"Dean, please. Just look at him."

No, Dean would not 'just look at him,' because if Dean did that, his bleeding heart would make him drop five grand on another mouth to feed, and they couldn't afford that.

Even if they could, it was a terrible idea.

"Dean—"

"Sam, we're here for silver bullets, dead man's blood, and some odds and ends for Bobby. We aren't here for a pet angel. Or any monster." Dean still wasn't looking in the direction Sam had indicated.

"They're not monsters, Dean. They're—"

"They're more powerful than anything we've ever hunted, they definitely aren't human, and they can and will kill us if given the chance. They're monsters." Dean pulled the list Bobby had given them out of his pocket, if only so he had an excuse to keep looking anywhere other than the angel. "What would we even do with him?"

"I don't know. We could teach him to hunt. And I'm sure he knows a lot about the supernatural, rituals, spells…" Sam trailed off and stayed silent long enough to make Dean look at him. "Dean. He's been tortured. No one deserves that."

Dean lifted his palms to his eyes and rubbed with a loud groan. "I know that, Sam. I'm not heartless." He lowered his hands with a sigh. "But you know it happens all the time, and we can't go around saving every sob story in the slave trade."

"I know you're not heartless, Dean. Do you know I'm not stupid?" Sam spread his arms incredulously. "That's why I told you to look at him. If it weren't exceptionally bad, I wouldn't be asking you to do this."

Dean shoved the list back into his pocket and glanced in the general direction of the angels for sale. His eyes flickered over too fast to see anything, but it was the kind of surrender that told him Sam was well on his way to winning the argument.

Dean sighed. "You promise to feed him and take him for walks?"

Sam smacked him on the arm. "Dean, be serious. He needs help."

Dean glanced over again, catching a glimpse of several figures on sale. "How are we gonna keep him in line?"

"He's not gonna fight us, Dean."

Dean snorted. "You sure about that?"

Sam looked at him, eyes intense and bearing a look that made Dean's stomach turn a little. "He's not gonna fight us."

It really must be bad. Dean slowly turned toward the part of the market that sold monsters, eyes scanning the wares as his feet carried him closer. "You gonna tell me which one it is?"

"You'll know," Sam replied, quiet and somber.

Dean opened his mouth to object—something like, 'stop playing games, we have things to do,'—but he stopped short when his eyes landed on the angel Sam had been talking about. And Dean knew it was the angel Sam had been talking about because Sam had been right.

The angel knelt on the cement floor, knees spread in typical fashion, with both arms bound behind him. Given the way his shoulders were pulled back, his arms were likely bound above the elbows, with his wrists tied to his ankles.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, which left his bruised midsection on display for all to see, along with gashes and whip marks… and bite marks and hickies. His face, namely his mouth, was bruised and bloody, and his eyes—his eyes were the thing that made Dean's decision for him. They were no doubt what made Sam's decision, too.

Blue like a clear, summer sky, but the most riveting thing about them was the shellshock. They were bright enough to make Dean think the angel had fought back recently, but glazed enough for Dean to know the angel's limit had been reached. There was a shock—a helpless confusion, a state of morbid wonder—that made Dean think rape was a new form of punishment for the angel. He had likely been defiant for too long, thinking he knew what the worst punishment was and deciding rebellion was worth it, and he wound up making someone just a bit too angry, which lead to a brand new form of punishment he hadn't been ready for. Maybe one he didn't even know existed.

It was all there, written in his eyes. He still wanted to fight back, but there was a primal fear keeping him obedient. If only until he processed what had happened to him, he would obey, because his entire world had just been turned upside down, and he couldn't fight back until he figured out which way was up.

"I hate you."

Sam smiled, holding out his hand for the wallet. "I can take care of this if you wanna finish shopping."

Dean snorted. "As if. I'm emotionally involved now, thanks to you." He handed over the wallet anyway. "Go talk to the owner. I'm gonna check for wards and get a feel for how much of a problem he's going to be."

Sam gave him a brief look of disapproval, but he took the wallet and broke off nonetheless, leaving Dean to approach the angel tucked in the corner.

Dean let out a brief sigh of frustration, but he had ultimately been the one to cave, so he gave himself a smack upside the head—metaphorically, of course—and kept walking until he was standing less than three feet away from the angel.

"Hey, there." Dean put his hands on his hips, pursing his lips when the angel didn't respond. "Hello?" He slowly waved his hand in front of the distant eyes. "Earth to angel. Come in, angel. Do you copy?" He snapped his fingers a few times.

The angel jerked, eyes darting to the fingers first and then up to Dean's face. The angel blinked, struggled to register what was in front of him, and then looked down at the ground.

Right, right… not allowed to look people in the eye. Mostly because there was still a lot they didn't know about angels. What if they could put people in trances? Or read minds through eye contact? Eyes were the windows of the soul, after all.

Dean whistled. "Hey. What's your name?"

Split lips slowly parted. "Castiel, sir." His voice was hoarse—probably raw from screaming—and talking revealed the split in his lip was worse than it initially looked.

"Castiel, huh?" Dean reached out for Castiel's face, moving slowly but not slowly enough.

Castiel flinched back and then froze, staying completely still and holding his breath as Dean closed the remaining distance. Dean carefully thumbed Castiel's lower lip, cautiously pinching the skin and pulling it out enough to see the inside.

Dean cursed. One, two, three… Four teeth had gone all the way through. "Geeze." He let go and moved the hand around Castiel's head, gently running his hand over the angel's scalp in search of injuries. It didn't take him long to hit a swollen lump under some blood-caked hair, meaning there was likely a cut over the swell that he couldn't quite feel. "You're in rough shape, aren't'cha?"

Castiel didn't react. He stared blankly ahead, not reacting to the pain or Dean's movements. That one flinch was all he allowed himself before turning into a statue.

"Still got all your teeth?"

Castiel offered a single nod.

"Small miracles," Dean muttered sarcastically. He crouched down and looked at a cluster of bruises on the righthand side. "Broken rib would be my guess." It was too swollen to just be hemorrhaging. "Well, you're a hot mess."

Castiel didn't respond.

Dean ran a hand through his hair and continued to look, smearing the blood away from a dark marking on Castiel's lower abdomen. "Let's see what we have here…"

What they had was five small sigils, each about as big around as a silver dollar, in a hexagon formation. One to keep Castiel from flying, one to keep him from using Angel Radio, one to block his invincibility, one to dampen his powers, and one to stop his advanced healing.

"You must've been a handful before they knocked your marbles loose."

"Dean."

Dean looked over his shoulder and tossed a small wave. "You got everything in order?"

"Yup." Sam held up some papers before folding them and putting them in one of his jacket's inside pockets. "He's all ours."

Dean stood up and dusted himself off. "You get any history from the guy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "He says he found the angel like this." He folded his arms over his chest. "I don't believe that for a second, but I don't think he did this. I think whoever did probably sold the angel at a crazy low price in exchange for a new deed rather than a transferred one."

Dean snorted. "Awesome." He reached out and snatched his wallet back, shoving it in his front pocket; he didn't trust anybody in that marketplace not to rob him if he left it in his back one. "Well, his name is Castiel. He's in pretty bad shape. I think he has some broken ribs, some kind of contusion on the back of his head, and his bottom teeth went clean through his lip."

Sam winced sympathetically. "Ooh." He shook it off. "Uh, yeah. We can get him cleaned up once we get back to the motel. You wanna finish the shopping while I take him out to the car?"

Dean gave Sam a thumbs up. "Shouldn't take me too long. It's not like we came here for a lot. Just supplies. Nothing major. Nothing expensive. Or crazy. Just a tiny little list. Just a—"

"Okay, I get it." Sam gave him a shove. "Goodbye, Dean."

Dean threw his middle finger in the air and walked away, his mind already wandering back to Castiel. Well, this is gonna blow up in our faces.

Oh, well. It wouldn't be the first time, nor would it be the last.

Sam watched Dean disappear into the crowd with a soft smile pulling on his lips. Dean could throw a fit all he wanted; Sam knew Dean was going along with it for more than just Sam.

Sam shook his head with another smile and turned back to their latest purchase. He was immediately sobered—it was hard not to be—but he flashed another smile regardless.

"Hi. My name's Sam. My brother said you're Castiel." Sam pulled a box knife from his pocket and knelt down. "Let's get you out of these ropes, huh?"

Castiel didn't respond, seeming to have fallen back into the state of shock he'd been in when Sam first saw him.

"Gonna start with your legs."

Still no response from Castiel.

Okay, then. Sam looked over the ropes and tried to figure out where to start. Well, the rope goes around his thigh and shin to keep his knee bent… and then it looks like it goes through the rope tied around his ankles. So, by pulling the ropes through the loops on either side, Castiel's legs could be forced pretty far apart. Okay, so we start there.

Sam cut through the ropes keeping Castiel spread, but the angel didn't move.

"You can close your legs," Sam offered quietly.

Castiel's knees snapped together so fast and so hard, Sam could hear the impact, even with dirty, ripped jeans cushioning the blow.

Sam scooted to the right a little and began severing the rope around Castiel's ankles. Once those were gone, Sam freed Castiel's wrists and upper arms. Again, Sam had to give permission.

"You can relax your shoulders."

Castiel did so with a quiet hiss, the joints popping audibly as he slid them forward.

Sam set the knife aside then, shedding his jacket and going for the buttons on his flannel. He had to cover Castiel with something, both because of the chill in the air and because Castiel would draw too much attention shirtless. Of course, with his face the way it was—

Sam stopped moving at the quiet whimper from Castiel, the small sound seeming so wrong coming from such a large man.

"It's okay," Sam said softly, removing his flannel and holding it out to help Castiel. "Give me your arm."

Castiel did as he was told, shoulder popping again.

Sam eased the shirtsleeve onto Castiel's arm and pulled it around his back. "Go ahead and put your other arm in."

More obedience and more cracking, that time with a wince.

"There we go." Sam moved back to the front of Castiel and started buttoning the shirt. "That's better."

Castiel showed focus for the first time since Sam saw him. He followed Sam's hands with his eyes, and when the last button was fastened, he whispered a hoarse, "Thank you, sir."

"Of course." Sam smiled and grabbed his knife again. He cut through the ropes keeping Castiel's knees bent and then shoved it back into his pocket.

"Come on," Sam said, putting his jacket on. "Let's get you out of here."

Castiel looked down at himself with something like hesitance, but he didn't object. He dutifully got to his feet, his entire body tightening up. His eyes watered, but he didn't make a sound.

Sam winced. "Do you need me to carry you?"

Castiel shook his head stiffly, but he couldn't quite manage a verbal reply; his legs were shaking, and a thin sheen of sweat was already forming.

"Alright, let's go." Sam took Castiel's arm in hand and gently pulled him along.

Initially, Sam tried to move fast, hoping to get Castiel sitting down as soon as possible, but it quickly became apparent that speed would do more harm than good. So, Sam slowed down, disguising the gait change as a side effect of texting.

Me He can barely walk.

Me He needs a hospital.

Dean are u kidding me?

Me I told you it's BAD, Dean.

Dean yeah whatever

Dean almost done shopping. well leave in 10.

Sam stepped out of the building and shoved his phone into his pocket. He stepped onto the gravel parking lot, lurching forward to catch Castiel before he even realized what was happening.

"Woah!"

"Sorry, sir." Castiel whispered the apology and gripped Sam's jacket, trying to steady himself. "S—sorry."

"It's okay. You can hang onto me." He's strong. "Are you sure you don't need me to carry you?" He probably thought his strength was enough to keep him safe.

"I will walk, sir."

Not, 'I can walk,' but 'I will walk.'

"Alright." Sam kept his hand on Castiel's arm but let the angel walk on his own.

They got to the Impala in under five minutes, and then it was time to wait for Dean. Sam felt awkward as silence settled over the vehicle, but he didn't know what to say to break the tension.

"We're not going to hurt you." Sam didn't know if there was any point in saying that—Castiel probably wouldn't believe him—but he said it anyway, just to clear the air. "We're gonna get you some help, okay?"

Castiel didn't say or do anything, laying in the backseat like a corpse.

Oh, boy. Sam bit his lip and looked at the old warehouse with the hunter's market inside. What did I get us into?

"How is he, Doctor?"

Dean listened to the answer but kept his eyes on Castiel through the glass.

"He's in pretty bad shape. Multiple contusions on his head, four broken ribs, a hairline fracture in his collarbone, and a broken nose." She inhaled and kept going, no indication of a soon-ending list. "He was sexually assaulted, and we had to put some stitches in his rectum, and there are some tears in his anal cavity. We used a bonding agent on those, and we'll give him a stool softener to keep them from re-tearing."

Dean kept watching Castiel. For someone so big, the angel seemed so small in the pale blue hospital scrubs. It didn't help that Castiel was curled in on himself, shoulders hunched and head bowed as he stared at the hands he rested in his lap.

"…pharmacy. Uh, we did run a rape kit, but he declined to have impressions of the bite marks. I can tell you the amount of fluids, based on my professional opinion, indicates multiple partners. It's not often that I see—"

"Don't call them that." It took Dean a moment to realize he had said that out loud.

"Of course. I apologize; it was a slip of the tongue." She cleared her throat. "He refused to press charges, so we won't be identifying the assailants, but we can still determine how many there were."

Refused to press charges. Tch.

Castiel only refused because Sam and Dean told him he couldn't.

And Dean knew their hands were tied. He did. He knew an investigation would lead to trouble; between Sam and Dean's alleged deaths and crimes, and Castiel's apparent illegal-alien status, they would be screwed. Even blood tests were risky—what if angel blood was fundamentally different from human blood?—but there were some things that just had to be done, and the rest… had to be forgone.

Dean knew all that, but it made his blood boil anyway.

Dean pushed off the wall and crossed the hallway, sliding past the curtain in the doorway.

"Hey," he said softly.

Castiel startled, head snapping up to look at Dean, but he didn't say or do anything.

"That's a lot of evidence bags." Dean nodded to the pile in question. "Bet you're fed up with all the poking and prodding, huh?"

Castiel just stared at him, a kind of resigned fear on his face. He sniffed and blinked his black eyes. His gaze slid down and to the left, stopping there.

Dean frowned and followed the line of sight down to his own right hand and the Walmart bag hanging from it. He completely forgot it even existed.

"Oh!" Dean walked over to the examination table—an act that made Castiel tense—and set the bag down. "Your other clothes are evidence, so I got you some new threads."

Castiel watched the AC/DC tee come out of the bag, his face completely blank.

"Do you want some help getting this on, or…?"

Castiel shook his head and tentatively, almost absently, took the shirt from Dean.

Dean nodded and gestured over his shoulder. "You want me to close the curtain all the way?"

Castiel nodded, staring at the shirt in his lap, still not entirely present.

"Cool." Dean grabbed the edge and started to pull when the doctor came in.

"Mr. Winchester, I strongly recommend you stay overnight so we can observe your condition."

Crap. They couldn't stay that long, or the staff would start realizing their IDs and insurance were bogus. "Uh—"

"I want to leave." Surprisingly, it was Castiel who pulled them out of the fire.

"Mr. Winchester," the doctor tried. "With the severity of your concussion—"

"I don't like it here." Castiel didn't look at anyone, but his voice didn't waver. "I want to leave."

There was a pause, and then Sam spoke up. "If there's some kind of 'what to look for' list, we can keep an eye on him." He gestured to Dean when the doctor seemed hesitant. "We'll all be together, so my brother and I can sleep in shifts, if it'll help."

The doctor sighed softly. "I'll tell the receptionist to print a few papers." She pointed to Castiel. "You'll need to sign a paper stating you voluntarily left against medical advice. I'll get that for you." She left, and after a thumbs-up exchange, Sam followed her out.

"You know how to sign your name?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded numbly, back to non-verbal responses.

Dean bit his lip. "Okay… cool." He snapped his fingers. "Curtain! I was—yeah, let me get that."

When Dean turned around, Castiel had taken the hospital gown off, and Dean got a second good look at the sickening damage. Dean saw what could have been hands on Castiel's hips and left shoulder. He counted six bite marks and at least a dozen hickies. He recognized ligature marks on Castiel's wrists.

What are we doing? Just… what are we doing?

Castiel struggled with the sweatpants, and Dean started to inch closer, prepared to prevent a fall. It wound up being unnecessary, and soon enough, Castiel was fully clothed and once again sitting on the examination table.

Dean cleared his throat and grabbed the Walmart bag, folding it meticulously for lack of something to do with his hands. "I had to guess your size." Beat. "Everything fit okay?"

Castiel nodded absently.

"Strong, silent type, huh? I get that." Dean pursed his lips and shoved the folded bag in his pocket.

More silent staring from Castiel.

"So, what are you good for? With so many of your powers warded, what exactly did I drop five grand on?" Half of Dean—most of Dean, all of Dean—didn't actually care. He just wanted that spark of life from the market to back into Castiel's eyes.

"I can read and speak every language ever created." Castiel spoke in a monotone, still staring at the wall, lifeless. "I know many spells and rituals… all of human history up until 1934… I…" He took a breath, shuddering. "I am not a tool for you to use."

"Uh, yeah, you kinda are." Dean shrugged it off casually. He didn't want to scare Castiel, but he didn't want to be unrealistic, either. "We're gonna get our money's worth." And he was kind of hoping Castiel would argue with him.

Castiel opened his mouth, and for a moment, Dean thought he might get his wish, but then Castiel closed his mouth and clenched his jaw. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting rapidly between frustration, fear, and shame.

Dean let out a soft sigh, but any plans of prying more conversation from the angel were halted by Sam's voice coming down the hall.

"Come on. Hop up."

Castiel hesitated and then slid to his feet, wincing and pressing a bandaged hand to his stomach. It apparently hurt to straighten up.

"Easy." Dean reached out an arm and held it behind Castiel, sort of corralling the angel without touching him.

Castiel didn't reply, his face tight with pain. Walking apparently took more out of him than standing.

"You need me to carry you?"

Castiel shook his head stiffly just as they reached Sam.

Dean gave Castiel a suspicious look and then turned to Sam. "We good?"

Sam held up a thick stack of papers. "Might've killed a small tree, but we're good. Castiel just needs to slap a signature on a paper at the reception desk."

"And then we drive like crazy."

"Yeah," Sam laughed.

Dean looked at Castiel again, noting how carefully the angel schooled his expression.

Well, here goes nothing.

Dean grunted as he carried Castiel over the threshold, walking sideways to keep from knocking the angel against the doorframe. "Sam, where do you want him?"

Sam pointed to one of the beds. "I can sleep on the floor."

"Psh." Dean all but dropped Castiel on the mattress, reaching behind himself to rub the knot in his back. "Just sleep with me."

Sam arched a brow. "That's not too gay for you?"

Dean stuck his tongue out but made no comment, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. "Now, I'm gonna say right now, we're not—hey!"

Dean lunged forward to grab Castiel as the angel tried to roll away. Sam darted around the bed and got in front of Castiel, keeping him from getting off the mattress while Dean grappled with the flailing limbs.

"Just listen a second! We're not—" he dodged a foot and grabbed onto the ankle, "—gonna hurt you, okay? No funny bus—"

Dean tried to dodge again, but Castiel landed the kick that time around and knocked the wind right out of Dean.

"Sam," Dean wheezed. "Pin him."

"Dean…" Sam simultaneously protested and obeyed, grabbing Castiel's hands and pulling with all his strength until the angels hands were over his own head. "He's traumatized."

"Just let me try something, okay?" Dean grunted, barely managing to get a grip on each leg.

"He's not a social experiment, Dean!"

"Sam!" Dean barked out his brother's name in a way that immediately secured compliance. "Help me roll him over."

Sam hesitated, but he ultimately met Dean's eyes and waited for a cue. Dean gave it, and they rolled Castiel over, drawing a whimper from him.

"No, don't." Castiel gasped. "Please."

Dean crawled on top and knelt behind Castiel, using his knees to pin Castiel's legs but keeping his hands to himself.

"Please, don't," Castiel pleaded, struggles waning as his body tired.

"I won't. I'm not gonna do anything to you." Dean spoke as calmly as he could, still winded. "Okay?"

"Please," Castiel begged.

"He probably can't hear you, Dean," Sam snapped, openly unhappy. "You probably set off a flashback or sent him into shock."

Dean leaned down slightly. "Hey, angel. If I wanted to take you right now, I could. Right?" He waited a second and then pressed. "Right?"

Castiel gave a choked, sobbing noise and a nod. "Yes, sir."

"No need to trick you or try later, 'cause I could just do it right now, like this." Dean kept his eyes on Castiel but nodded in Sam's direction. "Let go."

Sam didn't need to be told twice; he was probably hoping Castiel would punch Dean in the face.

Castiel did reach back, but he couldn't hit Dean without twisting, and his ribs weren't going to have that.

"Okay, I'm gonna get off, and you're gonna stay on the bed. You can roll over, sit up, whatever, just stay on the bed. Okay?"

Castiel gave a jerky nod and a sniff as his answer.

"Okay." Dean slowly crawled backward until Castiel was the only person on the bed.

Castiel immediately scrambled to sit against the headboard, knees hugged to his chest, breath coming in rapid, stuttering gasps.

"If we wanted that from you, we would have taken it just now." Dean held his hands out in a placating gesture. "We didn't because we don't. Not our thing. Okay?"

Castiel panted, eyes wide with terror, but he jerked his head in another nod.

"Okay." Dean let out a breath—

—and sucked it back in when Sam grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the far side of the room.

"What was that?" Sam hissed, eyes blazing.

Dean spread his arms. "What? It worked, didn't it?"

"What it did was take away any sense of safety he might have had by showing him he can't beat us in a fight!" Sam whispered harshly. "You made him feel helpless, and that is the worst possible thing you can do to a rape victim. If he's obeying now, it's out of terror, not because he believes we won't hurt him."

Well, Dean hadn't really thought about it like that, but still, he had shown Castiel that even though they could overpower him, they weren't going to.

"You proved we wouldn't him in this instance!" It was as if Sam read Dean's mind. "That means nothing in the long run, especially to a trauma victim."

Dean let out a sigh, partly feeling bad but partly unconvinced that it wasn't a good plan. "Alright, fine, I won't do something like that again." Even if it had worked.

Sam held out his hands. "Give me the cuffs. You go, I don't know, take a shower or something."

Dean held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Yes, your majesty, I shall draw mineself a bath and stay out of thy way."

Sam rolled his eyes and jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom.

Dean rolled his eyes in return and headed for the bathroom, glancing over at Castiel, who was watching him with wide, confused, frightened eyes.

Okay, maybe it was a bad plan. Maybe.

Sam let out a long sigh after Dean left the room, and he took a deep breath before turning around to face Castiel.

"Sorry about that. My brother… doesn't always…" Sam stuttered for a moment, unsure of how to finish the sentence, and he eventually gave up. "I'm gonna show you what we're gonna do, okay?"

Castiel kept staring, eyes wild, but he said nothing. He just kept staring, like he was looking right through Sam; or right into Sam, into his very soul.

Sam walked over to the bed and fastened one of the cuffs around a bedpost. He checked his pocket to make sure the key was there, and then he closed the second cuff around his own wrist.

"That's all," Sam insisted, not sure how much Castiel would believe. "Just to make sure you don't run away. You're not…" Sam struggled with his words. "You can't be out in the world on your own. There are too many things about you and what you are that, that normal people wouldn't…" Understand? Tolerate? "You just need to stay with us."

Castiel swallowed, staring intently at the cuffs.

Sam pulled the key from his pocket and quickly unlocked the cuff around his wrist, pulling his hand free. He offered Castiel a small smile and held the cuff with both hands, extending it as much as he could so Castiel could place his wrist there.

Castiel looked at the cuff for a long time—long enough that Sam's arms started to hurt—and then he looked up at Sam. He looked at Sam's face, at his eyes, and then he looked away.

Testing me? Seeing if I'll punish him for eye contact?

Castiel took a few shaking breaths and extended his left arm.

Sam carefully closed the cuff, making sure it wasn't too tight, and then he let go, taking a step back to give Castiel space.

Castiel looked at the cuff for another minute or so, and then he slowly sat back against the headboard. He took a few breaths, seemingly calming down, and he slowly started getting the blankets and pillows out from under himself.

Sam offered another smile and then walked over to the bags they had brought in. He figured it wouldn't hurt to do some research while he waited for Dean to finish up in the shower.

So, Sam grabbed his laptop and returned to the unoccupied bed, sitting down and opening the computer on his lap. He glanced over at Castiel while the computer was waking up.

Castiel was watching him like a hawk from underneath the covers. They were up to his chin, and he had put the pillows around himself like a little fortress.

Sam smiled and offered a little wave.

Castiel narrowed his eyes slightly, scrutinizing from his cocoon.

Sam only smiled and looked back at the laptop screen. There was an open document he had been using to take notes throughout the day, and he couldn't help but chuckle a bit.

Shopping:

Dead man's blood

Silver bullets

Vampire fangs

Bobby's list (outside pocket)

Sam smirked and typed out a final item.

Angel (preferably named Castiel)

Author's Note: So, this story is just a oneshot, and I have no intention of continuing it. However, if you're hungry for some Slave!Castiel, I have another, much longer story titled 'Haven' that you might like. Check it out!