manages to yank another zip tie closed, linking Dean's wrists and ankles together.

Though Dean's free to roll around like a pill bug all he likes, it renders him mostly immobile otherwise, which frees Castiel to locate the tweezers and first aid kit. ]

I'm not sure what else I expected.

[ Castiel grumbles, knowing exactly what he'd expected and more berating himself for being such a fool as to have believed the man he'd find would be anything less than entirely too human. He unrolls a length of bandage with stiff jerks, and he tugs it around Dean's bleeding leg with the same rough efficiency. ]

If you want to keep a bullet in your leg and your hands and feet tied for a twelve hour drive, fine. Keep them. That's your decision.

[ Dean fights like a cornered animal, because that's what he is. He's trapped, unable to get past Castiel, he can't get free, there is no escape. Castiel has the advantage of not being zip tied, therefore it's far easier for him to get the upper hand and restrain Dean further. ]

Oh, come on--

[ His heart hammers in his chest, and despite all of his bravado and hissing and irritation and instincts that scream at him to fight back, Dean is scared. He's scared, he's practically hog tied in Castiel's backseat, divested of his weapons and knives, and he's out of options. It seems like a damned good time to start panicking, but that kind of behavior never did anyone any favors, so Dean will try another tactic. ]

Okay, okay. Alright. Truce. Truce, okay? You dig this bullet outta me and I'll dig that one outta you.

[ Castiel's breathing is still labored and his shoulder is burning again when the ache had receded, but he's in the better position with Dean know, and he knows it. Dean is now as secure in the backseat as he would be in the trunk, Castiel thinks, and so it should be an easy, uneventful drive.

Dean's offer is a transparent plight to escape, and Castiel is tired of being underestimated. He levels Dean a long, frustrated stare. ]

And I imagine you'd like me to untie your hands to do it.

[ Twelve hours in a car, relatively unmoving, with his shoulder aching like it is will be unpleasant, but Castiel has endured worse. He can endure it. ...But he would be more comfortable without the sudden shock of a lump of metal striking a nerve every time he turns his head too quickly, and certainly Dean would be more comfortable, and less at risk, with the bullet removed from his leg, also. There's a low, dull light of concern in Castiel's eyes. ]

Well. That would make things a lot easier, don't you think?

[ For both bullet removal and escape - which he's definitely planning. Dean knows that part is transparent.

However.

Dean's never gonna get Castiel to cut him loose if he doesn't change his bad attitude and behave himself at least a little, so he wets his lips, looks up at Castiel from his awkward, uncomfortable position, blood smeared all over him and the car. Have pity. ]

How about this. I'll help you first, okay? I'm not gonna get anywhere with this busted leg, so you won't have to worry about me taking off.

[ Yet. ]

Of course.

[ At least Dean's aware that he's being transparent, and Castiel respects him, just a little, for that. He looks at Dean's eyes, is distracted by the way his tongue wets his lips, and... pathetic isn't the right word for how he thinks Dean looks, and if Castiel found the right word for it, he'd make himself uncomfortable. Pity, he settles on. Concern sounds even nicer. He does want Dean to be comfortable, and more importantly, alive. Castiel sighs as the dagger in his sleeve slips effortlessly back into his right hand. ]

You know, if you'd cooperated from the start, you wouldn't have your hands tied or a bullet in your leg at all.

[ In other words, no. Castiel doesn't trust Dean, can't trust him, and he won't. But he does have faith in his own abilities to protect himself, and so, he cuts off the tie he'd just secured linking Dean's wrists to his ankles, freeing him only that much. The other two remain in place as Castiel sheathes the knife again and begins unwrapping the hasty bandage to Dean's leg. ]

I'm going to take this bullet out of you, replace the bandage, and then we're going to drive.

[ And if Dean doesn't try to escape through all of that, Castiel will tie Dean's hands more comfortably to the door instead of his own ankles, he decides. The bullet in his own shoulder will have to stay. He doesn't trust Dean enough not to kill him as soon as that weakness is exposed. ]

Lemme just, uh -- level with you here, Cas.

[ Dean doesn't fight, doesn't kick at him once his legs are free. He just looks up at Castiel, open and honest for the first time since they started bickering and fighting and scuffling at the gas station. ]

That wound in your shoulder is leaking a lot of blood. I dunno how much your little operation taught you about bullets and anatomy and what bullets do to said anatomy, but uh - all I really gotta do is wait.

[ Honestly, maybe that's what Dean should do. Maybe he will. He lifts a shoulder, flashes a smirk and relaxes against the leather. ]

My guess is you've got less than an hour before you bleed out, just judging by what I see.

[ This sudden change in attitude is incredible suspicious, obviously so, and Castiel's eyes narrow as he glances up from Dean's thigh, but his hands don't pause as he unwinds the bandage the rest of the way, exposing the open wound again. ]

That's not my name.

[ He's distracted enough to correct while he thinks about the rest of what Dean's said. Castiel is a soldier, a grunt, not a medic. He knows basic wound care. He knows about disinfecting, stabilizing, reducing bleeding. He already has a bandage around his shoulder beneath his coat, but it's also obvious that he's bled right through it. Dean might be right. Castiel has been shot before, but only once, in the foot. Obviously he survived, though it's one thing to potentially lose a foot and another to potentially bleed out within an hour. ]

You're bluffing.

[ Castiel counters, his hands paused, bandages pressed firmly though distractedly to the bloody hole in Dean's thigh. Castiel's voice is slightly higher now, and there's a slight brightness of fear in his eyes: the first emotion other than frustration and concern that he's shown. He has no reason to believe Dean. Dean is a criminal, not a caregiver, and Dean is trying to kill him. Dean isn't the savior Castiel had thought he was. He's chosen, righteous, but he's only human. He's lying. ]

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