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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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[ Acknowledgement is a good enough answer for Castiel, although he was expecting more of an argument. He squints at Dean as if he could read his thoughts, only to be distracted away from his failed attempt at mind-reading by the comment about his family. Castiel sighs through the words. ]

That's... understandable. You've seen the worst of them.

[ He looks in the direction of the door, thinking of David and the others in his garrison, and of Uriel, and Naomi. Yes, Naomi was strict, especially regarding outsider contact with the community, but he never would've expected this of her... Then again, Castiel didn't know her personally, the way he knew many others. ]

I wish I could introduce you to the family I'm closest to. Balthazar, Rachel, Samandriel... I'm sure that you and Uriel would have gotten along as well, under better circumstances.

[ God, he'd kill for a shower. Mow through all these nutjobs, actually - with little to no regret. ]

I seriously doubt that. Chuckles doesn't seem like someone that would vibe with me on any level.

[ He tosses the cloth into the bucket and settles back, letting his head rest against the wall, eyes closed. There isn't really a lot to say - Dean has no reason to have any extended conversation with the guy. Like. The bucket was great, he ate a little bit of food, but beyond that Dean's not really in a great mental space.

No one is coming. No one is coming, and it stings.

Dean's gotten himself out of scrapes before, crawled out of barred cells like it was nothing, but this is another ballgame. This is probably where every piece of who he is dies, and it's terrifying. ]

What do you need me to do so I can get the hell out of here?

[ Literally killing people for the privilege of a shower isn't the way to salvation, in Castiel's opinion. But then Dean is also apparently the one chosen by God, so what the fuck does he know.

Dean is right, though— or almost right. If he were alone, killing everyone might be his only escape. No one is coming for him, and even if one of his wayward family members were to try, they would have no idea where to look, and only a labyrinth of buried clues to follow. He isn't alone, though. No one is coming, because the only one coming for him is already here. ]

I need you to heal, and to stay alive in the best condition you're able to manage. Cooperation with my family would be optimal, but I won't get my hopes up.

[ Castiel tilts his head to look at Dean's lap and what's become of the injury to Dean's leg, but all he can make out is denim blackened with dried blood. ]

How bad are your injuries? Can you still feel your toes on that leg?

[ Neither of them know a goddamn thing, because God's 'chosen' is sitting in filthy jeans and a jail cell. ]

I'll cooperate with them if you can help me get out. [ Is that win/win? He's not sure, probably not. It's no secret Dean wants to be here, but at this point, after days and days locked in solitude, his only company someone throwing food at him for fear he'll attack...

He's ready to comply at least on some level. ]

Toes? I no longer have toes. They're gone, left to rot. [ He peers at his foot, because he's trying to joke and laugh but yeah his leg hurts, it's probably not pretty, and Castiel was right - Dean probably wouldn't have let anyone in, anyway. ]

[ The offer of compliance is more than Castiel is expecting from Dean, and he looks at Dean with a confused mix of appreciation and concern. ]

Thank you. ...I will.

[ The joke either goes completely over Castiel's head, or else he's just incredibly good at deadpan humor, because there's no lift in his tone of voice or quirk to his lips to indicate that he's anything that entirely serious as he diagnoses Dean. ]

Then we'll have to amputate, I'm afraid. I'll go get the bone saw.

[ He stands, also, as if he intends to do just that, though of course he doesn't. If Dean's leg actually is bad enough that his toes have gone necrotic, that might be as good an excuse to get him out of here as any. No matter how valuable he is to Michael or anyone else, surely they wouldn't deny him proper medical attention beyond their own capabilities to treat. ]

[ It's probably the fever talking, because Dean's head is hot and he's a little sweaty, but it's fine, he's been brushing it off the whole time Cas has been down here, acting like the good little angel he is. ]

Whoa, whoa. You better be kidding, dude. [ Cause, you know -- Cas is standing, and while Dean probably needs medical attention, the guy has been literally literal ever since they met, so Dean is grasping his wrist, wrapping dirty fingers around his skin, hold tight and hot. ]

Don't -- actually do that.

[ The flush of warmth Castiel feels from Dean's sudden tight grip on his wrist isn't just due to the fever he can feel racing through Dean's skin. With the shiver passes, Castiel looks away, recognizing with guilt for the first time that he's put himself into a position, not only of authority, but as a caregiver, with Dean, and that it would be very easy to abuse that power. He gently pulls his hand out of Dean's grip, expression and voice going softer with a stiffness that might come across as forced, or poorly learned. What are people skills? Looking back, that joke was probably inappropriate, and Castiel's tone is as close to abashed as he can make it. ]

Dean... I wasn't actually going to get a saw, though I would like to get you antibiotics, along with some clean clothing, if that's okay.

[ After a moment, though, Castiel's forced embarrassment gives way to more natural concern again as he feels forced to ask, for clarity's sake. ]

You can feel your toes, right? I thought we were both joking, before.

[ Cas might take his wrist away from Dean's grip, but that doesn't stop him from wrapping his fingers into the material of Castiel's pant leg, because yeah he was joking, but also things are hot, and when injuries are hot, it usually isn't great. ]

Oh, you're allowed antibiotics, but not doctors?

[ Dean looks up at Castiel, triumphant like he's found some giant chink in the armor, ha, need a doctor for antibiotics, dontcha, but something in his expression twitches a little, and his grip tightens. ]

I don't feel good.

[ Castiel's eyes narrow at the "gotcha." ]

No, of course we're allowed doctors.

[ Sister Muriel has been the community's doctor since their brother Harut left, and that's immediately what Castiel thinks of, rather than his explanation of the community's distaste for hospitals before. Everyone is taught basic first aid, as well, to help their fellow members of the community, and Dean should've been cared for by someone better than this, even despite his resistance.

Castiel's thoughts are interrupted, however, as Dean grabs onto his pant leg and looks up at him, somehow more ill in appearance suddenly than in the moments before. Castiel hunches down towards Dean and he presses his palm against Dean's warm forehead instinctively. ]

I'll bring you whatever you need.

But only your creepy doctors.

[ His conviction is lacking, mostly because he feels like shit and he's not letting go of that pant leg, because it's solid and he's been down here so damn long without any real human interaction he's reluctant to let Cas leave again.

Dean gropes for his wrist again with his spare hand, gripping, closing his eyes and leaning into the touch. ]

Don't...don't go.

[ It would be really, really easy for Castiel to manipulate Dean at this point. Cas is the one that brought him food. That came to him, that washed his hands and offered water to drink and wipe his face, that offers to treat his wounds. It isn't Dean's fault if he's getting a little attached. ]

[ That's incredibly rude, actually, Dean. ...Admittedly, Harut was on the creepy side, but Muriel is lovely, and Castiel is very fond of her.

Of course, from Dean's perspective, everyone in Castiel's family is creepy in some respect. Dean has made that clear. Even Castiel himself he'd called "brainwashed" and a "blowhard about God," which makes it all the more striking when Dean grabs for his hand, and leans into him, and asks him not to leave. Castiel flushes warm, despite himself. His heart hammers loudly in his chest, and he's momentarily struck speechless. He should go, for many reasons. Mainly, he should go because Dean needs real medical treatment, and clean clothing, and fresh water. But Dean asks him to stay, and it's so very different from the Dean that Castiel has come to know in their brief time together that he can't find the strength to deny Dean's request. ]

Of course. I'll stay as long as you'd like.

[ Stiffly, awkwardly, Castiel leans down and sits against the wall beside Dean again, shoulder to shoulder, and though he takes his hand from Dean's forehead in the process, he slips his palm against Dean's wrist on the way down, and twines their fingers, and looks at the far wall, after, with their hands still linked down between them, hidden from the door by the rise of his knee as some kind of privacy for Dean, in case someone were to walk in unannounced, which Castiel isn't expecting, though it isn't entirely out of the question, he supposes. He's also entirely expecting Dean to pull his hand away, or maybe make some attempt to kill him, but Castiel feels obligated to try to comfort Dean, all the same, however poor he may be at it.

After he remembers to breathe, still awkwardly, Castiel tilts his head and raises his voice in an attempt at levity. ]

I'd rather not pee in the bucket, though.

[ With Castiel continuing to come in and out without any set schedule to run errands or whatever, it leaves Dean down here in the stinking darkness, curled in on himself and left to his thoughts. He's wallowing in his loneliness, the fact that he has nothing and no one, not even his car anymore.

And Dean's thoughts, when left alone without booze or sex or any number of questionable distractions, are dangerous.

He's tired, afraid, desperate for his freedom, and the longer he's left down here like a chained dog the more he's inclined to behave to see how far it gets him. Throwing his food certainly hasn't gotten him anywhere - compliance seems to be the only option left. Trying to remember himself is getting hard though, especially with the fever clouding his brain. He feels like shit.

Dean clutches Castiel's hand, shifting his head to look over at him, eyes a little glassy as he manages a smirk. ]

Sorry, man. Only toilet in the area.

That's disgusting. For both of us.

[ It's an unfortunate circumstance Dean has found himself in, even beyond the, uh, toilet situation. Even more unfortunate is that everything Castiel can do to help ease Dean's situation involves leaving the room, which Dean seems reluctant to allow. Castiel can't blame him. After all, Dean has been almost entirely alone in the literal dark with no human contact for days already. Eventually Castiel will have to leave, to help Dean in more literal ways, but for now, he settles himself with helping in a less tangible way.

The clutch of Dean's hand in his and even the glassy look to his dark eyes has Castiel's heart beating shamefully quickly, and he tells himself it's nothing personal, that it's just human contact and the satisfaction that comes with helping someone, but even to himself, the words feel like a lie. Castiel looks at the far wall and tries to not imagine Dean's smirk there, but the press of their shoulders and their linked fingers is a constant reminder. Castiel's voice is rough, the way it gets when he speaks quietly, as the dark seems to necessitate. ]

Maybe if they keep refusing to give me the key to your collar, they'll let me take you out on a leash.

[ That came out wrong. Or rather, it came out exactly as intended, but the wrongness seeps in after, along with the poor reception to his earlier joke, so Castiel feels the need to look at Dean, a bit sheepishly, and clarify. ]

I'm kidding. We don't... walk people around on leashes.

[ Why is he the way that he. Dean would really be having a much better conversation with Uriel, if he were here instead. ]

Talk to your buddies about that.

[ Because Dean would choose a big ol cabin. Something overlooking water, maybe. A home with a deck, those big wind up umbrellas to help with the shade, maybe some twinkle lights. A long dock, maybe a fishing boat. He's been daydreaming about it, so he doesn't go fucking apeshit down here alone in the dark.

Maybe he's already losing his mind, because he's sitting here holding Cas' hand, afraid to let him go, looking over at him like he's Jesus or something.

He sure does have nice lips. Big and plush and pillowy.

Did Jesus have nice lips? Hm. Something else to ponder in his delusion, maybe. He probably did, he would've been middle eastern, so why wouldn't he? Beard too, maybe.

He's torn from his sexualization of Jesus by the prospect of being walked like a dog, and he snorts a laugh, rolling his head to look at Cas proper, before letting it fall to rest on his shoulder. He's so tired, shivery in his skin, hot and cold. ]

I bet you do. I'll bet you anything if you asked that exact question, they'd let you. If it got me outta here, I'd let you.

[ Dean is feverish. He's injured, he's ill, and he's been confined in a small, dark room for a number of days, and so even if Castiel isn't imagining the very long, very intimate stare Dean is giving him, it's related to his fever, and possibly his need for human contact, and that's all. None of that explains why Castiel feels so struck by it, though. Dean is very handsome, but Castiel isn't usually driven to distraction by a pretty face. Either way, something is happening here, and Castiel should be more concerned about Dean's health than the insistent fluttering of his own heart. He tries to focus on that, on the heat of Dean's hand and the pulse in his wrist, and not on the idea of Dean offering to let himself be leashed and led, like it isn't degrading, or like it is, but that he'd do it anyway, and Castiel blinks in the dark, trying very hard not to think about that while his mind doggedly refuses to think of anything else. ]

I'm... You won't have to do anything like that, Dean. You'll walk out of here on your own terms, once you're strong enough again to walk, and think, clearly.

[ Castiel turns his face, irresistibly towards Dean's, rested on his shoulder, and talks quietly nearly against his hair. ]

You feel warm.

I mean it. I'd let you. Only you, though. Nobody else. [ None of Castiel's freaky family would get close unless they clubbed Dean over the head and dragged him out by his hair.

Which may yet happen, who knows. ]

You make me warm. [ He gropes to rest his other hand on top of their clasped ones, fingers light, teasing at the soft skin on the underside of his wrist. Cas is warm and clean, here with Dean, a presence that's real and not of his own imagining. He doesn't want to let go. ]

Wanna know what I'm thinking about?

[ That's... It just makes sense, what Dean says, that Castiel would be the only one Dean would trust if that kind of situation came to rise. Not that it would. The situation of Castiel tugging Dean forward by a leach and collar would never happen, and should never happen because it's indecent and inhumane, and obviously this is just some kind of joke. It's funny, Castiel decides, and chuckles in a way that comes out more breathlessly halfhearted than he intends. He swallows right after. ]

You have a fever.

[ Castiel corrects, and maybe Dean's right and he should move away, force Dean to drink more, put some cooler air between him, because Dean does feel very warm against him, and Castiel is feeling like a lit fire himself now, despite his best intentions to remain some normal level of unaffected by Dean's proximity. But Dean only covers his hand, lightly in a way that makes Castiel shiver, possibly visibly, and his mind races, but he can't figure out why Dean is doing this, what's it's leading to, what he's intending. Does he think Castiel has another key on him? A weapon? It's the only explanation Castiel can come up with for why Dean is... Is acting like this, unless the fever has gone to his brain, and maybe Dean is dying.

It's a chilling thought, and manages to sober Castiel slightly, at least. He stiffens up and leans slightly away from the weight of Dean's head on his shoulder, though he keeps his hand in Dean's as if it belongs to him. He ignores the question. ]

What are you doing?

[ It's entirely possible Dean is dying. He's been down here days, bullet holes untreated and covered in dirty bandages, scared and alone and developing a fever, wounds hot and angry and red. ]

I'm thinking, [ He starts, ignoring Castiel's question in turn, lifting his head when Cas moves, ] about your mouth. Those lips, man. Wow

[ He turns his glassy gaze on Cas, bright, feverish, fixed entirely on Cas and Cas alone. He's pretty, Dean decides. He's pretty in an unusual, unique kind of way that Dean appreciates. Bright blue eyes that see right into Dean's soul, pink lipped mouth, a good jaw.

He lifts his hand to press his index finger to Cas' cheek, dragging it over stubble, before swiping over his lips. ]

I wanna taste 'em.

[ The compliment, sudden and forward and unexpected, does something equally wild to his brain, and Castiel can't think through the white noise it creates. Dean is right there, suddenly. His head lifted, Dean is looking right at him and he feels much closer than he had the moment before, suddenly, and he is lovely to look at and saying very lovely things.

Castiel's eyes go wide like an idiot deer that wandered into the middle of the road and then forgot how to run under the blinding light of white headlights. Dean is talking about his lips, and touching him, and Castiel finally manages to startle enough and turn his white tail to the road. He drops Dean's hand and shuffles back, sideways along the wall. ]

You have a fever, Dean, and you wouldn't be saying this if you were well.

[ Castiel stumbles his way up to standing, a hand leaned on the wall like he needs it to stand, which is not entirely far from the truth. He's feeling embarrassingly weak-kneed. ]

I don't have any weapons. I... Here.

[ With some ungraceful digging in his pants pocket, he pulls out his cell phone, and he offers it to Dean. It's a stupid, dangerous decision, but he'll only be able to call within the community, so the worst he'll do is bother Balthazar, or Hannah, or someone else who assuredly knows he's down here, by now. Castiel doesn't know entirely why he does it, only that he would give Dean anything he had right now, and that's... alarming. ]

Call Uriel, or whomever you like. Talk to them. I'm going to get you medicine to bring your fever down and help you heal, and I'll be back soon. ... A half hour, or so. Alright?

[ He'd been leaning in, eyes fixed on those perfect, lovely lips, wetting his own in anticipation when his hand is dropped and he's suddenly devoid of Castiel's heat.

Dean makes a whine of protest, the panic flaring in his eyes, and he automatically reaches for Cas' leg again, wrapping his fingers around fabric, needy, terrified. ]

Weapons? [ That hadn't been his ploy, Cas doesn't have a key so it doesn't do Dean any good to try poking for one in Castiel's oversized trench, to try and kill Castiel. In hindsight maybe he should've been after at least something he could use to pick the lock of his collar, but in the moment, in this hot headed, brain fogged moment, all Dean can think about is pretty pink lips and the absence of Castiel pressed against his body.

The phone falls from his fingers into his lap, the look on his face stricken, panic filled. ]

Cas, please don't leave me--

[ You keep leaving him and one day you're gonna leave and never come back and he's going to die in this fucking hole, stinking and alone and--

He can't help the sob that bubbles up. ]

[ Of course some kind of rejection is bound to be disappointing, but Castiel hadn't anticipation just the sort of reaction Dean would have. Watching Dean grab for him and seeing his feverishly intense eyes turn panicked is heartbreaking, and Castiel goes cold, stricken in an entirely different way from the moment before. ]

I...

[ That phone is a tool, as valuable in Dean's hands as a knife could be if used correctly, and he simply drops it, clinging to Castiel instead. If anything convinces Castiel that this isn't some ploy of Dean's, it's that, and he feels the guilt rise like bile in his throat, that he even considered leaving Dean in this state, regardless of his own comfort. ]

Okay. I'm... I'm not leaving. I'll stay.

[ He decides it on instinct and says the words without thinking, because what other option is there? It would be cruel to leave Dean like this, ill and afraid and desperately lonely. Castiel steps without hesitance back into Dean's space, allowing slack in Dean's grip on his pants as he kneels down and pulls Dean into a hug before he even realizes that it's happening.

But, he doesn't regret it. He holds Dean, as much as the chained collar and nearby stone wall will allow, and he strokes Dean's back and speaks softly, like reassuring one would when reassuring a child. ]

You're alright. It's alright, Dean. ...Try to relax. Just... calm down and breathe.

[ He's reassuring himself also, Castiel realizes belatedly as he holds Dean but feels his own breathing slow and deepen with the advice. ]

I'm not leaving. I'll stay. It's alright.

[ Chains clink and rattle as Dean goes into Castiel's arms, winding around him as best as he can. His body aches - his joints hurt, his muscles ache. His veins feel full of liquid fire, but he's shivering violently in Castiel's grip, clutching at his coat, Dean burying his face into Cas' neck. ]

It's dark down here. [ His voice is muffled, small. A little wild - he's certainly delirious, but he speaks the truth.

His truths, the quiet ones he doesn't share with anyone else. ]

I don't like the dark.

[ Castiel smells good, he vaguely registers. Like...soap and shampoo. Clean things, things of safety and warmth. Detergent, which means clean clothes, a soft bed. Clean sheets. Somewhere to lay down and be safe, that isn't dirty and filthy and disgusting and dark. ]

Please stay.

[ Realistically, Cas needs to get Dean treatment of some kind, and soon, before it all goes septic and their 'Chosen One' dies from staph. But goddamn Dean doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts and fears.

His voice is practically a whisper, soft and barely audible. ]

Don't leave me.

[ The most that Castiel could do for Dean is outside of this cellar. That's what he thought. It seemed like he couldn't do anything for Dean down here, but how very wrong he was. He holds Dean, he listens to his scared whispers, and holds him tightly, rubbing his back, breathing slowly, projecting calm. ]

It's alright. I'm not leaving. I'll stay with you until we can get you out of here.

[ That'll be... something to explain, but maybe once Naomi sees the state Dean is in, she'll be willing to give him a room upstairs, like he should have gotten from the start. And then once Dean is cared for, Castiel can focus on finding out how this could've happened, and who needs to be held accountable for it.

The thought of a just future is calming, and Castiel finds himself relaxing more with the resolve. He shifts Dean slightly in his arms, not letting him go, but maneuvering them to a position somewhat more comfortable until they're sitting against the wall again, almost like before, except that they're more tangled up in each other than side by side. Gently, Castiel leans back, just a little, to try to look at Dean's face and ask quietly. ]

May I have my phone back?

[ He could just take it from the nest of Dean's lap, but that seems... inappropriate, in more than one way. ]

[ His eyes burn as he squeezes them closed; tears or exhaustion, it's hard to say. Dean clutches at Castiel, leaning into him, unwilling to let go as they shift to slightly more comfortable positions.

Dean had already forgotten about the phone - if there was any indication of how far out of it he is, it's that damned cell phone. Cas literally handed him the most useful tool he possibly could have, and Dean dropped it, didn't even give it a second thought.

He barely gives it a thought now, looking at Cas with red eyes as he fishes it out of his lap and wordlessly hands it over. He'll probably hate himself later, when he's better, if he survives this, for not utilizing the phone while he had it, but for now he just...gives it back, without question. ]

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