An angel and a demon walk into a bar…
My life was looking like a punchline to a bad joke
The apartment I shared with my brother was nothing special - but it was an apartment, and compared to the other places in Hell I'd resided, it was an oasis amidst a warzone. The day I found out there were actual residences in Hell was the day my psyche had taken a trip it never returned from; the incredulity of it was more than I could handle after long, terrible years on the rack.
"It's not much, but… It's home. I guess," I added, looking about myself wryly. The place looked much the same it had the day I moved in, and likely hadn't changed much since Sam had acquired it not long before. We were neither the home-decor type.
The angel stood silently by my side, not even raising his head to acknowledge his new surroundings. Although, I supposed, I guess torture's torture, no matter where it happens, and he has no reason to think I'd treat him any differently to Crowley.
And wasn't that just the question? Here it was, hand-delivered and gift-wrapped by the King of Hell - the chance to see who I really was. Would I lay hands on this agent of God, a paradigm of goodness and purity? My brain baulked at the idea, but my soul was angry. Furious with a creator who could allow such suffering, and I wanted someone to punish - who better than one of his closest creatures, a messenger of His will?
Shaking my head roughly, I rolled my shoulders, dislodging the troubling path I'd found myself on. "You're safe here. Nothing… You don't have to do anything," I added lamely, pausing when he remained silent. "Do you have a name? I know Crowley said… But I'm just not comfortable with that." I let out an uncertain chuckle, watching him closely for any sign of a response.
"Castiel," he muttered eventually, that musical voice instantly standing my hair on end once more. "My name is Castiel."
"Castiel…" I repeated softly, testing out the sound, the way it caressed my lips as I breathed it out, the soft push of tongue as it ended.
"Yes, Sir." His head bobbed minutely, and I couldn't help but smile.
"I'm no 'Sir', trust me," I responded with an uneasy laugh, then shook my head. "It's just Dean. Dean Winchester, that's me. I live with my brother - my real brother, I mean, from when I was on Earth. You'll meet him later, I guess. His name is Sammy- Sam," I corrected myself with a wince. Sam had been bitchy enough about being called 'Sammy' back on Earth, but now his eyes went flat black when I made the mistake, and I'd be lying if I said it hadn't unnerved me enough to try to remove the nickname from my vocabulary, and sharpish.
The room felt smaller as he, finally, looked up of his own accord. I was instantly lost once more, trapped in the oceanic depths. There was nothing – no single thing that I could think of – that was even close to such an overwhelmingly beautiful shade in this Pit, and it only added to the encompassing nature of his gaze.
But then he looked away, head bowing nervously, and the spell was broken.
I cleared my throat, rubbing an uncomfortable hand against the back of my neck, grimacing at the dried blood I found there. Glancing down, I dully noted the rest my body similarly stained, macabre smears so numerous they blurred the line between cloth and flesh. "I... Guess I should hit the shower...?" The words were nervous, almost questioning, as I searched his hunched form for an indication as to how to proceed.
But Castiel gave me nothing, so I simply shrugged. "Make yourself comfortable. The place is ours until Sam gets home later, so feel free to poke around; nobody will catch you snooping." Letting our a short, uneasy chuckle, I hesitated before nodding, feeling uncharacteristically out of sorts.

I left Castiel stood in the lounge, head still down, unresponsive to all besides a direct question – but I'd be damned – even more so – before I gave him an order. The best I could hope for was that he would relax in his own time, learn to make choices for himself without constant prompting and demands.
I was little prepared for how soon those choices would – seemingly - come, or what they would mean for me.

My eyes were closed, head tipped back against the comforting spray – say what you will about Hell, but at least the water pressure's good – as I ran my fingers through my blood-stiffened hair, the steam around me becoming more and more iron-scented as the day was cleaned from my weary body.
Soft, soothing fingers worked their way in place of mine, and I sighed, losing myself in the feeling, tension easing from exhausted muscles as a low hum of genuine pleasure radiated in my chest.
The feeling was so simply sublime that it took a heartbeat before logic knocked, and my eyes shot open, directly into the spray of water. Blinking hard and spluttering, I turned, squinting through my sudden discomfort to find Castiel behind me. His hands were still half-raised, seemingly frozen by my sudden motion, and I bit back a surprised yelp. He was entirely nude, head still lowered subserviently despite the redirected spray rinsing the grime from his hair and directly into his face.
"Whoa, hey – Castiel? Showers are my private time, man, c'mon." I tried to chuckle, but the sound came out forced, my eyes swiveling to find something – anything – to focus on that wasn't the damp angel situated between myself and the door.
Castiel hesitated, hands stuttering before dropping, and he raised his gaze for another fraction of a second. "You... Don't desire my assistance?" he asked, a brief, confused frown creasing his lips.
"Uh... Nope. No, I'm good. Been doing it myself for a long time now," I added lightly, trying to diffuse the awkwardness in the air – and the tension tugging at my lower abdomen. He hesitated once more, earning me another searching glance.
"What... Should I do for you?" His tongue darted out, probing a split in his lip and drawing my eye, requiring me to swallow dryly and break our gazes myself.
A brief, unexpected flash appeared in my mind, of my fingers wrapped in that disheveled hair and those angelic eyes staring up at me...
Shaking my hear firmly, I turned my head away. "I'm done here, anyway. Why don't you have a shower, all to yourself? I imagine it's not a luxury Crowley offered often," I noted dryly. To my surprise – and delight – my glib remark earned me the most minuscule of twitches at the corner of his mouth; it was the sparsest ghost of a smile, but it was something. But he shook his head, moving aside to let me exit first.
"I'm here to service your needs," he reminded me gently, his face and voice an emotionless void once more.
I shook my head again, lightly lifting his chin with a single finger. "No. Maybe before – maybe for Crowley – but not here. You can stay, by all means, but you're not a slave here. I'm not like him." My last words were almost a whisper, the quiet borne of uncertainty, and once more, I was racked with an infinitesimal snapshot of the many uses for him I could find that would, in all likelihood, be very similar to those of the King of Hell. "Your first act of freedom should definitely be self-care." I slid past his body, carefully inhaling as I did so, eager to keep my skin from touching his for as long as possible. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I carefully laid another beside the sink. "You take your time. Enjoy it. You definitely deserve it. I'll be just outside if you need anything, OK?"
I half-turned, not expecting a response, but froze with one hand on the doorknob when I heard an intake of breath behind me.
"Th... Thank you, Sir," Castiel breathed, gratitude laced with distrust heavy in his voice. I glanced back to find him staring directly at me, and offered him a warm smile.
"You're very welcome, Castiel. But like I've told you... Call me Dean."