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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[ Though Castiel doesn't answer the raspy raising of Dean's obviously strained voice, he does at least put more of a rush to his steps on the way out. Of course Dean decides to sass the only friend he currently has on the outside, but that's fair, in Castiel's mind. He shouldn't be treated like this. No one should, not even an animal. It's barbaric. Certainly, this isn't what God wanted for Dean, no matter how brashly or violently Dean might have behaved. The members of the community are violent and brash on occasion themselves, after all. Castiel himself has been, as recently as... Well, however long he was in that hospital. No, someone, somewhere, was mistaken about Dean.

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. ]

Dammit. [ He mutters to himself under his breath, shaking the chain just to make some noise, even if one some smarmy jackass who's name he missed and didn't care about had told him to quit hurling feces like a howler monkey.

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?

[ Indecision still roils in Castiel's gut, and seeing Dean again, dejected but still righteous in his fury, only increases Castiel's doubts. He looks away, hesitating momentarily under the weight of Dean's judgement. He's right to be upset and to scorn Castiel as much as the others. He may be wearing hospital scrubs and slippers instead of more practical clothing, but he's cleaned and nourished and whole, which is more than can be said of Dean. ]

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. ]

[ It's tempting to lunge at Cas like he has everyone else, but instead he stays seated where he is, stinking and sweating and furious, because he sees the key in Cas' hand and maybe he's going to be freed, if only so he can take a shower. ]

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. ]

[ It burns to be insulted by someone, an outsider who doesn't know anything about his family, and if it were anyone other than Dean, Castiel would argue fiercely as to the opposite. But, in Dean's case at least... He's right. Castiel was painfully naïve, or stupid to trust Naomi, or whoever it was that ordered Dean be treated this way. Any way he thinks about it, though, it doesn't make sense. This isn't what God, or Michael, intended for Dean. Castiel knows that. He knows it. This is a mistake. He doesn't expect Dean, or even Naomi to understand.

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.

[ The hope gone, Dean sits back on his heels, looking away from Cas, leaning back against the wall. He can't look at him, this man who dragged him into this, who told him lies and spouted untruths, who told him he would be revered but instead he is reviled. ]

I don't trust you, either.

[ His voice is flat, hollow, but he tips his head to look at Cas, eyes narrowed, the expression on his face clenched and angry. Convince him to stay, peacefully.

Like training an animal. That's what he is. An animal in training to be...What? Attack dog? Guard dog? Servant? Mule? Something worse? ]

Hey. Look at me. [ Because Cas should see it, what his beliefs have cost, what Dean looks like, days later. ] Look at me and tell me why I'm here.

[ It's painful to watch Dean recoil in Castiel's peripheral vision, to hear his rejection, his scorn, and to know it's justified. Castiel swallows around his guilt and stares at the ground. He doesn't defend himself. Despite their standoff, Dean had earned Castiel's trust, and Castiel was unable to shield Dean from this fate. Dean's hatred is exactly what Castiel deserves, and though it aches, he doesn't flinch from it, or from Dean's anger. He lifts his chin as Dean's voice raises, and he stares at the far wall, shrouded in darkness where the electric light from the hallway can't reach. Dean wants him to admit fault and blame himself, call himself naïve and beg for Dean's trust, but the truth is, Castiel isn't convinced that he's wrong, or that he was naïve, only that Naomi, and whomever else was involved in Dean's poor treatment since his arrival, was misguided. They didn't understand Dean's worth. They misinterpreted Michael's words and God's intentions.

Castiel turns his face sharply back to Dean. His eyes are unblinking. His expression is stonily resolved. ]

Because you were chosen by God.

[ Castiel still believes that. He still believes that Dean's place is here, with him and their family, that Dean is chosen, righteous. He's seen it in Dean's kindness, in his strength. Dean belongs here, in their community. Just not... down here in the mud. Castiel's expression softens back towards pleading. ]

Dean, this is a misunderstanding. I promise you, this is not what God, and my brother Michael, intended for you. There's been a horrible mistake, and I swear to you, I will right it.

So, you still don't know. Gotcha.

[ He lets his head fall back with a sigh, because he's tired of hearing the same shit come out of Cas' mouth, You were chosen by God, I'm a Messenger of God, blah blah I'm a douchebag in a trenchcoat. It was the same crap over and over, the same rhetoric repeated without even the benefit of iambic pentameter, and Dean is sick to death of it.

My name is Castiel.

Dean's eyes close and he lifts a hand to run his fingers through dirty hair, stomach snarling, though it goes ignored. ]

Cas, please go away.

[ The frustration and guilt feels like a solid wall between them, and though Castiel wants to reach out and show Dean compassion, he remains standing where he is instead, awkwardly trapped by indecision. Dean asks him to leave, though, and that's the least Castiel can do for him. ]

I'll be back again soon.

[ He can't leave without assuring Dean that much, even if Dean is upset with him personally and likely would rather see anyone else. Castiel can't allow Dean to think he would abandon him, even if he isn't able to help in the way Dean expects. He turns and walks out of the cell, and after he shuts the door, he locks it again. Dean is in no state to mount an escape, and if Castiel left the door unlocked, he's worried Dean might try and hurt himself in the process.

There's also the possibility that someone else without a key might come in here and do worse than what's already been done. Frowning at the idea, angry on Dean's behalf and feeling betrayed by his family, Castiel stalks back upstairs, leaving Dean once more to silence and relative darkness. ]

Don’t hurry back - enjoy your freedom, jackass.

[ Dean sinks against the wall, pathetic and miserable, alone. Lost. Wondering why he hadn’t just shot Castiel and taken the car, why he’d saved him, what difference it had made.

None, it seemed.

Castiel is met on the way down by a brother bringing Dean his meal, inevitably another one that will be left to waste, because naturally, their ‘chosen’ cares nothing about food waste, the time prepared, the effort that went in to feeding him. ]

Ungrateful, isn’t he? They say he’s God’s chosen, but I imagine this will be my fifth time being attacked.

[ It's jarring to meet someone in as quiet a space and the ritual grounds beneath the auditorium, and Castiel is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't imedietely register the tray of food in Daniel's hands, or who he's referring to. Castiel frowns when it finally sinks in and looks over his shoulder, back at the stairwell he'd just climbed. ]

"Count it a joy when you meet trials of various kinds, for know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness."

[ Castiel recites drily, thinking of course more of Dean's trials than Daniel's, though he's sure the latter will interpret it the other way around. He turns to Daniel and takes the tray from his hands. ]

I'll bring it to him.

[ Daniel argues about responsibility, but Castiel is convincing with his own heartfelt concern for Daniel's health and his own failure to atone for. Eventually, Daniel agrees and returns the way he'd come, but not before Castiel is able confirm that it's Daniel's garrison in its entirely that's been seeing to Dean, as directed by his lieutenant, their sister Hannah.

It's not immediately that Castiel returns to Dean's cell, but almost an hour later. He's changed from the scrubs and slippers into a white button-down, slacks and loafers, and he sets down a bucket in order to open the locked door, picking it up again once he's inside.

He looks at Dean, mostly to reassure himself that Dean is still alive and conscious, before he sets the water bucket down just inside the door and holds the tray of food still in one hand, frowning in Dean's direction. ]

I hear you haven't been eating.

[ It's obvious enough from how Dean looks, gaunt and exhausted with a tray of uneaten food from his last "meal" still rotting in the corner, but Castiel says the observation aloud anyway, so that Dean can know that, yes, Castiel has been talking to Dean's other, ah, captors. ]

[ Dean didn't expect Castiel to come back so soon - or at all. He hasn't been exactly subtle about his frustration, disdain, and fury, and not just in regards to his treatment, but to Castiel, himself. You're the reason he's here, the reason he caved, the reason he finally said yes and went with your little group of freaks.

And this is how he's repaid. A bucket of shit and crappy food and a collar on his neck.

The hour Castiel is gone, Dean is leaned against the wall, his eyes closed - he's waiting for the door to unlock and open so he can fling a tray of rotting food, but it doesn't come at the time it usually does, which leaves him on edge, a little afraid, and unnerved. He's tired, though, so with his head tipped back like that, he dozes because he can't help it; his body is exhausted, barely healing, bloodied and laughably bandaged, probably infected. He's feverish and sick, cheeks pink with color that make his freckles stand out, eyes a little too bright.

But hey. He's here.

When the door finally does unlock, he rolls his head to look, narrowing his eyes, but he doesn't bother to throw his metaphorical feces. Instead, he just watches, a brow lifted. ]

I thought I told you to go away.

Hello, Dean.

[ Yes, Dean had told him to go, and Castiel has said that he would be back. So here they are. Castiel ignores Dean's reminder. Instead, he lets the door fall shut but unlocked behind him, and he closes the space between them and kneels next to Dean, the tray of food held in both his hands. ]

I assume you haven't been eating because you think the food has been laced with something.

[ The alternative is, of course, that Dean's trying to starve himself, either to die or to force his release, but Castiel willfully ignores that possibility. He looks at the food he's brought, a meager meal of mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, and grilled chicken, with a plastic cup of water. There's nothing artful about it. It's a simple meal, but that's probably better for Dean, if he'll eat it. From the look of him, he wouldn't be able to keep much down, if he's even willing.

Castiel falls from kneeling to sitting beside Dean. He balances the tray on his thigh, close enough for Dean to reach without directly offering it to him. ]

I made this meal for you myself. There's nothing suspect about it. Though, if you'd still like me to taste it in front of you, I will.

[ Castiel explains, and he doesn't force the food on Dean, though he does lift the cup and all but press the rim of it to his lips. Drink, you stubborn idiot. ]

[ He sighs. ]

Hi, Cas.

[ And. Well -- yes. That's part of it. He assumed it was drugs, because they certainly hadn't been shy about drugging him before, but also he's hoping it would force their hand, make them let him go. Like...a food strike, or something. But it doesn't seem to be working, because he's going on several days now of refusing food and water and there's been no sign of release. ]

I'm not hungry. [ Or thirst, apparently, because he clamps his lips shut.

Plus, you know - he doesn't trust him. ]

Edited 2021-07-05 01:22 (UTC)

[ That's an obvious lie, and Castiel should be grateful, perhaps, that he's being lied to instead of having the plate thrown at him, but he gives Dean a full-headed eye roll all the same before forcing the cup on Dean again. ]

Drink.

[ Mostly that, though the food is important, too. All of it is important, not just for Dean's sake, to keep him alive, to heal him and return him to good health, but to show Dean's cooperation, and earn Castiel's family's trust again, for both of them. Castiel isn't shy about explaining it. ]

You need to eat. You need your strength if you plan to plot some sort of outlandish escape, and you need your captors to believe you're cooperating with them if you ever intend to slip this literal leash you're wearing. Martyring yourself only brings you closer to God.

[ Which, really, should be a good thing, and Castiel should be following Dean's example and refusing food himself rather than correcting Dean's behavior, but somehow through the ordeal of Dean's capture, this whole God's chosen thing has become less important to Castiel than the man himself. ]

[ He's so goddamn dehydrated he could pass out. The cup is pushed to Dean's lips again and he can't help but drink, weakly lift a hand to cover Cas', dirty and grimy, but he does drink, greedily, while he listens.

Castiel has a point, which is...a little odd, but Dean can't discount the guy's spitting straight facts. He's been down here languishing and being a general loud, noisy, obnoxious pain in the ass when maybe the trick is to simply comply. It goes against everything in him, just rolling over, but dammit..

The bastard is right. If Dean's going to get out of here, he needs his strength. ]

You're just saying that because you want your family to trust you. What're you gonna do when you win it back, and I bust out? [ And kill whoever necessary in the process.

He pushes the cup away, rubbing at his mouth, watching Castiel and wondering what his next move will be. Hand him the tray, see if Dean kicks it? Feed him? ]

[ Though Castiel doesn't say anything as Dean drinks, some tension bleeds out of his shoulders, and there's a softening of relief to his expression. A person can go an incredibly long time without food, but without water... not so much. It's a step in the right direction, which is to say, in Dean's life being extended beyond tonight, and the relief Castiel feels may as well be a physical weight lifted from his shoulders.

He sets both the cup and the tray down between them, for Dean to eat or ignore, or throw, though at least he seems to be listening to reason at the moment, and Castiel is anxious to meet him there, in the murky gray between what his family seems to want of Dean and the freedom Dean desires. ]

Once I regain my family's trust by bringing you into the fold, then I'll have done my part and my previous failure will be forgiven. Others of my family have left of their own accord, but on the off chance that you aren't permitted and instead find it necessary to escape someone's guard... As long it's not my watch you're escaping, and it's the first offence of whoever's watch you slip, I can't imagine there will be further consequences for anyone involved.

[ Except, of course, for Dean if he's caught again, but that goes without saying. If Castiel plans it right, which he hopes that Dean would let him, for both their sake's, then there shouldn't be killing necessary on either side. ]

I don't understand how you failed anything. [ Castiel shot him twice, brought him down. It was maybe inelegant, but it certainly got the job done.

Dean reaches for the tray, pulling it into his lap, poking at the potatoes but not eating just yet. ]

You caught me, right? And you didn't die in the process. [ because of me remains left unsaid. ] So I don't get why they're so bent out of shape over you.

[ He takes a small bite of chicken, hoping it's not full of roofies, but even if it was, he can't bring himself to care anymore. ]

And -- I thought you were hell bent on me being here. It sure sounds like you're willing to help me out. [ Generally speaking, and, you know. Out out.

[ Of course Dean doesn't understand. He doesn't know anything about how their community operates, and why should he? Though he was chosen by God, it was only a recent decision, apparently. He has all the knowledge of an outsider, still. Castiel sighs with the weight of responsibility, and failure, and how much Dean doesn't understand. At the sound of Dean picking up the tray, though, Castiel looks up. Though he tries to keep his expression unchanged and his eyes up on Dean's, conversational, he's gladdened, and deeply relieved, to see Dean eating anything at all. ]

This isn't how I expected you to be treated.

[ He's mentioned it before, apologized already, but he doesn't mind repeating it as many times as it takes for Dean to believe. Castiel looks around the room, frowning at the chain drilled into the stone wall and similar hooks in place at other points. A cellar for storage, he'd believed. How many other times has Naomi or someone like her "stored" prisoners here? And Castiel, born here, raised here all his life, had no idea. ]

No one should be treated this way.

[ What Castiel can actually do about it, though, is another problem. He lets his legs unfold and leans back further against the wall with his hands crossed loosely in his lap, relaxing a bit more now that Dean is drinking and eating, and in some small way being cared for, at last. ]

Our community is like a bridge. We support each other, lean on each other. There are rankings, position of responsibility earned by trust. The more you aid the community and help it to thrive, the higher rank you earn. You gain more responsibility, and more people are trusted in your care.

[ It's a lot to explain, but hopefully that bit of backstory will help answer Dean's question now, as Castiel fills in the rest of the blanks. ]

Uriel is a member of my garrison, below me in rank. His life is in my care, and by ordering his aid in retrieving you, when I was already injured and you were no longer restrained, I violated his trust, and thus the trust of the community.

[ As if that weren't enough reason for discipline, though, Castiel had taken one more giant leap in the wrong direction. ]

And I ordered him to call an ambulance for me.

[ All Dean hears is 'blah blah blah, cult stuff, cult stuff, cult stuff'. He settles the tray in his lap with shaking hands, carefully chewing and swallowing, reaching to take a sip of water to wash it down. He's a little worried his stomach is going to rebel, but it stays calm, for now.

It's trust that has him eating what's brought to him by Castiel, he realizes, which makes him frown down at his food, though he's still listening.

He takes another bite, and another. ]

You were on death's door. Of course you called an ambulance. Why wouldn't you?

[ In the last few days (has it been days? he's losing track of time, he should've started marking them like people do in prison movies), Dean has found himself wishing more and more that he had the family Cas talks about - not this one, cause they're a fucking cult, but his own. His dad who's in prison. His brother in California that he hasn't spoken to in years.

He's found himself wishing that one person would notice he was gone, that one person would call a missing persons report, would freak out when the Impala was discovered laden with bullet holes.

But there isn't anyway. No one will come, no one will call, no one will look for him.

It's a cold bucket of icy water in his veins, and he finds he can't eat anymore, his stomach rolling with nausea. Dean sets the tray aside after only a few bites, and pulls his knees up to his chest. ]

I'm glad you're okay.

[ It's exactly the kind of fear of isolationism Dean is experiencing that draws this ~~cult~~ family together. Castiel knows Dean is estranged from his relatives. That's just one more reason why Castiel had been sure that Dean would accept his offer to join their family. ]

We take care of one another. Relying on people who aren't members of the community is... discouraged.

[ Including, yes, police and hospital services. And Dean, which is why he's being made to earn the community's trust, though it was Castiel's understanding that God had already granted it to him. At the expression of relief, Castiel meets Dean's eyes, and it's difficult not to take the words warmly to heart (mostly because it's Dean who's saying them, Castiel realizes, distractedly), but there's nothing there but the desire for survival. Without Castiel, Dean would likely simply starve to death and never manage his mistake. Castiel is a tool in Dean's workshop, and that's fine. Being a tool of God's chosen is all Castiel really wanted out of his life, anyway.

With a glance towards Dean and the discarded tray, he stands and leans over, only just enough to grab the bucket and drag it over. He places it between them, dips his hands in the soapy water, which is steaming lightly, and wrings out a clean washcloth. He looks at Dean expectantly. ]

Hold out your hands.

That's dumb as hell. Sometimes you need a doctor or an ambulance. Like, the one you'll probably need to call when my leg goes septic.

Unless you plan on letting it rot off as penance.

[ Which he guesses is what they're aiming for, since it's been days, he's filthy, and it's all oozing and gross, much like his arm. Regardless of the plan, it hurts, it's gross, he's gross.

He'd say he smells, but everything in here smells, so it's hard to really say if it's him, personally, or if it's his poo bucket, or something else best not named. ]

You could just let me shower. [ But he holds his hands out anyway with a sigh, because arguing has gotten him nowhere. ]

I don't. Someone might.

[ Yes, Dean is caked in dirt, dried blood, and his own filth, and Castiel could guess that he hadn't been treated beyond the initial bandaging Castiel himself had done, but to hear it confirmed is infuriating. His jaw tenses as he grits his teeth and lets himself focus on what's in front of him: namely, cleaning Dean's hands, to start. ]

I could dump this bucket over your head, if you'd prefer.

[ He'd bring Dean upstairs and give him access to the communal washroom on his floor if he could, but Dean is one of the few people here given less trust than Castiel. Until Castiel finds a way to convince Naomi that Dean, and himself, can be trusted, Dean is restricted to where he is, vile as Castiel finds it to be.

Despite the tension in his body and the frown in his expression, his hands are gentle on Dean's as he rinses away layer upon layer of grime from Dean's fingers, rinses the cloth in the bucket with fresh, hot water and begins again, taking on a slow, meditative sort of rhythm. ]

Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence. [ It's basically just confirmation that yes, they're going to just let his appendages rot off, because no one has bothered to treat him, and Castiel didn't bring anything to do so, either.

God, he hates all these people. ]

You could. Then at least I wouldn't have to hear all your blowharding about God and hypocritical nonsense about how no one should be treated this way, while I sit here collared like a slave.

[ It's tempting to knock Castiel's teeth out, but he doesn't, because it wouldn't do anything except make his situation worse. Besides, it feels really good, and it seems like it's the only semi bath he's going to get, though he's sure he could probably handle this himself. ]

[ Dean sasses him, again, and Castiel pauses the motion of his hands to look up and stare at Dean in narrow-eyed disbelief. Of course Dean's anger and frustration are justified, but Castiel is sure he's never met someone so shamelessly irritating. ]

I'm trying to help you. But my capacity to do so is limited, because you decided to attack and fling shit at the people who brought you food. Would you even have let someone near you if they'd offered to treat your leg?

[ Castiel continues to clean Dean's hands as he argues, wiping away grime and stink as the soapy water grows darker. His strokes remain gentle but they're longer pulls than before, with more pressure, finding more purpose in his distraction. ]

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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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