Dean woke up and he had no idea where he was. This was not an uncommon occurrence for him. He was long used to the morning after nights spent pouring his pockets and heart into a pint of mead in a random bar somewhere. This time, blessedly, Dean woke up without the pounding hangover. So where was he?
Oh, right, the tower. But hadn't he hit his head on the way in? How did he wind up sitting on a couch? And where was-
"Where's my satchel?" Dean whispered to himself in a panic. He looked about the room frantically and found it lying next to the window. Dean ran to it, immediately checking its contents. The crown was inside, untouched. Thank God.
Dean re-slung the satchel over his shoulder and began to look around the room where he found himself. Contrary to his expectations, the building did not appear abandoned. There was a small bowl of fresh fish sitting in the center of the room, half-eaten. Obviously someone had been here, and not too long ago.
"I am not afraid of you." A deep voice said from behind him. Dean whirled around and stopped.
Standing directly behind him, with complete disregard for personal space, was a pair of startling blue eyes. They were topped by a long, gorgeous, mop of mussed up hair. Oh, and they belonged to a 6 foot tall guy holding a frying pan.
Although Dean was still taller than him, he took a wary step back. Who knows what that frying pan was capable of. "What did you say?"
"I said, I'm not afraid of you. Do not attempt to attack me or I will hit you with this weapon again." The man repeated in the same gravel gargling voice.
Dean raised any eyebrow. "Again? And since when is a frying pan a weapon?"
The man glanced nervously at Dean, then at the frying pan, and then back at Dean. "I will not hesitate to hurt you if necessary." He tried to sound confident and threatening, but his voice shook almost in time with the tremor in the hand that was gripping the pan.
"Sure you won't." Dean laughed, confident he had the upper hand here. And then immediately regretted it. The man's eyes burst into flames and he swung the frying pan against Dean's head, hard.
Dean once again awoke with a groan, clutching his head. Now he had a pounding headache. He was seated on the floor, back leaning against the side of the couch. The frying pan man was sitting pretzel style across from him, looking at him curiously.
"Okay, what's your deal?" Dean asked. "You're looking at me as if you've never seen another human being before."
"Other than my parents, no, I haven't." The man said, as if he was telling Dean that it was going to be sunny tomorrow.
"So there are more of you here?" Dean suddenly had a image of a frying pan wielding army, all standing in rows in attention, ready to smack anyone who go t in their way.
"My parents are not home at the present moment." The man answered patiently. "I believe it is now my turn to ask a question. Who are you?"
Dean grinned, and pulled the wanted poster out of his satchel, handing it to the man. He reached out and took it, reading slowly.
"Dean Winchester." He looked up from the paper. "Is this supposed to be a drawing of you?'
"Yup."
"Then there appears to be something wrong with the chin in this drawing."
Dean laughed. "No kidding."
"You are a thief?" The man asked cautiously.
"D'you got a problem with that?" Dean challenged.
"No. As long as you do not attempt to remove anything from this tower without permission."
Dean winked. "No promises."
The man raised his eyebrows and lifted the frying an. "May I remind you that I am armed with a dangerous weapon that I have used in the past and am prepared to use it if the situation will arise again."
"Look at me, I'm shaking in my boots." Dean took the wanted poster back from the man and stuffed it into his bag. "So I told you who I am. Your turn-who are you? And what the hell do you mean you haven't met another human being before?"
"My name is Castiel." The man answered simply.
"Last name?" Dean interrupted.
"I do not have one, as far as I know. And in response to your second question, the statement says it all-I have never met another person outside of my parents."
"What, so have you never left this tower or something?" Dean pressed.
"That is correct."
"Holy mother of God, you've been cooped up in this tower for you entire life? How old are you?"
"I will turn 20 years old in 2 days. Is there something wrong with that?" Castiel, or so he called himself, looked confused.
Dean stared. "I'm 19, and the traveled the world. How can you stands not leaving a building for 20 years?"
"Books." He stated. "I read."
"Look, I love reading as much as the next guy, but reading about something and actually seeing it are 2 completely different things."
"Well, thank you for that. That makes me feel some much better, seeing as I am never going to be leaving this tower." Castiel said emotionlessly.
Dean choked. "What do you mean?"
"You say that a lot." Castiel pointed out.
"I don't normally. I don't have to when the people I'm talking to actually make some sense. Explain, now."
Castiel spread his hands. "I am not allowed to leave this tower. I do not understand your confusion. Am I somehow being unclear?"
"No, I get what you're saying, I'm just not processing." Dean rubbed his face. "What kind of parents forbid their kids from leaving home?"
"My parents… may have some unorthodox parenting methods." Castiel said haltingly.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing." Castiel rose abruptly and turned away. "Now, either you can leave the way you came in, or I can hit you on the head again."
"I'm not leaving." Dean said stubbornly.
Castiel whirled around. "What exactly do you expect to gain from remaining here?" He asked coldly. Castiel had gone from friendly and inviting to completely closed off in the course of about .5 seconds.
"Without you." Dean finished.
"Well, then you are going to be sitting here for a while." Castiel turned away again and walked towards the door.
"You can't just leave me after saying something like that!" Dean exclaimed.
"Watch me." And with that, Castiel slammed the door behind him.
"Well that went well." Dean thought as he stood up. That guy must have some real crap going on in his life. Now, to stay or not to stay?
It wasn't his business what went on here. Castiel obviously did not want to leave, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't want to come with him, a wanted thief. But on the other hand, there was obviously some real crap going on in this house. Tower. Thing. And Dean wasn't about to roll over and let it continue.
Dean got up and walked towards the door Castiel exited from. As he put his hand on the doorknob, he heard a meow from underneath his feet. Dean looked down and found that a small, brown cat had sat down across his feet. Dean bent down ad picked him up.
"Hey little guy." He whispered. "Do you live here?" Dean tickled the cat's stomach and it wriggles with pleasure. Dean grinned and placed the little cat on his shoulder.
"Come one," he told the cat, "Let's go force your owner out of his cage."

sorry if this chapter is shorter than the others. tomorrows is a lot longer, I promise!