warnings for: mentions of slavery and abuse.

A/N: In which this couldn't decide if it was mostly angst or mostly fluff.

Dean mixed a smooth milky concoction in the stainless steel bowl, the overhead lights reflecting sharply on the pale liquid, the beat of the whisk sending pricks of pin light in every direction. After exactly three minutes - the seconds counted off by a stopwatch set against the wall - Dean set the whisk in the adjacent sink and grabbed a clear plastic cup from the rack to his left. He poured the contents of the bowl into the cup and snapped on a lid. Just in case.

He took a plastic bowl from the rack. Into this he spooned chopped, steamed carrots from a large pot on the other side of the sink. On the side, he added plain pasta and boneless chicken. He left the pots filled with food out for the other nurses, grabbed a tray and cutlery, and entered the brightly-lit hallways of the Northern Oregon Cherub Health and Wellness Center.

Within minutes he was at a long corridor. Light filtered in from broad windows at the end, and through the glass windows of the patient's rooms.

109. Castiel. Cas.

Dean opened the door.

The room was off-white, the ceiling high. A large, paned window took up the farthest wall, the view of the pristine gardens below. Between rose bushes, a gardener in blue overalls trimmed a hedge. Soft light, filtered through the cloudy sky, lit the room. The lights weren't on. They rarely were. Cas didn't like them on, even in the evening.

Cas sat on the floor, one leg out, the other pulled up tight to his chest. He leaned against the bed, balancing a book on his leg. His right arm was in a cast; broken. The cast would come off soon. His other arm was shaky and unstable. Both were a constant worry of his, which was why he requested - insisted, Dean thought with a tired smile - his dinner be brought to his room. He did go and socialize with the other angels, sometimes, but Dean was beginning to believe him about being anti-social. At first he thought Cas was just embarrassed about what had happened to him, not that any of the angels could be blamed for being abused by disturbed owners, but soon he began to see that Cas wasn't lying when he said he simply preferred to be on his own.

Or with Dean himself.

Cas looked up from the book, closing it without marking his page. He'd remember.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said into the quiet room. A cool breeze caressed his wrist. He looked around - he'd just closed the door - and noticed an open window. He set the tray down on the desk in the corner. "Aren't you cold?"

Cas wore the white scrubs all patients did, but now he had on a long housecoat. It was loose on him, but warm. He looked outside, not that he could see anything other than the tops of the orange trees from where he was. On the floor.

"It smells nice."

Dean followed his gaze, to the dying trees. They danced in the autumn wind, stray leaves falling to the manicured lawn. Freshly cut grass. Birds overhead. Distant chatter.

He looked back to Cas, who was looking into his lap. His left hand twitched.

"I brought you dinner."

There was a tense pause.

"Thanks." Cas looked up, belatedly remembering his human manners. He smiled weakly.

Dean smiled back, then reached around and brought the tray out. He grabbed the cutlery, the sealed bowl and plastic glass, and went to go sit with one leg curled under him on the bed. He set the glass down under the bed, away from his tennis-shoed feet, and put the cutlery on the covers.

Cas shifted, tilting his head toward Dean, against his knee. The bed moved as Dean unsnapped the bowl lid.

"What if I'm not hungry?"

The movement stopped. Cas turned to look at Dean. Dean looked at him strangely, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. It faded into concern, and he was silent. He seemed to say: But you always are.

"You don't believe me." Cas turned away.

"No."

"You wouldn't...?"

A horrible pause.

Dean set the bowl down.

At the beginning, when they had brought Cas in, they had force-fed him. He'd been hallucinating, fearful of everyone. It had taken days to get him to calm down enough for them to even put a cast on him.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean leaned in, trying to look at Cas' face. Cas averted his eyes, gripping the book nervously.

"Will you take me for a walk? Around the lake?" Cas held his breath. He hadn't been out in forever. The last time ended terribly. He'd been a mess. But he wanted it now. He wanted to feel his face burn with the cold, wanted to touch the leaves. It was fall. It was a beautiful time on Earth. The last time it'd been fall...

He closed his eyes quickly, feeling hands on him, groping him, touching, prodding, pushing. He inhaled. Swallowed. Blinked. Cold air filled his lungs, pushed the musky, sticky warm memories away. It was bright.

He jumped at a hand on his shoulder, twisted around. Dean looked back at him with confusion and pity.

Cas dropped his head, cheeks burning. Distantly, he registered a faint smell. Bleach, and lilac detergent.

"Yeah, I'll take you."

Cas couldn't help hearing the pain in Dean's voice.

"Tomorrow sound good?"

Cas nodded carefully, hoping this wasn't one of those times. He looked outside again, feeling the cool brush against his hot face. He inhaled again.

"Good. Alright. Wanna turn around a bit for me then?"

Cas felt tears prick his eyes. He swallowed and turned around, not caring if his eyes were red. Dean never minded. Always hid when he saw. This time was no exception. He looked into Cas' eyes and speared several carrots with the silver fork. Cas opened his mouth when Dean held it out to him, and chewed without tasting. He swallowed numbly.

As the minutes passed, Dean fed him carrots and potatoes and chicken, and noted every so often that they would help him recover and they were good for him and that cook had accidentally poured a bit of sugar into the pot so they might taste just a bit sweet...

Cas nodded along, not saying anything. As he listened to Dean's matter-of-fact voice, he tried to think about the act of eating, tried to enjoy it. He knew his body - the human body he inhabited - was capable of tasting food. Capable of enjoying it. Somehow. Cas wondered if it was an effort for all humans to enjoy food. It seemed so basic. But they ate because they needed to. Why would they bother to enjoy it at all? It was soon over anyway.

He tried though, for Dean.

Soon, Dean was holding out the last piece of chicken. Cas blinked and paused, looking into Dean's face. He pushed up slightly to see into the bowl. Dean hesitantly tipped it forward for him to see.

"What?"

"Can you..." Cas started. No. That was stupid. But... Dean wouldn't laugh at him. Wouldn't push it forward at him anyway...

Dean was looking at him. Waiting. Thinking he was an idiot.

"Can you eat it? Please?" Cas's eyes fluttered in embarrassment.

Dean blinked, taken aback, his eyebrows knit together. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to ask if Cas was joking. But he wasn't. Cas looked at him with guarded curiosity.

Then Dean grinned ruefully, rolling his eyes. "Why not?" he said, before popping the piece into his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed, getting out a few 'mmm's, and swallowed with a lick of his lips. "Good chicken. I told you it was good." He put the lid back on the bowl, an eyebrow raised, only to find Cas looking at him suspiciously.

"What? I do like chicken."

"But you don't act like that when you eat normally." Cas looked disappointed.

Dean sighed.

"No, Cas." He smiled gently. "I like food, but..."

"Not this food."

"Well..."

Cas looked outside again.

Dean did too.

Cas looked back at him.

Dean did as well.

Cas raised his eyebrows, smiled, pleaded.

The lightbulb went on.

"Cas..." Dean moaned, "Noooooo."

"But. why?"

"Because it's against the rules. I can't just do that."

"But, Dean. Please? Please..."

"No. Cas, stop it."

"But why?"

"Because I just can't."

Silence.

Cas looked away, face scrunched up, red, on the brink of tears again. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Dean. I know it's against the rules. I just..." Cas looked down, lost.

"...I know, Cas," Dean said, barely above a whisper.

"Will you still... still take me out?"

"What—Oh. Yeah, of course. Of course I will, Cas." And Dean's throat tightened as Cas flushed again. Bit his lip. "I said I would and I will. Tomorrow. I promise."

Cas nodded quickly once.

"Thank you, Dean. For." He averted his eyes and blinked. "Everything." He shrugged, and then realized he was cradling his broken arm. Broken by humans. And fixed by them.

He clenched his jaw, angry for a fraction of a moment at God, for dragging him from Heaven, and then moments later crushed by a flood of sadness that it had happened. Everything happened for a reason. It just didn't seem fair. And then Dean – and the good humans – pulling him out of the pain, helping him. They hadn't promised not to send him back. But they were helping him now. What was the point? What was the reason? To teach him something? Should he be able to understand?

He took a breath, clearing his mind. He needed to pray for more guidance, needed to learn as God wished him to learn, from the things that were happening to him. He needed to learn patience and endurance. He needed to show appreciation to the humans who were helping him, if nothing else. If he had control over one thing, it was that.

Cas's chest ached, his shoulder blades twitched. He ignored it.

"Really." He looked back up, looking into Dean's eyes. "What you've done for me in the past few months has been..."

Dean had been looking at him with a wide-eyed kind of awe, and now he laughed in astonishment. "Cas, I'm not doing enough for you. I mean, if there's anything you need, just... Just tell me, Cas. I'm here to help you."

Cas smiled fondly. And then to keep tears from pricking his eyes, he looked under the bed and back up, raising his eyebrows hesitantly.

Dean stared at him, uncomprehending, before perking up.

"Right."

He reached under the bed and grabbed the glass. He unsnapped the lid and took a whiff. He grimaced. "Do you actually like this stuff?"

Cas smirked. "It's taste is unpleasant, but... it will help me heal."

Dean snuffed a laugh. "Okay, then." He shifted and sat up. Cas did as well, making fists with his shaky hand. Dean took the angel's throat and gently tilted it up, holding him still. Cas swallowed and leaned into Dean's crossed leg. He opened his mouth and looked sideways at him.

"Just relax," Dean grinned.

And then Dean was pouring the cool, milk-and-vitamins mixture into his mouth. Dean only poured in a little, and Cas swallowed that before opening for more.

Dean's fingers shifted soothingly on his throat, not forceful or restricting; guiding. Helping, in the way he knew how. He poured another mouthful in, and Cas swallowed, wetting his lips to get the extra.

When the cup was empty and Cas was beginning to feel comfortably full, Dean squeezed his shoulder. Cas dropped his head, and then, without meaning to, leaned into Dean. The human's leg was warm. Dean opened his mouth in surprise, but didn't move away. He set the cup down.

They stared at each other, both wondering, confused, hopeful.

But Dean didn't move - was too unsure - and Cas dropped his eyes. And breathed in Dean's clean human scent, tinged with hospital bleach, and lilac detergent.