Castiel took a shuddering breath, keeping it shallow to prevent his torso from expanding and pulling on the many, many wounds patterned across his back. He craned his neck around, trying to see the cell he was in—trying to see if there was anything that could aid his escape—but it was no different than it had been when he woke up two hours earlier.

It was simple, with a four-poster bed, a small nightstand, and a chest of drawers. He couldn't see the floor from where he was, but he vaguely remembered something cold and hard under his bare feet when they dragged him in. It was pitch black in the chamber, which made sense given the lack of windows, but with Castiel's angelic sight, it wasn't a problem.

They said they were going to be gone for a while. Assuming that hadn't been a lie, and Castiel assumed everything humans said was a lie. It doesn't matter if they're here or not. I have to get out. He pulled on the straps keeping his wrists tied to each of the upper bedposts, the exertion tearing at his injuries and tender muscles. I should be able to rip fabric, but even though it feels like cloth, it's stronger somehow. He took a breath and pulled again. Some kind of thick, woven… It was as the shorter one had said: hunters knew things regular humans didn't. They could have enchanted the restraints in some way. But there must be a way to weaken them. Everything has a—

Castiel jolted when he heard the lock slide out of place, twisting his head around and waiting for the door to move with sharp eyes.

"…case he got free and is about to kill me," Dean was saying as he pushed the door in. "Yeah, thanks, Sam. I know you can't get here in time to save me, but at least you'll know I'm dead and that you've got an angel to hunt down." Light flooded the cell, forcing Castiel's eyes to quickly adjust, and Dean let out a sigh of relief. "Okay, we're all good. Talk to you later, Sammy." He snapped his phone shut and shoved it in his pocket, walking over to the bed.

Castiel tried to pull back, but the restraints combined with the pain kept him from getting very far. "Stay away from me!"

"Easy, easy." Dean held out his hands in a non-threatening gesture. "I'm just checking your wounds." He got closer, slowly reaching out and lowering the blanket. "Don't freak out."

Gritting his teeth, Castiel pulled against the straps again, but all it did was send sharp flares through fibers of muscle and patches of skin.

"Well, it doesn't look soaked through. It still needs to be changed every day or every other day, but…" Dean moved down Castiel's body, pressing the tape and gauze like he was trying to figure something out, "…it hasn't even been twelve hours, and everything's looking pretty good. How's the pain level?"

Castiel glared, breathing heavily, and tried to intimidate the hunter into leaving him alone.

"Hmm… I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." Dean laughed, happily rubbing the situation in Castiel's face, and then went back out into the hall, leaving the door open.

Practically salivating at the sight of an open door, Castiel started to resist again, alternating between his legs and arms. He took a deep breath, tugged, and exhaled shakily. Then he did it again, and again, and again, but he couldn't get himself free.

"Here we go." Dean came back into the cell with a small kit in his hand. "Let's get you taken care of." He knelt at the bedside and pulled some antiseptic out of the bag, quickly cleaning a spot on the angel's arm.

What is he doing to me? Castiel knew he was about to be injected with something, but he didn't know what. He had been detained by humans before who said they were giving him something for pain, and then they gave him some kind of horrific poison that made him experience a shift from reality he still didn't fully understand. I can't do that again.

"Easy, easy..."

Castiel tried to roll away as Dean approached, twisting himself as far out of the hunter's reach as he possibly could. "If you touch me, I swear, I will tear off your—"

"Hey, it's okay." Dean slowly reached out his free hand. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I told you to stay away from me!"

But Dean didn't. He took Castiel's arm and punctured the upper muscles with the syringe, pushing the clear fluid into the… skin, veins, muscle… Castiel didn't know how it worked. He just knew the liquids humans used had intense power, and he knew he didn't like them. Just breathe. It can't be worse than anything you've had so far. It will pass. All things pass. He steadied himself, keeping his breathing level.

"There we go." Withdrawing the needle, Dean placed the syringe on the bedside table and pulled out a rectangle, peeling off the back and sticking it on Castiel's arm. "Just give it a few minutes."

Castiel glared, confused by the sticker but more concerned with the drug now inside him. "What did you give me?"

"Just a painkiller. I honestly forget what it's called—you'd have to ask Sam—but it works fast. It's that stuff they give you at the hospital when they don't want you to suffer while they do all their tests to see what's wrong." Dean shrugged, sliding from a kneeling position to a more comfortable, sitting position on the floor. "I'll stay until it kicks in. If it doesn't help, we might have to try something a little stronger. You are an angel, after all."

You just want to see how it affects me. Castiel twisted his right wrist, the coarse material scraping against his skin, but moving and rotating his arm didn't do anything to tell him what had been pushed into it.

"You really think we used the kind of restraints you can just twist your way out of?" Chuckling, Dean leaned back and braced his arms against the floor. "In the car you told me you would kill me. Not might, not thinking about it. You said you would kill me. Why?"

Castiel masked his confusion with anger. "Because I want you dead."

Dean laughed. "No, I mean—" He shook his head. "I mean, why me? I've never done anything to you. I helped you, actually; saved you. I get that you probably have some hard feelings for the people who captured you and sold you and stuff, but…" he gestured vaguely, "…out there, in the world, the vast majority of humans… what did they ever do to you?"

"You're depraved. You're evil." Castiel glanced away for a fraction of a second, wondering why it didn't hurt as much to breathe anymore. "Michael warned us about you. Warned us to stay away. If it weren't for Lucifer—"

"You mean the Lucifer we put back in the Cage?" Dean arched a brow. "Because, y'know, we're so evil we decided to save the entire freaking planet, no matter what it cost us?"

Baring his teeth, Castiel pushed against the mattress to get closer to the enemy. "I haven't encountered a single human since the fall that has proven Michael wrong. Not one."

Dean shrugged. "Guess we'll have to be your outliers."

"You're not helping me. You're trying to use me. You want my blood and my grace. You want to use me to make your lives easier, and if it weren't for that, you never would have stopped the workers from putting me down. You never—" Castiel looked down at himself in disturbed confusion. "What is happening to me?"

"Does that mean you're not feeling pain anymore?"

Castiel took a deep breath, letting his lungs expand, but there wasn't any sensation of pain across his back. But he wasn't numb. It just didn't hurt. That wasn't possible. You couldn't just turn off one kind of sensation. Bodies didn't work that way. He knew they didn't.

"It's a painkiller, dude. It kills pain." Dean stood up and leaned over Castiel, pulling the blanket up to his neck before turning and grabbing the kit from the floor. "But now that I know it's working, I've got research to do. Because research is all I can do. Because a certain someone insisted I stay here with you instead of joining him on the hunt." He wore a mildly annoyed look, but he must have seen the confusion and wariness. "It just takes away pain, Cas. Nothing else is happening."

But something else had to be happening. Dean wouldn't have given it to him otherwise. "Tell me what you did to me!" Castiel demanded, baring his teeth and getting in Dean's face as much as he could.

Dean looked at him for a long time, and then something both angry and sad crossed his face. "I'm just helping you, Cas. That's all." He stared for another moment, and then he turned. "I'll be back to check on you. Honestly, I'm still trying to figure out how to let you use the bathroom without putting my life on the line. Hopefully I'll have a plan by the time I come back in here." And with a sarcastic smirk, he walked out, closing the door and locking it behind him.

Castiel stared, trying to breathe evenly, trying to figure out what was coming. He noticed Dean left the lights on, and he thought maybe the hunter had a camera set up to watch the effects of the drug he had administered. Whatever it is, it will pass. Just stay calm. Exhaling, he tried to let the anxiety rush out of him, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was easier to do that when he wasn't in pain. But he knew the hunter was up to something, and he wasn't going to let his guard down.

Whatever it is, it will pass.

"C'mon, man. You're obviously hungry. It's been almost four days."

Sam sighed, walking down the hall with his duffle bag hanging from his hand. He had just gotten back from the hunt, and when he didn't find Dean lounging in the common room, he knew he had to be with Castiel.

"Stop trying to grab my throat and just eat already."

Placing his bag by the partially open door, Sam poked his head in and quickly evaluated the scene. Dean was standing by the bed, one knee on the mattress and one foot on the floor, holding a bowl of something out of Castiel's reach with one hand while the other fought off the angel he had partially released, probably to facilitate eating.

"You are the most—" Dean grabbed the hand clawing at his face and jerked it away, "—impossible idiot I've ever met, and that's saying something, because I raised Sam."

Glaring half-heartedly, Sam walked over and reached past Dean, grabbing Castiel's arm to help. "Come on—"

Dean startled and swore loudly, barely managing to not drop the bowl.

"—Castiel." Sam continued as if he hadn't just scared the crap out of his brother. "You need to eat, and if you don't, we're just going to take you back to the infirmary, put a tube down your throat, and give you the nutrients you need whether you like it or not." He met the angry gaze unwaveringly, but he could feel those bright blue eyes starting to burn him. "Just eat something, okay? It'll taste better, it'll be less uncomfortable, it'll—"

"I'm not eating anything you give me." Castiel pulled on his arm, but Sam had the advantage of two hands. "There is nothing you can do to make me submit to your authority."

Sam blew his bangs out of his eyes, realizing the statement about submitting meant proving the food wasn't poisoned would be completely pointless. He opened his mouth to suggest they move to the infirmary, but a bag of fluids hanging from the bedpost caught his eye. He followed the line to Castiel's still restrained arm and realized they must have received the medical supplies while he was gone. And if they could hang saline on the bed…

Sam looked at Dean, ignoring the glare. "Maybe we don't need to drag him all over." He released Castiel's arm and jumped back before the angel could grab him. "Just wait here a second."

"Sure." Dean put the bowl of whatever he had been intending to feed Castiel on the nightstand a little harder than necessary. "You gonna tell me when you come back in the room? Or are you just gonna yank the rug out from under me again?"

"I haven't decided yet." Sam smirked as he strode past Dean, leaving the room and going to the infirmary to get the supplies. Only getting occasional, liquified food through a tube can't be good. He was already malnourished when we got him. Sam continued to think as he traveled the halls, expression shifting as he tried to come up with a solution. He's hydrated, at least, and his wounds should be healing, even if it's at a human pace.

"It's not submitting to our authority; it's just coexisting, man," Dean was saying as Sam walked back into the room. "We're not trying to get you to do anything but survive. What's more independent than looking out for your own best interests?"

Sam wasn't hopeful Dean could get through, so it wasn't a huge disappointment when the response was a scoff. Sam announced his presence with an, "I got the stuff," to prevent a second heart attack, but Dean just sighed and continued to stare at Castiel.

They worked together to get the angel against the headboard, his wrists bound tightly to the bedposts, and Sam suggested they not bother with the ankles because they would both be there to keep an eye on things. Castiel, however, quickly took that option off the table by proving he would break their ribs with well-aimed kicks if they didn't tie him down.

Once he was in position, Sam muttered an apology and worked the tube into his nose, wondering if they should let Castiel fall on his own sword. They were probably traumatizing him more by forcing things on him, even if he needed those things, and if he really wanted to starve in the name of rebellion, well… maybe they should just let him.

But Sam didn't voice those thoughts, responding to the burning glares with small smiles and making casual conversation with Dean while the food traveled through the tube. They talked about the hunt—it had been a skinwalker, so it was an easy fix—and they talked about their plans moving forward. Lucifer was gone, after all. They had stopped the apocalypse, and the original reason Sam got back into hunting had been handled long ago. They had avenged Jess and Mary, and they couldn't do anything for their dad. But could Sam go back to his old life? He would never set foot in Stanford again; too many memories and feelings he didn't want to deal with. Honestly, with his Most Wanted status, there was a chance he wouldn't be able to start any kind of new life. Maybe that was just the fate of a Winchester. Maybe Sam just had to accept it.

Dean didn't catch the suddenly somber mood, and he continued the conversation by suggesting things they could hunt. Sam acquiesced, and they talked about possible targets and supernatural trends on a larger scale regular hunters might not be able to handle. Dean addressed the bucket by the bed, which he had apparently resorted to when he couldn't get Castiel to the bathroom. Sam couldn't imagine it had been a comfortable experience, but again, it was kind of Castiel's fault he was in this situation. They discussed the need to get more liquid food if Castiel was going to be difficult, and Sam told Dean he had called the market to see if there were any kind of angelic antibiotics for sale, but no one knew of anything like that existing.

"I think that's enough." Sam flashed another smile he knew Castiel would glare at. "Just try to relax. It's not fun having something come up your throat, but… well, you know the drill."

Castiel did exactly as Sam expected and bared his teeth.

"Awesome."

They got the tube out, and Dean gestured to the first aid kit on the floor. "I kept up with the bandages on his back and limbs, but I couldn't get to his stomach and chest, so stay here or at least stay close to help me flip him back over once I'm done."

"Okay." Sam looked over at their seething captive and then back at Dean, using his eyes to remind his brother for the hundredth time whose fault this mess was. "Do you need me to help with the bandages?"

Dean gave him a look. "I learned first aid before you learned to use a toilet."

Sam smirked and walked around the bed, putting one knee on the mattress and grabbing the edge of the medical tape because even if Dean snarked, it would go faster if Sam helped.

"Get away from me," Castiel growled, muscles tightening under a pattern of scars, open wounds, and intricately designed sigils. "I don't want your disgusting hands on me."

"He's not getting better." Dean ignored the threats in favor of assessing the injuries. "We gotta give him something. I guess we'll try human antibiotics." He spread his hands, looking across the bed at Sam. "How are we gonna get them into him? He won't take pills."

"Yeah, and it's not like we can take him to a hospital. He might get free and start killing people." Sam considered their options, trying not to get distracted by his curiosity about the sigils he didn't immediately recognize. "We can get pills into him."

Castiel snorted. "You're welcome to try."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, you haven't beaten us a single time since we bought you."

"I've beaten you in more ways than you realize," was the dark response.

For a second, Sam was worried, wondering if Castiel had set some kind of plan in motion they didn't know about. But that was impossible. Castiel had been completely restrained or under their supervision the entire time he was in the bunker. What could he have done?

"Why don't you just let me die?"

"Because," Dean muttered, cleaning the gashes with careful but not quite gentle movements, "we're hunters. We don't let people die. We save them."

Growling, Castiel tried to lift himself off the bed, twisting so hard Sam was afraid he would dislocate something. "Hunters are supposed to kill things like me. You just want to use me."

"Dude." Dean straightened up and spread his hands, wearing a look that said he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "They were about to strap you down and kill you. I didn't want to see you die like that. What part of that do you not understand?"

Castiel tried to bend his right leg, fighting the strap on his ankle. "You're human. You don't even care about each other, and you expect me to believe you would care about an enemy?"

"We fought a civil war in this country to keep people from being enslaved," was Dean's immediate and unwavering answer. "Do you think that was because everyone who opposed slavery saw black people as equals? No. It was because there are some things you just don't do, even when you see the victim as lower than yourself. That's why men who think women are inferior can still oppose domestic violence and rape. It's why some Nazi soldiers broke down when they saw what was being done in the concentration camps, even though they had been actively fighting to oppress the Jews." He put his hands on his chest, and despite being clearly aggravated, his voice was level. "I don't have to see you correctly or clearly or anything. I don't have to think you're anything more than a monster to acknowledge there are things humans aren't supposed to do to you. Because we aren't supposed to do them to anyone. Period." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna go get some pills to grind up and put in a drink, and maybe while I do that, you can start pushing those words I just said into your thick, stupid skull. Moron."

Sam bit his lip and tried not to smile when Dean turned and left behind the room and an angel wearing both confusion and anger on his face. "You don't have to like us or trust us to let us help you," Sam tried, taking a less confrontational approach. "If you have to swallow your pride, it's not the end of the world. Just do what's best for you."

"That's what I am doing." Castiel responded with less bite than usual, and he was clearly running on empty, struggling to fight the hunters when his own body was fighting him with twice the strength. "I know what you're trying to do."

Sam was frustrated, but he was more saddened because he knew where the response came from. "Castiel… we don't want to hurt you, okay?" He made deliberate eye contact, soft hazel staring into a wild, vibrant blue. "You need help, and we want to help you. And I know it's hard. If I needed help, I seriously doubt I would accept it from a vampire or shtriga. And Dean?" He rolled his eyes and breathed out an incredulous laugh. "Well, it wouldn't be pretty. So I get it. I promise, I do. But we're not going to hurt you."

Castiel glared, clearly not believing a word, but it looked like he didn't have a response on hand. Thankfully, Dean returned with the medication before the angel could find the words to continue the argument.

"Let's get some medicine in this idiot."

Sam laughed softly.

"Do you feel that?"

Castiel looked over at his brother, but before he could ask what Uriel meant, he felt something in his chest. "Yes. It's like a… pull or…" He pressed a hand to his breast, the intense pressure in his core slowly increasing. "I think something's wrong."

Uriel walked to the window, for lack of a better word, that they used to look at the general state of Earth and the immediate space around it. "Do you see those lights?"

"Yes." Castiel stopped, but even though he didn't have the words to explain what he was seeing, he knew it wasn't good. Balls of white light hurtling toward Earth, and they were coming from every direction; not just the place Castiel and Uriel were standing. "We have to tell Michael."

"Broth—"

Castiel hit the ground and immediately pushed himself up, trying to figure out what had happened. All he could see was the shattered window, and he instinctively knew Uriel had been torn through it. And whatever had done that was now trying to do the same to Castiel.

"Michael!" Castiel scrambled to his feet and bolted for the doorway, not trusting his wings to take him where he wanted. Dress shoes pounded into the chrome floors, white lights burning overhead as he navigated the twisting, turning corridors. "Michael!"

He couldn't breathe. That strain on his essence was getting stronger, and the pressure was permeating his entire body. His wings were burning, sending spires of pain through his spirit. Swaying, he fell against the wall, trying to catch his breath before giving up and pushing himself in a desperate, incoherent run.

"Cas. Hey, Cas."

He hit his knees, clenching his jaw and sucking air between his teeth. He tried to crawl, but his body rolled into the wall on his right, some invisible force keeping him pressed to the surface. His ribs creaked, heart hammering against his sternum, and he tried to choke out another, "Michael!"

"Cas, you gotta wake up."

He clawed at the floor but was suddenly thrust through the material that had seemed so solid before, the white and silver of Heaven's interior exploding into the vastness of space, speckled with stars and, he realized with horror, other angels being thrown down to Earth.

"Cas!"

Gasping, Castiel jerked, a warm and yellowish light replacing the void. He was on his stomach, two hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him from behind him. He was disoriented and in pain, but he remembered where he was. He was with the hunters.

"Hey, welcome back." Dean sounded relieved, but even though he had gotten what he wanted, he didn't let go. "Just breathe for a second." He slid a hand to the back of Castiel's head, but he didn't push the angel's face into the mattress. "You're okay. Just breathe."

Castiel didn't need a human to tell him to breathe, but he was in no state to comment. He started inhaling and exhaling as steadily as he could, which was a struggle. It was as if he could still feel his grace being ripped out of him.

"Easy." Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, one hand still holding Castiel's shoulder while the other started to trail through the short, dark brown hair. "Sammy always liked when I would play with his hair. Calmed him down and put him right to sleep."

Jerking his head away, Castiel tried to hold onto his anger, but it was hard when he could hear the echoes of his shrieking brothers and sisters burning up in the atmosphere. Dean didn't comment on Castiel's attempt to get away—strange, given how Dean seemed incapable of not making comments—and he simply placed his hand in the messy hair again. "It's okay. It's in the past."

"How—" Heat rushed to his cheeks when Castiel heard how fragile his voice was. "How do you know it was in the past?" He swallowed.

"You were saying, 'Michael' over and over. You mentioned him before. He's the head honcho, right?" Dean paused, though it wasn't clear if he expected an answer. "I figured you weren't having a nightmare about Michael in the future."

Castiel averted his eyes and tugged on his wrist even though he knew it was pointless. He had tried breaking the bonds numerous times, and it never worked. Besides, even if he freed his hand, what could he do with one of the hunters sitting there?

"I was just coming to give you your meds." Dean ran his fingers through Castiel's hair one more time, and then he grabbed a glass of what appeared to be water. "Do you think, maybe, because it's the middle of the night and you love me so much, you could just take them?"

Castiel wanted to refuse, but he knew he couldn't win, and he did need what they were offering. It was just once, right? He wouldn't wind up like some of his siblings had if he cooperated this one time. Blue eyes wandered up to Dean's face, and after a moment of staring, Castiel jerked his head in an imperceptible nod.

"Awesome." Dean moved closer with the water. "It's not the easiest to drink something on your stomach, but there's no way I'm letting you up, so…"

Saying nothing, Castiel waited until Dean maneuvered the cup close enough, and then he put his lips to the edge. He refused to make eye contact while the hunter tipped the glass, and with every swallow he felt himself rejecting his own logic a little more.

"There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Dean was back to making comments. "It's probably got an off taste, but with the state your back is in…" He shrugged and stood up. "Try to get some sleep. That'll help you heal, too." He walked to the door, and after giving Castiel a smarmy smile, he flicked off the light and disappeared into the hall.

Castiel stared at nothing in the dark—dark he could still see quite clearly in—feeling a bitter taste on his tongue both literally and metaphorically. He sniffed, pressing his face into the sheets and trying to erase thoughts of Heaven from his mind. Even the good ones had undertones of grief so strong he didn't want to think about them. He screwed his eyes shut.

I'm never going home. He had known for months. Even if he could somehow get back to the physical place—which he wasn't even sure existed anymore—it would be missing everything that made it home. Mentally, there were things that could never be erased. Endless millennia of staring through those windows at the planet below, only intervening once every hundred years or so, and suddenly, Castiel had a violently intimate knowledge of the human race. It was like losing his innocence, and there was no going back, so he was never going home.

Castiel took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Being cut off from home didn't mean he had to give up. He could find a way to punish the demons that freed Lucifer and caused this mess in the first place. He could destroy every hunter's market in the country. He could kill Sam and Dean with prejudice to punish them for trying to get inside his head.

He just had to get free long enough to do it.

"We are not bathing you. Okay? We're not." Dean lifted his hands a little higher, as if pushing away the very idea. "Sam and me are gonna untie you, and we're gonna drag you to the bathroom, and we're gonna lock you in there. You get a whole hour to wash up, okay?"

Castiel bared his teeth, growling.

"Right." Dean walked around the bed and looked at Sam. "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Sam drawled.

Rolling his eyes, Dean grabbed Castiel's right ankle while Sam grabbed the left one, making quick work of the straps. Castiel twisted, trying to kick Dean with the leg Sam had released, but the older hunter jumped back in time, and then Sam was grabbing Castiel around the middle and pinning him down. That didn't stop Castiel from kicking, of course, but he could only get his legs so high, and soon the brothers moved up to his body.

"Freaking…" Dean muttered under his breath, clutching the right wrist and elbow. "We should just let you get filthy. Why should we care if you're covered in whatever is oozing from your cuts? Not our problem."

"You honestly think I'll believe you're taking me out of this cell for a bath?"

Grunting, Sam did his part with his designated arm and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket, working with Dean to get them fastened in front. "Why else would we get you up when you make it so difficult?"

Castiel didn't respond, trying to bite Sam's shoulder but failing. They dragged him across the mattress and out of the room, his bare feet digging into the floor, and a few paces down the hall, Castiel managed to throw his weight enough to knock Dean to the side.

"Oh, for—" Dean hit the wall, but he just held on tighter and continued treating the angel like an unruly pit bull he was dragging to the vet. "You probably guessed this—" he sighed when Castiel tried to grab his green t-shirt, "—but we took out everything dangerous. It's gonna be you and some toilets, sinks, and showers."

Sam took the lead as they dragged Castiel through the open door. He made eye contact with Dean, they nodded, and then they threw Castiel forward as hard as they could, not even waiting to see if he kept his balance before they bolted out and slammed the door.

"Whew." Dean shoved the deadbolt into place—the deadbolt they specifically installed for Castiel—and slouched against the doorframe. "That was way harder than it needed to be."

Sam tilted his head and feigned innocence. "Um, sorry, whose fau—"

"I swear, if you say this is my fault one more time, I will—"

"Oh, that's right! It's your fault. Because you saw an angel fighting five market hands at once and decided, 'Oh, yeah, me and my brother can totally handle this!'"

Dean knew Sam was joking—or at least half joking—but he wasn't in the mood, and his anger bled into his response. "Well, then, why don't you go behind my back and finish what they started?"

"I…" Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know I didn't want to see them kill him any more than you did, but… we are in so far over our heads."

"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes. "I know."

They stood in the hall for a moment, completely silent, and Dean wished he knew what to say; how to handle the situation they were in—the situation he had put them in.

"Let's go eat." Sam nudged Dean on the arm. "Maybe he'll be tamer in an hour."

Dean snorted. "Maybe." But he started walking nonetheless.

They went to the kitchen, and once they were sitting with their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, they struck up a conversation. Sam talked about a hunt he was looking into, and Dean talked about the inventory he did on their stash of weapons. They talked about wanting to make a trip to Sioux Falls and spend a little quality time with Bobby. They talked about chores piling up, the Impala's impending oil change, and their next trip to the grocery store.

And then it was time.

"Okay." Dean took a deep breath, looking at the bathroom door. "He's probably just inside, lying in wait, so how are we doing this?"

Sam rubbed the back of his head. "Well, if he is right inside, we should open the door as little as possible. Maybe one of us should slide in and try to lure him away from the door, and then the other can come in and get him from behind."

"Sounds fun." Dean held out his hand and his fist. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Sure." Sam imitated the position, and they played the five-second game, with Dean throwing scissors and Sam throwing rock. "Dean, Dean, Dean. Are you ever gonna learn?"

"Shut up." Dean slid the deadbolt and took another breath before pushing the door in. He peered through the crack but didn't see anything, so he shouldered his way inside and looked at the alcove to the right. Castiel wasn't there, and in the split second it took to process that and turn his head, he was being tackled. "Ow!"

Castiel grabbed Dean by the throat, straddling his hips and gripping his neck with a strength that had to be angelic. Dean grappled with the pale, shackled wrists, and the only reason he wasn't panicking was because Sam was there. He dug his fingers in and twisted as hard as he could while simultaneously trying to roll them over so he could get the upper hand.

"Get off me!"

Sam put Castiel in a chokehold and pulled backward until the angel had to choose between going for Dean's neck and protecting his own. He chose the latter.

"Let—" Castiel choked, clawing at his throat as Sam dragged him off.

Dean jumped up, and in the nanosecond before Castiel's foot made solid contact with his crotch, he realized something. Swearing as loudly and explicitly as he could, he staggered backward and clutched the site of the pain, but he knew he couldn't let Sam fight alone. "You didn't even shower!" He rushed forward and grabbed the inside of Castiel's thigh when he went for another kick. "We gave you a whole freaking hour in here, and you spent the whole time lurking!" He screwed his eyes shut, knees buckling as he tried to stay on his feet, but again, abandoning Sam was a death sentence.

"Dean, are you—"

"Get him in the shower." Dean hissed another expletive, digging his fingers into Castiel's leg while the other hand clutched his own groin. He helped Sam drag the angel into the closest stall, and it was an immense relief when they put Castiel on his back and Dean didn't have to be standing anymore.

"Get off of me!" Castiel kicked his free leg, but Dean pushed it aside.

Dean put his weight on Castiel's legs, looking at Sam. "We gotta get the bandages off."

Sam kept one arm around Castiel's throat and tore at the bandages he could reach. "Can you get his lower back? I—" His hand shot out to grab the chain between the cuffs as Castiel tried to reach for Dean. "Oh, no, you don't."

Dean pulled at the tape and gauze, glancing down and deciding they had plenty of boxers and didn't need to save Castiel's. He peeled off the last piece of tape and then struggled to get his pocketknife while fighting, but soon enough, Castiel was naked.

"You got the water?" Sam looked at the knob on the wall, slightly out of breath.

"Actually," Dean grunted, still throbbing, "how about I hold Cas so I can stay in one place and not move, and you take care of the cleaning part?"

Sam nodded, and with some finagling, they managed to switch places. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel to keep him pinned, leaving Castiel no options other than kicking and throwing his head around. Sam turned on the water, which was freezing at first but steadily warmed, and then the brothers made eye contact and shrugged.

"Let me go! Let me go right now!"

"Just calm down for a second!"

Sam soaped up a rag and cleaned Castiel's legs, struggling not to get kicked in the process, and when Dean had a chance to look at the writhing mass in his arms, he could see the effects of going too long without a bath. It was hard to see in some places—like the heavily bruised knees—but the skin was red and irritated at every crease, and in some places, it looked like there might have been small blisters. Thankfully, it didn't look like any open sores had formed yet, but regardless, they had made the right move.

"Get off me!"

"We're trying to help you, moron!"

Castiel threw his head back and struck Dean's shoulder for the millionth time, and as Sam ran the rag over his stomach and sides, he started trying to hit Sam with his knees. Sam ignored the attempts, only occasionally reaching back and shoving the legs away, and then they were faced with the next dilemma.

"How are we gonna clean his head?" Dean looked at the showerhead and then at the floor. "Let's put him on his back, and I'll get on top. You wash his hair and neck, and then we'll… figure something out for his back and arms."

Sam nodded and grabbed Castiel's shoulders, murmuring half sentences as they tried to figure out how to get Dean out in front. It took some finagling, but Dean managed to straddle Castiel's hips despite the pain and pin his elbows to the cement. Sam grabbed the shampoo while Castiel let out an angry, pained shout and drove his knee into Dean's back.

"Hey, this is your fault." For once, it was Dean saying that. "I know it probably hurts to be on your back, but you literally could have done this yourself."

"I told you—" turning his head, Castiel tried to shout without getting water in his mouth, "—to get off me!" He twisted. "I don't want your help! I don't need your help! I want you to—" he threw his head again, like he was trying to shake the water off, "—to stay away from me!"

Dean scoffed, watching Sam work the shampoo through Castiel's hair. "So, what, we're just supposed to let you rot in your own filth? You do know you can die from infections like that, right?"

Castiel didn't respond with words, choosing instead to continue screaming and thrashing. Dean rolled his eyes, wondering what that even meant, but some brief eye contact with Sam told him to stop arguing and let the angel say what he wanted. Except Castiel didn't say anything, he just screamed again, and then again, growing steadily more disjointed as his chest started… almost stuttering. Before, it had been heaving as he struggled to catch his breath—which made sense; Dean's was doing the same thing—but it was getting more fractured, jerking and spasming at odd intervals.

"Castiel?" Sam had washed out most of the soap but still had his fingers buried in the dark hair. "Castiel?" He watched Castiel for a moment and then looked up suddenly. "Crap. Dean, get off him."

Dean would have questioned the move, but Castiel's ever increasing and ever incoherent screams were freaking him out. He pushed himself up, removing his weight but keeping a hold on the slick arms. Castiel tried to roll onto his side, bound hands clawing the air as he panted. He pulled against Dean to grab his own face, and right around the time Sam turned the water off, he started speaking Enochian. Or at least, that's what Dean assumed it was.

"Get a towel." Dean took a step to the side, pulling Castiel from the center of the shower. "Hurry. I think it's the water. We gotta get the water off his face."

Sam ran a few feet to the bench against the wall and grabbed a towel, hurrying back and patting down Castiel's face quickly but gently.

"Hey." Dean saw Castiel's eyes open, but he was still throwing his head around, and it was clear he wasn't seeing what was in front of him. "Hey, listen to me. Nothing is on your face." Dean cupped the back of Castiel's head to keep it from smacking against the concrete. "Cas, can you hear me? There's nothing on your face, okay?"

Spitting a stream of Enochian that could have been either threats or pleas, Castiel continued to gasp for air and look around with panicked, unseeing eyes. He kept curling his fingers through the air, desperately trying to scratch his face.

"Castiel." Dean gave the angel a shake, barely noticing when Sam started to towel down the rest of the body. "Hey." He leaned a little closer, speaking as clearly as he could. "You are fine. You are safe. Listen to me."

Castiel's response was to start gagging.

"Look out, Sammy." Dean switched his hands around, pulling on a slick arm and winding his own around Castiel's shoulders to get him upright. "Deep breath."

Castiel gagged again, bound hands pressed against his stomach, and then the liquid food they had given him earlier that morning came spewing out of his mouth.

"Easy, easy…" Dean would have rubbed Castiel's back, but with the myriad of open wounds, it would do more harm than good. "Get it all out. Go on."

Sam wrapped the towel around Castiel's hips, probably trying to cover him up a bit or maybe provide the same sense of security that came with a blanket. Castiel retched a few more times and then stopped, wheezing loudly as he started to look around again.

"You got him?" Dean asked, the adrenaline already fading and allowing the guilt to rush in.

"Yeah." Sam took Castiel's left arm and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean nodded, and they cautiously pulled Castiel to his feet. He struggled to keep his balance, and it only took a few steps for Dean to swear and move his hand. "Sorry, Cas, but you can't walk like this." Leaning down, Dean snaked an arm under the bruised knees and scooped the angel up with a grunt.

"I got the doors," Sam offered.

Dean accepted the help and carried Castiel back to his room, placing him on the bed but not tying him down. He just put the angel on his side, afraid he might vomit again, and maintained a steel grip on his upper arm. Occasionally, Dean pushed the sopping hair back while Sam rushed around, wrestling boxers and sweatpants on to Castiel and diligently covering the worst of the wounds with tape and gauze.

"You're okay." Dean combed the hair again. "We're not gonna hurt you. We won't do that again. Just keep breathing."

Castiel trembled, eyes fixed and glazed over. He wasn't trying to look around anymore. It was like he wasn't even in his body.

"Just get some sleep," Dean murmured as Sam covered Castiel with a warm blanket. "Close your eyes. You'll feel better when you wake up."

Castiel didn't react at first, still frozen, but then his eyelids started to flutter.

"There we go." Dean watched Sam move in his peripherals, putting the chain between the cuffs into the restraint that had previously held Castiel's wrist. "You're okay, Cas. Just sleep."

Sam tugged the strap, and when he was satisfied it would hold, he sat on the nightstand and stared ahead in silence. Dean kept his attention on Castiel, and after a few moments, the rebellious eyes fully closed. Castiel whispered something in Enochian, pulled on his wrists, mumbled another handful of words, and then went still. Neither Winchester spoke, and there was no clock ticking or central air to break up the earth-shattering silence.

"Maybe I should've let them put him down." Dean's voice was hollow.

Sam sighed. "Don't—"

"We're making it worse, Sam."

"We had no way of knowing water on his face would set him off. What were we supposed to do? Let him get bedsores to add to the fact his body is trying to decay while he's still in it? We don't even know if the medicine we have is helping him. We can't afford to let him get worse."

Shaking his head, Dean stared at the sleeping face, still hearing the desperate screams. "No wonder he wants nothing to do with us. We have no idea what humans have done to him. I would hate us, too."

Sam was quiet. "Let's just let him rest and see how he is when he wakes up."

"Mmhmm." Dean slid his hand out from under the blankets where it had been wrapped around Castiel's arm. He adjusted the blanket, stared for another three seconds, and then started for the door.

"Dean, we can't leave him alone," Sam tried. "He's only half bound, and we have no idea what he's going to do now that we triggered… whatever we triggered."

Dean didn't care. "You stay with him. I'm going to clean the bathroom." He was gone before Sam could protest further.