AN: Next chapter will be Dean's POV. Can't guarantee a date you'll get it, but it will be a longer chapter since it will start near the events of chapter one.
Warnings (spoilers!): Dubious consent to sex, a tiny amount of bloodplay (biting), possible non-consensual sex (Dean initiates sex while Castiel is asleep, Castiel consents when he wakes up).
In the beginning of December, Castiel is floored when he walks in the kitchen and there's several dozen bags of Christmas decorations. Both because of the sheer amount of sparkle and because he'd completely forgotten about Christmas. Usually commercials and Christmas jingles in stores warns him it's coming and he gets his gift giving into gear, but with the complete lack of cable and internet access it completely blindsides him.
Dean is in the middle of it, two bags in hand while he contemplates where to put them. He smiles when he sees Castiel and comes up to him and puts an arm around his waist. "What do you think? I've got a tree on the top of the car." He scratches his head. "Totally handles differently that way."
"I didn't even think about Christmas," Castiel says, watching Aditi start sniffing the bags. He turns to Dean. "You celebrate it? We didn't last year."
"Well, yeah. When I was kid with Sam, and then a bit when I was adult with Sam. Not since, y'know, though. I just didn't think of it last year 'cause of that."
Castiel nods, understanding. "Of course."
Dean shoots him a sad smile, then seems to sake himself out of it. "I got one of every color combination, just in case. I mean, it only occurred to me when I went into town and there was just a ton of Christmas decorations. So I got a lot. I got some weird looks and some lady asked if I had obsessive Christmas disorder." Dean pauses. "Which I do not."
Castiel smiles. "I'd think the same thing."
Dean rolls his eyes. "Well? Do you want to help set it up?"
"Let's put it in the den."
The logical place to start is the tree, the heaviest object. But Castiel realizes pretty quickly that Dean didn't think this through as soon as soon he hears the words 'six feet tall.' While a guy helped Dean get the tree on top of the car, Castiel can't go outside and help him get it off. Dean blushes and stammers and then says, "Oh never mind, I can do it. I'm no pussy." He's grunting and sweating and cursing by the time he gets into Castiel's reach, and Castiel can't help laughing at the sight.
"Dean, just two more feet and I can reach it," Castiel says, hiding his humor. "Also, did you check the car for scratches?"
Dean pauses in his efforts. "Fuck."
"Tree first," Castiel advises.
One more monumental effort and Castiel can grab the tip and carry a good portion of the weight. They rearrange themselves and the tree so both have a better grip, then heave it down the stairs. They prop it the corner of the den, after carefully maneuvering it past the large screen.
"I'll need help with centering it later," Castiel says, "but you should look at your car. I'll handle the rest."
"Thanks," Dean says, and gives Castiel a quick kiss before darting out.
Figuring out what Castiel has is a task in and of itself. He's not much of a decorator (he didn't even have a tree the year before Dean took him), but things to do are always welcome. He'd lived a busy life as an FBI agent, and having all the time he does is one of the things that has worn on him most. Though Aditi is very good for that; she needs the same care every day, but she does need it.
There's red and green, blue and silver, and red and silver. Plus random smatterings of gold. He finds the most random crap, including random characters of some kind in cheap plastic. Children's toys, presumably, with a Christmas slant. There's glitter everywhere, mixed with simple pieces of glass that would look appropriate in the pages of a magazine.
Castiel decides Dean can't tell the difference between tacky and elegant.
"So, buffing out scratches it is. For tomorrow, I mean," Dean says, walking in. "What did you do? Everything is everywhere." He pokes a pile of silver stuff with his foot.
Castiel looks up, then around himself. "I'm making piles. Don't disturb them."
Dean holds up his hands. "Okay, okay."
By the time dinner rolls around, Castiel's moved all the bags and their contents to the appropriate places. Tree ornaments go in the den, miscellaneous crap (with their receipts, just in case) in an empty room, and decorations in the infirmary, because that has the largest space for Castiel to spread out. It has the additional bonus of having a door that shuts securely, since Castiel spent roughly a fourth of his time making sure Aditi didn't carry off anything in her mouth. Castiel blames teaching her to attack stuffed animals. But it'd been fun at the time.
"Pizza!" Dean says, leaning on the door.
Castiel gets up and steps past the bags, calling Aditi to his side with a snap of his fingers.
Dean grins at him. "I didn't think you'd get quite so into this."
Castiel shrugs. "It's something to do."
"Yeah. Um, that envelope is waiting, for whenever you want." Dean's light-heartedness fades a bit, into concern. "Just so you know."
Looking away is as much as admitting guilt, but Castiel does it anyway. Castiel has few pages of blank paper and a pencil. It's remained blank for months. He's sat down more than ten times and doesn't get farther than 'Dear Balthazar.' "I know. Pizza?"
"All meat, just how you like it."
The tree is set up in the den. It'd been a task to center it on the tree stand, because it is a natural tree and not a fake one, but they'd managed it with little more than a few scratches. Dean bought no less than six tree skirts, so Castiel ended up choosing the white and silver one. They got snow last week, and it seemed appropriate.
Dean helps him unwind the lights, which are blue. "White and blue?" Dean guesses.
"And silver," Castiel says. He shrugs. "It seems the most pleasing to the eye. Did you ever decorate as a child, Dean?"
"Not really. Not that I remember, anyway. After Mom died, Dad was so focused on hunting that Christmas – including gifts – was kinda left to me. I ended up stealing random ones under people's trees, sometimes. So, yeah. There wasn't a budget or anything for trees or lights." Dean moves to the tree, figures out where the plug is and puts it in before handing off the lights to Castiel. "Well. When I was sixteen, I had a part time job out of sheer luck, so I got Sam a tree and some real presents."
"My father required a third of all gifts to be handmade," Castiel says. "So along with learning how to use tools and woodworking, we all did crafts at a pretty early age." He smiles, remembering. "Balthazar insisted on making all his gifts to me bright pink. I've got a box in a closet somewhere with nothing but various, random objects he'd painted pink. Ashtrays, coasters, toy soldiers, things he'd made over six years. I did insist on leaving behind the pink desk chair, though."
Dean smirks. "That kid has spunk."
"That kid is older than you," Castiel says wryly. He hands the loop of lights off to Dean, who rolls it around his side of the tree. "You know I can't get you gifts, right?"
"Oh, yeah," Dean says, waving a hand before he winds his side and hands the lights to Castiel. "Don't worry about that."
"Unless you really want me to crochet you a hat or something."
"What?" Dean laughs. "You know how to crochet?"
"Hey, I made myself years worth of scarves. Don't knock it."
The sheer amount of disbelief on Dean's face is a little offensive. "You crochet."
"I said our parents required a third of our gifts to be handmade, didn't I?"
Dean points at him with his free hand. "I'm getting you crochet-y things now, you do know that, right? Because I have to see this."
"If you can actually figure out what I need –" Though of course, all it really takes is a few hooks and yarn.
"Hey! I can google."
Castiel finishes off the lights fifteen minutes and two more connected lines later. He lets Dean pick ornaments from a preapproved pile, but two ornaments in Dean leaves and then fumbles around with the TV, before managing to put soft Christmas music on. It kind of makes the whole experience dreamy for Castiel – of course he and Dean have become very used to their domestic life together, but this is such a common, normal way of living life in December. It soothes Castiel. It's so very easy to forget his other Christmases and how different they were.
Dean is flushed with lazy happiness. He's content. Truly content, really. There was often a sense of unease and fear in Dean, Castiel realizes now. Because it took so long for Castiel to love him back.
The tree is a shining mix of silver, blue and glass by the time they're done. Dean got creative and managed to place all the glass right in front of the lights, so they shimmer instead of fading into the tree.
Dean wraps his arm around Castiel's waist. "I love it."
"It turned out well," Castiel agrees.
"Hot chocolate?"
"With milk?"
"Done!" Dean says, and leaves the den.
Castiel sits on the floor in front of the tree, looking up at it. There's no lights on besides the tree's, so it glows. Dean returns in a few minutes with two large mugs, topped with whip cream. He hands one to Castiel and then sits on the floor next to him, but to Castiel's surprise he doesn't comment. Instead he just stays there, a quiet companion. Castiel lets his mind drift, thinking about things he'll have to ask Dean for – maybe they can see some Christmas films? – and anything else he needs before Christmas arrives. He sips the hot chocolate, letting the warmth sink into his bones.
There is one area, he realizes, that Dean isn't content. "Dean, why are you so possessive in bed?"
Dean startles. "What do you mean?"
"You mark me with your come, you say how I'm yours, talk about how much you want to fuck me." Castiel shrugs uncomfortably. "You like to watch your come leak out of me. It's not that I really mind, but I do wonder why you act that way."
Dean's hot chocolate suddenly becomes very interesting, for all the depth of emotion he's giving it. He swallows before answering. "I fear losing you. I mean, it turns me on to say those things, I won't deny that. But it feels like if I just hold on tight enough, you won't slip away."
"You'll always fear that," Castiel says matter-of-factly. "As long as I have this cuff on my leg."
"But that's the only thing – I mean, I know you love me, Cas. But I still fear that you'll go, if given the chance."
Castiel shrugs. "I can't answer that. You know I can't. My mind just – I can't process it." Some of that panic flickers, but Castiel pushes past it to get out what he wants to say. It's not a condemnation, but a statement of truth. "But if I'm never given the choice, then that is something you will to live with. As will I."
Dean is silent, staring down for several long moments. When he finally does look up, there's a weird sadness in his eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
As if in answer to Castiel's question, Dean becomes gentler in bed. Not all the time, but instead of Dean always being possessive in his lust, he sometimes becomes softer and more contemplative. He'll lay Casitel on the bed and arouse him without touching himself, or getting himself off – just testing, seeing what Castiel likes. Much like the first time they had anal sex, when Dean went to some effort to make sure Castiel was relaxed enough.
Castiel learns he likes Dean to be forceful, sometimes. Other times, and Dean becomes better at finding them, he wants to be held close.
Dean is inside of him, fucking him hard. Castiel is on his hands and knees, his cock heavy between his legs. And it feels amazing physically, all jolts of sudden pleasure and dizzying sensation. But something – something – and Castiel asks, "Softer?"
All Dean does for a moment is freeze. But then he slips out, nudging Castiel's legs away and gently urging Castiel to lay on his side. He then comes up behind Castiel, hard cock slipping back inside of Castiel, and rocks. There's no way for him to get good leverage, so it's a slow build, a long build. Dean's chest is pressed against Castiel's back, his legs against the back of Castiel's thighs, and he breathes into Castiel's nape. Dean's hand lays on Castiel's waist, not touching his dick yet. It's not enough for Castiel to come, but that feels okay.
After nearly twenty minutes of that slow glide, Castiel's orgasm comes as a surprise. He cries out and comes, untouched, and then Dean follows him down.
"Good?" Dean asks.
"Hmm," Castiel says, trying to get out words. His eyes are closed, and opening them is beyond him. "Hmm, yes."
Deep in Castiel's mind, there is a part of him that flickers in resistance, in objection, in a desire to fight. It's during those moments when that rises to the front of Castiel's mind that he needs Dean to hold and comfort him, until it calms. If Castiel is to overcome himself and be happy, Dean needs to help him do it.
The day before Christmas, presents appear beneath the tree.
Dean was actually paying attention, because he used colorful paper that fit the silver and blue theme. There's several of different sizes, and Castiel picks up a few, shaking them a bit. A few rattle like there's something securely packed inside. Castiel goes to one of his reading spots and grabs the scarf he made. He'd only made the one, but he's incredibly out of practice with crocheting and he found himself constantly having to unpick loops and redo them. It drove him slightly insane.
He wraps it and adds it to the pile.
"Is that mine?" Dean asks, coming up beside him.
"Yes. And you will be happy whether you like it or not."
Dean laughs. "Of course I will. I have you. Do you want to open one up on Christmas Eve?"
Castiel considers. "All right. You pick?"
In moments, Castiel has a small one in his hands and Dean is smiling.
"Didn't take you long to decide," Castiel says wryly.
"Nope. Open it!"
Castiel is the type to rip through paper, making a complete mess, and so he can see the plain box in a matter of moments. He takes off the tape and the sides pop up.
Inside is a photo album.
The photos are mostly recent, and while a few have only Castiel, most of them have the two of them together, Dean awkwardly taking a selfie of them both. It's something he started doing only after the FBI caught him, and while Castiel has wondered why, it's been a distant question and so he's never asked it. He flips through, pausing when he sees one he likes. One of them both outside, with the sunset. A slightly blurry one of them in bed, fully dressed in winter clothes, Aditi in Castiel's lap with her long tongue lolling out of her mouth. Inexplicably there's one of Castiel eating pizza. He has red sauce on his chin.
"There's so few older than a few months," Castiel points out. "Why is that?"
Dean has a slightly guilty look on his face.
"Dean. Tell me."
"The FBI found my camera in my car. I had some backups, but only of a few."
Castiel sighs. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
Dean open and closes his mouth. "I dunno, honestly."
"I'm not upset about the photos, Dean. I know what the FBI must think of me by now. The photos would only have confirmed it for them. I'm upset you didn't tell me. Dammit, Dean – you just –"
Dean smiles wanly. "Sometimes you want to strangle me?"
"Yes!"
"Sam would sympathize. Your brother, too probably. I bet he and Sam could go on all day, in fact."
Despite himself, Castiel smiles. "I'm still pissed at you."
"You're too forgiving, you know that?"
It's weird to hear Dean admit that so openly. Like Castiel shouldn't forgive him, even though that's what Dean always wants so desperately. "I'm fully aware. Dean … you have to promise me you won't lie to me. Lies of omission, white lies, nothing. Please."
Dean hesitates, but then he says, solemnly, "I promise."
They spend the rest of Christmas Eve watching silly holiday movies. Christmas Day is even more peaceful. No fights, and both are happy.
February ends up unusually cold, to the point that it even penetrates the bunker, which normally keeps a stable temperature from being underground. They end up piling more blankets on their bed and Dean starts making roasts and other heat-heavy, hearty meals. Castiel bundles up when he goes outside to his little garden, which is now fully hibernating for the winter. He sits on his rock and wonders how many years he will be here, watching this same sunrise and sunset.
Dean makes a burger and fries for dinner, looking antsy the entire time. Castiel asks him three times what's wrong, and when he still doesn't get a straight answer, he gives up and reads the newspaper.
"Sooo, I was thinking," Dean begins.
"That's always dangerous." Castiel keeps eating his fries.
"Not always, just a lot of the time. Anyway. We're running low on a few things, but just a few. So I was thinking of doing a supply run. A short one."
Castiel isn't sure why Dean is telling him like it needs justification. "Okay."
"With you."
Castiel freezes. "What do you mean, with me? Dean, I thought you said –"
"Do you still love me?" Dean asks.
Castiel stares hard at his plate before looking up. "Yes."
"Then that's enough."
Castiel doesn't know what to say.
"I was thinking we could do your spell, the one that extends your boundary for a couple of days. That'd give us plenty of time." Dean looks hopeful.
Castiel feels very small, and the like world is very huge. Like if he leaves the bunker, there will be a thousand options about what to do when Castiel has lived for so long with only one. He doesn't know if he can handle that. He loves Dean, and yet should he call out for help? Should he run? He doesn't know. And seeing other people – peoples besides Dean – is such a weird thought that it's almost frightening. At the same time, he craves seeing the outside world. He's been confined to the same few thousand square feet for more than a year, and though he allowed himself to be content with that, it's also the same thing he left his parents and sister for. But at last, he nods. "Okay."
Dean grins, bright and beautiful.
But he doesn't give Castiel time to adjust to the idea. As soon as they finish eating, he takes Castiel down to the infirmary and shows Castiel what he's been working on.
It looks farther along than before. It's all one piece now, and it looks like a flexible metallic strip. Inside of it is a tiny circuit board and something else Castiel doesn't immediately recognize. "What is it?"
Dean hugs him tight. "It's a GPS. Just so I can find you. I can solder it on to the cuff."
Some indescribable feeling rises. "Doesn't the cuff already have that?"
"A magical version," Dean explains. "It's like a compass; it doesn't tell me exactly where you are, only the direction you're in. That's why it took me so long to find you in the fields." He cups Castiel's face. "Cas, I love you. Sam and I had GPS on our phones for the same reason as this, so we could find each other. Hell, the only reason we didn't tag each other is because we worried someone would hack it or something."
Castiel nods, stomach dropping. But logically, he knows Dean is right. Especially if Dean ultimately takes him on a hunt. "It's fine." He smiles quickly. "I'm fine."
"You sure? Talk to me, Cas."
Castiel shakes his head. "Do you have to take the cuff off to get that on?"
"Securely, yeah. I was thinking I'd cuff you to the bed, like last time. Just so, you know, you don't have to think about anything."
"All right," Castiel agrees. In a way, it does make this easier; even knowing the GPS is there makes it easier. He's not exactly sure why it's easier, or maybe he doesn't want to admit that choices are starting to scare him.
Dean doesn't take him to their bedroom, though. He searches Castiel's face. "Please, Cas. Tell me if you need anything, okay? Talking or whatever."
Castiel forces a smile. "Dessert?"
Dean relaxes a little. "That I can do. Go to our bedroom, I'll get everything ready, 'kay?"
Castiel kisses him lightly, gives the GPS one last look, and walks out. Is it weird to so accept so quickly the necessity of being cuffed to the bed? He slows in the hallway and then stops entirely, placing his hand on the wall. Well, of course it is. But this entire thing is weird. Entirely out of the ordinary. Should his reactions be any different? It's not like even his kidnapping is like any other kidnapping, what with being more or less instigated by an angel, who thinks it's fate him and Dean should be together.
Forcing himself to keep moving is harder than he thinks it should be, but he manages to make it to the bed and waits for Dean.
Who comes in with handcuffs dangling from one finger, and a large bowl of chocolate ice cream. He smiles at Castiel and places the bowl on the side table. He takes Castiel's left hand and kisses his bare wrist, then locks the cuff in place. Then he puts the other end on the headboard. "Now," Dean says, "I have to insist I feed you by hand."
Castiel smiles despite himself. "Can't let it melt."
They finish it bite by bite, then Dean tries to turn on the TV – Castiel says he wants to read – and then Dean kneels beside him, looking a bit queasy for some reason, and says the spell. It's still gibberish to Castiel, and hard to memorize for that reason. Dean said in the past that even though he didn't think Castiel could do anything with it, he feared Castiel knowing the words to the spell. That suggests it's user-oriented, and only Dean can actually remove the spell.
Of course, there are other ways to destroy spells. Hex bags are powerful, but when scattered by a hand they become nothing more than their separate parts. Devil traps will hold powerful demons, unless a line is scratched through. It's occurred to Castiel that simply destroying the ankle cuff with sheer physical force would probably be enough. He doubts it's invincible. That doesn't seem to be the pattern, when it comes to magic.
Castiel flexes his foot when Dean takes away the cuff. "Feels weird," he says.
Dean looks uncomfortable, then sad. But he just nods and says, "Be back in fifteen minutes or so. Have to give it time to cool down, though, so you're stuck for an hour or two."
The book in Castiel's lap is a comforting weight. "Very well."
He reads three chapters while Dean is gone, relaxing with every word. It's non-fiction, and dense enough that Castiel has to really focus to grasp the subject matter, and that forces him to be single-minded. He absentmindedly twists his cuffed wrist, making sure to keep his muscles loose.
Dean returns fifteen minutes later, as promised, and curls up to Castiel without comment. He trails his fingers down Castiel's bare skin. The back of Castiel's hand, or right under the waistband of his pants, then up to Castiel's neck, thumb along Castiel's jaw before he strokes along the back of Castiel's neck. Just little touches like that, for nearly half an hour. When he finally puts his hand down Castiel's pants, Castiel is half hard, and it doesn't take much for him to bring Castiel to orgasm.
Castiel insists on waiting for his hand to be free, then puts one finger up Dean's ass and makes him come that way – Dean gasping Castiel's name and shoving down hard onto Castiel's hand.
It's quite satisfying. Castiel can understand why Dean loves to do it to him.
It also neatly distracts them both from thinking about tomorrow. Castiel carefully does not think beyond the fact that he loves Dean. He doesn't try to imagine what tomorrow will hold. Even if Dean isn't asking for those words that caused him to panic, there's something implicit there, a silent request just in the nature of Dean's desire to be close. And Castiel doesn't know the answer.
In the morning, breakfast is oatmeal and cut up fruit. Castiel can barely eat any of it, especially since they already put Aditi in her room for the duration of their leaving. Dean doesn't comment, doesn't say anything, instead he hugs Castiel long and hard.
"You ready to do the spell?" Dean asks.
"I'm doing it?" Castiel is a little startled.
"Yeah. I mean, you've done it before. I haven't." Dean shrugs. "I mean, I can if you want."
Castiel swallows. "No, I can."
Dean hands Castiel the ingredients – sage, rosemary, and a focusing crystal. The piece of quartz is even the same one Casitel had used before. It's like déjà vu to be holding them again, and even weirder to have Dean here, watching him do the spell that was Castiel's most successful escape attempt. Castiel's hands shake a bit as he arranges the rosemary and sage, and then blesses it with beer. Then he takes the quartz and walks in a circle, saying the words to the spell. The book lies on the floor near him, but he still knows the words.
At the last, 'relesen' (or release, in Middle English), there's a rush of wind in the windowless bunker.
Dean starts. "Did it work?"
Castiel licks his lips and nods. "That's what it did before. So yes, I think so."
Dean holds out his hand. "Let's see?"
Taking Dean's hand steadies Castiel a little, especially when Dean squeezes Castiel's hand tight and offers him a reassuring smile. Castiel doesn't even know why he's so nervous; isn't this what he wanted? What he's been fighting for? He spent almost a year trying to get this far, and now that he has it – even though Dean isn't letting him escape, it's so much closer to freedom – he's terrified. It's not agoraphobia, because he can go outside. But the same panic that twisted up inside of him when Dean wanted him to promise not to escape flutters within him now.
He meets Dean's green eyes. "Okay."
He follows Dean up the stairs to the kitchen, all the way to his boundary. Castiel's got it memorized within an inch, so when he slowly takes a step across, he knows the spell succeeded. He looks up at Dean and tries to smile. His mind feels fuzzy. He's not sure what to think, or what he's thinking.
"You're doing good," Dean encourages. "And hey, now I get to introduce you to Baby properly. Come on." He pulls Castiel through the foyer, which looks the same as it did a year ago.
Outside is the same grass and brush as in Castiel's yard, which is oddly reassuring. The road is black, and even blacker sits Dean's Impala. She gleams in the light, and it's very obvious how well maintained she is, even to someone like Castiel who considers cars to be simply tools. Dean drags him over and starts chatting excitedly about her horsepower and the history of Chevy Impala's ("Don't ever call those new ones Impalas. It's an insult, I'm telling you."). Castiel lets the words flow over him and lays his hand over the engine. It's still faintly warm, like Dean took her around the block, or the remote Kansas equivalent. Though Castiel has no personal history with this car beyond waking up in it the first time he saw Dean's face, he knows it far better as Dean and Sam's home. He's heard too many stories of their childhood to really see it as anything else, even if it was the instrument of his imprisonment. He could probably find their initials carved into it.
Dean leads him to the passenger side and opens the door. He lays a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Cas, you ready?"
Castiel slowly sits on the bench seat. It's not terribly comfortable, and there's no seatbelt. He stretches out his legs, though, and finds more room than he expected.
Dean jogs around the car and slips into the driver's seat. He grins at Castiel and gives him another quick kiss.
Then he turns the engine over, listening to her purr. "Hear that?" Dean asks.
Castiel tilts his head. "Yes."
"Wait til I open her up on the highway," Dean promises. He shifts the car into drive, but then pauses. "Cas?"
Castiel looks at him.
"Close your eyes. Relax. It's going to be hours before we're anywhere, okay?"
Following that command is both harder and easier than he expects. He knows the reason behind it, even if Dean won't admit it out loud; Dean doesn't want him to be able to triangulate where the bunker is. It's a smart precaution. But then, so many people do underestimate Dean. The FBI did, and that's why the BAU failed to capture him so many times. Castiel didn't undervalue Dean's intelligence, and he still failed to escape. Dean took multiple precautions against everything Castiel could try, and when one failed, another simply came into play. For all of his training, Castiel couldn't overcome Dean's planning.
And eventually, he stopped trying.
So he lays his head back and rests. The Impala is a relatively smooth ride, swaying a bit, not handling like a modern car at all. It's easy to give himself up to that, and combined with his lack of sleep, he drifts off.
He wakes up when a car horn blasts into his ear. He jolts upright, finding a dizzying amount of color.
"Cas! Sorry, that guy was an asshole," Dean says, one hand on the wheel and the other reaching out to Castiel. "You okay?"
Castiel swallows, ignoring Dean's hand and looking around. They're in a town. No, a city. The streets are wider, and there's a lot of cars on the road. Businesses deck every corner, full of bright color and blinding text. He sees two gas stations opposite to each other, advertising a price difference of five cents a gallon. There's a furniture store to the right, and a dry cleaning shop to the left. People are walking down the sidewalks, bundled up warmly. A bus pulls in front of them, and then slides over to the right at a bus stop. Dean drives past, saying again, "Cas? You with me?"
The sheer amount of people and buildings and color is enough to make Castiel's head hurt. He's lived in the bunker for so long that seeing so many conflicting colors and hearing so many conflicting sounds is overwhelming. His breathing picks up and he grips the door handle. "I'm – I'm fine. It's just so strange. To see people."
It's nothing like seeing people on a screen.
Castiel has the sudden urge to open the door and spill out into the street. Run. Terror meets that urge and kills it.
Dean's smile is clearly a bit pained when Castiel looks back at him. "I know. It's okay. Tell me if you need to slow down or anything, okay? I'm going to pull us into the grocery store."
Rossway Grocery is a large store, though Castiel's never heard of it. He wonders if it's a chain as Dean carefully maneuvers the car into a far away space. When the engine dies, the background noise of the city seems to get even louder. Hearing other cars – accelerating, stopping, a honk here and there – doubles upon themselves and makes a noise that Castiel finds he can't separate out. He can't filter. He feels like a deaf person suddenly able to hear, unable to cope with the torrent of information in any meaningful way.
He starts when Dean's hand lands on his shoulder, along with a puff of cold air. He didn't even see Dean get out of the car and come to Castiel's side, much less open the door. Dean pulls him out without saying anything, then hugs him tightly. Castiel presses his face into Dean's neck, into the rough jacket Dean wears, and clings. It's stupid and childish, but he can't stop himself.
"Shhh," Dean finally says. "It's okay. You'll be fine. It'll be good to see people, won't it? You just gotta relax a little."
Castiel nods, somewhat desperately.
Dean's hand finds Casitel's. Holding hands like that, he leads Castiel through the parking lot. A random woman walks out with her young daughter clinging to the hem of her coat, and she offers Castiel a bland, polite smile as her child tries to skip along.
The word help rises in Castiel's throat, but remains silent.
Dean grabs a cart and guides one of Castiel's hands to it, so they're still touching even though Dean's pushing the cart. They wind through the fresh produce first. Castiel does his best to focus on the food, ignoring the people. He points at the strawberries and Dean grabs three boxes. "There you go," Dean says encouragingly. "Kiwis? I keep meaning to ask if you like those."
Throat tight, Castiel nods. Then he forces himself to say, "I do."
Two cartons of that.
Castiel points at shortcake, and Dean takes a few of those as well. Dean's nearly beaming with happiness, and Castiel can understand why. He has Castiel with him, and Castiel isn't running. Why isn't he running? He has no idea.
Maybe because he loves Dean? Because he knows how devastated Dean would be to lose him?
In the bread aisle, it occurs to Castiel that if Castiel ran right now, Dean would have to react. Would he pull a gun to keep Castiel here?
Dean's armed. Dean's always armed when he goes to the outside world. He was responsible for a gun and a child at nine. He has no fear of guns at all, and only caution prevents him from waving it around casually in public.
Would Dean fire at someone to prevent them from rescuing Castiel?
Would Dean beat him? Would he physically drag Castiel to the car and take off? Castiel knows the car is protected against people looking for it, especially if that interest is casual instead of directed. It's part of how Dean got Castiel out of his apartment so unseen, why none of Castiel's neighbors raised the alarm. How Dean got away clean. Would Dean get away clean again, if Castiel went to that employee restocking the canned beans and said, 'Call the police, this man kidnapped me'?
The employee finishes his job, shoots Castiel and Dean a smile and asks, "Need help finding anything?"
Words freeze in Castiel's throat.
"No, we're fine," Dean answers.
The employee looks at Castiel and sounds concerned when he says, "Dude, you okay?"
"PTSD," Dean says hastily. "He was a soldier. Y'know how that goes."
"Oh, yeah," the employee says, nodding. "'Course. My brother, too. It'll get better, man, don't worry," he tells Castiel.
Castiel manages to nod. That's appropriate. Nodding. So is PTSD. Castiel probably does have PTSD.
The employee leaves.
Dean lets go of the cart and puts an arm around Castiel's shoulders. He whispers, "I know this is hard. I know it is. But you can do this, Cas. It's okay. You're here with me, and I'm not leaving, and we'll go home after this."
Home. Castiel knows it's wrong, but he breathes easier. "Yes. Yes."
"Okay. Wheat or white?"
Castiel tries to focus on the dozens of bread options. "I don't know."
Dean grabs two of each kind. He's careful not to go more than two feet from Castiel at any moment, always making sure that Castiel is within arms' reach. It's calculated, Castiel realizes. For a second, it feels like his mind is breaking free, like the cloud of uncertainty is gone. Dean knows that Castiel is panicking, trying to decide what to do. By staying near him at all times, Dean reinforces the behavior he's encouraged in Castiel – for Castiel to consider Dean a safe haven, a comfort, a reassurance. A bulwark against a world that Castiel no longer remembers how to handle.
Because Dean took that from him.
But then.
Castiel loves Dean. Dean loves Castiel, deeply and desperately. That much is clear, too. Calling for help or running – just trying to reach for that is an uphill battle against the past fifteen months. He can't. He can't. And Dean is here, warm and comforting, giving Castiel gentle smiles and nudges, holding his hand. Castiel squeezes that hand tight, vision going blurry.
He barely makes it through the frozen section, barely noticing Dean pick up a pint of icecream. His mind is buzzing a disorienting mix of panic and need.
The cashier is a young woman with dark hair. She grabs the first item, the icecream, and then looks up at Castiel. Rather than give him that same bland, polite smile that is automatic to most in her job, she stares at him steadily for a few seconds. "Good afternoon," she says, "how has your day been?"
"Good," Dean answers.
She looks at Castiel again, as if waiting for him to reply.
"I – I – " Castiel can't finish. The cuff is heavy on his ankle, and cold.
She gives him a small smile. "That bad, huh?"
Some reservoir of strength comes to him then. "Yes. One of those days." He stares back at her, willing her to understand him somehow. See past those words, even though he knows she can't. She's the first meaningful human interaction he's had with anyone besides Dean in more than a year. He knows that as long as he lives he will never forget her face, or the way she had looked at him as if to make sure he really was all right.
Dean is like a taut wire beside him. "But we'll be going home," Dean says. "Relax the rest of the day away."
"That's what I plan to do," she says, her shoulders losing some tension. "Once my shift is over. That'll be 147.52."
"Gotcha," Dean says.
Dean swipes a card that doesn't have his name on it and the cashier finishes bagging their items. Once they're all in the cart, she flashes Castiel a smile and says, "I'm sure it will get better."
Castiel smiles back, instinctively.
Dean waits for Castiel to turn his attention back to Dean, and then guides Castiel outside. It's bright. A large family is exiting the car next to the Impala, five or six children chattering away as the two harried parents try to manage them. Castiel watches them, knowing that it's rude but unable to stop himself. He barely feels Dean maneuvering him to the car, only noticing when Dean opens the passenger door and gently sits Castiel down. Dean throws the rest of the groceries in the back seat, quickly. He leaves the cart at the parking space.
Once he's in the car, he turns on the engine. He shoots Castiel a brief smile. "Home."
Castiel nods, something easing in him. He's locked in. Dean's so close, and they're far from anyone else.
He watches the world slide by with the purr of Baby under him. When they approach the outskirts – Castiel can tell because of the larger and larger empty lots – Dean asks him to close his eyes again, and Castiel does. He listens to the quiet murmur of Dean's voice.
" – there was that time when we came through here in the middle of a prank war. You know, I've told you about those before. Well, this one was bad. Well, not that kind of bad – just, y'know, getting a little out of hand. Sammy and his ridiculous long hair were so incredibly annoying, Cas, I just had to do it. Pink hair dye. Told him it was permanent and he'd have to cut it off, though the box said just a few shampoos and it'd be gone, and man, he lost it. I think he almost keyed Baby, but I don't love even Sam that much and I think he knew –"
Both the thought of escape and the pressure of actually attempting it fade away. Dean will take him home and chain him again. Things will return to normal.
Castiel is happy with normal. It's not the life he chose for himself, but he can be happy. He knows that. Out there? He doesn't know.
It's dark when they return. Castiel noted the falling sun through closed eyes, the glare of the sun dimming until there's only the occasional flash of headlights. The car slows and then pulls over.
Castiel opens his eyes.
Dean smiles at him. "Hey there. You with me?"
"I'm with you," Castiel says.
"We'll go inside and I'll reset the cuff." Dean grins. "It'll force me to carry all this crap in by myself. Sound fair?"
Castiel just nods.
In a few moments, Dean's at Castiel's side of the car, helping him out. It's not necessary, Castiel's not hurt, but he still holds onto Dean like he'll fall if he doesn't. As always, Dean's there.
Dean settles him on his chair at the kitchen table and then kneels. He says more gibberish, his warm hands on Castiel's ankle, but Castiel can tell it's a different stream of words than the one that removes the cuff. There's no physical change, no gust of wind like the spell Castiel used earlier. "That's it?" Castiel asks.
Dean looks up and smiles at him. Dean always tries to smile, always tries to be kind and comforting. Castiel wonders sometimes if Dean ever tires of being the strong one, the care-taker. He knows that was the role he took on as a child, because of the failures of his father, but when Dean talks about Sam – Sam specifically in the last five or so years they were together – it really strikes Castiel as a partnership. Sam is no longer a child Dean cares for, or tries to order, or tries to control. In a weird way, for Dean, it was healthy. Or at least, healthier than it had been.
Castiel has rarely seen Dean vulnerable. Dean has revealed so much of his life, history, and emotion, but it's often been in the context of explaining instead of sharing. The only times Castiel's seen Dean really unshielded is when Dean is at his absolute height of fear with losing Castiel. And it's not even like Dean is trying to hide, he's just so focused on keeping Castiel and keeping Castiel happy.
"Well, I should –"
Castiel grabs Dean's hands and Dean stops. "Dean, what are you thinking?"
Dean blinks. "I'm not sure what you're asking."
"Why? Why are you doing this?"
Dean exhales slowly. "I know you can't give me an answer about – anything. I understand that. But I want to have you, and not just here."
"Are you afraid?"
Dean kisses him. "Terrified witless. But that's nothing for you to worry about."
"But what if it is?"
"Cas, I don't –"
"I don't want you to hide anything from me," Castiel says. "If – if we're really a couple, then you can't."
Dean is silent. Then, "I don't want you held here forever." He hesitates. "I don't want to be here forever, either. As much as this became our home base, me and Sam – our home was in the Impala. Not the bunker."
Castiel watches him, but Dean just looks at him steadily. "Okay."
This time when Dean rises to his feet, Castiel lets him. "I'll be back," Dean says softly.
As soon as Dean is out of sight, Castiel toes off his shoes and then his socks. He touches the cuff, which is faintly cold. Only when it's against his bare skin for a long time does it really warm up. He knows it's just the way metal is, that because it's a good conductor it always feels cold, but sometimes he thinks the cold is there for a reason, as a reminder. The strip that Dean had soldered on is slightly uneven, unlike the rest. He traces the GPS.
He didn't run. He doesn't know if he wants to. He doesn't know anything.
But that choice, or even the illusion of it, is gone. And Castiel is relieved.
He manages to stop thinking about it, for the most part. At least directly.
Instead, he watches Dean.
Dean, always working to make sure Castiel feels cared for. Dean, whose entire life revolves around Castiel. The reverse is also true, of course. In some ways, the outside world – even though Castiel has visited it, once – seems like it doesn't exist. There's only Dean and Castiel, living in a bubble.
There's something about that that rattles around in Castiel's head, but it hasn't come together yet.
It's a comfortable bubble, though. A happy one.
"What are you making?" Dean asks one afternoon, a month past the visit to the grocery store. He sinks into the space next to Castiel on the couch, looking tired and sweaty. And slightly dirty; Castiel can see some oil smeared on his cheek. He must have been doing car maintenance. Maybe he can convince Dean to take a shower with him.
"A blanket," Castiel explains, hefting the blue yarn. "So I can practice my stitches."
"Doesn't that take forever?" Dean asks.
Castiel shrugs. "Not if you're practiced. Though I suspect it will be summer before I get this one done, just because it's been so long since I did this regularly."
Dean puts his booted feet on the coffee table. "I have to admit, this is a skill I was surprised by. Anything else I should know about Castiel Novak?"
Castiel eyes him for a moment, then sticks out his tongue.
A bright burst of laughter escapes Dean, and then he's leaping on Castiel, smelling of oil and musk, and kissing Castiel hard. It's not a very good kiss because Castiel is laughing and Dean ends up sucking on his lower lip, then placing a hand on his chin and forcing it upward so he can kiss Castiel's throat. Without any warning, he bites where Castiel's neck meets shoulder, and Castiel makes a surprised noise.
Dean withdraws enough to look Castiel in the eye. "Can I bite you?"
"Bite me? What, hard enough to draw blood?"
Dean shakes his head. "Just, y'know. A little harder. I like to, sometimes."
In answer, Castiel exposes his neck.
Dean returns to the spot he'd bitten first, and worries it with his lips and teeth, hard enough to be just on the edge where pleasure meets pain. He's holding himself up with his hands, so he can't really touch Castiel otherwise, so Castiel sticks his hand down his own pants, awkwardly stroking his cock with most of his jeans still on. He's hard within a matter of minutes, pain radiating from his neck, but a heady arousal overriding it. "Dean," he moans, trying to maneuver his knee against Dean's dick.
"Can I?" Dean whispers into his skin. He shifts around until he's held up by one hand, the other meandering to Castiel's cock.
Castiel doesn't even know what he's agreeing to, but he pants, "Yes, yes."
Dean bites him hard, this time with enough force that Castiel thinks he's probably broken the skin. At the same time, Dean's hand moves on Castiel's cock, and the weird mix of sensation makes Castiel come all over Dean's hand. He pulses two, three times. Slick and wet and warm. He's gasping, neck tingling. After coming down from that high, Dean sucking on his throat, Castiel pushes Dean away and puts a hand to his neck, then looks to see if there's blood.
There is, just a little bit. He looks at Dean, more amused than anything, and says, "What, turning into a Deanpire?"
Dean laughs hard enough that he loses his standing, and falls on Castiel's stomach. His elbow makes a particularly painful impression and Castiel squirms. Then he decides to be proactive and actually knocks Dean off the couch. Dean looks up at him from the floor, wounded. "Cas."
"Pants off," Castiel demands, and then starts putting words to action. He's got Dean naked in less than a minute, and then fills his mouth with Dean's cock. Surprised pleasure dominates Dean's expression, along with a little bit of fondness. Castiel sucks hard for a couple of minutes, Dean already fully erect, and then stops long enough to wet two fingers with his saliva.
Dean puts his hands on Castiel's head and tilts his hips upward, giving Castiel access to his ass. Castiel pushes in one, then two. He sucks Dean's cock to the rhythm of his fingers, finding Dean's prostrate with some difficulty. But once he does have it, he strokes it repeatedly, hearing Dean say, "Oh fuck, yes, right there, oh Cas, everything you do is good, fuck, harder."
Less than five minutes later, Dean comes in Castiel's mouth, filling it with salty semen. Castiel swallows it all, fingers stroking the rim of Dean's entrance.
"Oh, Cas," Dean says, breathless. Then, after a few seconds, "You know, for being virgin to gay sex, you're a very quick learner."
"I've always been a quick learner," Castiel says, then takes the tip of Dean's cock in his mouth long enough to suck for a few seconds. He lets it fall, knowing Dean's probably too sensitive for more.
Dean smiles at him lazily, affectionately. Castiel grabs a blanket that's folded next to the couch and pulls it over them both, knowing that when their bodies cool after the heat of sex, they'll need it. Dean shifts one leg between Castiel's, heedless of the messy come on Castiel's belly. They tangle themselves together, with Castiel's head on Dean's chest.
He sleeps.
Two weeks later, Dean stumbles upon a nearby hunt. "It's a salt and burn. Unfortunately. I hate doing those in winter." Dean looks up from the newspaper. "Do you want to come?"
Castiel freezes.
Dean nods hastily. "You're coming. My decision. Got it?"
Castiel relaxes and nods. "When?"
"Tomorrow," Dean says. "Don't think about it, okay? It'll just be you and me."
The next morning, Dean provides Castiel with the ingredients to the spell again. Castiel completes the spell, again. Queasy panic rides low in his mind, and he follows Dean blindly to the car. Without being asked, he closes his eyes, and keeps them closed for hours. Even when Dean says he can open his eyes, he keeps his attention on the scenery, and ignores the signs and roads. He doesn't know what it says about him that he doesn't want to know where he is, that he doesn't want to use his own mind to triangulate the location of the bunker. Like even now, he fears that Dean will be caught if Castiel knows too much.
"You're mine," Dean tells him, as the sun begins to set after a day of driving. "Don't worry about anything, Cas." And Castiel begins to relax.
Dean pulls over to a rundown motel. Castiel actually gets a look this time, the half-there flicking 'vacancy' giving him enough light to see the name Yollada Motel.
Castiel stays seated until Dean opens the passenger door, offering his hand. Castiel takes it, mind fuzzy. He follows Dean blindly to the front desk. The clerk eyes him them both when Dean asks for one queen, then hands Dean an old, rusted key. Castiel takes it from Dean, fingers moving over the rough rust. The sensation is somehow comforting. Dean's hand on Castiel's back is gentle when he leads him outside.
"I think we should head straight for the cemetery," Dean says. "Check out the room after. Okay?"
Castiel nods, putting the key into his pocket. "All right."
Dean squeezes his hand. "You're doing good, 'kay?"
Castiel smiles weakly. Good? Because he isn't running from his kidnapper? But it's like as long as Dean is here, he can't conceive of escape. He's lived too long with the knowledge that he can't get away. That anytime Dean is close, there's the reminder of the cold cuff on his skin. Even now, it sits heavily on his ankle. He's still bound. He is. That's why he's not running. Or is it because he loves Dean? He could take off. He could cross the road and go to that diner and tell them to call the police. Dean would – could – probably drag him back before the they would arrive, though, cuff him in the car and reach the highway.
And Castiel would have failed again, bloody and bitter and weeping.
But Dean would be devastated if Castiel ever did escape, and Castiel seriously doubts he can, even if Dean left him alone long enough. Fear and longing and need have kept him bound as securely as his chain.
"No thinking, okay? I know that's like your MO, but you need to just go with it, Cas." Dean cups Castiel's face and kisses him. One hand traces the faint scar on Castiel's neck from his bite. "See? You're mine."
Castiel presses into Dean's body, shaking a little, and Dean hugs him tight. His muscles loosen as he repeats that phrase, You're mine. You're mine.
Dean puts him in the car, and then they're driving down narrow, nearly abandoned roads. He watches the lights of the town and other cars fade, the darkness creeping in. The cemetery is every movie cliché of what a cemetery is, old with creeping vines and bare, twisted trees. A good portion of the gravestones are old and cracked, and a few in one corner have no text on them anymore. Dean gets as close as he safely can and then parks, the sudden silence disturbing after having had the soothing rumble of the Impala for so many hours.
It's very cold, as it is after nightfall. When Dean helps Castiel out of the car, he can see his breath fogging in the air.
Dean guides him to the trunk, and then with absentminded muttering, Dean finds all they'll need. A flashlight, an electronic lamplight, and a shovel. Plus salt, gasoline, and a box of matches. He hands half of that for Castiel to hold, and then takes the other half.
The cemetery is bigger than Castiel first expected. Castiel finds himself staring out into the dark, wondering if he could lose Dean if he ran hard enough. But he doesn't act; he follows Dean around as Dean checks all the gravestones for the one he's looking for.
"Kind of makes you wish they were in alphabetical order," Castiel comments, the first words he's spoken in hours.
Dean tilts his head back and laughs from the gut, nearly dropping the shovel. "See? Sam said I was crazy, but it makes perfect sense to me!" He smirks at Castiel. "The ways in which I love you are never-ending, dude."
Castiel smiles back, softening.
Fifteen minutes later, Dean finds the grave. "Welp," he says, "time to suffer. I'll start."
Gravedigging is backbreaking work. Castiel finds himself a little surprised that people actually rob graves, considering the effort involved. He and Dean switch off every fifteen minutes, which is long enough to give a proper break without letting their muscles cool off and tighten up. The fact that Dean knows to do that tells Castiel that he and Sam got into a very familiar pattern when it comes to this kind of hunt.
There's a salt line around them, of course, but even when Dean hits the coffin, nothing shows up. It opens with a creak and a lot of leverage with the handle of the shovel, exposing bones. Castiel finds himself noting facts about the body immediately, seeing the faint marks that show she was stabbed to death. Her rib cage is damaged. That familiar sense of loss and drive to find justice rise in him. Her murderer was never caught, all they know is that she haunts the local library, and nearly killed a middle grade student who went up to the archives in the attic.
That was Castiel's job, once. And he was good at it. He rarely thinks about his job as a profiler anymore, but it gave him such drive and purpose. For a moment, he's blinded with tears; he's lost that.
"Cas, you okay?"
Castiel nods quickly. "At least we can give her peace."
Dean smiles sadly. "Yeah. I know it sucks, but I kinda figure … we all have different jobs in this world, you know?" He picks up the gasoline. "Most care for the living. We give peace to the dead."
The coffin is soaked, and then Dean hands Castiel a match. "You're very first hunt, you do the honors."
Castiel lights the match, and lets it fall. Flame bursts up, and then burns low.
Filling in the grave is easier, though by the time they're finished it's only a couple of hours away from dawn. They hit the road to return to the motel. The streets are totally empty now, and somehow that feels like a good thing. Nothing for Castiel to think about. It's not like he'd get far. He tries to shake the jitters and panic from his mind, focusing on Dean. Dean's got a rather large smudge on his forehead, and his rough hands are engrained with dirt. Maybe they should take a shower together.
Half an hour later, they're back at the motel.
"So," Dean says, "home sweet temporary home." He waves at the décor, which is water themed and incredibly tacky, and then locks the door behind him. "As you can see, nothing but the best."
Castiel eyes the large fish on the wall. It's plastic, but also looks like it could leap off the wall and eat his head. "I thought you were exaggerating about the motels you and Sam stayed at."
"Nope! I'm guessing you got the good hotels at the FBI?"
Castiel shrugs and sits on the bed. "Large chains of them, usually. Do you avoid those on purpose?"
"They tend to catch onto fake names and fraudulent cards a lot faster," Dean says, pulling out a chair and putting their one bag on it. "They keep more records. And they're more expensive. I'm not gonna lie, that's a problem. Until Charlie, er, helped out a bit, we got a lot of our money from credit card scams and hustling."
Castiel wonders about her, sometimes.
Dean sits next to him on the bed and places a hand on Castiel's thigh. He slips his other around Castiel's back, and then kisses him gently. When Castiel responds by deepening the kiss, relief flowing through him at the familiarity of it, Dean pushes him down to a prone position and then crawls on top of him, biting at his lips. He shifts from Castiel's mouth to his neck, working on giving Castiel a hickey while he puts his thigh between Castiel's legs and rubs it against Castiel's cock. Castiel shoves his hands under Dean's shirt, stroking up his stomach and then his pectorals, before running his hands down Dean's back to cup his ass.
With one last hard suck on Castiel's neck, Dean breaks off and asks, "Can I fuck you?"
"Thought we were trying you," Castiel says, shoving his hips up into Dean's so he can get more friction.
"I know, I know, I just – I want to have you, to know you're mine, even here," Dean says, a rush of words.
Dean wants to claim Castiel. Make Castiel his, again. Castiel's cock twitches at the thought of Dean being so desperate to have him, even as another part of him recognizes that it's more than possessiveness. That Dean wants to fuck him as a way of saying that Dean owns him, not just chained in the bunker, but even here with only a GPS tracker to hold him. It should be an uncomfortable realization, but instead it fills his cock. Dean desires him so badly, and all he wants is for Castiel to return that. And Dean's eyes are so soft, so loving and afraid. So Castiel says, "Okay."
Stripping is a hurried affair. Dean does himself first while Castiel lies on the bed and rubs himself through his jeans, then Dean is yanking off Castiel's clothing as well. The lube is in the bag, and Dean grabs it and slathers it on his hard cock before reaching between Castiel's legs. Out of habit, Castiel holds himself spread open, and Dean moans. "You look so hot like that," Dean says. "Wanting my fingers, my cock."
Two fingers off the bat, then three. Dean fucks him hard with those fingers as he holds the base of his cock, like he's trying to hold himself off from coming too soon. Castiel strokes himself with the same rhythm of Dean's hand.
Dean's lubed hands slides on Castiel's skin as he tries to help Castiel keep his ass exposed. With an irritated noise, he pushes Castiel onto his side. Castiel gets what he wants right away, rolling over onto his hands and knees, his ass pushed out. Without preamble, Dean's cock pushes against Castiel's hole, and he pops in. He shoves in the rest of the way without giving Castiel time to adjust, and Castiel's groan that time is partially pain.
"Sorry, fuck, I just have to have you," Dean says. "Oh, you're so tight. Always so tight, like you were made for me."
Then Dean fucks him hard. It's pleasurable, as it always is. Whatever pain there is blends with the pleasure so smoothly that Castiel can't tell the difference. He finds himself pushing back into Dean's thrusts, spreading his legs wider so he can feel more of Dean's body slapping against his. Dean falls silent, so the only sound in the room is of their two bodies meeting, the slick sound of Castiel's well lubed ass getting pounded into, and Castiel's moans.
It's familiar. Castiel knows sex with Dean so well, all the ways to respond to increase Dean's arousal, all the ways to tilt his hips to get more pleasure from the fucking. Dean is his captor, but right now he's Castiel's lover, and the rest of the hotel room fades away. It doesn't feel like Dean is fucking him to claim him, it feels like two lovers meeting. Castiel's cock is heavy between his legs, bouncing with each of Dean's thrusts. He doesn't touch himself; he knows Dean loves to make him come just from being fucked.
Dean arches over him, so his stomach is against Castiel's lower back, giving Castiel short and powerful thrusts as he covers Castiel with his body. He reaches around and grips Castiel's hard cock, dripping pre-come. Then he whispers, "You're mine, please be mine, Cas, please."
"I'm yours," Castiel says for the first time.
"Oh, Cas," Dean mutters into his back, kissing it, and then comes.
Castiel touches his own cock, but Dean bats his hand away. "Dean," Castiel groans.
"Hold on," Dean says. His cock slips out, semen sliding down Castiel's balls. Then he turns Castiel over and pushes three fingers into Castiel's ass while he sucks down Castiel's cock. Four or five thrusts and Castiel's coming in his mouth, Dean swallowing it all. When he pulls off, he's smiling. "See? I take care of you."
Castiel exhales, body tingling. "Hmm."
Dean's fingers press into him, stroking his prostrate.
"Dean!"
With a laugh, Dean finally pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the sheets. "I love seeing you react, what can I say?" He crawls up next to Castiel and says, "I love you."
Castiel's relaxed for the first time since the trip began when he says, "I love you, too."
Dean gets up once, to grab a wrist cuff with a long chain to it, so Castiel can sleep comfortably and securely. Then he curls around him, and they sleep, still filthy.
In the early morning, Castiel wakes up to find Dean's already inside of him, thrusting shallowly. Dean fucks him – no, Dean makes love to him like that, with Castiel on his side with one leg being held up by Dean. Dean strokes Castiel's stretched rim where his cock is buried in Castiel's body, like he's admiring the view. He tugs on Castiel's balls gently and then fists Castiel's cock, stroking him in time to his thrusts. Castiel comes first, semen spilling over Dean's hand, and then Dean fills him up with a moan and the words, "You're mine."
As soon as Castiel is uncuffed from the bed, Dean never leaves Castiel alone for even a moment. The bathroom door remains open, with Dean pushing it open when Castiel tries to close it to piss. Dean just watches him, a faint smile on his face, and Castiel pushes down the discomfort. Dean's never tried to take away that particular privacy before. After, he asks, "Can I take a shit in private?"
Dean flushes. "Of course, yeah. Sorry. I know I'm freaking out. I just never thought we'd be here, even six months ago."
When they go to checkout, Dean lets him say goodbye to the clerk, watching.
And then Dean sits him in the Impala and takes him to the bunker. And there, Dean places his hands on Castiel's cuff, says the words, and then Castiel is home.
Castiel is the one to find the next hunt. It's a larger pattern, one that the BAU would never have caught because it dealt with car crashes. On a road in Colorado once a year there's always a fatal car crash that kills at least the driver, and often all the passengers. For five years, someone has died, and that time of the year – April 19th – is coming up in a matter of days. As an FBI agent, Castiel would have called it an eerie coincidence.
But as a hunter, anything eerie deserves a second look.
Six years before, a husband and wife got into an argument on that same road. It was raining, and the husband, the driver, crashed. The wife wasn't wearing a seatbelt, was thrown through the front window, and spent twenty minutes bleeding out while the husband was unconscious. Dean figures the combination of events left a ghost who's reliving the fight and then the crash, forcing strangers to play through her death, unwittedly or not.
The hard part is that she was cremated, and all her personal property was destroyed by the grieving husband. She's attached to something, but that could even be the road, and they can't exactly effectively salt and burn that. Which means the only way to get rid of her ghost is an exorcism ritual, preferably on the night in question for maximum effectiveness.
Castiel expects Dean to pass it off to someone else, and Dean tries, but there's no one in the area. The one hunter Dean tracks down who's close is dealing with a nest of vampires, who are making a resurgence in the area.
"I could take you," Dean says reluctantly. He eyes Castiel. "You could do with getting out."
Castiel tucks himself under the covers. "It's up to you," he says at last. It's not a decision he wants to make, going outside. It's too close to a question he doesn't want to answer. He offers Dean a smile. "I'll be fine either way."
"I don't wanna leave you here," Dean admits. "I want you close. I just, y'know, it's stressful for you."
"I … I do like to see people. Life." Castiel smiles wanly. "But it's up to you," he repeats.
Dean kisses him lightly, then searches Castiel's face. "Okay. You'll come. I trust you." And then he hugs Castiel, and Castiel clings to him. Weirdly, he feels both guilty and honored by Dean's words.
They leave the day before, so Dean can do the ritual during the day. Castiel watches the night clerk go through the motions with a bored expression, and again, the thought pops up that he could ask for help. He glances at the door. He could run out of that. But Dean would catch him in a matter of moments. Dean never leaves him alone.
Castiel relaxes into that thought as Dean leads him to their room. With Dean holding his hand, even the patrol car that drives down the street is easy to ignore, even if Dean does tense up and block Castiel from view.
Dean holds Castiel all night despite the long cuff chaining him to the bed, and there's more fear than love in his tight grip.
Waking up is surprisingly hard. Castiel doesn't have the delicious smell of Dean's breakfasts to bring him out of his usual fog. Not even coffee. Dean, of course, can't leave Castiel alone. He doesn't take him to diners, either, only using drive-throughs to get them both fed during a hunt and he was antsy even during those. Trying to watch Castiel while not appearing obvious about it.
Dean strokes his hair back from his forehead, kisses him there fondly, and then says, "Time to get up, lazybones."
"Hmrph." Castiel squints at Dean. "Food?"
"I brought some cold sandwiches," Dean says. He gives Castiel a slightly put out look. "I even got creative, for your sake. Cream cheese and salmon, with cucumber. Sounds gross, but all the websites said it tastes surprisingly delicious as a cold meal." Dean's expression shifts to a grin. "I spoil you."
Castiel smiles back. "You do." He rubs his eyes. "Bottled coffee?"
Dean laughs. "You know me too well." He hands Castiel two bottles of cold coffee, then moves to get up from the bed.
Castiel pulls him back for a kiss. "Thank you, Dean." He sips the coffee and pokes at the sandwich while Dean gets the laptop open and ready. Just like the first time, Dean kept his phone and laptop in a locked compartment while they slept, making it impossible for Castiel to use them to communicate without Dean knowing about it. Of course, Dean has the key, but he hides it somewhere weird every time, not allowing Castiel to look. Castiel doesn't mind the precaution; the fact that Dean thinks these things through means that Castiel doesn't have to think about it.
Fear it, or hope for it.
While the laptop boots up, Dean eats his sandwich, making a curious noise the first time he bites into this. "Oh man. Sam would've loved this." He pauses. "Actually, Sam probably had this at some point. That freak."
Castiel laughs. "I'm sure Sam is saying 'I told you so' from heaven."
Dean points at him. "I bet you he is." The laptop beeps when the operating system loads, and then Dean is swiping his finger around and typing. He chews as he does it, leaving crumbs everywhere. Fortunately, laptop cleaning is not part of Castiel's chores.
"What are you looking up?" Castiel asks, standing up. He shivers in the cold air and puts on boxers and a pair of clean jeans.
"Making sure the info is still the same," Dean says. "Just in case."
Castiel sets to eating his food, which is just as good as Dean said it would be. He prefers hot coffee over cold, but caffeine is caffeine.
"Well, fuck," Dean says, running a hand through his hair.
"What?"
"There's a problem," Dean tells him. "The road in question is has road construction on it. There'll be dozens of people there until seven, just before sunset. Then they're opening the road again. Fuck. The exorcism will have to be at night. I wanted it to be close enough to the date and time she'd be there for sure, but this?" Dean shakes his head. "Not good."
Castiel tilts his head. "But we can arm ourselves with rock salt, right? It keeps ghosts away?"
Dean bites his lip. "Technically, yeah. But you'd need to have a shotgun to defend the line. And I – I'm not sure I want to give that to you."
Castiel swallows, the sandwich suddenly dry. "I wouldn't hurt you."
"I know, I know, that's not what I meant. I just – this is hard for you. I know it is. You were a great FBI agent, I saw your record, but you've never hunted." Dean frowns darkly. "It's dangerous. I should have left you at home."
Castiel considers that. "You have time to think about it. It's what –" he looks at the digital clock on the night stand, "ten in the morning? That's nine hours."
Dean leans back in the dilapidated motel chair. "Yeah, you're right. At least the prep hasn't changed, just the schedule." Dean offers him a small smile. "What do you say to relaxing for a couple of hours?"
"We could also do something less relaxing," Castiel says with a raised eyebrow, sitting on the bed.
Dean gets up and kneels before Castiel, cupping his face and kissing him. This time, the smile on his face is wide and genuine. "I love you."
Dean claims Castiel again, coming inside of him and then sucking Castiel's cock and swallowing. It leaves Castiel tingling in a very pleasant way, and wipes away even the small, hidden thoughts of escape. It deadens the words Hold out. We're coming for you. Instead, Castiel is filled with an odd kind of contentment. One that's been building since the first time Dean brought Castiel out of the bunker. Castiel still doesn't have an answer for the question Dean has, but he's managed to stop thinking about it. Stopped thinking about calling for help, stopped thinking about initiating his own rescue.
They watch movies on the bed for hours. Dean orders pizza by delivery, and answers the door while Castiel bundles under the covers.
After the pizza has been decimated, Dean curls around Castiel's naked body and says, "I'm proud of you."
Castiel looks away from the commercial on the screen. It's been so long since he's seen one that it's actually novel instead of annoying. "Hmm?"
"The police car, last night. You didn't even twitch when he drove past."
He's right. The words spill out before Castiel can stop them. "You've broken me."
Dean freezes. He shifts around in bed so he can look Castiel in the eyes. "You're not broken, Cas. And I wouldn't want you to be."
Castiel closes his eyes and pushes his head into Dean's chest. Dean's arms automatically wrap about him, pulling him even closer. He doesn't say anything; he doesn't want to speak. His own words echo back to him instead, and he can't see the lie in it. Dean broke him, even if he did it lovingly. He cries silently for a while until his mind gives into the exhaustion of that and he begins to doze.
When the sun lowers in the sky, Dean gets out of bed. He putters around, doing something, and then returns to urge Castiel to sit up and get dressed. "Cas. I'm going to leave you in the motel room. I should only be gone two hours, max. Cas, look at me."
Castiel meets Dean's green eyes.
"Do you want me to cuff you to the sink?" Dean asks.
There's not a way Castiel can answer that. "I don't know."
"I'd prefer not to, in case something happens. This isn't the bunker. But you can't leave, Cas. Do you understand?"
Castiel nods.
"I love you," Dean says slowly and sincerely. He kisses Castiel softly. "I trust you."
Castiel kisses Dean back, but with a lot more force like if he pushes hard enough he can melt into Dean, that Dean won't go. He grabs one of Dean's hands and puts it on his half-hard cock, and Dean's hand pushes into his pants and begins to stroke him, thumbing the head, pushing against the slit. Castiel moans and rocks into Dean's hands. He's not entirely hard, and Dean has to sit there with him for ten minutes, stroking his cock and kissing him and whispering comforts, until Castiel is finally able to come.
"Stay for me," Dean says.
Castiel nods silently, cock still hanging out of his pants. Dean puts it away for him and kisses Castiel's nose lightly, making Castiel huff half a laugh.
"I'll be back soon," Dean promises.
Castiel watches as Dean grabs everything he'll need from the motel. Most of the supplies are already in the car, in the trunk with all of Dean's tools and weapons.
Dean gives Castiel a fond smile, then he's gone.
The motel seems to change.
The garish green walls seem dark and confining instead of vaguely silly, and the hum of the air conditioner is suddenly loud. Castiel sits on the bed and curls his legs until his knees are under his chin, staring down at the comforter's weird shade of brown. Panic and anxiety suddenly become very strong. He leaps off the bed and checks all the salt lines. They're all intact. He starts examining the room, looking in all the small, tight spaces that hex bags are kept. Dean kept him unbound because he wanted Castiel to be able to defend himself, if he had to. That means Castiel has to keep himself alert. This isn't like the bunker, where he's safe.
He pauses when he checks the door frame. It occurs to Castiel for the first time that he could run.
But Dean saying, I trust you.
And if he did? Dean won't be back for hours. If Castiel went somewhere with a lot of people, Dean wouldn't take the risk of using force to get Castiel back. As a hunter, not a serial killer, Dean wouldn't get bystanders hurt. Not even to keep Castiel. It's against his code. He'd only take an innocent life to save countless others, and Castiel knows Dean well enough to know Dean's own life doesn't count.
"No!" Castiel shouts into the silence. The air conditioner stops humming. "Stop it," he tells himself, pacing back and forth in front of the desk. "Stop it."
If. Dean would realize Castiel was gone. Even if Castiel didn't delay in telling them where the motel is, if he timed it right Dean would get away. Dean's smart. Dean's car is covered in hiding spells.
"But you would hurt him," Castiel whispers. He stares at his wrists, and wishes Dean had left him cuffed to the sink in the bathroom. That'd have held him. Long enough, anyway.
The thought drifts up anyway: Dean is stronger than he thinks. He survived two years without Sam, and without Castiel. Dean wouldn't break any further than he already has. And Dean is broken; Castiel loves him, but he's not blind. And yet, Dean functions through it, living a life so much harder than the one Casitel led. All of the danger, none of the backup. Castiel, if he could only squash this line of thinking, could be Dean's partner.
That's what Dean's wanted. What Castiel has fought for so long, because it's not his choice, but if he chooses it now, is it real?
But this. Being alone in a strange place. Four walls and a door. Unlocked. Without boundary.
It's so far outside their bubble of happiness, their bubble in which nothing of the outside world can be sharp enough to pierce. That notion rattles again, but this time the disparate parts are beginning to come together.
He starts hyperventilating, even as he can feel understanding on at the edge of his mind. He crawls to the bed and curls up on his side.
Even as Castiel has allowed himself to fall in love with Dean, and Dean has fallen in love with him – Dean isn't coping well. Not with the risk of Castiel leaving. Dean's deepest fear is to be abandoned, and his soulmate is in such a situation that that fear will always remain. Their relationship as it is will continue to exert that pressure on Dean's psyche.
The thought hits Castiel hard: Dean isn't free.
Neither of them are.
They are trapped in their circumstances and by the choices they have both made. Dean, to take Castiel, and Castiel, to submit to it.
They will continue to play out their parts, with Dean as the captor who fears his victim's escape and Castiel as the victim who can't reconcile loving his captor with the desire for freedom. They will have their happy home life, but it will be forever tainted by the cuff on Castiel's ankle. As it has been. As pain has mixed with love for Castiel, and love mixed with fear for Dean. Oh, they fight it. Dean fights it with every loving care he gives, with every inch of freedom he provides, with sparring with Castiel to make Castiel forget the blood and bruises behind escape attempts. Castiel fights it with learning to trust, learning to give up. Love shouldn't be mixed with despair.
Castiel lays on the bed, alone.
Alone for the first time while unfettered. He slides his pant leg up, fingers skimming along the cuff. He's been too ashamed to write Balthazar, because what could he say? That he's given up? That he's not fighting for his brother anymore, only fighting to keep himself sane with Dean? But, Castiel realizes, it's not even that. His brother wouldn't be ashamed. He would be desperately hurt, not for himself, but for Castiel, his independent-minded little brother. The one who gave up everything, even the family he loved, even the safety of his life, simply for freedom. To see the world.
Castiel rises to his feet.
Escape was to get back to his life. That was the driving force behind it for so long. His job, surprisingly enough, fell first to Dean. His freedom second. His brother third, and last.
On the wall is the map Dean placed there last night. Castiel traces the road names that he didn't bother to note on the way in until he finds the motel he's in. His finger skims along the paper, touching upon large buildings.
He pauses and turns. He walks to the nightstand, and picks up a pen.
The map waits. Names blur. I trust you. Castiel blinks, and they become clear. He finds the building he's looking for and uncaps the motel pen. He writes three words.
He traces them, the words smudging. He drops the pen, shaking. The door to the parking lot is ten feet away. It feels like a thousand miles. The first step stings of betrayal. He imagines Dean coming back and finding him gone, and it hurts. Deep in his heart and spreading to the marrow of his bone. He stops.
Then he starts again. He imagines being unchained, being able to go where he pleased. He imagines the wide world that waits for him. He imagines Balthazar, he imagines holding his brother in his arms. He imagines the clarity of what he once had, of purpose, of countless sleepless nights going over a file, talking to witnesses, and comforting victims.
He imagines himself lost to Dean, lost to the life Dean chose for him, the one that imprisons them both. He doesn't want it, he realizes. He wants Dean, yes. But not like this. Maybe he's not broken.
Castiel's hand closes around the door knob. "I'm sorry," he says out loud, and then twists and pushes.
He has to do this. For Balthazar, even for Dean. But most of all, for himself.
The barest hint of a smattering of stars lights the just-darkened sky. He sees more than a dozen people walking around, going about their normal, daily lives. A tired-looking maid enters another room. A laughing boy and girl head for a car. Someone drives in and parks badly, taking up two spaces.
It's absolutely terrifying.
Castiel is trembling when he takes the first step out into the cold air. Two, then three, and he stumbles, nearly falling.
A teenage girl walking on the sidewalk stops and takes a few hesitant steps backwards and asks, "Are you okay? You look really pale, do you need me to call someone?"
Castiel looks at her, and then shakes his head. "No, I'm – I'm going to walk."
She nods, gives him a polite smile. "Okay. Better walk fast, though, it'll be cold." And then without waiting for a reply, she rushes back to wherever she's going.
The first mile is a mess of color and sound. There's in an urban area of the city, so all the buildings are close enough together to create patchwork of lives. Castiel walks for nearly an hour. The steady motion is soothing, and strange. He's so used to having to turn every few hundred feet, either completely around, or walk in a curve to avoid the boundary. He hasn't walked in a straight line in so long it's like his body has almost forgotten how.
But his mind remembers.
This is how things were once. Castiel was nearly fearless in those days, unlike the frightened shell he's become, terrified of the simplest things because none of them were the life Dean has taught him to live. Once, Castiel took walks at three in the morning, a gun on his hip, and thought no more of it than going to get coffee. Castiel's stride lengthens. Once, all the simple things in life were simple.
That last thought drives Castiel through the last mile.
A cold, modern building is Castiel's stop. He presses a palm against the reinforced glass of the door, cold leaching through to his hand. He hesitates. Then he takes a deep breath and pushes it open, warm air flowing over him. The door swings shut behind him.
There's a desk, with a police officer sitting behind it. Doors with key panels and codes are around her; beyond her is the center of the police activity in the city. The police station. Dozens of cops are here.
The officer looks up at Castiel and asks, "Can I help you, sir?"
Castiel puts his hands on her desk, feeling weak. He's shaking like a leaf in the wind, but he's determined to speak the truth. "Y-yes. I need help."
After eighteen months of captivity, Castiel is finally free.
