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foolintherain) wrote2021-06-20 01:58 pm
foolintherain) wrote2021-06-20 01:58 pm
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. ]
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. ]
no subject
Or maybe Dean really is a gift from God.
Castiel is confused, muddled, and in pain. Dean lifts the flask to his lips again, and Castiel tilts his head away, but he chokes less this time, swallowing the liquid down, feeling it burn through his chest. ]
Dean, you've done en— nngh...
[ That is a needle digging under his skin, and Castiel grits his teeth against the resurging spark of pain and the strange, uncomfortable sensation of his skin being pulled together. His hand had loosened in Dean's jacket, but now it goes to Dean's shoulder, and he grips him hard as he holds his breath, then blinks through the dizziness and tries to concentrate on his own breathing, instead. ]
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He works quickly, because he knows it hurts like a bitch and it isn't fun, and as tempting as it is to drag it out because fuck this guy, he doesn't. Dean moves as fast as he's able, scooting closer to make sure he's got a good angle, that the wound is stitched as tight as it can be, and no more blood is lost.
Cause...man. Castiel's lost a lot.
A few more quick stitches and he's knotting it off, snipping the spare floss and tossing it aside before dumping a little more whiskey to wash away any bacteria. It's how he's treated himself over the years, it's how he treats Castiel now. He gives a final sweep of the alcohol wipe before carefully drying the area with gauze, before he unceremoniously slaps a bandage on Castiel's shoulder, gently smoothing the medical tape down and reaching to pat the hand that's clutching at his shoulder. Ow. ]
That's the best I can do, man.
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Castiel stares at it, exhausted and disbelieving. Maybe he passed out already, he thinks, and this is all imagined. Maybe they hit that tree after all. It would make more sense than Dean saving his life when Castiel has done nothing to deserve it and everything to deserve Dean's ire.
Slowly, wide-eyed with confusion and disorientation, he looks at Dean again. ]
Thank you.
[ There's a rumbling of a car on the road as it drives slowly past where they've careened off, the first car to pass theirs in miles, even before Castiel took them into the brush. Up the road it pulls over, and apparently having noticed the crash, it begins to back up towards them. ]
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[ And fuck me, I guess. Idiot.
Dean peers at Cas, reaching to carefully cup his face, studying those big blue eyes, his clammy skin and blown pupils. He's in shock most likely, and Dean carefully shifts to maneuver them, needing to get Cas' feet elevated more than they are.
The sound of a car engine stops him dead in his task, a cold thrill of fear slithering down his spine.
He's screwed himself, that's what he's done. Instead of bolting into the woods or leaving Castiel to bleed out and die, Dean's sealed his own fate because he's pretty sure that's not just a concerned citizen, and if it is, they're gonna call the cops because Castiel and Dean are covered in blood. ]
Shit. [ He's already moving, groping for the gun he'd stolen out of the trunk. ] Is that one of yours?
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He watches Dean, staring with dizzy, unfocused reverence as Dean moves about the car, propping Castiel's feet, then freezing as he stares out the window. Dean readies a gun and Castiel frowns. He hasn't heard or seen the other vehicle arrive and has no idea what Dean's referring to. He strains to sit up and the view through window swims. Castiel squints through the fog, but all he can make out is a black passenger vehicle of some kind, possibly the blurry shape of someone exiting from the driver's side, but it's all dripping together like watercolors. Castiel gives up trying to see. He lets his head tilt back against the window instead and closes his eyes. ]
I can't be sure. What do they look like?
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[ Dean absently reaches to rest a hand on Cas' good shoulder, touch light, palm flat on his chest. Stop moving so much.
Dean's heart is jumping all around in his chest, no matter how calm he sounds. This has been the worst day ever. ]
Tall guy. Looks kinda like he sucked on a lemon. Black. Talk to me Cas, do I need to get us outta here?
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Us?
[ He parrots back, uselessly confused. Why would he need to go anywhere? Why would Dean go anywhere with him? They need to go home. That's why Uriel is here. To take them home. Where else would Dean take them? What other option is there. His right arm feels heavy, pain radiating through his shaking fingers in waves, but he lifts it just enough to rest his hand over Dean's on the gun. The last thing he wants is a repeat of what's happened. He doesn't want Dean injured more than he is; he doesn't want Uriel to die. ]
No. Uriel... is my brother. He'll care for us.
[ Don't shoot him, Dean. Castiel's eyes fall closed again, but he keeps his hand where it is, heavily rested over the top of the gun Dean holds and Dean's wrist, pressing it down. ]
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He's gonna pay a hefty price for that, because there's no way he's gonna get out of another encounter without more bullets and blood, and if Castiel's indoctrination is any sort of reference to go by, Dean can kiss his essence goodbye. ]
...Okay, Cas. [ He says, quiet, a little defeated, covering Cas' hand with his. ] Okay. You win. But I want you to remember when they're brainwashing me and turnin' me into some kinda monster that I saved your lily white ass out here.
[ And that's how Uriel will find them, then - crammed in the backseat of Castiel's Lincoln. Castiel's eyes are closed, his feet propped up on the backseat, shirtless but bandaged, Dean hovered on the floorboard next to him, both covered in blood. ]
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Uriel peers in through the window to see the mess of them, bloody all over each other. His hands are in his suit pockets as if he's completely unbothered by the sight of all that blood, of Castiel unmoving, and of a gun in Dean's hand. After tapping his knuckles on the window and not being immediately shot at, he meets Dean's eyes, then circles the car. He pulls open the opposite door but doesn't leave any space for Dean to get out, but rather drops an arm on the hood and leans in, smiling. ]
Dean Winchester.
[ He drawls out the words like they're enjoyable to say, as if the taste of of the sound in sweet in his throat. His smile breaks into a grin. ]
You're a hard man to find. And apparently an even harder one to catch.
[ As his eyes skip over to Castiel and back, his expression evens out and his voice drops to a less enthusiastic, more casual register of concern. ]
Is he alive?
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So, that's worrisome.
Mostly though, with Cas on the outs, Dean's by himself in this predicament and it looks...well. Bad. Like Dean just tortured him or something, which isn't the case, at all.
More like they tortured each other by way of trying to play combat medic in the backseat of an ugly ass car. ]
What can I say, I like to stay out of sight out of mind.
[ Dean likes this guy even less than he initially liked Castiel. There's something slimy about him, something that's ersatz in the way he smiles and speaks to Dean. It makes his skin crawl far more than Castiel ever did, the knot in his stomach swelling in size. ]
He's alive. I stitched him up, but he needs a blood transfusion, soon. You don't happen to have a field kit in that fancy car of yours, do you?
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Uriel's eyebrows lift comically high at Dean's explanation, and he laughs sharply, like it's being punched out of him. ]
You're looking to give Castiel a blood transfusion? With a field kit? So speaketh the Righteous Man.
[ Uriel doesn't wait for an answer, but leans back, chuckling. ]
Leave the laying-on-of-hands to the professionals, Winchester. Our little Castiel here already told me he was shot, by you, and there's an ambulance on the way. You and I have got more important places to be, now. Hurry up.
[ Uriel directs, turning his back on Dean fearlessly and walks back towards his own vehicle, expecting Dean to follow. He brings a phone to his ear as he walks, and presumably after someone on the other end had picked up, Uriel gives their location's coordinates, along with Dean and Castiel's condition. ]
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I'm a universal donor. [ Asshole.
Dean knows how to do it, he's done it before, but if there's an ambulance on the way that's infinitely better.
If. ]
He shot at me first. [ Dean mutters, feeling the need to defend himself, but he's not getting out of the car just yet. Instead, he's trying to wake Castiel up. They can't just...leave him like this. So, he...not so gently slaps a little at Cas' face. ]
Hey. Cas. Wake up.
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In the backseat of the Lincoln, Castiel's eyes flutter as he's slapped, and he gradually blinks them open with a grunt of discomfort. Eyes narrowed into thin slits, he blinks at Dean. ]
I'm awake.
[ He mumbles, and struggles to sit up, rolling his head to look around, but his body feels heavy and weighted down. Even lifting his head is a struggle. He's been exhausted before, stayed up for days at a time, but he's never felt quiet so useless, as if there's an ocean of water pressing down on him, hard to move through and equally hard to think through. He has no idea how long he's been out, seconds or hours, but he's pleased to see Dean in front of him, still alive and capable as Castiel remembers him being earlier. ]
Are we home?
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No. Your buddy Uriel is here. [ The expression on Dean's face is telling; he does not like your 'brother', and is still contemplating the merits of putting a bullet in him. ]
He says there's an ambulance on the way for you. [ Dean shuffles a little, peering to lean half in the front seat before finding what he's looking for. A half drank bottle of water. ]
Drink this, it's just water this time. [ He smiles, thin and lacking mirth. ] Promise I won't force any more whiskey down your throat.
[ For now, anyway. And he doesn't really get a chance to do that anyway, because Uriel is not known to be a patient man, and it wont be long before he comes back over to see what the hell it is Dean is doing.
In the interim, he chooses to watch the scene play out, watch Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, dote over his captor like he's Patty Hearst. It's got him curious, because Dean doesn't seem like he's interested in killing Castiel. Not at the moment, anyway - it seems like something he could have easily done by now, what with the way he'd found them hovered in the backseat, smeared in blood.
Dean can't hear anything but the thundering of his own blood in his ears; his arm and thigh ache at this point and his consciousness swims. Sirens are on the horizon, though - and eventually, they break through the thick cloud that has settled in Dean's brain like a heavy fog before rain. ]
Think that's my cue. [ If he stays here any longer, the paramedics will be required to treat him, too, and probably call the cops which isn't something anyone wants.
Especially not Uriel, since he's already on his way back, and it looks like he has a gun tucked in his jacket. ]
You're gonna be okay, man. [ Just try to remember I helped you, he thinks to himself as he backs out of the car, just in time for the butt of Uriel's gun to come down on the back of his head, sending him into darkness once more. ]
😭 casually timeskips forever
Eventually, he's persuaded to stop. "I'd like to use a phone," he asks her, and she seems relieved that he's at least stopped his hellbent marching down the hall. Belatedly, he adds, "And... a pair of pants, ideally." The back of his hospital gown isn't securely tied and there's a definite breeze.
A few minutes later, Castiel is dressed in much more concealing hospital scrubs, and he has his ear against a phone while he signs release papers with a fake name. ]
I want to talk to Dean Winchester.
[ He tells his sister over the phone, apparently having no problem giving out Dean's information freely. She says Dean isn't available, and when Castiel asks why, she says he's been isolated in prayer. Castiel has never heard of such a thing, but questioning gets him nowhere. He says he's on his way home, and she wishes him well, which sounds, at least, that he's still welcome. He hangs up, and once he realizes he's been given no personal belongings, no wallet, no vehicle, no gun, he asks the receptionist simply for a ride.
The hospital provides a bus ticket for Castiel, which is a new experience for him. What should've been a twelve hour drive lasts sixteen. It's very cramped. It smells horrible. He has nothing to eat and can't remember the last meal he'd had, but a young girl is kind enough to give Castiel half of her peanut butter sandwich before her mother realizes and escorts her back to her seat a few rows away. Castiel's seatmate is a young man in his twenties who wears headphones and ends up sleeping on Castiel's shoulder for some of the ride. Castiel stares out the window at the traffic and the slowly passing scenery of a large, conspicuous highway, and he thinks about Dean.
After the bus arrives in Williamsport, Castiel is greeted by Balthazar, unexpectedly, and driven the rest of the way home. The view passing through the windows, all lush forest, is much more pleasant that the bus ride, and the smell and company are both markedly improved, but the information Castiel receives isn't much better. He presses Balthazar about what's happened with Dean, if he met with Michael, and how Castiel is going to be welcomed, but all of Balthazar's answers are oddly vague. ]
What do you mean, "Michael's keeping him" ? For how long?
[ It's a strange turn of phrase, and not one Balthazar explains at all. "I've no idea, Cassie," Balthazar says with a strangely glib tone. "When you discover the purpose to this... latest passion project of Michael's, do me the favor of filling in the rest of us." His words are haunting, and they ring in Castiel's ears as he's escorted inside to mixed reactions from his brothers and sisters of surprise, and cheer, and distrust.
Castiel doesn't waste time in going to his own personal quarters to change. He grills Balthazar, and every person he meets after on the whereabouts of Dean Winchester until one slips, or maybe they're the first person to know. Either way, the information has Castiel not heading to the guest housing, as he'd expected, but to the audience chambers. ...To the ritual grounds beneath the audience chambers, specifically. The steps are carved stone, and there's water running from a natural source, captured in a circle that leads to pumping fountain at its center. There's a garden of night-growing plants, only a few flowers where the high, slanted windows allow the barest slices of sunlight in, allowing for the torches to remain unlit, at least for this time of day. The room is empty. There's a bit of dust and ash built up in the corners, but it's obvious the stone floor and walls are polished and frequently cleaned. The bloodstains on the floor aren't new. There aren't footsteps or scraps of cloth or twine. The water's clean.
There's a stairway beyond that, to the cellar, and that's where Castiel goes now, continuing down. It's quiet and still, and the stillness urges Castiel to walk carefully and keep his breathing shallow. The ceiling is lit by a thread of electric bulbs. There's a long hallway of wooden doors, and Castiel tries the knob on each door as he walks past, the same way he had as a child when he'd first discovered this "cellar" where wine and provisions are supposedly stored. He calls out just loud enough to be heard, "Dean?" as he goes, but each door is locked, and when he peeks through the slotted window on the ones that have it, he only sees shadows. Until— ]
Dean?
*says cas over and over*
Dean finds out the hard way that Uriel is not like Castiel. He doesn't have patience for Dean's glib demeanor, nor does he have the tolerance for his antics. When Dean rouses in the SUV, he realizes his hands and ankles are bound again with zip ties, and before he can start shouting and fighting, he's force fed a few sips of water that doesn't taste quite right, and he's out again.
When the car rolls to a stop, Dean is still unconscious from the drugs, though he's forced to his feet, a bag over his head as he's dragged out of the car. He can't tell if it's day or night, all concept of time has been lost in the hours he's been hour. Castiel had told him it was a twelve hour drive, but he honestly isn't sure if it's been twelve, ten, or twenty.
There is a lot of commotion as he's hauled through the... compound? House? Church? ( he isn't sure ), but his head swims from what could have only been Rohypnol laced water, so he doesn't understand or recognize any of the voices. ]
Cas? [ Dean croaks, but no one pays him any mind. They speak over him, as if he doesn't exist, as if he's a sack of potatoes they're hauling through the corridors. He might as well be for how they're treating him, shoving him along, only catching him before he falls into something more important than him; another person, a wooden statue. ]
Castiel? [ He keeps asking for Castiel, but no one answers, no one cares, and Dean is too weak at the moment to fight. Strong arms haul him down, down, down, until something metal and heavy is clamped around his neck, and the telltale clink of chain is locked into place.
The hood is finally yanked off, and it's Uriel's face he sees as the door is pulled shut, and Dean is locked in a cell by himself, cold, alone, with only a bucket to utilize. He's too groggy to do anything but pass out, but oh once that door opens hours and hours later by some innocent dipshit bringing food, Dean is a howler monkey, railing against his chains, lunging for them, flinging hot soup back at them. They should for backup, and Dean again sees the butt of a gun, and he's out.
When he wakes again, there's a meal on the floor beside him, plastic utensils resting on a paper napkin, but he doesn't eat. He pushes it to the side, and ignores it. He's fairly sure this many concussions in a short amount of time is probably bad for his brain health, but it doesn't stop him from attacking again the next time someone tries to bring him food.
This time, he gets tased. It drops him like a sack of bricks, leaves him twitching on the ground as someone places a tray down and takes away what wasn't touched.
The trend will continue, Dean a snarling animal, not eating, until days have passed and he's weak, stomach snarling, dehydrated, but unwilling to cooperate. He hears footsteps, though, despite Castiel's efforts to be quiet, and he's waiting for the door to open to launch another assault when he recognizes the voice. ]
Cas? [ His voice is rough, raw - he's exhausted and starving (his own fault, but who knows what's in that food), and if anything should be noted, he sounds weak as a kitten. ] Cas, is that you?
https://bit.ly/2UI82Uc
Yes, it's me. ...The door's locked.
[ He manages, shaken and baffled. When he rattles the door handle again, jerking the door harder this time, it remains stubbornly locked and unflinching. Castiel lets go of it to fit his fingers between the slats of the small barred window and pull himself closer, peering in at Dean's surroundings as his eyes adjust to the dark. Dean's wearing a bloody, bullet-riddled shirt and jeans. He has a manacle around his neck and he's chained by it, like an animal, to the floor. It's horrifying in the senseless violence of it. Dean was God's chosen, Michael has said, and this is how he's treated? There is something terribly wrong, and Castiel is scared. ]
Dean, what happened? Who did this?
[ The answer seems obvious, and yet Castiel can't believe it. There's no way Michael would order Dean to be treated like this, like something dangerous and vile, if there weren't a cause for it. Was Dean violent upon his arrival? Did he kill innocent members of their community? Why else would they chain him down here, except to enact some righteous justice? ]
literally that whole tag lmao
The fight has just...gone out of him. He's tired of fighting, it's only getting him hurt and kicked and punched and hit in the fucking head and tased...
He's just tired.
But Castiel is familiar, and Dean is...surprised to find that he's relieved Cas is alive and well.
He's also kind of relieved to hear the shock in Castiel's voice, the surprise at finding Dean like this. This certainly isn't what Dean had expected - not that he was sure what to expect to begin with, but still. It wasn't this. ]
I don't know. [ It's true, he doesn't really know. No one has really introduced themselves. ] Find a key, Cas. C'mon. They got me in here like a zoo animal.
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Yes, I'll get you out of here.
[ He peels his fingers back from the door and sways back on his feet, but he hesitates, looking at the door, imagining Dean in the darkness behind it. Castiel doesn't understand. He's missing some vital piece of information, and it's important he discover it to make sense of all this and see Dean escorted out safely. He could question Dean, but Dean isn't in any state to be interrogated. Castiel needs to go, to find the keys, to find information.
He hesitates. He's only just found Dean again, and he's reluctant to leave him. Some fantasy-driven part of his brain tells him that he leaves, he might never see Dean again. A more realistic part warns him that the idea isn't that fantastic. How many other people have they kept down here like this, and passed these cells off as treasured supplies hoarded for some never-to-come holy celebration? ]
I'll be back soon.
[ Castiel offers, striving for confidence and reassurance in his voice, though he's sure it falls flat. It must. He has no idea what's going on or if he brings attention to it, if he'll be allowed to see Dean again. Reluctantly, numbly, he turns to go, because what other option do they have? ]
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[ Get the key, get him the hell out of here.
Dean can't really stand up, the chain isn't long enough, but there's a rattle that indicates he's certainly trying to get closer to the door, to see Cas, at least a little bit. The only people he's seen are the ones who feed him, and he hasn't been particularly kind. ]
Sure. [ Dean mutters, leaning back against the wall with a grunt, grimacing as his thigh aches in protest. ]
I'll just...wait here. No problem. Just sitting in here with a bucket of my own poop.
But you take your time, Messenger of God, [ He calls after Cas, kicking at the chain in disgruntlement, angry and belligerent and uncooperative. ] I got nowhere to be.
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Castiel doesn't immediately seek out the key, and though he can hear Dean's complaints in the back of his mind, they go ignored. Their community is built on a foundation of trust and obedience in their elders and those above their station. He needs information first, to find out who is responsible, and who is unaware of Dean's position. He goes first to Balthazar, who is clearly making himself available in the common areas, no doubt expecting Castiel's approach. His avoidance of the issue is the same as before. He's afraid also, Castiel realizes, and excuses himself from Balthazar's company quickly after that. There's no point questioning anyone lower, so he goes higher a step: to Uriel.
He finds Uriel bunked down in his quarters despite the hour, and though Uriel spins the conversation towards Castiel, Castiel forces it repeatedly back towards Dean, demanding answers. "I'd be careful about the questions you're asking, Castiel." Uriel warns. "Despite your failure to fully apprehend Dean Winchester, by God's good graces, you've been welcomed back into the fold. It would be a shame to see you cast out again so soon." The threat, Castiel knows, is a warning out of Uriel's kindness, and Castiel thanks him for that. He needs to be careful, but this is something higher up than his garrison.
Reluctantly, Castiel goes to Naomi's office, and there he finds his answers. "Dean Winchester needs to be broken," she tells him, and Castiel recoils, questions, strives to believe what seems so untrue of the man who held him, and shared his drink, and would have shared even his own blood, if given the chance. "He's a holy creature, but life on Earth has corrupted him. His soul must be ripped apart before it's stitched back together. He needs to be reborn." ]
And this is how you mean to save him? By isolating him, starving him, and keeping him in the dark?
[ Naomi is chilly in contrast to Castiel's heated emotions. "He's chosen this," she tells Castiel. "Ask him. If he'd cooperated with us, there would have been no reason to chain him. Or shoot him. Would there, Castiel?" ]
He'll cooperate with me. Release him into my custody.
[ "We don't trust you," she says, and more than anything Naomi has ever said to him, it cuts. If Castiel were truly mistrusted by his family, and cast out for it... Where would that leave him? What else does he have? This is his home, his life. Everything. He swallows back the guilt and shame and waits for Naomi's decision. She looks at Castiel with her chin raised as if weighing his heart on a scale, before she reaches into her desk, unhooks a key from a chain and slides it across the polished wood. "Tell him we need to trust him, and you, and we'll go from there." She smiles when she says it, and that smile is like a knife, because it's a task she believes Castiel will fail. He stiffens and holds his breath before leaning forward and taking the key. ]
I will. He'll surprise you.
[ Castiel promises, and there's real hope besides the fear as he turns his back to Naomi and feels her eyes following him as he walks out the door. His walk back to the cellar is less that hurried. He doesn't know what to say to Dean, and he knows whatever he says, Dean won't like it. But he has a key. It's something. ]
Dean?
[ Castiel calls when he breaches the cellar hallway again, and he walks directly to the door he'd found Dean behind. He tries the lock beneath the handle. It clicks, and when Castiel pulls the handle back, the heavy door creaks open. ]
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Screw that guy. Dean assumed the instructions were because he was being annoying, so if he can cause any mild inconvenience whatsoever, that's what he's been doing. Throwing the tray at the door, rattling his chains, clanking his tin cup against the walls, shouting at anyone who will listen to let him out, he doesn't belong here, where the hell is Cas?
He's obnoxious. It's probably why he hasn't been let out of this Game of Thrones cell, though it's difficult for Dean to acquiesce and do what they want just to get a better room. He's not a damn dog.
But damn, he's hungry, and in desperate need of a shower.
He sits back against the wall, head tipped back, nothing to do with himself but wait, count the cracks on the wall again, think about how mad he is for giving in and going with Uriel.
Dean is currently imagining a menagerie of ways he could kill that jackass when he hears footsteps again, and he cracks an eye and glares at the door, tensing for the taser when the door creaks open, but instead of an angry guard accompanying some poor schmuck bringing him dinner, it's Castiel. ]
I didn't think you were coming back. [ He doesn't move from his position against the wall, feet on the ground, wrists resting on his knees, head tipped back against the wall. Dean's watching Cas with an exhausted, heavy lidded gaze; curious, accusing, very much I told you so. ] How's life on the outside? Enjoying your freedom?
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I'm sorry.
[ Castiel finally says with genuine regret, at last deciding that nothing else would be worth the breath to speak, except for that. Slowly, like a persona approaching an injured bird, he walks towards Dean, kneels beside him, and lifts his hands towards the collar at Dean's neck, key in hand. ]
For what it's worth, I had no idea that this is how you would be treated.
[ He turns the key in the lock— or tries to. It sticks. There's no satisfying click and release of the mechanism. He turns it again, stubbornly. Stubbornly, the lock resists, and nothing happens. It requires a different key, Castiel realizes. The realization dawns: Naomi knew that when she gave it to him. She never intended to release Dean from this room, only give Castiel access to him. "We don't trust you." The words echo in his head and wrap around his throat, their own kind of collar. ]
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You're either naive as hell, or incredibly stupid, Cas.
[ Dean tried to tell him, tried to warn him, to run. He offered to get them away from Uriel and now here they are, in this Hell that Dean sees no way out of.
Still, the expression on his dirty face is hopeful, eyes wide, looking up at Cas from under his lashes, staying very still as his clean hands touch the metal, the dirty skin of his neck. ]
What's going on? [ He asks, because all he hears is clicking, a key sticking, chain rattling. There is no telltale release of a lock, the chain doesn't fall away, and the faint glint of hope is snuffed out. ]
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Unfortunately, Naomi is the one they have to deal with, until Castiel figures some other way to contact someone in their community above Naomi's station without jeopardizing his own, or Dean's, position. Naomi, who gave Castiel a key to Dean's door, but not his collar. Castiel takes the key back and looks at it in his hand. He doesn't want to say out loud to Dean what must be obvious, but Dean deserves to hear the truth.
"Naive as hell, or incredibly stupid." ]
The... key I was given wasn't intended to release you, apparently.
[ Obviously. Castiel looks at the ground instead of at Dean. The stone floor is filthy. There's an entire tray of food that's started to rot, adding to the stench. Castiel's voice is stiff even for him, as if his throat is attempting to close in on itself. ]
I asked that my direct superior, my sister Naomi, release you into my custody. She said that she didn't trust me, and that I needed to convince you to stay, peacefully, before that trust is regained.
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dean: i cant look at you!!! also dean: hey look at me
sounds like dean
typical
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wrong account herpderp
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