Castiel pulls himself back together after Dean leaves, he hops in the shower and plasters on a smile before proceeding to prim and tidy their little home. It's Dean's orders. Make sure the place is clean and there's food on the table by the time I'm back, babe. And you know the rules, don't leave the house or talk to anybody. Got it?
This is common for him now, for the beast beneath his skin to rear its ugly head. It doesn't want to be silenced, even though currently there is no need for it to awaken. Dean is not around; it should be just him and his free will.
This is how it's going to be forever… A voice says from the darkest recesses of his mind. Suddenly the silence is deafening. He needs to take a walk, clear his head. Being cooped up in the house isn't helping.
He gets up from the recliner and waddles to the front door. He doesn't pause to put on something warmer—there's no time for that. He needs fresh air and he needs it now.
Something stops him before he can get to the door knob. It's like an electric shock, sparking and pulsing, it freezes him where he stands. But he needsair. He must get out.
There is no give. He pushes and fights but his body remains frozen in place. It's not the first time something like this has happened but it's the first he isn't able to fight back, isn't strong enough.
He waits a beat more and when his body relaxes he stumbles forward and as he's about to catch the doorknob it hits him, the nausea but he presses on. Twisting the handle, he almost gets the door open despite the fact that his vision is starting to spin and he's not sure, if it's working or if he's imagining it.
The door does not open on the first twist but that could be a result of Castiel's palms being too sweaty to get a firm grip. He tries again but a stronger wave of nausea crashes over him. Open the door Castiel, he orders himself. Suddenly there is relief, the nausea is lessening, and he's feeling better. He's going to do it, his vision is still spinning but he could care less because it's working! Suddenly every step is lighter, more certain, but he feels something soft and then he realizes he's no longer standing.
When Castiel's vision stills, he sees the same old furniture and decorations of the cottage not the bushy overgrowth of the forest. It occurs to him then that he is back to where he started, as if it didn't make sense for him to move in the first place.
Feeling defeated, Castiel sinks back in the chair. Next time he will try harder, he has to.
Dean arrives home at his usual six o'clock. Castiel is sitting at the table surrounded by pot roast, a bowl of carrots and mashed potatoes while an apple pie cools in the kitchen.
Everything looks so normal, Castiel knows Dean won't even suspect that he tried to leave.
"Hey Cas." The hunter smiles, leaning in to give him a kiss. Castiel obliges despite the sickening twist of his stomach and the urge to recoil bursting through him.
Their lips touch and it isn't too bad until Dean curves a hand behind his head and presses them closer. It's not much of a far cry for Castiel to assume he wants more when a gentle but obstinate tongue teases his lips, silently begging for entrance. And then Dean is takingtakingtaking and Castiel doesn't want this, has never wanted it.
When Dean pulls away, he looks happy but his gaze is hooded as if he enjoyed it more than he should. Castiel knows what this means and tries to swallow down the dread he feels bubbling to the surface while trying to keep his face as normal as possible.
He begins to share out the food, the routine that's now ingrained in him after years. Even now, his muscles still sing and his brain relaxes because he's not protesting, just following the command he's been given every day for the latter years of his life.
Dean takes a hearty bite of his meal when it's all dished out and comments on how good it tastes. Castiel smiles in thanks and takes a hearty bite of his own too. Everything feels too normal, too perfect and he hates it. It feels like he's stuck in a fifties sitcom, where everyone is happy and does what they are supposed to do and no one complains.
He feels suddenly exhausted but also wired, as if he were some sort of robot burning off fuel but somehow still able to function normally. Everything is disconnected and he knows why.
This is Dean's house with Dean's furniture in a town that Dean picked in a life Dean wanted. They do what Dean chooses and go where he wants. None of it even hints Castiel, he is just the unfortunate participant on Dean's joy ride.
As Castiel eats, the hunter discusses his day as vaguely as possible, voluntarily leaving out bits of information that Castiel is curious to know. Where does he work? Does he have any friends? Is it satisfying? Castiel knows his place though, he doesn't ask. If he presses too much, then Dean could get angry. It would be a subtle change, nothing too overt. He'd make a joke but his eyes would flash dangerously and then he'd give Castiel another command, probably robbing his ability to speak or ask questions, limiting the words he gets to say when there wasn't much in the first place.
So Castiel nods his head and inflects so much interest and curiosity in his voice when it's his turn to speak that he's surprised at his own ability. They keep the conversation about Dean because Castiel can't bring himself to talk about his day without wanting to beg Dean for a change, to tell Dean he isn't happy and he's sick of pretending but he knows that would be out of line. Dean wouldn't listen to him, would think he was being ungrateful and then start a fight.
He's never hit Castiel, and Castiel can grant him that much. But he has robbed Castiel of his ability to think once. When he felt like Castiel had betrayed him by threatening to leave. Get that thought out of your head Cas. Don't leave and don't think about leaving. Stay with me. Castiel felt things shifting and rearranging themselves in his brain and then he couldn't imagine leaving. It was like he couldn't make himself want to either.
But it was too much, days went by and Castiel had become mechanical. He wouldn't even open the windows anymore because the very thought of outsideterrified him. Many times Dean would come home and find Castiel in a state of catatonia, walking around like a lifeless zombie. Wanting something but not knowing what. So he changed the command. I'm sorry Cas, alright. You can desire going outside again but only if you intend to come back. Nothing more, nothing less.
And then all at once, Castiel could remember everything, sunsets and rainbows, dew drenched grass, the very best parts of his childhood playing hide and seek, climbing tall trees and a piece of the puzzle that made him, him, righted itself.
Dean had held him, telling him he just wanted to protect him, that everything he did he did it for Cas. No one will ever love you like I do Cas. Not your family, not my stupid brother, no one. I keep you safe.
And for all things considered, Castiel knew he was telling the truth. Because Dean did love him, in his own sick, twisted way. Love came in all shapes and forms and was unique to every person. No one could ever love him like Dean could because Dean was the only person who thought like he did, who could justify his bizarre actions towards Castiel.
For Castiel, that was a glimmer of hope in the vast emptiness that consumed his life. He knew he was pathetic but in a way, it felt nice knowing somebody loved him, that somebody cared so much for him that they'd resort to all these measures to be with him. And he had to believe that Dean wasn't just plain evil, that Dean was doing this because he wanted both of them to be happy and he wanted to be with Castiel.
It was sad but this is what Castiel had always wanted. Someone who loved him to the point of ruin, tearing their own sanity to shreds in the process and not caring. It made him feel special; no one ever cared about him like that before. At least now, he was getting attention and adoration.
So he let himself be held by Dean and tried to believe, tried to even imagine loving Dean back just as much. He couldn't, the hatred and rationality remained like a weight in his stomach, but he could pretend.
Now, Castiel is a little wiser. He never wants Emeline to be in a relationship like this. Would be damned if he ever let her near someone like Dean. Dean has tainted his soul, robbed him of his innocence. The only person who could ever want and love him would be Dean so he has no choice but to stay. But Emeline will make it into this world as pure as they come and he intends for her to leave it that way.
After dinner, as they are about to prepare for bed. Dean pulls Castiel aside and kisses him again. Castiel knows what this means and automatically goes into responsive mode, kissing Dean back with as much eagerness.
He knows this scene really well, knows how to play the part. Doesn't mean he hates it any less. Dean's hands flutter to Castiel's stomach and Castiel fights the urge to move away, to protect Emeline from Dean's poisonous touch. "So warm, baby." Dean marvels and then he's leaning up to kiss Castiel again.
They strip, Castiel doing it slowly so Dean can get a good look at him. He doesn't really look at the other man because Dean is all rippling muscle and toned chest while he's just full and round, soft in places he wishes he wasn't.
When Dean is on top of him, Castiel purrs and keens, whimpers and mewls. He hateshateshates it but he knows that if he doesn't respond, Dean will make him, and there is nothing worse than that.
Strong arms guide his hips up, he closes his eyes and hears Dean fumbling with the bottle of lube, feels a blunt finger prodding at his entrance and he battles the tears that try to rise to the surface. It doesn't hurt anymore, but it still feels intrusive. He doesn't want to do something so intimate with Dean, wishes they could just be platonic. But soon more fingers slide in to join the first one and his hips are rocking on their own accord.
He hates that after all this time; his body still reacts like that to the thought of sex. With everything Dean has put him through, he imagines that he should hate sex. But instead it's strangely satisfying, like a good outlet for all his pent up frustration.
Dean stretches to kiss him and Castiel allows it before the hunter is pulling away and whispering dirty words in his ear, little commands telling him how to react. Castiel obliges, saying things that sound wrong to his own ears, there are pleas thrown in too, like he's begging for Dean to carry on, to hurry up and continue his rape torture fest.
Castiel is disgusted by Dean as a partner, a lover, a human being but nothing compares to the disgust he feels for himself. As Dean slides into him, he grasps at some awareness, some semblance that it is all wrong, before Dean angles his hips just right and he's lost in a haze of pleasure.