Dean sighed, taking a moment to dread the next several minutes before he grabbed the doorknob. He walked in with a, "Morning, Cas," and flicked on the light so he could meet the very suspicious, very shrewd eyes of an angel who no longer had drugs in his system. "That's where you say, 'good morning' back."

Castiel glared, curled at the head of the bed with his chained leg stretched out in front of him, but he didn't go for the throat. He just observed, still and silent.

"Cool." Dean walked closer, but not too close, and put the plate of scrambled eggs on the nightstand. "I know you're probably getting tired of the same three meals, but cooking breakfast is not my forte." He finger-gunned and turned to go but caught a glimpse of movement in his peripherals. He jerked back around in time to see Castiel withdraw his hand. "Do you need something?"

"No," was the very quick, very certain reply.

Dean raised a brow, and even though he had initially decided on minimal interaction until Castiel had a chance to calm down, he felt he had been given an opening. "You sure about that?"

"Yes." Blue eyes narrowed, shoulders taught. "Leave me alone."

Unconvinced but still hesitant, Dean tried another question. "How's your neck?"

Castiel simply glared, fingers curling around the shin of the leg folded against him.

"I wasn't going to give you any ointment because of how uncooperative you are, but if you think you'd be willing to let me—"

"No." Castiel grit his teeth, but the usual anger was blended with something else that gave off a fight or flight vibe. "I didn't have treatment for any of my previous tattoos. I don't need treatment for this one. Go away."

Staring for a few more seconds, Dean slowly turned toward the door. "If you say so." He glanced back one more time and walked out of the room, locking the door behind him. He started down the hall, a frown pulling on the corner of his mouth, and it must have been noticeable, because the second he walked into the library—

"What's wrong?" Sam—who had actually not screamed at Dean the night before—looked up from where he sat at the long table with his laptop.

"Uh… not sure." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Cas kinda reached for me as I was leaving, and… it didn't seem like an attack?" He sank into the chair across from Sam.

Sam pursed his lips. "Did you say anything?"

"I tried, and he immediately reverted back to death glares." Dean drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "I dunno. Maybe it was nothing. He just seemed… off. I figured he would be different, but I was expecting more anger, not a different kind of anger."

Sam typed a few things, his voice very controlled and deliberate. "Maybe your stupid, dangerous, illogical moves are making him think twice."

Rolling his eyes, Dean considered snarking, but he knew Sam was only half joking and still upset about what had happened. Dean chose not to stir the waters and went with, "We got a hunt?"

"We might." Sam tilted his head, reading something on the screen before turning the laptop so Dean could see it. "There's a spike in fatal car accidents on a very specific stretch of road, every year, for two weeks in September."

Dean skimmed the article. "Sounds like our kind of deal."

"The two-week window starts in three days." Sam took the computer back. "What are we gonna do with Castiel?"

"He's been eating every meal." Dean shrugged. "Maybe we can trust him to take care of himself while we're gone."

"Hmm. Trust him. Coming from the guy who said he would never change."

Leaning back, Dean rubbed his face and groaned to the ceiling. "Look, Sam, I know I screwed up. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last time. I'll figure out what to do. Okay?"

Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed his words and looked back at the laptop. "When do you want to leave?"

"Soon." Dean kept his head tilted back, still staring upward. "Where is it again? We might be able to swing by the market and drop off some blood."

Sam hummed, clicking a few times, and then announced, "We can make it work."

"Awesome. Now we get to take his blood." Dean almost said, 'This is gonna be fun,' but he realized that would just give Sam another opening to let Dean know how much he disapproved of the decision his idiot brother had made. "I just took him breakfast. Let's leave him alone for a little, and then we can go all vampire on him."

Sam snorted but made no comment.

Should I say something? I mean, we've pretty much been over this a thousand times. It's probably not gonna do any good. I should just—

"I'm still mad." Sam wet his lips. "Because what you did was incredibly stupid. It was illogical, and it's probably gonna have consequences that will screw us over. But…" He kept his eyes on the screen. "I'm glad you stopped it."

Dean blinked. "You—?"

"I think I'm gonna follow Castiel's example and have some breakfast." Sam stood up suddenly, closing his laptop and leaving the table without so much as a backward glance. "You already ate, right?"

"Yeah…" He thought Sam had, too, which was why he didn't offer to make him anything, but either he was mistaken, or Sam needed an excuse to leave the room. Okay, well… that happened.

Castiel never really stopped watching the door, no matter what he was doing or how long he had been doing it, so he knew the second the handle was turned. He pushed himself up on the mattress, tugging his chained ankle just as unsuccessfully as every time before, and he narrowed his eyes in preparation.

"Dude, I will punch you in the face. An avocado is not a fruit."

"Yes, it is! And it's your fault for bringing up your refusal to believe a tomato is a fruit."

"They're not fruits."

"I mean, I agree that they shouldn't be, but if we're talking about technic—"

"If it can't be a Starburst flavor, it's not a fruit, okay? That's how fruit works." Dean slammed the door and folded his arms over his chest, glaring at Sam, who walked toward the bed with a box of supplies and an air of mild annoyance.

Castiel leaned back slightly, watching both brothers but much more concerned with the taller one because he was quickly approaching.

"Easy, Castiel. We just need some blood." Sam made a face like he had said something stupid. "Not by, like, you know, cutting you open or something. Just the safe, normal, needle-in-the-arm way."

Fisting the blanket tangled around his hips, Castiel considered growling—honestly, how stupid did they think he was? You couldn't get blood out of a body without cutting it—but then he decided to go with a question. "What do you need it for?" He assumed some kind of spell, but he wanted to see how honest they would be.

"To pay for the freaking tattoo you didn't even get," Dean snapped, approaching the bed with the clear intention of grabbing the angel.

Castiel bared his teeth. "Get away from me."

Dean shoved a finger in his face. "Look, you stupid bundle of teenage hormones. You already talked me out of giving you a sigil. You're not talking me out of this."

Pulling back, Castiel tried to keep his eyes on both hunters. "I couldn't talk at the market. I was drugged."

"You talked me out of it with your dumb face and pitiful noises," was the offhanded response Dean gave, reaching out to attempt another grab.

Castiel shoved the hand away. "I wasn't—" He stopped short, eyes averting as he realized he… well, he really had been pitiful, hadn't he? Paralyzed, disoriented, staring at Dean and silently pleading with him to…

"You good?"

Embarrassed, Castiel glared at Dean. Then he saw Sam move, and his attention shifted.

"We're not doing anything nefarious," Sam insisted once again. "Have you ever had blood taken before?"

Crinkling his nose, the angel sneered. "Of course I have."

"Are you gonna fight us?" Sam put the box on the foot of the bed but didn't take his hands off, like he knew Castiel would kick it to the floor if he did.

Castiel looked between them. "How much do you want?" He nearly choked on the words, quickly realizing he had made a mistake. He was negotiating with them, and that was dangerous—that was the slippery slope he had been so desperately avoiding for months—but he couldn't exactly go back on it. If he did, they might realize he wasn't completely on top of things, and he needed them to think he was always five steps ahead.

"Just a pint." Sam shrugged.

Castiel didn't know what that meant.

"It's no more than a human donates when they give blood."

He tried to keep the confusion off his face. "Why… would a human give blood? It has no valuable properties."

Dean snorted. "I consider keeping us alive to be a pretty 'valuable property.'" He took Castiel's arm, probably hoping the conversation would keep Castiel too distracted to fight back.

Castiel dashed his hope by jerking away and growling, but he allowed himself to continue speaking with them. "But if you take it out of your body, it is no longer keeping you alive."

Frowning, Dean tilted his head. "Did you not know we can give our blood to each other?"

Castiel blinked. What? He saw Sam start digging through the box in his peripherals, but he only gave him a brief glance before looking back at Dean.

"Blood transfusion. If we lose too much blood, we can have blood from another person put inside us. It's not universal." Dean shrugged. "We have to have a compatible blood type with the person we're getting blood from, but… yeah, humans donate blood all the time. Because then we've got blood on hand to help save as many people as we can during an emergency." He lifted a hand, waving the topic off, as if moving something from the inside of your body to the inside of the body of another member of your species was a completely normal concept.

But… Castiel waffled between his confusion and watching Sam pull supplies from the box. They just… put their blood into bottles, and then… I imagine at some kind of facility, they… somehow get it into someone else? His lips twitched into a frown, but Dean made another grab for his bicep that dragged him out of his thoughts. "Leave me alone," he hissed.

"Oh, for the love of…" Dean put one knee on the mattress and went for Castiel's other arm. "Don't you think you could do me a favor after all I've done for you?"

Castiel grabbed Dean's wrists, leaning back and trying to get his leg in a good position to kick, but it was hard. His left ankle was cuffed to the foot of the bed, and Dean was on his left side, so he was trying to kick a man on his left with his right foot.

"Hey!" Dean pushed Castiel into the mattress and tried to free his left wrist, probably because he wanted to grab the foot Castiel was aiming at his ribcage. "You have kicked me in the balls twice. If you do it again, I swear, I will make sure you never have children."

Castiel didn't know why, but he didn't kick. He wasn't even aiming for Dean's groin, but he still hesitated to break the man's ribs. "I'm not going to just give you my blood."

Sam muttered something and walked to the side of the bed that was farthest from the door, a metallic object in his hands. He grabbed Castiel's left wrist, which was still gripping Dean's right one, and snapped a cuff on it. Castiel did everything he could to keep his hand by his head, but Sam kept pulling, and the tension cutting through his muscles won out in the end. They managed to get the arm extended enough to fasten the other cuff to the restraints they had never taken off the bedposts.

Castiel grit his teeth, feeling the metal cut into his skin, and between that and the strain of trying to hold onto Dean, his grip faltered. Dean tore his hand free and used it to grab the elbow of the arm he had already been holding, fingers wrapped around the joints so tightly Castiel thought his bones would break. Castiel overcame his earlier hesitations and kicked as much as he could in his position, the awkward angle sending a sharp pain into his hip.

Oh, how he longed for the days when he was immune to physical sensations.

Dean let go with one hand and jumped to his right—so, Castiel's left—to avoid the kick before rushing back in and pinning the leg to the mattress with his knee. Castiel tried to twist, but Dean just grabbed the elbow again, pressing the entire arm into the mattress.

"Get off me!" Castiel twisted despite knowing it was futile.

"Nope." Dean shifted, adjusting his position. "You're pinned now, okay? So just chill."

Castiel contorted, Dean's knee digging into his thigh and the handcuff cutting into his skin. "You…" He clenched his fists, but he knew he couldn't win in this position, and… well… maybe it wasn't necessary to fight about everything. If it was just a little blood, maybe…

But he wasn't about to take his eyes off them. He gave Dean another glare and then looked at Sam, who was assembling some things he had never seen before but assumed were supposed to facilitate blood removal. It looked like they were going to use a bag instead of a jar, which didn't really make sense to him, and then came a familiar tube.

Castiel froze. Of course. They're not taking my blood; they're putting something in me. It was an IV, like the ones for injecting water. They're going to drug me and take me back to the market. He tried to move, but Dean's weight kept him pinned, and as much as he tried to turn his arm, Dean easily overpowered him. I didn't do whatever they were trying to make me do when they stopped the tattooing process, so now—

"Geeze, why are you freaking out all of a sudden?" Dean held on a little tighter, shifting his weight. "I figure having me on top of you isn't the most comfortable, but you're the one being difficult. You have no one to blame but yourself."

Castiel kept struggling, the clinking of the cuffs on his ankle and wrist making his heart race. I should have kept them from getting me in this position. I should have fought them off! He watched Sam sit on the bed and pour some kind of liquid onto a round, white thing. "What are you doing?"

Sam quirked a brow. "Like right now?"

Castiel growled and pulled against Dean for the sole purpose of getting in Sam's face as much as he could, which really wasn't much. "You know what I mean."

Visibly confused, Sam wiped the abnormally cold fluid over the crook of Castiel's arm. Hazel eyes drifted between what he was doing and who he was talking to as Sam offered a calm, "I'm just cleaning your arm."

Even more proof. I've only ever had my skin cleaned before an injection. Castiel watched as Sam set the cleaning supplies aside and grabbed a package, tearing it open and pulling out the needle. "What are you putting in me?"

Dean gave him a weird look. "Dude, we are taking your blood. You said you've had this done before, so what are you not getting?" He grunted softly when Castiel tried to twist away again. "C'mon. Have we lied about anything since we bought you?"

"Of course you have!" Castiel shouted.

"You're freaking impossible," Dean muttered.

"Just a small pinch," Sam contributed.

Castiel inhaled sharply, eyes widening when the tube filled with dark red… blood, he assumed. His blood. Coming out of such a small hole but collecting in the bag at such a quick rate. "You…" He squinted, trying to figure out what was happening.

"It takes about eight to ten minutes." Sam rested his hands in his lap, entirely relaxed, and there was a small smile pulling on the corner of his mouth. "You've never actually had this done before, have you?" He paused, but not nearly long enough to allow a reply. "You should drink water and have a snack afterward. Not that you will, because you're you, but you know… you should."

Castiel shifted his attention back to Dean, who was giving him a smug look like, 'I told you so.' Blue eyes went back to Sam, and then landed on the bag. "And…" they flickered up to Sam, over to Dean, and down again, "…this is a form of payment?"

Sam shrugged. "It's not typical, but we didn't have the money for the tattoo, so we worked something out with Bryce. Then they had to use the sedative on you, so…" Tilting his head back, he exhaled hard, as if blowing his bangs out of his face. "You're expensive."

"Sell me back then." Castiel scrutinized their faces; they had to be hiding something.

Dean laughed mockingly. "You're overestimating your value, buddy. I paid five hundred for you, and the cheapest angel sedative costs three thousand. Add the price of a tattoo—even a half-finished one—and… yeah, selling you back wouldn't do much." He shrugged. "Besides, if we give you back, they'll just put you down, and that would suck."

Castiel averted his eyes, glaring at nothing and nursing his wounded pride. I guess I'm not an all-powerful celestial being anymore. I'm just a half-dead hassle. He looked at the blood, watching in silence as the bag continued to fill, wondering what he was supposed to do. It's only a matter of time before they complete the sigil. They had a reason for stopping, and I'm not going to give them what they want, so they're going to finish it eventually. He saw Sam press on the bag, as if trying to see how full it was. What if they don't, though? He fought to keep expression neutral. No, they will. They're going to put that sigil on me, and I have to get out of here before they do. I…

"Okay, I think that's enough." Sam shifted on the mattress, grabbing a piece of gauze from the box and quickly sliding the needle from Castiel's arm.

Dean smirked. "Think you can not fight us long enough to get your arm wrapped?"

Instinctively, Castiel glared, but after a moment of staring the hunter down, he started to think. Would it really be so bad to have his arm wrapped? It's just a little hole. I don't need to wrap it. But if so much blood could come out of a hole that size, then maybe… no. "I'm fine."

"Don't whine if you get a big bruise," Dean snarked.

Castiel kept glaring, but it was weaker than before. He watched in silence as Sam gathered the supplies and put them back in the box before pulling out a couple granola bars and a green bottle, which he placed on the end of the bed.

"You've always got water in here, but that's Sprite. It's soda, so it's gonna…" Sam struggled with his words, "…kinda burn when you drink it? Like a tingling sensation?" He waved it off. "Whatever. Try it. If you don't like it, don't drink it." He pulled a key out of the box and walked to the head of the bed, undoing the cuff on Castiel's wrist and jumping back before the angel could grab him.

But Castiel didn't even try.

Dean got up once he realized Sam was a safe distance away, and he took a few steps back from the bed, regarding Castiel with his hands on his hips. "Just because this isn't an official meal, it doesn't mean my threat doesn't stand. You eat those granola bars, got it?"

"I don't have to eat anything if I don't want to," Castiel snapped, rubbing the marks on his wrist.

Unconcerned, Dean offered a shrug and turned toward the door. "You're the one taking a trip over my lap, then. You do what you want."

Castiel glared until they left, the clunk of the lock engaging coming a moment later. He glanced at the granola bars, and as much as he hated it, he reached out and grabbed one. He wasn't actually concerned with the punishment Dean had described to him, but the threat was still effective. Because Castiel wasn't stupid, and he knew Dean was mocking him. If Castiel didn't eat, the hunter would do something unspeakable to him—whatever heinous thing a spanking really was—and his description of hitting Castiel with a hairbrush was just a patronizing way of daring the angel to challenge him.

Besides, if I want to escape, I have to keep up my strength. It won't damage my psyche to accept some food… even if it falls outside of mealtimes. Castiel tore through the wrapper and hesitated before nibbling on the very end of the bar. I'm running out of time. They're going to give up on their attempts to manipulate me any day, and when they do… He felt a chill run down his spine, his upper body contorting with a shudder. I can still get out.

But could he?

He had never managed to escape before. He had fallen from Heaven, spent no more than a week stumbling aimlessly through a forest and down a road, and then he had been found. Overwhelmed with sensations his grace could no longer protect him from, injured from the fall, and lost in a world completely foreign to him… well, he was ashamed to admit it, but it hadn't been very hard for the group of four hunters to take him down.

He hadn't been free since then.

Once he woke up in captivity and started to adjust, he was able to fight off larger groups, and the hunters quickly realized he was more than they could handle. He was sold and slowly moved from market to market, where there were larger numbers to keep him in check. But the longer that went on… the less Castiel could handle. He got weaker and weaker, and by the time Dean and Sam had found him, he had practically ended up back where he started, barely able to hold off five market hands in the same way he had been unable to hold off four hunters.

Now he was being controlled by just two hunters. Granted, they were exceptionally smart and strong, and they seemed to have more knowledge of angels than most… and they did need a sedative to get him back inside the market, but… still, two hunters was all it took to force him into just about anything.

And I think I can escape this? Dropping his hand to the bed, Castiel stopped chewing, the chocolate and peanut butter resting in his mouth. I'm a fool. I can't get out of here. Teeth clenching, Castiel felt the muscles in his chest start to tighten and twist, spreading pressure and pain through his ribcage. It doesn't matter that they didn't add the sigil. I still can't…

He was choking out a sob before he realized what was happening, and he immediately reeled himself in. Stop that. He wiped his face and sniffed, swallowing his food and shaking his head a few times. I'm fine. But even if he wasn't going to cry about it, he had to face the facts. I'm not getting out. And I can't even… put an end to it. Not with what I have on hand. He looked down at the cuff on his ankle. It's metal, but it's not sharp. I could stop eating again, but they'll just force nutrients into me to keep me alive and punish me afterward. He drew his knees up as much as the restraint would allow, folding his arms on top and lowering his chin. He had been so determined, for so long, not to give up. And in a way, he still wasn't. He wasn't about to become their little pet angel, and he wasn't about to help them on hunts, and he wasn't about to play their game. But he couldn't deny it anymore.

I'm never getting out of here.

"I think you're ready for no bandages." Dean peeled back the last of the gauze, fingers brushing lightly over the soft scabs and red skin. "I mean, you're not healed, but… I don't think we need to keep these covered 24/7."

Castiel said nothing, glaring at the wall, pinned on his stomach by Dean, who kept a hand pressed to the back of his neck. He had been reaching around at first, but that only lasted about five minutes before he decided to growl and bear it.

"I bet that'll make you happy. One less interaction with me every day." Chuckling to himself, Dean pressed on the few wounds that still looked painful, trying to read Castiel's face to see if they were causing any discomfort a bandage might help with. Per the usual, that face was hard to read. "We'll leave them off for a few days. If we have to start bandaging them again, then we have to start bandaging them again. Not a big deal."

Castiel didn't say anything, occasionally sending daggers over his shoulder before he directed them at the wall again.

"You might have noticed I'm here early. Or not, because you have no sense of time in here." Dean gave the bruised shoulder a light pat and crawled off, jumping away in time to avoid the kick Castiel tried to land on his ribs. "It's because we're leaving. We've got a hunt—we're pretty sure it's a hunt—and we're trying to get there before people start dying, so we're not wasting any time. I'm gonna bring in a box of food like I did last time, and I'll bring an extra crate of water just in case something goes south and keeps us away for a while."

"I don't want food and water. I want to be left alone." Castiel pushed himself up, his voice low but less murderous than usual.

Dean rubbed his face. "Are we really doing this again? You're gonna starve yourself to the point of death, and then I'm gonna come back and threaten you into eating your way back to life?"

"Maybe I will." Castiel narrowed his eyes, lip pulling up slightly as he sneered. "It's not like you're going to be here to stop me."

"No, but I'll be coming back eventually."

"You don't scare me."

"Obviously, I do, because you started eating when I threatened you."

"You have no idea if you were the motivation behind that. Maybe I decided to do what was in my best interest on my own."

"Right. My words just so happened to be the thing that happened right before you went from 'I am going to stubbornly going to dig my own grave' to 'Maybe I should actually try and stay alive.'" Dean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and he wanted to be annoyed, but he didn't like the vibe he was getting. "Just eat, okay?"

"You're not going to win." Castiel tried to stand up, but it was hard with his leg bound to the foot of the bed. "It doesn't matter what you do to me, you are not—"

"Cas." Dean lifted his hands like he was going to grab that stupid face in his hands—which he was tempted to do, but that would mean getting within attack range—and he curled his fingers. "People have hurt you. I get that. I don't forgive easily, and I don't trust easily. But you take it too far, man." He shook his head with a sharp exhale, trying to express just how ridiculous the situation was. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you, because you've proven over and over you don't care what anyone says. You've got your mind made up about how the world works, and that's where the buck stops."

Castiel breathed a little harder, working his jaw like he was caught between trying to speak and gritting his teeth.

"But you…" Dean dropped his hands, and he was frustrated, but more than that… he was just sad. Disappointed. Tired. "Can't you even try to cooperate?"

"No, I can't, and you know that, so drag me back to the market and get it over with." Castiel put one foot on the ground and reached out to grab Dean's shirt just as the hunter backed up. "Why won't you leave me alone? Just stop lying, and conniving, and scheming, and—"

"You are the most irrational person I've ever met, you know that?"

"You're just as irrational as I am!" Castiel exploded, spreading his arms wide. "You know—you know—that I am never going to do what you want, and you keep trying to make me do it anyway! You act like you think if you just do something perfectly, or say the right thing, or wait long enough, you're going to get what you want when you know you're not!" He pointed to the ground between them, yelling in Dean's face as much as he could. "How is that any different than what I'm doing? What makes you so much more 'rational' than me, huh?"

Dean blinked, caught off guard, and he couldn't deny Castiel had a point. Making the decision to buy Castiel in the first place, making the decision to fight him at every turn, making the decision to keep the tattoo artist from completing the sigil… it was the height of irrationality.

"I'm not giving up on you," was the answer Dean finally gave. "I'm trying to help you. Maybe it's stupid, and maybe it makes no sense, but you're a person. I don't know what you're fighting for, Cas—I really don't—but I'm fighting for you." He shrugged, trying to dismiss the words that, honestly, left a constricted feeling in his throat.

Castiel stared him down for several seconds, breathing hard, teeth grinding, eyes flashing, fists trembling. "Just leave me alone."

"Sure. I'll bring you some supplies, and you'll have the place to yourself until we get back." Dean started toward the door, shooting a finger gun and clicking his tongue. "Don't party too hard."

Dean stepped out before Castiel had a chance to respond, closing the heavy barrier and sliding the lock into place. I should've let them put the sigil on. Sam had been right—no surprise there—when he said Dean had been using logic when he suggested getting Castiel tattooed, and emotion when he told the artist to stop.

I'm such an idiot.

Castiel stared at the door. He had been staring at the door for hours. He could see the food and crates of water to his left, and he could see the bucket he used to relieve himself on the right, but they were just lingering in his peripherals. He just kept staring at the door, hour after hour.

I don't want to be here anymore. Pale lips quivered, and for once, he didn't push down the sensations in his chest. What's the point? I'm trapped here. I can't give into them, but I can't beat them. It's just… this. Forever. He closed his burning eyes and a tear slipped down his cheek. Maybe I should just give up.

Just a few weeks earlier, he would have scoffed at the idea. No, he wouldn't have. Because it wouldn't have even entered his mind in the first place. But he was so tired. He was so tired, and nothing was going to change.

Ducking his head, he grabbed a handful of his hair and choked out a sob. What do I do? What do I do? He curled up tighter, the metal cutting into his ankle. Michael, what do I do? Uriel? Anna? I need to know what to do. He shook, another cry wrenching out of him. You're all gone. You're gone. Even if I could get out, what would be the point? How could I ever hope to find you in the vastness of Earth, if you're even alive anymore? We'll never be together again. He wound his other arm around his head, pulling his neck at an odd angle, but the pain didn't ground him. He started to cry—completely silent, just jerking shoulders and heaving lungs—his tears soaking into the fabric of his sweatpants.

I just want to go home!

He screamed through his teeth, pain stabbing into his muscles from the sheer force of his jaw grinding. He screamed again, and again, and as his brain scrambled for some way to cope, he found himself all but falling off the bed to get to the box of food on the floor. Picking it up, he threw it across the room into the wall, electricity surging to his fingertips as the rage and panic exploded. He grabbed the water bottles one by one, hurling them at the door, tears streaming down his face, and when they were all gone, he sent the plastic crates flying after them.

Collapsing to the floor, left leg hanging from the cuff and pressed up against the side of the bed, Castiel once again put his arms around his head. He screamed until he couldn't anymore—not until it was too painful, but until he physically couldn't—and he cried until he achieved the same goal. And then he just lay there. Panting. Trembling. Heavy.

I don't want to do this anymore.

He pulled on his hair, tearing out what strands he could before clawing his face and neck and chest. He dug his nails into his skin, and it hurt, but it was better somehow. He didn't know how, because he wasn't accomplishing anything, but it brought him relief.

I don't want to do this anymore.

"You sure you don't want me to come with you?" Sam placed his duffel bag on the counter and walked to the fridge, craving a beer.

Dean snorted. "We were gone barely five days. Even if he didn't eat that whole time, he's not gonna be almost dead like last time. I'll wrestle some food into him, and then we can watch a movie. I'll even let you pick."

"Gee, thanks for the privilege." Laughing, Sam pulled a bottle out and twisted the top off. "You gonna make dinner for our resident troublemaker?"

"I gotta see how he is first. If he wasn't eating again, I'll have to make something easier on the stomach." Dean tossed a wave over his head and disappeared into the hall.

Sam took a drink and walked to the bar, setting the drink down to unzip his bag. "Ugh. I gotta do laundry. I needed to do it before we left, and now we've got all these muddy clothes..." Muddy from digging up a body for a classic salt n' burn. Unsurprisingly, their culprit for the mysterious accidents had been a vengeful spirit, albeit a more powerful one than they had seen in a while. "We gotta hose down the shovels, and—"

"Sam!"

Sam bolted immediately, not even having a moment of frozen surprise, because it had been literal years since he had heard that much panic in Dean's voice. "I'm coming!" He ran down the hall to Castiel's room, all but diving through the open doorway and taking in the scene as quickly as he could.

"He's—" Dean struggled to speak, mouth moving disjointedly. "I don't even know, he's just lying here!"

Sam took a fraction of a second to process the food and water strewn everywhere, and he took another to see how red and inflamed and bloody Castiel's body was, and then it was time for action. He hurried over and dropped to his knees beside Dean, who was holding Castiel against his chest.

"Cas!" Dean gave the body a shake. "Wake up!"

Sam looked at the injuries, and the lack of deep wounds combined with the limited blood and the fact there were no weapons in the room had to mean Castiel wasn't in danger. "Dean, I don't think—"

"Leave me alone." Castiel uttered the words without opening his eyes, voice hoarse and faint, and he didn't even bother trying to push them away. "Just leave me alone."

"Cas—"

Breathing in, those striking, unnaturally blue eyes forced their way open and peered up at Dean. "Please."

Dean stared. He blinked. He looked at Sam, some mixture of horror and confusion on his face, and Sam knew exactly why: Castiel had never said the word 'please' to them. Or at least, Sam had never heard it, and even though Dean spent more one-on-one time with Castiel, the look on his face clearly said he had never heard it, either.

"Castiel," Sam started softly, reaching out and gently taking one of the wrists laying against the angel's stomach. "You're gonna be okay." He didn't know what else to say—didn't know what else to do—so he let logic take over and examined the bloody fingers. He scratched himself, then?

Castiel exhaled, though it didn't quite meet the qualifications of a sigh, and he continued to lay motionless on the floor. Dean shifted enough to wrestle the handcuff key out of his pocket, and he handed it to Sam.

"Here, get him loose."

Sam nodded and followed the order, taking Castiel's ankle before he did because, even though it was so unlike Castiel, he knew the limb was just going to drop the second it wasn't restrained. Castiel wasn't going to do anything with it. He wasn't going to kick. He wasn't going to struggle.

"Hey, talk to me." Dean gave him another shake. "Tell me what's going on."

Castiel just stared dead ahead, so absent and lifeless Sam thought for a moment he might be having some kind of seizure.

"Cas, why did you do this?"

"Dean." Sam slowly stood, trying to figure out the best way to get Castiel to his feet. "I don't think he's in any state to be answering questions. Let's just focus on getting him off the floor, okay?"

Nodding, Dean got underneath Castiel's left side while Sam grabbed his right arm and shoulder. They hauled him up, but before Sam could move him toward the bed, Dean nodded at the door.

"Living room."

Sam was confused, but it wasn't like Castiel was any kind of threat, and Sam certainly didn't have any better ideas. They tried to get Castiel to walk, but it quickly became apparent there would be no effort of any kind on Castiel's part.

"I got him." Dean leaned over and snaked his arm behind Castiel's knees, grunting as he hoisted the man into his arms. "Get some water and something to keep him warm."

Sam nodded and ran from the room, making a beeline for the kitchen. He grabbed a chilled bottle from the fridge and entered the common room just in time for Dean to all but collapse on the couch with Castiel.

"Here," Sam muttered, dropping the bottle on the sofa. "I'll grab a blanket."

"Pick one you don't mind getting blood on." Dean struggled with himself for a moment, his face painted with thinly veiled panic and not at all veiled confusion, and then he eased onto his back and pulled Castiel down on top of him. "Easy, there, buddy." He grunted, pulling Castiel a little higher so his head was resting just under Dean's chin. "Just take a deep breath."

"I don't want to do this anymore," Castiel whispered, still not moving, still giving the space in front of him a dead and unseeing stare.

Sam grabbed a large blanket from a pile of blankets and pillows they kept in the room. They never thought they'd need it for something like this, but… well, Sam wasn't about to complain.

Dean muttered his thanks when Sam covered them, adjusting the blanket a few times and tucking it around Castiel's body. "You don't have to do anything right now, okay?"

It took a moment for Sam to realize Dean was talking to Castiel.

"You don't have to worry about not wanting to do this anymore." Dean took a breath, clearly scrambling for some idea of what to say. "Just—"

"Have you ever watched a movie?" Sam blurted out.

Castiel didn't respond, which wasn't exactly surprising, but it was discouraging.

"How about we watch one?" Sam started moving toward the TV, not waiting for a response from either of them. "Uh, let's watch Ghost."

Dean snorted, feigning his usual, carefree attitude. "That's a dumb chick flick, Cas." He sniffed. "But it's got Patrick Swayze in it, so… I guess it's acceptable."

"Just take me back." Castiel took a shaky breath. "Let it be over."

"Aw, c'mon, Cas, don't talk like that."

Sam couldn't see what was happening behind him as he searched for the DVD, but he could imagine the look on Dean's face.

"Things are bad right now, but that doesn't mean they can't get better. If you just tough it out—"

"I can never go home!" Castiel shouted, but even with the sheer level of despair in his voice, he didn't do anything about it. Or if he did, it wasn't something Sam could hear.

Dean didn't speak for a couple seconds, and then a somber tone came out; one Sam didn't often get to hear. "Home..." He took a breath. "Home can change, you know? I mean… when I was a kid, my home was a house in Kansas with my mom and dad and brother. Then my mom died, and the house burned to the ground, so… home became living on the road with my dad and brother. Then my brother went off to college, and my dad and I went our separate ways, and there were times I thought I could never go home."

Sam felt a rush of guilt, and he wondered if he would ever get over the pain he had caused the night he left for Stanford.

"But I hung on… and, yeah, it's true I never went back to the home I knew before. Started hunting with my brother, and then my dad died, and now it's just Sammy and me in this underground bunker. It's not the home I grew up with, and it's not the home I thought I wanted back… but it's a home. It's a good home—a better home, even—and it was worth waiting for." Dean struggled for a second. "Maybe… Heaven's gone, and maybe angels are few and far between, but… that doesn't mean you can never go home. It just means… you've got to find a new one. You've got to make a new one, and it's hard, but you can do it."

Castiel didn't say anything.

Sam grabbed the DVD case and went through the motions of putting the movie on. He returned to the couch, grabbing the bottle of water from one end of the couch and sitting on the floor at the other, right where Castiel and Dean were propped up on some pillows. "Hey." He twisted the lid off and moved it toward Castiel's mouth. "Take a drink. You sound pretty hoarse."

Blue eyes stared vacantly, and the hand didn't move toward the bottle.

"I'll help." Sam put the rim to Castiel's lips, tipping it gently, and he was happy to see the angel take several drinks without a fight. "There we go. That'll help." He withdrew, sitting down on the floor again and twisting the lid back on.

Dean nudged the angel on the shoulder before pointing to the large screen—one they may or may not have splurged on because the TVs that were in the bunker when they arrived were archaic. "Watch the movie."

Castiel didn't say anything, but he put his eyes on the screen. They didn't really seem to be taking anything in, but they did move from time to time, as if they were following the action.

Sam discreetly turned his head to catch Dean's eye, and the brothers shared a look of mutual panic. Dean asked the silent question of, 'What the heck just happened?' but all Sam could do was respond with a helpless, almost imperceptible shrug of, 'I have no idea.'

Maybe… maybe that tattoo really did throw him. Made him feel trapped? Like there's no way out, and that's where this… 'I can never go home,' is coming from? Maybe it's all connected. But he seemed fine. He was arguing with us, spitting and growling, fighting us at every turn. I don't understand…

Sam's thoughts ran rampant, and he honestly didn't see a single thing happening on screen. It was a shame, really. He loved Ghost.

Author's Note: Ha! I fooled you! I said I wasn't going to update until next week, but I'm updating today! I just couldn't resist the idea of posting on the very first day of the year. So, here's how we're gonna start 2025!

It's not exactly a cliffhanger, but I do apologize for the pain you're going to have to live with for the next two weeks. Because we're back on the every other Wednesday schedule, and if anything happens to change that, the best place to get an update is my tumblr or my website, and if there's a last minute change, it's only going to be on my tumblr.

Side note, the fruit conversation was a Tim Hawkins bit, so I can't take credit for that.

Welcome to 2025, guys! I'm praying for a really, really good one!