The Blue Eyed Jailer
Thank you to my Beta Reader: SassySides
This is my first Supernatural fanfic. I welcome constructive criticism, but be gentle please?
Dean kept his eyes forward, not hearing a single that was said.
He didn't care what happened now. He killed that she-witch, the one who stole his Sammy. Oh she didn't take him by force, she wasn't strong enough. But with her coy smiles, her soft touches, and then later the addiction, the addiction that killed him. The drug that ended his brother's life. Dean shut that line of thought down, the pain radiating through his middle.
Didn't matter now, Ruby was dead.
Castiel watched the guards shackle Dean Winchester's hands together. The man put up no resistance. His eyes looked on, completely un-seeing. He seemed more dead than alive. He assumed this was why he was called, rather than simply putting the man in a penitentiary. He was the best reform counselor in the country. Someone liked this man enough to fight for Castiel to be an option.
A small sigh escaped his lips as his eyebrows pulled together. He didn't like the state calling him in, the case was foreign to him. He preferred proper preparation prior to talking on a case. It gave him a better idea how to handle each person. Every person responded differently, each needing their own kind of training.
His footsteps were sure as he approached the bench.
"I'll need all the transcripts and cased files your Honor." His voice was steady, regardless of his displeasure. The old man at the bench nodded and pointed to the lawyer at the desk.
"He'll get you anything you need." Castiel nodded and walked over to the short man at the desk. He had short dark brown hair, brown eyes and what appeared to be several days' worth of salt and pepper stubble.
"Hello. I'll need all the transcripts and the case files please." Castiel's voice was soft but demanding.
"Of course, I have them all prepared. I knew you would need them. Thank you for coming, Mr. Novak."
"I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Do I know you?"
"No. But I'm the one who asked the court to consider private rehabilitation. My name is Crowley MacLeod, but please just call me Crowley."
"I see. Do you know Mr. Winchester?"
"No his uncle Bobby Singer is a friend; however it was more than that. There are a lot of reasons a prison would be a very bad idea. You'll see what I mean when you look through all the files. Dean is a good man, he needs help. You're the best; we are hoping you can figure out what kind of help he needs." Crowley's voice was soft as he said the last part. Castiel could tell he cared quite a bit for Dean.
"I'll keep you updated." Castiel picked up the box of files and walked steadily to the exit.
The guards pulled dean out of the car and walked him into a large apartment building. Dean felt the confusion, questions that wanted his attention. He denied the active thoughts. They always led to thoughts of Sam, and the crippling pain. He allowed himself to absorb the sight of the building, the smooth feel of the elevator as it took him to the top floor. He felt the small band that the guards locked around his ankle.
"You won't be able to leave this apartment." The man's voice was gruff. He heard the door lock behind them as they left. The light slowly shifted as he just stood looking around the room he had been left in. There were three tall windows that offered a view he was not interested in. A black leather couch and chair set had two small end tables and a coffee table settled in a comfortable looking arrangement with a TV and fireplace nearby. It was a living room, a comfortable looking one.
Dean could see the kitchen from where he was but there was no interest to look around. He turned around when he heard the door open. A man a little shorter than himself walked through the door with a large box of papers. He had on a long tan trench coat and his hair looked like the wind had destroyed any attempt at taming the short black strands. His eyes stood out the most; they were an unbelievable shade of blue. His blue tie hung slightly crooked.
"Hello Dean. Has anyone told you what is happening, or who I am?" The man's voice was like the mist tumbling over the jagged edge of a cliff at dawn.
The man closed the door and just stood there waiting for Dean's answer so he shook his head no.
"My name is Castiel. I'll be your rehabilitation specialist. You will stay here with me until I deem you able to rejoin society."
"So you, alone are my jailer?" It was the first time Castiel had heard him speak. His voice was husky and dark, and surprisingly sexy.
"In a way I suppose. Why is that a problem?" Castiel looked at Dean hoping to keep him talking, so he could learn just a little from first hand conversation with the man.
His hope was in vain, Dean just shrugged. Castiel felt his eyes draw together in a slight frown.
"Why don't you sit down Dean, I have some work to do." Dean watched Castiel walk to the kitchen so he sat down on one of the small arm chairs.
Two hours latter Castiel pulled his hands down his face. The papers strewn out around him painted a bleak picture.
Dean was a mess, a co-dependent, self loathing, angry, repressed, hurting mess. Looking through the way his life had rolled out under his feet, well, there was only one way Castiel could see to bring him around, show him how to live.
With his father being the way he was, Dean knew how to follow orders. However giving Dean an order only worked if you were his father. You could make him obey with force, if of course you could over power him, (Castiel might be able to but he wasn't enjoying the idea of a fist fight with the muscular man).
The only time he let down his guard was during sex.
If combined, the three made a suitable training method. An established, dominant and submissive relationship with sexual components to make him receptive to the training that was so at odds with his childhood training just might work.
Castiel sighed as he set all the files back in the box and walked to the living room. Dean had fallen asleep in the armchair.
'I've never allowed sex to be part of my work. I just can't think of any other way to make him amiable. He was trained like a marine. Feelings are a weakness, this is what he believes. The only softer feeling he allowed himself was the love of his brother. When that was taken away...'
Castiel watched him sleep. He was very attractive, sex on legs if he was being honest. It wouldn't be hard to have sex with him. Keeping the border on personal and professional feelings on his part might be a problem, but he couldn't turn him away. Not knowing what he had been through, knowing how he must feel. Empty, alone, worthless and useless. No one should have to feel that way.
The only problem was, was Dean straight?