The next day found Castiel bound, gagged, and stuffed in the trunk of the car again. This time, the Winchesters did not have to knock him out. He complied as Sam stuffed a grease-stained rag into his mouth and tightened the ropes that bound his writs. Dean was the one who led him back to the car. Castiel obediently climbed into the trunk and bent all the way over, becoming small.
"You're such a good little hostage." Dean murmured, fingers brushing Castiel's messy hair. Then the lid closed on the world and all was dark.
The worst thing is that he hadn't been aware of his hatred for Dean slipping away. He would never willingly let it go. And this new emotion, this thing he didn't want inside himself, was not the opposite of hate. It was almost a hope, twisted and mutilated until it was more akin to desperation. But he couldn't understand it. His own thoughts were beyond him.
Never mind. There were more pressing matters at hand like the police investigation. If they had only just started looking for him, was it possible they could find him in time? Castiel tried to calculate the distance they had travelled. They had only driven about six hours after taking Castiel. Perhaps they hadn't even left the state. If that were true he should have at least two or three days before they reached Nebraska. Whatever was going to happen in Nebraska, it wasn't good. He had to be saved. He had to. He reminded himself that Gabriel was still out there, still worried. He would be okay. He would be okay.
Castiel's legs were excruciatingly sore when Dean came around to the trunk.
"Potty break." He said, pulling Castiel rather roughly from the trunk.
They were parked on the side of a road lined on either side by high trees. Mountains rose on the horizon, snow capped and rugged, and the air smelled fresh and clean. It would have been beautiful if it wasn't all tainted with the color and the scent of fear. Dean led him to a place just behind a tree and again untied his hands.
Castiel saw something in the near distance, the red and yellow of a camping tent. Yes, he could even make out the sound of voices, loud ones, not too far off. For the first time since he agreed to go into that bathroom with Dean, Castiel felt bold. Dean nodded at him, reminding him that he was supposed to be urinating. That was when Castiel did the only thing stupider than trusting a serial killer: he ran away from one.
He was never very athletic, never did well in sports, but he supposed it must be adrenaline that gave his feet the strength to carry him. He sprinted away from Dean, leapt over branches, dodged trees, if it weren't for he gag still in his mouth he would have screamed too. It was all going to be over, he was going to be saved, just a few more feet-
He tripped. Over what, he did not know. But he fell, hard on his knees and all was lost. Something very hard struck him in the stomach. Dean was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. The man pinned him down on his back, straddling him, holding a gun against Castiel's forehead. He leaned down, until his lips were brushing Castiel's ear.
"You son of a bitch!" He hissed, his words hot and acrid as his breath, "I'd shoot you right now but I don't want anybody hearing us. You fucker!" He got off Castiel and pulled him up roughly. "You ever try anything like that again, and I'll put one in your head, I don't care who hears." With that he delivered a heavy blow to Castiel's face, accompanied by a sickening crunch. The captive's eyes widened, fearing worse, but none came.
Dean led m back to the car, where he was stuffed back in the trunk, this time with no reassuring pat on the head. Castiel was still out of breath, feeling blood drip down his face from his nose, heaving through his gag, and crying again. The worst part was that he felt guilty. Guilty for running away, guilty for making Dean angry. He wanted to apologize.
That night the Winchesters stopped at another motel. Sam fetched Castiel from the trunk and prompted him along to the room. The television was on, flashing commercials. Dean was already there, lying on the bed. He ignored Castiel.
"Hey Sammy," he said, cracking a smile.
"Dude, you broke his nose." Sam said.
Dean shrugged. "He tried to run away."
"Then you should've shot him."
"Didn't want anyone to hear me."
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. He led Castiel to a spot near the bathroom and forced him down with a light shove.
"I'm going out." Dean said.
Castiel tried to move toward him but could not.
"Fine."
When the door closed behind Dean, Sam sat on the foot of his bed and looked at Castiel. The prisoner's heart dropped a little to be left alone with the younger Winchester.
"It's Castiel, right?"
Castiel nodded, still gagged.
"Look, Cas, it's fucked up what Dean is doing to you. I mean, if it were up to me we'd never have taken you in the first place."
Castiel did not respond, but he didn't feel like listening to Sam. Dean was the one who argued to save him. Sam was the one who would kill him now. Castiel didn't trust him.
"Now that we have you, we've got to kill you. It's the only way. I'm just being honest. But Dean, look, he's my brother and I love him, but this is fucked up. Playing with you, then punching you. He's going to kill you, Cas. He's not going to save you. It's in your head Cas. It's too sad, watching you with him. So I'm telling you this for your own good. Dean's going to kill you. One way or another, however you feel about him."
Castiel shook his head. Dean was wrong, Sam wasn't the 'nice one'. He was cruel, he was messing with Castiel's mind.
"Dude, he broke your nose. You've got to know that's fucked up."
But Dean was only doing what the circumstances required. Castiel had run away. Dean had punished him.
"Wait-" Sam looked up at the TV, which was now showing two photos of the Winchesters. He jumped to his feet, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume.
"… suspects in the kidnapping of twenty-three-year-old Castiel Novak. Sam and Dean Winchester are already wanted for at least forty counts of murder and robbery across the country. Police are assuring the public, and Mr. Novak's family, that they are doing all they can to help. More on this story at ten."
Castiel thought Sam would execute him then and there. The man looked livid. With fear or anger or both, Castiel wasn't sure. But Sam didn't kill him. He just cast him a warning look and left the room. Through the door he could hear Sam yelling at Dean. Though the words did not come through in one piece, he was almost sure he knew what the gist of it was.
Dean seemed pleased when he got back to the motel. "Calm down, Sammy." He smiled easily.
"Calm down? The police are on our asses again because of you. You and your…" Sam searched for the word, "pet!"
The older brother heaved a sigh. "Don't be such a little bitch, Sammy. Come on, this is good! We kill him and get tons of attention, we scare the shit out of those monsters before we even come for them."
"That's ridiculous, Dean! You're gonna get us caught."
"I'm not. We always get away."
"So far!" Sam insisted. "I'm not getting caught over this kid Dean, I'm not!"
"Okay, okay! In Nebraska we'll kill him and ditch the body. We'll lay low for a while, it'll be fine."
Sam gave in in the end. He flopped down on his bed. Castiel leaned against the wall, aching with sleeplessness and the pain of his broken nose.
Dean padded over, almost silent on the carpeted floor.
"You look like hell, Cassie."
Were he not gagged, Castiel might have been bold enough to point out that that was Dean's fault. Instead he just squinted up at his captor.
"Here" Dean said, sliding out of his jacket. He Knelt down and placed it on the floor. "Use it as a pillow. Sleep."
Gladly, Castiel complied. He laid down, with some difficulty, and more than a little pain, and put his head on the folded jacket. It was not soft or really comfortable, but it smelled good. Like cigarettes and whiskey and gunpowder. Dean looked pleased and went back to his bed.
"You're fucked up." Said Sam.
"What?" Protested the older brother.
"Stop it. Stop playing with him."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You broke his nose this morning. Then you give him your jacket? What do you think that's doing to him?"
"Oh come on!" Said Dean, but Castiel was no longer listening. He was inhaling the slightly acrid but oddly pleasant smell of the jacket, for the first time in ages, being lulled to sleep. He felt safe. God knew why. He felt safe.