Castiel felt heavy. That was the first thing he noticed when he woke up. He felt like he was being weighed down even though the soft blanket tucked around him was light. He was also in a strange position, lying on his left side with both of his arms pulled up so his hands were resting on the mattress above his head.

They moved me.

Panic flickered in his chest, and he tried to force his eyes open to assess the situation. He struggled, the lids feeling just as heavy as the rest of him, but he managed to get them open and found the taller hunter sitting on the nightstand. Castiel squinted, taking in the closed eyes and slouched posture against the wall. I don't think he's conscious. Or at least, he's not paying attention. Pushing himself into a half-sitting position, he tried to tug on his wrists as quietly as possible. Why would they only tie me to one post? He shifted again, pulling his legs toward the head of the bed and giving himself even more slack. I can easily re—

Sam inhaled deeply, shifting against the wall, but after a few seconds, he settled back into stillness. Castiel let out a breath, and when he was sure it was safe, he looked back down at his hands. He extended them toward the restraint tied to the bedpost, looking for some way to free himself. He couldn't tear through the fabric, after all, so he had to find some kind of—

"Oh, you're awake."

Castiel jumped, mentally cursing his lack of attention.

"If you could not try to get out and kill me, that would be great." Sam flashed a smile and pushed off the wall but stayed seated. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, meeting Castiel's eyes with something almost uncertain or hesitant in them. "Do you… remember what happened?"

Sensing a trap, Castiel considered not answering, but he eventually settled on a very slight, very noncommittal headshake.

"You kinda… freaked out. We were trying to give you a shower, and we put you on your back under the water." Sam opened his mouth and let it hang, struggling. "Have you ever been… waterboarded?"

Castiel arched a brow. "I don't know what that is," he said flatly.

Swallowing, Sam gestured toward his head. "They usually cover your face with some kind of cloth, and then they pour water over your face so you can't breathe."

Castiel knew exactly what that was, and he vividly remembered the two times it had been done to him. He was certain he would always remember those moments; certain they had been seared into his brain forever. What he wasn't certain of was where the hunters got the idea it had been done to him. How had they made such a connection?

"We're sorry, by the way. We were just trying to get you clean. We didn't realize…" Sam trailed off, looking guilty and apologetic and profoundly sad.

Suspicious, Castiel leaned back. "Why are you sorry?"

"We didn't mean to scare you like that," was the simple reply.

Castiel bristled. "I don't know what you did, but you did not scare me."

Sam looked at him in disbelief. "You were screaming and rambling in Enochian." He lifted his hands slightly. "You kept clawing at your face, like you were trying to tear something off."

"I did no such thing." Castiel felt pressure and heat in his chest, the mere suggestion that he could be so easily debased lighting a fire in his veins. "You're lying."

Sam stared at him, looking like he was contemplating every question in the universe. He tilted his head, shifted his weight, and made imperceptible movements with his hands. "Is that it?"

Castiel stared. "What?"

"Is that why you won't let us help you? You just… can't handle the idea of being vulnerable around someone else? You have to be in control, all the time, always?" Sam's eyes flickered back and forth like he was reading something and then landed on the angel's face. "Why?"

Castiel snorted, rolling his eyes. "Do you particularly like when someone else is in control?"

"But it's not us being in control." Sam wet his lips, growing increasingly confused. "It's just us saying, 'Hey, this is a good idea for you,' and then you say, 'Yeah, I think you're right.' Honestly, what's happening now, with us restraining and force-feeding you, gives us way more control than any kind of cooperation."

Blue eyes narrowed. "I have seen what cooperation leads to."

"What does it lead to?" Sam asked, like he genuinely didn't know.

Castiel scoffed and looked away, vaguely aware he was getting tired of holding his hands out so he could grip the strap, but he didn't want to move them and draw the hunter's attention to his proximity to potential escape.

"You're afraid."

Growling, Castiel's gaze snapped right back to Sam's face. "I am not afraid."

"Yes, you are." Sam stared with something like disbelief. "You're afraid we'll do something to you, or something will happen, or—"

"Nothing humanity does can scare me."

Sam wasn't deterred. "Then you're scared you'll do something. You'll become something, or you'll make some dangerous or humiliating decision. You have a list of things you don't want to do, but you're afraid if you aren't careful, you'll do those exact things."

Castiel grit his teeth, throat tight, and reminded himself that his determination not to turn into the mindless dolls some of his siblings had was not powered by fear. It was fueled by pride and logic and his sense of independence. It had nothing to do with fear.

"Castiel… it's not gonna happen in a single night."

Tilting his head, Castiel silently invited an explanation.

"Just try it for a day. Or a week. It's not like," Sam huffed out a laugh, glancing upward, "like you're gonna accept one meal from us and completely lose your resolve and do whatever it is you don't wanna do."

"You just want me to obey you," Castiel snarled.

Sam spread his arms with a frustrated shout. "What do you think is going to happen if you eat some pizza?"

Castiel didn't know what pizza was. "You're trying to manipulate me. You're hunters, and you want to use my power and knowledge. You want me to help you catch more of my brothers and sisters. If you can convince me that you're the good guys—that you're worthy of my trust—you'll get everything you want." He grew louder, feet slipping to the floor as he got as close to Sam as possible, his arms pulled to his left by the handcuffs. "You know I'm more powerful than you, so you can't strongarm me. You can't force me to use my powers—humans just barely even know how they work—but if you can get me to think I'm the one choosing to help you, and I'm the one making the decisions, you can control everything I do!"

Sam didn't look angry despite Castiel practically screaming at him. He stepped closer and reached out like he wanted to grab the angel by the shoulders, but he stopped short. "We wouldn't do that to you. We wouldn't—we wouldn't do that to anyone."

"Why, because you're so decent and moral?" Castiel let out a bitter laugh and leaned forward with a sneer. "We watched you for millennia. Your wars and destruction. Fighting each other for money or power or simply because you hate someone. Inciting violence over things as insignificant as skin color, beliefs, or location on the planet. You take what you want, and you don't care what it does to the people in your way. Every move you make is in your own best interests. Your brother likes to make his comments about how you trapped Lucifer. You didn't do that to save anyone but yourselves. You didn't want to live through Lucifer's plans, so you put an end to them." He leaned forward as far as he could, not caring about the significant heigh difference, and his lips pulled back as he spat out the fury in his veins. "You expect me to believe you would help me—house me and feed me and bandage my injuries—because you care? Because, what, it's the right thing to do?"

Sam shook his head, and again, there was deep sadness on his face, blended with an overwhelming lack of comprehension. "Why do you think we hunt monsters? Why do you think we put our lives on the line time and time again when, if all we wanted was to protect ourselves, we could just run away?"

"You like how it makes you feel." Castiel responded without hesitation. "Like you're some kind of hero; some kind of savior. You like the power—that rush of superiority and pride you get when you take down something you deem beneath you. You save someone's life or avenge their loved one, and they drown you in their undying gratitude. They tell you how strong and admirable and irreplaceable you are, and it's an amazing feeing, I'm sure, so you just keep doing it again and again." He lunged forward, and he was incredibly pleased when Sam retreated a half step despite Castiel's inability to attack. "Do you honestly think you can convince me otherwise? That you can just talk me into believing you're something you're not?"

Sam looked at him for a long moment, expression flat, and then he offered an equally lifeless response. "Are you hungry?"

Castiel smirked, satisfied by the win. "I won't eat anything you give me."

"Yeah, I got that, but are you hungry?" Sam repeated himself in mild annoyance, and he didn't seem particularly bothered that he lost their battle of wits.

"No." Castiel realized as he said it that he honestly didn't know the answer. He hadn't paid any attention to his stomach since waking up. "Just tie me down and leave me alone."

Sam continued to stare, unwavering, nothing but irritation showing on his face. "Dean!"

Castiel concealed the tension running through his shoulders, glaring as he prepared to be strapped to the bed again.

"Hey, Dean!"

"I heard you!"

Sam kept staring Castiel down, and even when Dean entered the cell, he didn't look away. "Go get the cuffs with the really long chain between them." He folded his arms over his chest. "Like, three feet of chain. You know the ones I'm talking about?"

Dean offered a confused, "Uh… yes?"

"Get them." Sam didn't even blink.

There was a pause, and Dean went back out of the cell, leaving Sam and Castiel to continue giving each other a defiant, unwavering, endless stare. Dean returned a few minutes later and handed the cuffs to Sam, sounding dumbfounded. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"We're trying something different." Sam shoved Castiel before he could react, and because the bed was right behind him and his hands were being pulled to one side, Castiel tumbled onto the mattress. Sam wasted no time grabbing his left leg, gripping the shin in one hand while the other started to push the cuff against his ankle. Castiel responded by pulling his right leg up as far as he could and kicki—

"Woah!" Dean lunged, catching the leg just before it made contact and wrestling it to the bed.

Castiel twisted, but Sam fastened the cuff to the strap around the left post at the foot of the bed. Sam then tossed the limb aside and moved toward the head.

"I'm still waiting for an update here," Dean pressed with a wary, unsettled tone.

Sam pulled a key from his pocket and went for Castiel's wrist, altering his course just long enough to shove the angel away when he tried to bite. "You'll get one."

What is he doing? Castiel almost went for another bite, but the key made him reconsider. Even if it was just a ploy to get in his head, being out of handcuffs was better than being in them.

Sam unlocked the first cuff, jerked it off a little roughly, and then made quick work of the second one. "There. You're just gonna be bound by your ankle."

"He's what?"

"We'll bring you meals," Sam continued, as if his brother hadn't shouted, "and you can be the one to decide if you eat or starve. We'll keep some water in here, you've got the bucket to use as a toilet, and it'll all be on you." He lifted his hands and shrugged, giving Castiel a curious yet dismissive yet frustrated yet indifferent look. "That's what you want, right? No vulnerability, no trust, no reliance on us; just you in control."

Castiel pushed himself backward a bit, because as much as he didn't want to retreat, he could sense some kind of explosive consequence coming.

"Sam, can we talk about this?" Dean all but shouted, spreading his arms.

"Sure. Come into the hall with me." Sam smirked at Castiel and lifted his hand, wiggling his fingers. "You have a good night now."

Castiel growled, but he couldn't fight back when he wasn't sure what was going on. What are you doing? He didn't dare look at his ankle, watching vigilantly as Sam turned and strode out of the cell, followed by Dean, who kept looking between Sam and Castiel like one of them was going to give him an explanation. I'm not stupid. You can't fool me.

And the door slammed.

"What are you thinking?"

Sam spread his arms. "What else can we do? We can't keep forcing everything, day in and day out. It's like you said: forcing him is making it worse." He indicated the door with both hands. "Now we're not forcing anything. We're letting him be responsible for his own survival."

"We can't leave him restrained by a single cuff on his leg!" Dean moved his hands like he wanted to gesture but didn't know what gestures to make. "Especially not when he can literally grab the cuff with his hands. What if he figures out how they're enchanted? What if he figures out where the weak spots are? He'll get out, and the next time we go to give him some food, he'll kill us."

"Then we kill him first." Sam shrugged. "We've overpowered him every time we've fought him so far. If he wants to fight to the death, let him."

Dean's face twisted up in frustrated confusion. "Doesn't that kinda defeat the purpose of saving him in the first place?"

"No, because we saved him from being strapped down and killed as a victim of cruelty. If he decides to fight us, and we have to kill him, he's being killed as a victim of nothing but his stubborn stupidity." Sam folded his arms over his chest. "You can't tell me you have a better idea."

Mouth moving wordlessly, Dean looked between Sam and the door. Sam figured the ingrained hunter logic John had drilled into Dean's head since he was a child was screaming at him. Dean exhaled, trying to figure out what to do, and after a few more seconds of fighting with himself, he sighed. "Okay. Here's hoping this doesn't kill us."

Sam gave a tight smile. "Yeah."

Castiel stared at the box. He had been staring at the box for hours. How many, he didn't know, but it had been hours. Days. Maybe a week. Maybe more. It had been long, whatever it was. It had been very, very long.

It had been easy to ignore the food at first. On the morning after the change in restraints, they brought him a bowl of something in the morning, a plate of something in the afternoon, and a plate of something in the evening. They put a crate by the nightstand filled with water bottles, but he had honestly been too preoccupied with figuring out how to escape to really notice them. One or two days later, he had very reluctantly, very angrily sipped at the bottles, taking just a little from each so the hunters wouldn't notice. He used the bathroom once, which took quite a bit of trial and error, but he wasn't taking anything in, so there wasn't really anything coming out.

But the food was easy to ignore. It wasn't as if he could control the need to go to the bathroom, and even while pulling on what little grace he had left, water quickly became necessary. Food was not the same. He could resist food.

But time kept passing. He counted the days based on the number of meals they brought, and assuming they brought him three meals a day, fourteen days had passed without him eating. He knew he could survive longer than that, but he was already 'malnourished' when they paid to detain him, and he had only had a few liquid meals since then.

Then, unexpectedly, they left.

They brought in a large box of food and said they had a hunt. They didn't know how long it would take, but they had provided more food than he could ever need. Dean said it didn't really matter since Castiel wasn't going to eat anyway, but they did it nonetheless.

That was a long time ago. He had no idea how long, because they weren't bringing him meals, but it had been a long time. He was so hungry. He didn't feel hungry, but he knew he was. He was exhausted, and he couldn't think straight, and he was freezing all the time, and he knew it was because he was hungry.

I could eat a little. If I just take one or two things, they'll never know. Castiel wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and he kept staring at the box. Just something. He swallowed, eyelids fluttering. If you eat, you might have enough strength to break the chain and get out of here. He sucked in a breath and slowly uncurled, inching toward the edge of the mattress. He got one foot on the floor, and even though the chain just barely let the other reach the hardwood, he got close enough to the box to grab something off the top. He didn't really care what it was—he had never had food that wasn't liquid, so how would he know what was best?—and as he retreated to the bed, he looked down and read the label. He didn't know what peanut butter was, and he didn't know what chocolate was, and he had no idea what they would taste like when put together.

I have to eat it. I'll die if I don't. He glanced at the door. They're not here. They'll never know. I can just… He grabbed his blanket, once again overcome with the sensation of his flesh turning to ice. He fought with the packaging and managed to get it open. It was like a textured bar of nuts or grains, and it smelled pleasant enough, so… he took a bite.

It almost nauseated him, consuming food in the state he was in, but despite how little he knew about his body, he knew enough to assume it was a lie. He had gone weeks without food. He was hungry. His stomach had to be lying to him, so he forced himself to finish the whole thing, and after a moment of indecision, he shoved the wrapper under the mattress so it wouldn't be found. He lay down, curling up as much as he could, and he wondered how much longer he could make it.

Maybe they're dead. If they were, he really did need to eat and get stronger so he could escape. Because if he didn't, he was going to run out of food and water eventually, and then he would be dead as well. Maybe they didn't go on a hunt. Maybe they just left me in here to force me to make this decision. He wanted to think about it more, but his eyes kept drifting shut. He was so tired. What am I supposed to do?

"Careful." Dean let go of the door and grabbed the arm slung around his shoulders, pulling Sam a little closer. "Watch the step."

"Thanks, Dean. I forgot how to walk in the week and a half I spent in the hospital." Sam's tone was dismissive, but he was unsteady and leaning heavily on his brother. "It was just a stab wound."

Dean snorted, getting Sam over the threshold and reaching back. "Yeah, a stab wound that required surgery." He shut the door behind them and started down the steps. "If you're so capable, hurry it up. I wanna check on Cas."

"You put enough food and water in there to last a month at minimum. We've been gone less than three weeks. He's fine." Sam grunted, pressing his free hand to his side.

Dean knew Sam was right, but he wasn't reassured. He didn't like the thought of Castiel going so long without someone there to keep an eye on him. He hadn't eaten once leading up to the hunt, and if he had kept to that pattern, well… unless his angelic powers had saved him, he was dead. Dean didn't want that.

"Here." Easing Sam into the recliner in the common room, Dean gave him a pat on the back. "Just relax. Let me check on Cas, and then I'll get you something to eat."

Sam nodded, slouching in the chair and closing his eyes.

Awesome. Dean sighed and walked out into the hall, making his way through the bunker and swiping the handcuff key off the kitchen counter just in case. He knew it wasn't smart to go in there alone after so much time had passed to allow escape, but he didn't really have a choice. So, he got to the door, slid the deadbolt, and took a breath before letting himself in.

"Cas?" He peered into the dark, feeling around for the light switch and turning it on. Oh, no.

Castiel was lying on the bed, unresponsive, and for a moment, Dean thought his fears had come true, but then he saw some wrappers on the floor that sparked a bit of hope. Cautious, he entered the room and swung the door shut behind him. He passed the box, and he could tell Castiel hadn't eaten nearly enough, but still, he was optimistic.

"Cas?" Dean got closer, praying it wasn't a trap. "Hey. Tell me you're not dead, man." He gently placed a hand on the angel's shoulder, shaking him lightly.

Castiel didn't respond.

Muttering a curse, Dean shook him harder. "Hey." He smacked Castiel's cheek. "Hey!"

Castiel inhaled deeply, eyes slowly opening, and he looked up at Dean. For once, he didn't look angry, and even though he was clearly running out of time, he didn't have the vacant glaze of the flashback in the shower. He stared at Dean, impassive, and didn't say anything.

"You need to eat."

Castiel blinked.

"I see you ate some stuff. That's good, but a handful of granola bars isn't enough. It's been over a month since we stopped force-feeding you."

Castiel blinked.

"You're gonna die if you keep this up. You're already on the verge of, I don't know, death or a coma or something."

Castiel blinked.

"Okay." Dean let out a heavy sigh, debating with himself. He knew Sam was right about fighting with Castiel; it wasn't going to do any good, and maybe they should just let the idiot starve himself to death, but… Dean kind of didn't care. "Okay, you know what?"

Castiel blinked.

"You freaking…" Dean pulled the key out of his pocket, grumbling under his breath, and he quickly unlocked the cuff. He shoved the key back into his pocket and quickly worked his arms under Castiel's body, hauling him up in a bridal style carry. "You have the survival instincts of a pigeon."

Castiel slouched against Dean's chest, wordless. Trying not to worry, Dean struggled through taking Castiel out of the room—opening the door was super fun—down the hall, and into the common room. He lowered the angel onto the couch by the recliner where Sam was dozing off, an act that led to Castiel haphazardly pushing himself up.

"Mm…" Sam turned his head, eyes still closed. "How is he?"

"Not great." Dean gave Castiel a dirty look, to which Castiel offered another blink, and then Dean straightened up. "Keep an eye on him, would you? I'll be right back with food."

"Keep an…?" Sam opened his eyes and immediately jolted. "What the—?" He grit his teeth, grasping at his side.

Dean grabbed Castiel by the jaw, pulling his head up and giving him a dark look. "Do not get off this couch. Understand?"

Castiel blinked again, but he wasn't glaring, which was some kind of miracle.

Or maybe a death omen.

"Do you understand?" Dean leaned in and articulated mere inches from Castiel's face.

Castiel stared and then lowered his gaze, nodding as much as Dean's hold would allow.

"Good." Dean let him go and turned to Sam. "Don't get up. Don't do anything. Just watch him. I'll be back in five minutes."

Giving Castiel a sideways glance, Sam considered his options and then offered the same obedient response. Dean left them and went to the kitchen, taking a few minutes to pour canned soup into two bowls. He heated them up, anxiously drumming his fingers on the counter while he waited, and carried them to the common room, handing one to Sam and holding the other out for Castiel.

"Eat."

Castiel met Dean's gaze, and he didn't refuse, but he didn't reach for the bowl. He didn't necessarily look angry, but it was obvious he wasn't about to do what Dean wanted.

And Dean had had enough.

He understood the mistrust, and he understood the trauma, and he knew if he were in Castiel's position, he wouldn't want to trust his captors, either. He got all that, but that didn't change the fact that Dean was not a gentle spirit of forgiveness and love and sentimental crap like Sam was. Dean had been pushed to his limit, and in that moment, the spirit of his dead father possessed him.

Dean all but slammed the bowl down on the end table, and the only reason he didn't was to keep it from spilling. He reached out and, in a move that probably made no more sense to Sam than it did to Dean himself, he grabbed Castiel by the ear and dug his thumbnail in.

"Knock it off, Cas." He pulled him a little closer, twisting the cartilage. "What are you, five? You're gonna throw your little temper tantrum and refuse to eat because you 'don't wanna?'" Dean said it in the most mocking voice he knew how. "Get over it. Grow up. You are going—hey, look at me when I'm talking to you."

Castiel, who had averted his eyes and glared off to the side, continued looking to the left.

So Dean gave him a smack—a light one—on his cheek. "I said look at me when I'm talking to you."

Swallowing, Castiel made eye contact, and even though it looked like Dean's words were bringing some of that familiar anger back, Dean didn't stop.

"You are going to eat. Do you hear me? Not liquid food we force down your throat, not food you sneak when we're not looking. You are going to sit on this couch and eat that bowl of soup."

Castiel mustered the strength to speak for the first time since Dean found him. "I won't—"

"What, do I need to put you over my knee and spank you until you've learned your lesson? Hmm?" Dean gave the ear another twist. "And then stand you in a corner for a time-out?"

Castiel stared up at him with wide eyes, and he didn't seem to know how to take Dean's new behavior. He probably didn't even understand the implications of the threats, being so unfamiliar with humanity he didn't even know what a spanking was, but it looked like he understood what Dean was attempting to do. And he didn't know what to do about it.

"You're acting like a stubborn toddler. I'm not about to do whatever horrific things your previous owners did. I'm not gonna punish you like a slave, or a monster, or even an adult. If you're gonna act like you're three, you're gonna get punished like you're three." He leaned a little closer, getting in the angel's face. "I raised a stubborn child once, and so help me, Cas, I will do it again. Eat."

Castiel swallowed again. He reached up slightly, like he was thinking about trying to force Dean to let him go, but then his hand dropped back down. He stared and, after another moment of defiance or indecision or something, he let his gaze fall to his lap.

Dean gave an affirmative nod and let go of the ear, which was now red. He stepped to the right, grabbed the bowl of soup, and held it out to Castiel. "If you eat it slowly, it shouldn't make you sick. You're gonna eat this, and then you're gonna drink a bottle of water, and we're gonna hope your angel mojo keeps you from getting refeeding syndrome."

Lifting his eyes, Castiel glared one last time and then carefully took the bowl. He wet his lips and put it on his thighs, grabbing the spoon and lifting some soup to his mouth.

Dean stood there, hands on his hips, monitoring as Castiel started to eat. It took several minutes for him to calm down, but he got there, and when he did, he spared a glance and found his brother struggling not to burst into hysterics. Sam just kept taking a bite and then covering his mouth and turning his head away. Dean rolled his eyes and got back to watching Castiel, who finished his meal without speaking, though he did occasionally glare up at Dean.

Dean didn't care.

"Good." Dean took the empty bowl and set it on the end table. "Now, you're gonna stay here with Sam while I go get a bottle of water. Then you're gonna sit here, and you're gonna drink that, and then you're going back to your room. And tonight, for dinner, you're gonna do the same thing all over again."

Castiel snarled, looking like he had life in his veins for the first time since Dean and Sam got home. "I welcome you to try, but you can't make me—"

"Sorry, what was that?" Dean grabbed that same ear faster than lightning. "I don't think I heard you right."

Jumping to his feet, albeit unsteadily, Castiel grabbed Dean's arm and tried to make him let go. "I don't know what you're doing, but if you think you can get inside my head—"

"At six o' clock tonight, you are going to eat your dinner and go to bed."

"No, I'm not! I—" Castiel seemed to get distracted in the middle of his objection, and he let out a frustrated shout. "Why can't I make you let go?"

Dean let out a sarcastic laugh. "Gee, I don't know, maybe because you haven't eaten in a month, and you don't have any strength left." He slapped Castiel's hand aside when it made a grab for his face. "You're really gonna make me follow through on my threat?"

"I don't even know what you threatened me with!" Castiel shouted in Dean's face, but he didn't look angry. He seemed almost panicked, growing progressively more confused.

"Well, then, let me explain it to you." Dean pushed Castiel's hand away again, drawing himself up to his full height and giving the ear another yank. "First, I'm gonna drag you to the bathroom and get Sam's hairbrush. Then I'm gonna drag you back out here, and I'm gonna sit on the couch. I'm gonna pull your boxers down, bend you over one of my knees and pin your legs with the other. And then I'm gonna take that brush and hit your whiny little behind until you realize you need to get your act together. Capice?"

Castiel looked at Dean for a long moment, bewildered and disturbed, and then shouted, "That's a terrible punishment!"

Dean feigned shock. "You don't say?"

"It won't be effective!"

Dean shrugged. "Won't know until we try, will we?"

"I have been beaten to the brink of death! I've had my bones broken, my lungs punctured, my skin burned. I've had needles shoved under my fingernails." Castiel panted, barely able to catch his breath in between words. "I've been strangled and drowned. I can't tell you how many times my head has been bashed in. One time it was so bad I couldn't see for weeks! I thought I was going blind, and you think that—that striking my rear with a hairbrush is going to make me do what you want?"

Dean remained ever dismissive. "Little boys who don't behave get spanked. That's just how it works."

Castiel screamed, letting go of Dean's arm and grabbing him by the shirt. "Why don't you make any sense?!"

"Why don't you stop fighting me and find out?" Dean yelled back.

Silence.

Castiel was trembling, his body entirely too weak to tolerate what he was putting it through, shoulders heaving as he gasped for air. He stared at Dean, eyes wide and dumbfounded, shaking fists curled through the green flannel. His lips moved, but he couldn't get any words out.

"Why don't you stop being a stubborn idiot for three seconds," Dean took Castiel's wrists and pulled them off his shirt, "and see what happens? Hmm?"

"I…" Castiel flexed his fingers, like he wanted to grab Dean's clothes again but didn't know how to get free. "I don't…" He staggered backward, legs giving out and dropping him onto the couch.

"Do I need to get the hairbrush, Cas?"

Castiel murmured something, hands falling to the sofa the instant Dean let them go. He couldn't hold them up anymore. He couldn't even stand.

"Do I need to—"

"No." Castiel spoke solidly but quietly, and he didn't seem confident.

"Good." Dean stared him down a moment longer. "I'm gonna go get that water now."

Castiel glared for a second, but then his eyes started to dart around, like he was trying to figure out what had just happened and what he was supposed to do. Dean glanced at Sam and pointed to Castiel in a silent 'watch him for me,' and then he went back to the kitchen. He grabbed some water from a half-empty case on the floor in the corner, figuring room temperature would be easier on the stomach. Then, before going back, he took a moment to collect himself.

Well, I guess I can add 'threatening to spank an angel' to my long, long list of things I never thought I would do but have now done. Right up there with selling my soul and defeating Satan. He rubbed his forehead. He didn't even know where the idea came from, though he suspected it was the whole 'being possessed by his dead father' thing. He just knew nothing they tried was working, and Castiel was going to kill himself with his behavior, and honestly? Dean just kept having flashbacks to a four-year-old Sam fighting his bedtime with everything in him, stomping his foot and shouting about how unfair John was being. Or seven-year-old Sam coming back from a one-hour trip to the nearby creek after four hours and trying to convince Dean the disobedience and three hours of panic his brother had gone through were completely justified and acceptable. I mean, it got him to stop fighting for a second. Maybe we can get some food and water into him, and then we'll have some time to figure out what we're gonna do next.

Dean groaned to himself.

It had been three days.

Three days of eating every meal Dean brought him. Three days of watching the shorter hunter for any sign he was losing his mind. Three days of squirming uncomfortably every time he thought about anyone, let alone a human, treating him like a disobedient child.

I can't let this happen. Castiel slowly inhaled, staring at the ceiling with his arms folded almost protectively over his stomach. They had said it was good there were no signs of refeeding syndrome—not that he knew what that was—but there was still a risk. I can't let them do this to me. He took another breath, knowing he had eaten enough to last him a while. He could start refusing to eat again, and if all Dean was going to do was hit him with a hairbrush, there wouldn't be any consequences to deal with. That was assuming Dean was telling the truth about the proposed punishment, which Castiel knew he wasn't, but if Castiel took the hunter at his word, then there wouldn't be any consequences.

Well, there would be the consequence of starving.

He sneered at the success they had already obtained. They knew once I gave in and started eating, I would want to keep doing it. He hadn't noticed it much the first couple times, too overwhelmed and disoriented by hunger, but the longer he had food, the more he realized how enjoyable it was. He liked how it tasted and felt—the idea that both eggs and oatmeal could be equally soft and yet be different textures as well as on opposite ends of the taste spectrum was fascinating to him—and of course, it was helping him recover and filling the hole in his stomach. They're just trying to make me dependent on them.

Maybe they aren't.

Castiel clamped his hands on either side of his head, screwing his eyes shut. Be quiet! He swallowed, able to easily picture multiple angels who had utterly debased themselves for humanity. He could vividly picture Hezekiah kneeling next to his owner while the man conversed with another hunter, the human's hand periodically coming down to pat Hezekiah on the head. That would not be Castiel. It would never be Castiel.

But it's just food. It's food you need to survive.

It's not just food! It was more than that. It was submitting. It was losing. It was vulnerability. He could take the food, but it wouldn't stop there. What was next? Letting them change his bandages? Taking a shower when they dragged him to the bathroom? Letting them take some of his blood for a spell? Then quietly agreeing to help on one hunt, and then another, and then another. Then sitting at their table and telling them everything he knew about how to hunt his brothers and sisters.

And then Castiel would be the one getting pats on the head.

No. I can't let that happen. I have to stop it somehow.

Castiel tensed when he heard the lock slide, the door opening a second later.

"Morning." Dean flicked on the light and walked in with a first aid kit tucked under his arm, kicking the door shut behind him. "It's not time for breakfast yet, but I just got done changing Sam's bandages, so I thought I'd come in here and do yours while I was at it."

Growling, Castiel pushed himself up and slid backward, getting as close to the other side of the bed as the chain would allow. "Stay away from me."

"Nope." Dean set the kit on the nightstand, folding his arms over his chest with an expectant look. "You gonna let me help you?"

Castiel's response was a simple echo. "Stay away from me."

Sighing, Dean dropped his arms and put one knee on the bed, reaching across the mattress. Castiel immediately went for a kick, but Dean intercepted it and grabbed either side of the somewhat-healed-but-still-badly-bruised knee, yanking Castiel across the mattress.

"Let me go!"

"Nah."

Castiel clawed at Dean's face, but it was pointless. Dean threw him on his front and used a knee to pin his right arm before reaching back and stretching out to grab the kit. Castiel grit his teeth, trying to reach over his head and then behind his back, but he couldn't get Dean within reach. He managed to get his knees under him at one point, but Dean just leaned forward and put more weight on his shoulder, arm, and back.

"Cas, knock it off."

I'm still too weak. I've only been eating for a few days. He pushed anyway and then tried to reach over his head again. Maybe if I just eat for a while—nothing else, just eating—I'll have the strength to overpower them. He felt the gauze peel away from his skin, exposing his wounds to the air. If I hadn't let myself get so weak, I could be overpowering this one now. Sam is injured, and I could beat just one hunter if I wasn't so malnourished.

Castiel struggled the entire time, but Dean just cleaned his skin and applied some kind of ointment, re-covering the wounds he had honestly seemed worried about when he changed them for the first time since they left on their three-week hunt. When Dean put him on his back, it made no difference, the only advantage to that position being that Castiel could use his free arm a little more effectively. Regardless, he was out of breath and exhausted by the time the ordeal was over, and all he could do was pant and glare as Dean packed up the medical supplies.

"I'll be back in about two hours with your breakfast. It's an oatmeal day today because there is nothing in me that feels like making eggs." Dean closed and picked up the box.

Gritting his teeth, Castiel curled his fingers through the bedsheets and spat, "Don't forget what I told you. I will kill you. I will find a way out of here, and I will kill you and your brother before I leave."

Dean stopped with the door half open and gave him a smirk. "Okay. Just don't forget what I told you."

Castiel squinted, confused.

"That if you don't behave yourself, you're going to have a very red, very sore butt." Dean pointed his finger like a gun and clicked his tongue. "See you at breakfast, Cas." And he closed the door before Castiel could think of a response.

Just the food. Nothing else, and just long enough to get your strength back.

Author's Note: If it's possible to have a platonic kink, spanking is mine.

It's getting underway! They haven't convinced Castiel that they're the good guys, but they've got him thinking there's something off about them. But they've got a long way to go.

And I get to take a break! I posted the last two Wednesdays, but after tonight, I get to go back to my every other Wednesday posting schedule! Thank You, Jesus, because I was dying! Also thank You, Jesus, because I just hit 42,000 kudos on AO3! Yaaaaaaaay! Thanks so much for all your support, guys! And remember, you can always follow me on socials to support me and my writing endeavors even more! Love you!