Author's Note: I have been working on this for SOOO long, and I'm so excited to finally get to post it. I've written Slave!Castiel stories in the past, like An Unexpected Purchase and Haven, but both of those had two very prominent tropes: a very timid and frightened Castiel, and rape somewhere in Castiel's past. In this one, there is no sexual abuse in the backstory, and Castiel is... everything that is the opposite of timid and frightened. He spitting and hissing and biting. He's feral. So take a look at this first chapter, and see if feral Castiel is what you want.

"I feel it disconnecting,

Like building walls around my heart

To pull our worlds apart.

I need this separation,

Just like I wanted from the start,

To pull our worlds apart."

- Worlds Apart, Demon Hunter

Dean's heart was in his throat.

Had he really just said that? Like, out loud? Like, with his mouth and vocal cords and everything? Had those six particular words fallen from his lips in that one particular order in that one particular scenario that left no room for misinterpretation?

"Dean?" That was Sam. He was whispering harshly. Probably because he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Understandably. "What are you doing?"

Dean cleared his throat and gestured to the haggard-looking, shirtless angel in the process of being strapped to a chair. Up until Dean opened his big mouth, the creature had been holding his own against five market workers, each one physically fit. Now he was still, staring at Dean in stupefied silence along with everyone else, even if he didn't let that stupor leak into his unwavering stare.

Holy blue eyes, Batman.

Dean cleared his throat—crap, he had done that earlier and never said anything—and gestured vaguely to the angel a second time. "I said, 'I'll take him for five hundred.'"

Bryce, who had worked at the hunter's market for years and gotten on well with John, slowly shook his head. "Dean, you don't want this one. Sure, angels are useful, but this one is a violent flight risk, pun intended. I can find you one better."

Dean glanced at the man on the green, padded, dentist-looking chair and found nothing but hate and rage. Despite the fact Dean was about to rescue him from a dirt nap, the angel looked like he wanted nothing more than to claw the hunter's eyes out.

Dean met the blazing stare with defiance. "Five hundred dollars, going once."

Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder in a vice-like grip. "Dean, can we talk about this?"

"Going twice," was all Dean said, shifting his gaze to Bryce.

Bryce looked confused and concerned. "Dean, this—"

"Going twice," Dean repeated, a little louder, holding up two fingers.

"Okay, okay! Sold." Bryce ran a hand over his head to his blonde ponytail. "Geeze…"

Sam's grip on Dean's shoulder tightened, but he didn't say anything. He was probably still processing the situation. Dean was. Dean definitely was. Processing. Panicking.

"Dunno why you're complaining." Dean pulled his wallet from his front pocket—he never left it in his back pocket in a crowd; especially one made of hunters—and started thumbing through the bills. "You were gonna put him down. Now you're getting half a grand, and you get to put the Cocktail of Death back on your shelf and save it for a rainy day. Sounds like a bargain to me."

Bryce snorted, taking the money. "Yeah, unless he kills two of my best customers in their sleep. I don't think five hundred will be a fair trade in the long run."

Dean flashed one of his award-winning smiles, putting away the leather fold. "I guess we better not let him kill us in our sleep then."

Sam squeezed his shoulder again, a silent reminder he was still there and still unhappy. Bryce shook his head and gestured to the group holding the angel, who was still in a mild shock and unsure what to do with himself.

"Boys, you know what their ride looks like."

That sentence was apparently the angel's activation phrase, and he immediately started fighting the market hands with everything in him. Bare feet pushed against the concrete floors of the warehouse, his entire body twisting and contorting as he tried to get free. Fortunately—or unfortunately, if you were the angel—there were several sigils tattooed on his body, so while he was stronger than a human, he wasn't nearly as powerful as an angel should have been.

Dean was fine with that.

"Dean, what did you just do?" Sam hissed, fingers digging into Dean's shoulder painfully.

"Uh, I think I just bought an angel." Dean pursed his lips and nodded, watching the brawl in front of him unfold with a look of mild curiosity that veiled his growing panic. "Yeah, that sounds about right. I bought an angel."

"Dude, we came here to get ammo, some new machetes, and maybe angel blood for a spell. How did you get from weapons and blood to actual freaking angel?"

Dean turned to face Sam. "How should I know?" He spread his arms slightly. "They were gonna put him down, Sam. I know it happens, but… it was gonna happen right in front of me, and I…" Panicked. "Besides, angels are useful. Seriously, how can you not want demon-smiting-with-a-single-touch powers on our side? That's good stuff." He wet his lips, knowing it was a weak argument. "We're Winchesters. We can handle one unruly angel."

Sam looked at the open warehouse doors, and even though that exit was only about twenty feet from the Chair of Death, the workers still hadn't managed to get the angel to it. Possibly because said angel had dug his teeth into the closest arm and wouldn't let go. "I'm not so sure about that, Dean."

Dean looked, too, and winced. "Please tell me you're not going to make me do this alone."

Sam snorted. "What, and miss you throwing down with an angel? Not for a million dollars." But there was uncertainty in his voice.

Dean grinned, and he was about to continue the joke when a thought hit him. "If he's weakened by sigils, would tranquilizers work on him?"

Sam crinkled his nose. "If they did, he probably would have been sedated in the first place."

"No, he wouldn't."

Dean turned his head to see Bryce standing next to a nearby booth of silver weapons.

"Sometimes they have, y'know, last words and stuff. If it's not too ridiculous, I let them have a final request. One last sunset, one last drink, one last slice of pie, whatever." Bryce shrugged.

I would definitely go for the pie. Dean turned his attention back to the angel who was now being dragged across the gravel parking lot. "So, there are sedatives that work on angels?"

"Just two, and if you want a single dose of the cheapest one, it'll be three thousand."

Dean nearly choked on his spit. "Uh, we'll pass."

Bryce grinned. "Good call."

Sam nudged Dean on the shoulder. "Come on. They're gonna put him in the back, and we don't want that." He started walking past the chair to the exit, giving Bryce a wave as he passed.

Dean was confused for a split second, but then it clicked, and he bid farewell to Bryce with a two-fingered salute. "Hey, boys!" he called, slipping into a casual jog. "He's gonna ride shotgun. Cuff him to the door, would you?"

Of the five workers, only two didn't openly groan at the request, but Dean couldn't have cared less. He left the warehouse behind, gravel crunching under his boots all the way to the driver's side. He got in and shut the door a little harder than necessary, dropping his forehead to the steering wheel.

Boy, you really did it this time.

Dean straightened up as the passenger side door was opened, looking to his right when the angel was forced into the seat. He watched as the monster was strapped in and cuffed to the door before the workers slammed it shut. Dean grinned, as was his nature, and the angel stared back at him with such intense loathing he could almost feel bloody wounds appearing all over his body.

You really, really did it this time.

"You're welcome, by the way."

Sam groaned inwardly and buried his face in his hands. Just leave it alone, Dean. Please, I'm begging you, just let it drop and keep your mouth shut.

Dean wouldn't, of course. Dean wanted to pick a fight. "You know, for saving your life and all. It was no biggie." He shrugged, thought for a moment, and then frowned. "Actually, it really wasn't. I've spent five hundred on less."

Sam opened his mouth to intervene, but the otherwise silent angel beat him to a reply.

"I will kill you." His voice was low and gravelly, sharp with an anger he had clearly been nursing for a long time. "It may take a while, but I am thousands of years old. I have patience."

Dean nodded. "Mm, that's good. Patience is a virtue."

"Dean," Sam scolded, leaning up between the seats. "Just leave him be."

"He's gonna be living with us, Sam. I'm just trying to get to know our new roommate."

Sam glared. "No, you're trying to irritate him because you can't help yourself."

"Fine. You talk to him." Dean raised a hand in surrender, the other resting on the wheel by his thigh. "Find out what he wants to eat, 'cause he won't tell me, and we're making a pit stop at the next exit."

Sam let out a sigh and turned his head, giving the angel a tight smile. "Uh, so I know you kinda got this human-hate-vibe thing going, and that's cool, but, uh… it would really be helpful to know some basics. Name, likes, dislikes, food allergies… if angels can even have those. I don't know." He leaned back slightly, feeling entirely too close to the piercing, blue eyes staring him down. "It's up to you. But… Dean's right. We're stuck together for the time being, and the harder it is to communicate, the more miserable all of us are gonna be."

Dean whistled lowly, shaking his head. "I knew there was a reason they liked you at Stanford. You woulda made a great lawyer, Sammy."

Sam felt a brief sting at the mention of the life he had lost. "Yeah." He cleared his throat and addressed the angel again, not wanting to head down that path. "So, you probably already figured this out, but I'm Sam, and this is my brother, Dean."

For a long while, there was silence in the vehicle, broken only by the air slipping through the cracked windows and the music Dean had left playing in the background. Dean opened his mouth, no doubt to make some snide comment.

"Castiel."

Dean and Sam both stopped, sharing a brief expression of hesitant success.

"It's nice to meet you, Castiel." Sam kept his appearance and tone as casual as possible, trying to relay a lack of danger. "Wish it were under better circumstances. Wish you didn't want us dead. But still nice to meet you."

Castiel didn't say anything. He stared for a moment and then turned to look out the window with a set jaw and cold eyes, hands balled into fists and tucked against the door.

"Hey, I see an exit." Dean looked at Castiel and arched a brow. "You gonna cause trouble if we take you in with us? If you behave, I might buy you a hot dog or a pretzel or something."

Castiel didn't even glance at him, his voice flat. "I don't require sustenance, hydration, or your hygienic facilities."

It took Sam a split second to realize Castiel was saying he didn't need to take a leak.

"Right. So you're gonna make us take turns going into the gas station. Great." Dean rolled his eyes. "Geeze, you're a pain."

"Dispose of me, then." Castiel said it with a detached sincerity that made Sam's skin crawl.

"Hey." Dean wagged a finger right by the angel's face. "I'm making this up as I go, so don't give me any ideas unless you really want me to act on them."

Castiel tried to bite the offending digit, but Dean pulled it back in time.

Sam let out a sigh and tried to change the subject. "How far are we from the bunker?"

"Like two hours." Dean held up a hand. "I'm telling you right now, once we're home, I'm gonna be passed out for the next three days."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, because you're the only one who didn't sleep for a week, and you're definitely not the one who decided to purchase an angel on a whim."

Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Big brother perks, Sammy. Big brother perks."

Sam rolled his eyes, and a tense silence fell over the car.

It stayed that way until they pulled into a Gas-N-Sip. Dean parked and got out of the car, silently claiming the right to go in first. Sam knew if he asked, he would hear something along the lines of, 'Drivers have dibs.' They had exchanged those words many, many times.

"You sure you don't want something to drink?"

Castiel said nothing, staring out the window.

"Your powers are restrained, right? So, maybe a little snack would be good."

Castiel responded with more nothing.

"You don't have to get out of the car. I can just pick something for you."

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

"Okay. Good talk."

Sam leaned back in his seat and let out a heavy sigh. This is going well.

Dean returned in a matter of minutes with two hot dogs, a pack of Twizzlers, and a Red Bull. Sam rolled his eyes and took his turn, grabbing an apple, a hot dog, a pack of tasteycakes, and a bottle of Gatorade.

"Woah," Sam commented as he approached the car. "Castiel, you look like you're about to pass out."

Castiel glared, but it was hard to be intimidating when he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Dean, help me lay him down on the backseat." Sam put his spoils on the roof of the Impala and tried to open the front passenger door.

Castiel pulled from the other side, glaring.

"Sam, we can't have him behind both of us."

"We'll tie his hands and feet to opposite doors. He won't be able to do anything." Sam gave the door another hard pull, and Castiel's hands came with him.

Castiel growled under his breath. "Get away from me."

"You aren't an angel, Castiel. Not with all those sigils." Sam grabbed his wrists and waited until Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel from behind. "You can't overpower us. You have to know that."

Castiel struggled to figure out who to pull against, but he eventually decided to pull against Dean, which was exactly what Sam wanted because it forced the angel out of the car.

"Yeah, we aren't market hands." Dean smirked. "We're hunters. Little bit different."

Castiel turned and tried to bite him while Sam unfastened the cuffs from one hand, pulling again. It took some effort, but Sam dragged Castiel's upper body out, trying to be careful of the obvious wounds spread over his bloody, battered back. Castiel twisted around the other way, abandoning Dean to try and grab Sam, but by the time he got his foot on the seat to gain leverage, Dean had run around the car to help.

"You see, Cas, hunters don't just wrestle with monsters every now and then when they need to put them down." Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel from the side, keeping him from tackling Sam, and working together, they were able to drag the angel toward the back of the car. "We fight monsters on a regular basis. We're used to physical fights, and we keep ourselves in good shape."

Sam managed to get the loose cuff and wrist in one hand long enough to open the back door. He crawled in backward, pulling Castiel by the wrists until his own back hit the closed door. Castiel growled, trying to bite Sam's forearm, but Dean jerked him back by the hips before he could make contact. Sam once again shifted his hold and opened the door behind him, getting out on the other side. Despite how strong Castiel was, Sam looped the cuffs through the door handle and snapped the empty one on the free wrist, letting out a sigh of relief. "You got his legs?"

Dean, who had pinned Castiel to the seat, moved backward until he was mostly on top of the angel's legs. "Uh, can you—"

"Get off me!"

"—grab the chain from the trunk?" Dean put his entire weight on Castiel's knees and lower legs, leaving only one hand on the angel's hip to keep his upper body at least somewhat under control.

Sam debated for a moment if he should close the door on his side. If he did, Castiel would have more slack, but it was unlikely he would have enough to really hurt Dean, so Sam shut the door and hurried to the trunk. He got the chain and went to the passenger seat, crawling in and reaching into the back. They managed to get the restraint around one ankle, through the door handle, and then around the other ankle before they fastened it with a carabiner.

"Whew." Dean slammed the door with a sigh and walked back to the still open trunk, probably to grab a blanket. "That was way harder than it needed to be."

Sam rolled his eyes, waiting for Dean to get in on the driver's side, and Dean quickly confirmed Sam's suspicions. Sam unfolded the blanket and tucked it around Castiel's body, trying to both provide comfort and conceal the handcuffs, just in case Dean's lead foot got them pulled over.

"There." Sam smiled softly, tucking the last corner. "How's that?"

Castiel looked at Sam like he wanted the hunter to drop dead, chest heaving and teeth bared.

"Yet another enlightening conversation." Sam turned around in his seat and fell back into it with a heavy sigh. "Friendly reminder that this is all your fault."

"Psh." Dean flipped him off and put the car in drive. "You love me."

"Uh-huh. Wake me when we get to the Bunker." Sam tilted his chair back, knowing his seat was above the lower portion of Castiel's body and wouldn't harm him. In fact, it might help keep him concealed and secure. "Castiel?"

Castiel glared at him, still furious, but that was all.

"Let us know if you get too warm under there," Sam said, flashing another smile before he closed his eyes, ready to lose the rest of the trip to sleep. Bought a freaking angel. I'm gonna kill him.

Castiel woke up on a table, thinly padded and mostly metal. His heart started pounding immediately, everything from his nervous system to his outermost layer of skin knowing the feel of a medical chair as easily as it knew air. He fended off panic, knowing his limit for physical pain had not been reached by any hunter yet, and even if these new ones did find a way to reach it, it wouldn't happen for a long time.

He took a deep breath. Figure out where you are, specifically, and determine as much as you can about your captors before they show themselves. He looked around, swallowing a groan at the pain in his neck. They're taking an amateur approach. I might be able to get farther than bef—out. I might be able to get out. He blinked slowly, grateful humanity had yet to discover angelic vision and make a ward for it. He wasn't in a large room, but it wasn't small, either. He was in the center of it, and there were tables, stools, and cabinets dotted around the circumference. It wasn't terribly bright—small blessings—and while he couldn't see what was behind him, he could make out just about everything else, and there wasn't much to note. They should have displayed the implements to instill fear. Naïve.

That triggered a new train of thought, and he looked down at himself. He could feel he was strapped down at the ankles, waist, chest, and wrists, but he couldn't see the restraints—or what was under them—through the plaid blanket from the car. Yet another mistake. It's good to leave a visual reminder of my… limitations.

Concealing the thirteen wards tattooed permanently onto his vessel allowed him to pretend, if only for a moment, that he wasn't as helpless as he was; that he could still hear his brothers and sisters, that he was still as strong as he had ever been, that he could heal injuries quickly, that he could—

That he could fly.

No. Focus on what you do have. Hunters only warded what they knew about, and there were many angelic skills that weren't as obvious as superhuman strength or flight. He could see at fifty feet what a human could see at one, and the absence of light did nothing to impair that. He could make out conversations up to twenty feet away when all participants were whispering, and while the many times his eardrums had been blown decreased the capability, it was still a helpful tool. He could—

"Really? No kidding. It's almost like you should have thought this through." Sam was speaking, if Castiel could trust his memory. "Oh my—just make dinner!" His voice rose to a shout as he opened the door with a box under one arm, still leaning into the hall.

Castiel strained to hear the reply, inclining his head slightly.

"Dinner is made, Sam! I told you it was made, it's been made. Dinner is done!"

"That is not dinner, Dean, that is—that is diabetes on a plate!" Sam grumbled to himself and entered the room fully, cutting his brother off with a door slam. "I swear—"

They locked eyes.

Castiel glared.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't know you—I thought you were still out. You sleep like a dead man." Sam smiled briefly and carried his box over to the counter. "How are you feeling?"

Castiel fixed him with a hard look and offered a flat response. "Dead men do not sleep. They are dead."

Sam smiled again and walked toward the chair, dragging one of the stools along with him. "It just means… never mind." He sat down, waving a hand dismissively. "How are you feeling?"

Castiel glared at him, silently relaying that yes, he had heard Sam the first time, and no, he wasn't going to answer.

Sam wet his lips and nodded. "Cool." He pointed to Castiel's midsection. "We strapped you down because we don't want you running off or doing… a thing… but ideally, this isn't permanent."

"I think it will be." Castiel didn't waver. "You won't be able to keep me here otherwise."

Sam held up a finger. "Aha." He shook said finger. "Yes. Well. See, I don't think that's necessarily true. I did a lot of research while you were out, and there are a lot of limitations on your body right now." He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked at Castiel with something like disappointment. "You also lied about needing food and water. You're dehydrated and somewhat malnourished."

Castiel didn't swallow, not wanting the urge to remove saliva getting confused with nerves, and he continued to stare unblinkingly.

"So, first order of business: water." Sam stood up and pushed the stool aside, going over and grabbing a bottle of water from his box. "It's just water. Nothing in it. We can't even afford the sedatives they use on angels." He twisted off the cap and took a sip, swallowed, and then held his mouth open. "See? It's all good."

Castiel grit his teeth together, turning his head the second Sam stepped toward him. It wasn't about poison; it was about dependency. Castiel did not seek or accept the 'kind' gestures humanity offered him. He couldn't stop them from forcing their way to what they wanted, but he still had his dignity.

"Come on, Castiel. You know you need it." Sam grabbed Castiel's chin and pulled.

Castiel kept resisting, pressing his lips together. If they wanted to get water in him, they would have to do it with an IV, just like everyone else who had tried to tame him.

"Come on, just—let me—Castiel!" Sam let go with a sigh and moved toward the door, opening it up and sticking his head into the hall. "Dean, I need you!"

"Oh, I can't help. I'm too busy making dinner!"

Sam inhaled and exhaled slowly. "Dean!"

Castiel caught his breath while the two argued, preparing to fight against three or four hands instead of one or two. They would get the needle into him eventually, but he would fight it as long as he could, and that was the point. He wouldn't accept the help, and he wouldn't appreciate it when the presence of fluid in his body made him feel better.

Blue eyes followed Sam from the door to the box on the counter, where he pulled out a glass. He emptied the bottle into it and opened a drawer, grabbing a handful of what looked like large, needleless syringes. Castiel growled lowly as he watched the hunter fill them with water, teeth grinding. I can still spit it out.

Dean—the hunter who actually paid to capture him—came around the corner with an annoyed expression. "You know, generally, when people save my life, I try not to be a pain in the crack."

Crack of what? It didn't matter. You should've let them put me down.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "How are we doing this?"

Sam turned away from the counter and walked back over to the chair, putting four filled syringes on Castiel's lap. "You hold his nose and his jaw, and I'll help you get his mouth open and handle the water."

Dean gave a gesture with his thumb in the air and walked around to the other side of the chair, grabbing Castiel's jaw. His hands were rougher than Sam's, both in grip and in texture, and where Sam's fingers were longer, Dean's were marginally shorter and utterly unforgiving.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

Castiel squirmed in the restraints, watching the water carefully, wondering why they wouldn't just use an IV like every captor he had had before. Just stay calm and spit it out.

"Ready." Sam nodded.

Dean pinched Castiel's nose shut, half covering his eyes in the process, and then it was a waiting game. Castiel's lungs started to burn, his vision blurring around the edges, and his body started to struggle without his permission.

Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm.

Castiel was forced to inhale, but he was careful to keep his jaw clenched and suck air through his teeth. Except it didn't matter. Dean and Sam were much stronger than his jaw, and once they got a syringe between his teeth, he was trapped.

"Don't breathe in. On three, okay?" Sam spoke softly, one hand resting on the angel's throat while the other held the syringe. "One… two… three…"

Castiel was rebellious, not stupid, so he took a deep breath and waited until he felt water on the back of his throat to start resisting again. Except it was pointless, because they had apparently anticipated what he would try to do. They didn't let him close his jaw, and Sam didn't put in enough water for Castiel to push it out with his tongue, and as Dean continued to hold Castiel's nose, Sam lightly massaged Castiel's throat.

Castiel gagged at first, desperate to find another way to get it out, but he was running out of air and had to swallow. He swallowed—he swallowed, against his will but fully conscious—and then they were doing it again.

"Easy, easy. Take a breath, and…" Sam pushed the plunger again.

It was another waiting game, another struggle, but soon Castiel was choking down the water and trying to pretend he hadn't been desperately craving the sensation of fluid on his parched throat for the past week. How did they come up with this? Why don't they just use an IV?

"Geeze, man. It's just water," Dean said while Sam emptied the first syringe.

Castiel wanted to glare—he wanted to snarl and hiss and spit—but his eyes were watering from the lack of oxygen, and he couldn't see around Dean's hand, and he didn't understand how they beat him when so many humans before hadn't. He hated that they were making him consciously decide to ingest water.

Sam wedged another syringe between Castiel's teeth before pulling the first one out, and the process repeated, every cycle leaving Castiel a little more tired and a little less capable of resistance. By the third syringe, Sam no longer had to rub Castiel's neck to make the water go down. By the fourth syringe, Dean was less gripping Castiel's jaw and more holding it in place, occasionally rubbing a thumb against the tender skin.

Fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth…

"Well, that's one thing done. I really hope the first aid shipment gets here soon because going through this every time he needs water is going to get old really fast." Sam let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Castiel, are you going to fight us that much with food, too?"

Castiel glanced briefly at Dean when the hunter let go of his face, and he worked his jaw to ease some of the tension. He glared at Sam, dragging a few lungfuls of air down into his chest before spitting out his reply, "Bite me."

Sam looked at Dean disdainfully. "This is why we think through the things, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes and rested his hands on Castiel's neck and forehead. "I think I got it the first four hundred times you told me."

Castiel tried to look at Sam without moving his head, not wanting to draw Dean's attention to the fact that he could, but he wasn't able to make out much. He did see a tube, though, and a plastic container… something brightly colored and…

I can't see anything else. Castiel let his eyes go back up to the ceiling. My head hurts. Most of his body hurt, and fighting Sam and Dean wasn't making it any better. But I can't comply. He had seen too many angels—angels he had once respected and admired—turned into dumb animals.

"I was really hoping if we got you to drink the water, you would realize the smart thing to do is just eat, but… thankfully, we still have a few of these lying around. We don't use them nearly as often as IVs." Sam's tone was almost conversational, like he thought it would be helpful if he created a more amicable atmosphere. "Hold him, Dean."

Castiel jerked his head instinctively, but there was no point. Dean had a firm hold, and Sam wasted no time pushing the end of the tube into Castiel's nose.

"If you cooperated, we could spray the back of your throat with a numbing agent, and it wouldn't be as uncomfortable." Sam winced as he pushed, the tube sliding deeper into the nasal passage. "It's okay. It's almost over."

Castiel hated the burn, however familiar it may have been, and he couldn't help but gag as the tube worked its way down the back of his throat and into his stomach. They aren't mad. Irritated, perhaps, but—

No, he couldn't think about that, he had to focus.

"Is it in?"

Sam nodded and grabbed a piece of tape from the edge of the chair, fastening the tube in place. "If you want to go finish dinner, you can. This is gonna take, like, a half an hour."

Dean let go of Castiel's face and offered a two-fingered salute. "I'll go finish making dinner, and then you can tag me in," he snarked, walking toward the door.

"Yeah, you should go finish making dinner, and then you shouldn't make dinner for several weeks. We should only eat leftovers and ramen, so we can save money, because we need that money to pay for all the medical supplies we're gonna have to get for the angel you decided to buy on a whim." Sam glared at his brother, but there was something non-malicious in his eyes that Castiel couldn't quite figure out.

"Sammy!" Dean whirled around, spreading his arms with a hurt expression on his face. "Please, not in front of the kids."

Castiel glanced around, confused. I do not see any children in this room.

"Holler if you need me," Dean continued, laughing to himself as he walked out the door.

"Yeah, yeah…" Sam sounded only mildly irritated as he made his way back over to the box on the table, pulling more supplies out.

Castiel openly glared. You knew how difficult I would be. Or at least, Sam suspected. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gathered the necessary supplies. He must have been lying when he said he hoped Castiel would cooperate; probably just being condescending, but possibly also trying to create a false sense of safety.

"How did you get captured, Castiel?"

Castiel tensed, watching with cautious eyes as Sam moved around, preparing some kind of formula for the feeding tube. "I fell."

Sam laughed softly. "Well, yeah, all the angels fell. Hell got Lucifer out, you tried to stop them, you lost, and we took care of Lucifer, but not before the angels were thrown out of Heaven. Right?"

Castiel didn't say anything, the mere recounting of all that transpired sending a chill up his spine. Uriel… He could still hear the mildly concerned voice, his brother sensing something was wrong just before everything was destroyed. Ezekiel… Anna… They were screaming, reaching out for help as their wings burned and their grace was torn away. Castiel had tried to reach them—he had tried to reach others, and others had tried to reach him—but they all wound up dead or grounded in the end.

"But it's not like you landed right into slavery. So—"

"Didn't I?" Castiel stared at the ceiling as he spoke, trying to ignore the sensation in his throat and failing. "You're better off asking a wall where its bricks came from."

Sam was silent for a moment, and then he turned away from what he had been doing. He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms over his chest, looking at Castiel with an expression the angel couldn't quite identify. "Castiel." He thought over his words for a moment, lips moving slowly as he continued. "Tell me… if you can, if there is one… of a topic you won't be angry about." He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Because I really don't want to make you angry. I just want to talk."

Castiel snarled, pulling against the strap over his chest despite knowing how futile it was. "I have nothing to say to you. If you want a conversational partner, find one of your alcoholic establishments."

"Is it a distaste for humans in general, or is it specifically the owner thing?" Sam returned to his work, grabbing a bag of food, but he kept himself turned in such a way that he never truly gave Castiel his back. "Because it's not like we tried to make this happen."

Castiel pushed himself back into the chair as Sam approached. "Then why buy me?"

"Because my brother didn't want to see you get put down." Sam replied as if it were the simplest thing in the world, attaching the food to the mechanism that would get it inside his captive. "Not that I did, but he was the one with the wallet, so…"

Castiel sneered slightly, watching in a mixture of disgust and fatigue as the formula started moving through the tube.

"I just don't get why you're fighting stuff you need, like food and water. Is it some kind of fear thing? You think you can't trust us to not hurt you? Or, like, a pride thing? Or you're angry about something in particular?"

Castiel glared daggers and immediately shut down.

"Okay, wrong question. Sorry."

Castiel had nothing to say.

Dean whistled lowly as he pulled Castiel forward, fastening the cuffs to the foot of the exam table and revealing a red and brown, plaid design painted from the angel's shoulders to his hips. Dean had seen it at the market and when they wrestled him in and out of the car, but it was even worse up close. "I guess the phrase 'resistance is futile' means absolutely nothing to you."

Castiel bared his teeth and snarled over his shoulder. "Don't touch me."

Dean ignored the demand and winced on Castiel's behalf. "I take it you were such a pain about first aid they figured they might as well let you fall on your own sword." He slipped on a glove and let the latex snap just to get a reaction; Castiel snorted derisively. "Either that, or they suck so much they let an angel get infections."

Castiel watched Dean's every move, but the hunter ignored him and tentatively prodded the wound that looked the worst. It burst with a little pressure, and Castiel sucked in a breath but gave no reaction otherwise. Dean pressed his lips together, giving it another push. Castiel pulled against the cuffs that kept him bent forward, but it must have caused more pain than it was worth to do that, because the resistance only lasted for a few seconds.

"Geeze, Cas." Dean used a gauze pad to clean away some of the mess. "Okay, here's the plan. I'm gonna open this up on the count of three and do it as quick as I can. It'll really, really hurt, but there's not a lot we can do. We only have so many medical supplies on hand, and we aren't getting restocked for another few days."

Castiel snarled again. "How about you get away from me and leave me alone?"

"Riiight." Dean looked at him with an arched brow and twisted lips. "Like I said, on three. One…" He held one shoulder and lined up his gauze-wielding hand. "Two… three."

Dean pressed and dragged, tearing away scabs, dead skin, and pus all at once. Castiel screamed through clenched teeth, restraining himself as much as he could. Grabbing another piece of gauze, Dean applied pressure yet again, forcing the infection out as Castiel continued to swallow the noises.

"Sorry, man. I know, it sucks." Dean grabbed the saline on his left and squirted it into the gaping wound. "The worst part's over, and I'm pretty sure this is the worst one. All the worstness is done."

Castiel panted heavily, his voice congested. "Worst is a comparative term; the minute you treat this wound, the next wound in line becomes the worst. What you meant to say is, 'the most painful part of the process is over, and your sensation of pain will decrease from this point forward."

Dean smirked, getting some gauze and dabbing around the wound to soak up the excess water. "Did they ever tape your mouth shut?"

Castiel snorted, and for a moment, it looked like it was back to silence, but after a sharp inhale, he replied, "Who are 'they?'"

He's not opening up. He's distracting himself. Not that Dean blamed him, and Dean was happy to engage. "I dunno." He started looking around the edges of the wound, trying to decide if he wanted to try stitches. "Whoever owned you."

"No one owns me. I belong to myself." He grunted, taking another steadying breath. "But several people have paid money to detain me."

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. "Yeah, these are way too old. We can't stitch these." He rubbed his forehead and tried to get back to the conversation. "So, how did you get caught? Was it a demon? You lose a fight? Or come away with injuries you couldn't win another fight with?" He leaned closer, trying to figure out if there was any way to pull the wide gash together and ultimately coming to the conclusion that it had been too long and the site was too prone to infection.

"Something like that." Castiel grit his teeth as Dean started to look at the other collections of infected openings. "You're hunters. I hope you aren't expecting me to smite anyone for you, or you're going to be sorely disappointed."

"Aw, darn. There go all my smiting plans." Dean tilted his head, looking over a three-to-four inch laceration that intersected a one-to-two inch one. "Ready for the next one, or do you need a break?"

Castiel shot a cold stare over his shoulder. "Oh, a break would be much appreciated." It was clear he didn't think his response meant anything one way or the other.

So, Dean shed his glove and threw it out with the dirty gauze. "Cool. We'll wait about five minutes and then do the next one."

Castiel glared, suspicion blazing in his eyes.

Dean's answer was a cheeky grin and a mischievous twinkle in his own.

When Sam returned to the infirmary, he found Castiel slumped over and trembling, bandages taped from his hips to his neck. Dean was cleaning up the last of what looked like a lot of gauze and blood, and as he turned away from the table, Sam saw his expression falter for a moment, nonchalance replaced with sobriety.

"Oh. Hey, Sam."

Sam shook himself, putting a smile on his face. "Hey. I set up his room." He moved closer to the table, looking at the smears of blood and discharge that hadn't been cleaned off the table yet. "Is he okay?"

"We'll see." Dean unstrapped one leg while he spoke, prompting Sam to do the same with the other. "I think I got the worst of it, but stitches weren't an option. Do we have any antibiotics? Or are they in the shipment we're waiting for?"

Castiel didn't resist, and him not fighting the second he was free was a testament to how tired he was. He was barely able to keep his head up, eyes wandering over his surroundings like he wasn't really sure where he was.

"Let's get him to bed. We can talk later." Sam pulled one of Castiel's arms over his shoulders while Dean did the same with the other, and they pulled the angel to his feet.

Well, more accurately worded, they dragged him to his feet.

"Easy," Sam murmured, unsurprised by Castiel's token resistance. "It's okay."

"He's not gonna believe you, man."

"I'm still gonna say it," was the simple reply.

Dean rolled his eyes but said nothing, the two of them pulling Castiel out of the room and into the hall. Sam glanced down, watching the haphazard way Castiel put one foot in front of the other, concern growing. "Do you think it was too much?"

Dean gave him an odd look.

"I mean, is he going into shock or something?"

Castiel tried to pull away from them and, as if on cue, tripped over his feet. They barely kept him from hitting the floor, and even once he was upright again, he was so disoriented Sam started to genuinely think it was more than just fatigue and weakness.

"Geeze, I dunno." Dean hauled Castiel a little higher, trying to get a better grip. "I mean, he's an angel, right?"

"He's a weakened, exhausted angel, covered in sigils and infected to the point where he might have MRSA." Sam opened the door to the guest room, ignoring the dirty look Castiel was giving him. "Maybe one of us should stay with him, just to—"

Sam and Dean both startled, grabbing onto Castiel with more force as he suddenly started struggling with a growled, "Let me go!"

"Woah, woah, calm down!"

Castiel dug his heels in, but the resistance was short-lived. He started panting right away, knees buckling and nearly dropping him to the floor again.

"What was that?" Dean looked between his brother and the angel.

Sam opened his mouth and then stopped, looking at where they were taking him. "Oh." He nodded toward the bed with the restraints. "Maybe he thought…?"

Dean looked at Sam in confusion, but it must have clicked shortly after, because his face twisted up in disgust. "Dude." He looked at Castiel. "We don't even swing that way."

"Let…" Castiel didn't seem to process what they were saying, and if they were right about why he had suddenly resisted, he wasn't about to tell them. "Just get away from me."

"You know we can't do that." Sam made eye contact with Dean, both of them silently agreeing to try moving toward the bed again. "You need to rest. Just lay down and try to get some sleep."

Castiel gave token struggles, but he couldn't do much, and they soon got him to the bed and laid him facedown. Dean got one leg strapped and pressed down on the other as Castiel arched his back, reaching back to claw at Dean. Sam finished strapping the left wrist to the restraint on the bedpost, and then he grabbed onto the arm Castiel was reaching around with.

"Just calm down, Castiel. We're not gonna hurt you," Sam soothed, trying to push the arm toward the opposite side of the bed, but it wasn't a good position. He needed to get to the other side of the bed so he could be pulling instead of pushing from an awkward angle.

"Holy crap, this is ridiculous," Dean grunted, managing to get a strap around the remaining ankle.

"I don't want to hear it. This is your fault." Sam crawled over the bed and muttered an apology, and once he was on the other side, he was able to straighten and restrain the last limb. "Whew." He snatched the pillow out from under the angel's head. "Don't want him getting smothered," he explained, tossing it aside.

Castiel panted heavily, shoulders heaving as he struggled for air, the fight continuing to drain from his body. He tried to glare at them, but his position and lack of coherency made it difficult. Sam and Dean exchanged a look, the latter grabbing a blanket from the floor.

"I'll stay with him for a bit just to make sure he's okay, but he's back to glaring and spitting, so maybe he's not as out of it as we thought." Dean flicked the blanket over the prone form. "You get some sleep, Sammy."

Sam nodded, already moving toward the door. "Okay. Bobby said he's got a job lined up for us. It's gonna be a three-hour drive."

Dean nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Cool." He looked at Castiel. "You gonna behave if we take you with us?"

Castiel pulled his lip up, growling.

"I think that's a no," Sam sighed.

Dean heaved a sigh of his own. "You realize if we leave you here, you're gonna be strapped to a bed all day. Maybe even more than one day. How are you gonna go to the bathroom? What are you gonna eat?"

Castiel kept on glaring, his face twisted into a scowl.

Dean exhaled. "Right. Got it."

Sam pointed to Dean. "Your fault," he reiterated, backing out of the room. "100% your fault."

"Shut up," was Dean's snapped reply.

Sam laughed and left the guest room behind, shaking his head in disbelief. Bought a freaking angel. I really am going to kill him.

Author's Note: If that was to your liking, I hope you stick around to see how it ends! I typically update every other Wednesday, but that doesn't mean I'll always be updating this story. I have almost 50k written for this, so you don't have to worry about me being able to keep up with updates. If you want to know what I'll be updating when, check out my website or my tumblr, where I post weekly updates to let you know what's coming up! You can also check out my socials, Instagram and Facebook to keep up with different projects I'm working on. I always reply to comments (though I tend to do it on weekends), so if you want to ask me a question, I welcome it! Thank you again for reading, and I hope you enjoyed what I've created.