Castiel had been watching them for four hours straight. He had been lurking in the doorway to the library, staring at them, analyzing their every move as they researched their hunt. They knew he was there, and he knew they knew he was there because they had acknowledged him as soon as he leaned against the doorframe. But they didn't try to lure him in.

They tossed ideas back and forth, they looked through books, Sam typed on his computer, Dean sipped his beer, and so on. Occasionally, they would toss a smile to Castiel, and at one point, Dean said the angel was 'so weird.'

Sometime after that four-hour mark had been hit, Castiel retreated into the dimly lit hall, but he didn't leave. He just went where they couldn't see him and waited. For a minute or two, nothing, but then Sam sighed heavily.

"What's the plan?"

"I don't know." Dean sounded equally exasperated. "I don't think he can hurt himself with us keeping such a close eye on him, but this isn't a good situation."

Sam snorted. "What happened to, 'If he were a human killer, he'd be locked up for life?'"

Castiel tensed. They're never going to let me go. But he had already known that.

"I'm not saying I'm about to let him run free, smiting humans left and right. I'm just saying maybe we can make it better somehow." Dean was audibly frustrated, and something hit the tabletop.

Sam joined the noise by drumming his fingers. "Well, you talked about giving him a TV and some books. Maybe that'll help." Silence, and then another sigh. "You have to let him go back to his room sometime."

"I don't even like him being out of sight right now," Dean grumbled.

"He's not gonna hurt himself aga—"

"You don't know that, Sam! We didn't see it coming the first time, so how are we gonna see it coming if he tries again? And it might not be scratches this time. It might be something much worse."

Castiel swallowed, muscles tightening as he fought the sensation in his chest.

"We can still keep an eye on him. He doesn't have to be alone nineteen hours a day just because he's back in his room," Sam suggested, and even though he didn't sound as emotional as Dean, he still sounded upset about the conversation they were having. "We can't just research. We need to start hunting again."

Dean sighed. "I know. Bobby needs us."

"There aren't any weapons in his room, so maybe—"

"We can't leave him, Sam. Not until we know he's okay."

Castiel turned, rushed but silent footsteps leading him down the hall to the common room he had spent the last five days in. He stepped through the archway, folding his arms protectively over his stomach as his breathing picked up. They knew I was listening. That's—that's why they were talking like that. He wet his lips, the lingering soreness in his throat doing nothing to distract him from the racing spirals in his brain. They can't—they're not—

He ran a hand through his hair and gripped the strands, the fingers of the other curling through the red fabric of Sam's hoodie. He sucked in a lungful. Easy. Just breathe. Several seconds ticked by in silence and stillness. They're hunters. They're humans. I know that. They want to hurt me. They want to use me. But what if they didn't? I can't trust them. But what if he could? If I continue to cooperate with them, things are going to end badly. But what if they didn't? What do I do?

He shuffled numbly to the couch, laying down and curling up on his side. He left the blanket tangled at his feet, staring at the earthy color scheme and making note of it because anything more detailed than a color palette was more than his brain could take in at the moment. Michael? Uriel? Anna? He clenched his jaw. Please, I need to know what to do. I'm not—I'm not thinking clearly, and I'm going to make a mistake. They couldn't respond, of course. They were likely dead. We watched them for millennia. Every hundred years, we would have to come down and fix a catastrophic event to save them. How can they be on the verge of self-destruction once every century and not be a vicious animal driven by hatred and bloodlust?

Grabbing his skull, he screwed his eyes shut and fought the urge to scream. I hit the ground, and I hadn't even figured out what was going on before I was attacked. I was stumbling around in the middle of nowhere, and they cornered me, and… Well, he had been pretty hostile, hadn't he? They kept me bound in a cage, drew sigils on me, offered minimal food and water, and when it looked like I was getting stronger, they would beat me. He took a shuddering breath, drawing his knees in so tightly it hurt. I suppose… if I'm honest… I didn't make it easy. I was aggressive and violent. I broke some bones… dislocated a shoulder… dug my teeth into any hands that got close enough…

But he had done those things to protect himself. Because he knew what was coming. His violence didn't cause their reaction; his violence was his own reaction to what he knew they would do. He didn't need to wait until they gave him a reason to attack because he knew the attack was coming.

…right?

Hezekiah complied, and look what happened to him. If I hadn't fought them, they might not have hurt me, but they would have made me into a slave. Blood pounded in his ears, face and neck heating up, and he willed it not to color his cheeks. That's what all humans do. They use you for personal gain, and if you don't give them what they want, they kill you. That's why they fight so much. That's why they plunder and rape and kill. And hunters—hunters embody the same traits but at a higher level.

Right?

Right?

"Hey, Cas."

Startling slightly, Castiel opened his eyes, but all he did was stare at the black television screen. He didn't look over his shoulder, even though he knew Dean had to be standing right behind the couch.

"Whoops. Didn't mean to scare you."

Castiel opened his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, you're never scared. I meant I made you jump. Geeze." Dean sounded so annoyed, like he truly was dealing with his brother as a small child again. "I came to tell you Sam's about to make dinner. Do you like tacos?"

"I don't know what a taco is," Castiel intoned dryly, "which I am certain you already knew."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I just like your weird, funny, awkward responses."

"I think you just like to hear yourself talk."

Laughing again, Dean leaned against the back of the couch. "Seriously though, did you like that, uh… meat and rice stuff I made a couple nights ago?"

"It was enjoyable." Inhale. "You called it beef."

"Yeah, ground beef. So, tacos are like… chips or thin bread, and you put the ground beef on them, and you add whatever toppings you want, and then you shove the whole friggin' thing in your mouth. It's delicious."

Castiel tried to find it in himself to care about what he was going to eat, but with the absolute cacophony in his brain, he couldn't manage it. "Make what you want. Food is food."

"You're as engaging as ever." Dean rolled his eyes; not that Castiel saw it, but he knew. "Don't get into any trouble. Sam's gonna cook, and I'm gonna clean up the library, and we are both going to be checking on you randomly so you have no idea when we're coming for you. Got it?"

Castiel gave a single nod.

"Geeze…"

Footsteps signaled Dean's exit, and Castiel was left to his inner conflict. His stomach twisted, legs aching from their prolonged position of being folded in half and pressed to his sternum with all the force he could muster. He inhaled, and even as shallow as it was, the muscles overlaying his ribcage constricted further, bones creaking under the strain.

What is happening to me?

"Is he okay?" Dean chewed on a Twizzler, green eyes locked on the bookshelf where Castiel had picked out a book to read an hour earlier. "I mean, we know he's not. But…" He narrowed his gaze, taking another bite and chewing slowly. "I don't know. He's on edge."

Sam answered from his seat across the table, fingers pausing on the keyboard. "I know. I almost wonder if it's a side effect of being fallen. If human painkillers work on him, and he needs things like food and water, then maybe he has some human emotions, too. And he's just hitting all the extremes."

"That's an understatement." Dean grabbed another rope from the bag, idly shaking one of the feet connected to the crossed ankles he was resting on the table. "First, he was angry, then he was… I don't know, defeated? Now he's… afraid. He's cautious and tense and…"

Typing again, Sam considered the computer screen with a hum. "I mean, it makes sense as a progression of emotions. He had good reasons to be angry. He was keeping himself safe, and when he realized he couldn't, he gave up, which led to a kind of depression." He tilted his head with a squint, fingers stopping again. "Maybe he thought if he gave up, you know… he would finally see our bad side. Like if he stopped fighting, he would get whatever outcome he's been resisting so hard in the first place."

"Right," Dean concurred. "But we didn't do everything he said we would if we got our way, so… what, crisis now? He doesn't know what to do, so he's going all cornered animal on us?"

"Maybe?" Sam rubbed his face. "I don't know. He's so tense, and he's back to watching our every move, but he isn't arguing like before. That's what's weird to me. He used to watch everything we did and accuse us of evil intentions. Then, after the self-harm, he was barely watching us and saying nothing. Now he's back to watching us, but… he doesn't really say anything about it."

Dean reached for a Twizzler just as Sam did the same, nearly growling when their hands bumped. "Don't you dare."

Sam ignored him and grabbed not one, but two Twizzlers with a smirk.

"You…" Dean grumbled, trailing off before snatching another for himself. "I think he doesn't know what to say anymore. He's trying to come up with new arguments or something." He spun the rope in a circle, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "He was so convinced he was right before, and now we proved him wrong, but he doesn't want to believe us. So… he's building from the ground up? And not knowing what's going on is freaking him out?"

Sam groaned. "I wish we could just talk to him. I wish we could just ask him what he wants from us." Immediately, he threw his hands up and dropped them back down. "What am I saying? He probably doesn't even know what he wants. That's the whole problem."

Dean opened his mouth to concur, but his phone began vibrating in his pocket, calling him to action before the alarm could even sound. "Time to check on him. I'll see if I can figure out where his brain's at while I'm in there." He turned off the annoying chime and pulled his feet from the table so he could stand.

"Good luck," Sam muttered.

Humming, Dean stretched out his back and walked to the exit. I said he's going 'cornered animal' on us, but that's miles from not being a threat. Cornered animals lash out, and if we push him too far, too fast, he'll go for the throat. He shoved the thoughts aside and let himself into Castiel's room, a sarcastic-but-hopefully-in-a-friendly-way smile on his face. "Hey, Cas."

Castiel was sitting up in bed with an open book in his hands, but he had been glaring at the door from the second Dean entered. It was like he could smell Dean coming, and he had been waiting for the moment he could unleash an angry expression on his captor.

"Just checking in." Dean closed the door, walking to the bed but keeping his distance. "Do you need anything?"

Castiel continued to glare.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a great conversational partner?" Dean rolled his eyes and turned to go, figuring if Castiel was awake and reading, he was fine.

"You're contradicting yourself."

Dean gave Castiel an arched brow and a, "Huh?"

"You force me to spend time where you can keep an eye on me, and when you do, I am not restrained in any way. But when you put me in this room, you chain my ankle." Castiel's angry stare slipped into more of a suspicious squint.

Dean frowned. "Uh, not a contradiction?" He faced the bed with his hands on his hips. "When you're out there with us, there's no chance for an ambush because we can see you coming, and we know you can attack us at any time. We're ready for it." He gestured to the foot of the bed. "If we let you free in here, you can hide behind the door and wait for us, and we can't defend ourselves, even if we know what's coming." He narrowed his eyes. "Remember the bathroom? When you kicked me in the balls? For no freaking reason?"

Castiel crinkled his nose. "I had a reason." He looked at his ankle and then at Dean again. "So you still know I'm a threat."

Dean snorted. "Did you think we forgot?"

"You did forget." Castiel shifted, finger sliding against the page in his right hand.

Dean held up his hands. "I can promise you we didn't, but hey, whatever makes you happy."

"Why tell such an obvious lie?" Scowling again, the angel pulled against his chain. "You took me out of this cell, and you watched movies with me, and—"

"That doesn't mean we forgot you were a threat, moron. It just means we thought the risk was worth it. We were more worried about you being okay than we were about you attacking us. It's a, uh… crap, what's it called?" Dean closed his eyes, pushing through the fog. "Oh! Cost-benefit analysis." He was no law student, but he had read a book or two in his day. "We did a cost-benefit analysis."

Castiel shook his head. "That's…" He moved his mouth. "That doesn't make sense. I wasn't in danger. I wasn't going to die or suffer any catastrophic injury if you left me in my cell."

It almost hurt to see how little Castiel understood about his own brain, and Dean wondered if angels ever dealt with stuff like this before they fell. "Being physically okay doesn't mean being okay. It just means you aren't gonna die."

"But the main objective is to not die, so if you're not going to die—"

Dean sighed softly and approached the bed, causing Castiel to turn to stone. Every muscle was tight, and those blue eyes were blazing, but Dean ignored that and sat down as Castiel growled.

"Look, I get you're an angel, and you… don't really…" Dean trailed, struggling tremendously. "You told Sam that… in Heaven, you all agreed and were basically the same, and… individuality wasn't a thing." He lifted his hand, twisting it as he tried to pluck words out of the air. "Humans… feel all kinds of things. We feel them differently, we express them differently, we respond to them differently. It's a hot mess, and I hate it, to be honest. It sucks. But… it's human. And you," he pointed, "are fallen now. You're more human than you've ever been, and you're… feeling this stuff, and some of it can…" He let out another, longer, heavier sigh. "It can do more damage than a physical injury ever could."

Castiel blinked, staring at Dean with a blank expression. No, actually. He was putting on a blank expression, but his eyes were utterly bewildered. He swallowed, blinking again. "But it would not kill me."

Dean fought back a groan. "I get that. But that doesn't mean you're okay."

"But I am a threat," Castiel argued. "You said you did a cost-benefit analysis. You risked bodily harm or death to protect me from something that could cause neither. It is not equivalent."

"It was to me."

Castiel froze for a second and then withdrew, face contorting. "But…" His lips moved, teeth scraping against each other as he scrambled for… something, though Dean didn't know what. "No, you…"

"Take it or leave it." Dean shrugged and slid to his feet. "I'm gonna see if I can find a longer chain. We can give you a little more freedom without letting you ambush us at the door." He slipped one hand into his pocket and went into the hall before stopping to look back. "I'll be back to check on you. Okay?"

Castiel gaped, breathing harder and curling his fingers through the sheets.

Dean gave him a weak smile and shut the door.

"What are you working on?" Castiel regretted it the second he decided to engage, but he had been fighting with himself for an hour, and it seemed the stupid side had won.

If Sam was surprised, he didn't show it, though it did take a second for him to respond. "Email. Keeping up with newsletters and blogs, hoping to catch a case as early as possible. Seeing if Bobby needs anything." Looking at Castiel's end of the couch, he offered a faint smile. "You wanna see?"

"No." Castiel responded instinctively, but he found himself wishing he hadn't, if only because of his curiosity.

"Are you sure?" Sam pressed, wearing a knowing smirk that made Castiel want to refuse on principal.

But he ran his tongue over the inside of his teeth and… "I'll look."

"Cool." Sam turned his computer so Castiel could see. "This is my inbox, so this is where all the mail goes when it comes in."

Castiel inched forward but very much kept his distance. He scanned the screen, and the concept was simple enough. One line for every mail, with details that meant nothing to him listed on each. There were different colors and types of text that probably indicated something, but despite not understanding them, Castiel easily grasped the basic function.

"If I see something I want to look at, like… this one." Sam pointed. "It says 'Bobby' in the sender column." He slid his other finger across an indented square and pressed it, causing the screen to change. "So… it looks like he sent some links and articles about a national forest."

Castiel quickly found himself lost in the explanation, blue eyes flickering across the screen and keys. Everything Sam explained made more sense of the world Castiel had found himself in. He knew humans weren't telepathically connected, so he had wondered how they communicated across long distances and how their phones worked. He wondered how hunters could find out about news if they were in a secret bunker where newspapers couldn't be delivered, and he found it incredibly efficient to create a hive where the same information could be accessed by anyone with 'internet.'

It was fascinating. He wanted to know more.

No.

Castiel retreated back to his side of the couch. "Interesting." He wrapped his arms around himself, staying still for a moment before deciding that looked too vulnerable. He shifted, sneaking an occasional glance in Sam's direction, but the hunter wasn't even watching him. Like he wasn't analyzing and waiting for the right moment to attack. "Dean said you still know I'm a threat. You haven't forgotten."

Sam glanced up, giving him a strange look. "Yeah?"

"So if I escaped, you would hunt me." Castiel scrutinized the taller brother carefully.

"Well, yeah, I'm not gonna let people die because I sympathize with you."

Bristling, Castiel bared his teeth. "I don't need your sympathy."

Sam shrugged. "I didn't say you did. I just said I had it for you." He tilted his head slightly. "Why would it bother you if you did need sympathy? I mean, everyone needs sympathy to some extent."

"I don't need anyone, let alone a human, to feel sorry for me," Castiel growled, teeth bared.

"Sympathy isn't feeling sorry for someone. It's feeling… hurt and sad. You see something, and you wish it hadn't happened or would get better." Sam's lips quirked in a curious but kind smile. "Didn't you ever learn about something bad happening and wish you could stop it or fix it?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes, and they drifted downward as he tried to think. He had been in many fights throughout his life, and there had been times when he saw a sibling get wounded and winced internally. He had only ever seen humans wallow in suffering from one day to the next, and what he felt for them was not a desire to help. It was annoyance—a sensation of being fed up with the way they would put themselves in painful situations and then pray for salvation from them—and it was accompanied by a fleeting thought that the merciful thing to do would be to put the stumbling, drooling neanderthals out of their misery.

"Would you like to?"

Castiel jerked his head up. "What?"

Sam seemed equally surprised, like he wasn't sure what had just come out of his mouth, but after a pause and a swallow, he doubled down. "Would you like to experience sympathy?"

"You can't manufacture an emotion." Castiel continued his suspicious stare.

"No, but…" Sam hesitated again, looking up at the ceiling and moving his mouth in silent words, and then he reestablished eye contact. "If you think you can be around humans without going for the throat, maybe it would be helpful for you to see what it looks like when you're on the other side of the bad situation."

Castiel tensed. They want you to go on a hunt, they want you to go on a hunt, they want you to go on a hunt—which was perfectly and chaotically overlapped with—it's happening, it's happening, it's happening, it's happening—which was eloquently and haphazardly layered over—you knew this was coming, you knew this was coming, you knew this was coming, you knew—

"You don't have to answer right away. You can think about it." Sam shrugged. "I just thought, you know, if you've never sympathized with someone before… maybe you'd like to try. See what it feels like. See if you can feel it all, or if it's just not something that affects you."

Swallowing, Castiel tried to come up with a reply that wouldn't show his hand. He could outright refuse—he should outright refuse, they were trying to lure him into hunting, they wanted to use him, just like he always knew they would—and he was insulted by the implication Sam had made. He wanted to snarl that never seeing a human in a state of pain wasn't the problem; he had seen that before, and it didn't mean anything to him, and he didn't want either brother thinking a few tears or whimpers would change his mind. But…

…if he got outside the bunker, he could get away from them. He could do that, couldn't he? He remembered his first trip to the bunker, and he remembered how they had to stop and change seats or use the bathroom. If he could get them to take him somewhere unrestrained, he could get the upper hand. But if he was too eager after all his resistance, they would be suspicious, and—

"We don't even have a hunt right now." Sam was giving him a cautious, almost concerned look. "And even if we did, you don't have to go on this one. You can go on the next one, or the next one, or not at all."

Castiel shifted in place, trying to come up with an answer as quickly as possible, trying to weigh all the pros and cons in a matter of seconds.

"Hey. Castiel."

Blue eyes narrowed.

"You really can wait to decide." Sam offered a small smile. "You aren't going to die if you don't have the answer right this very second. I know you think we're the engineers of manipulation station, but there is no catastrophic consequence for taking time to think."

Pushing himself against the arm of the couch just a little harder, Castiel remained curled up and critical, watching Sam from a distance and deciding the best thing he could do was say nothing. He just sat there, staring, until Sam got bored and resumed the activities Castiel had interrupted earlier.

What should I do? Can I really convince them to take steps that would create a situation where I can escape? Though… even if I don't escape, I'll be gaining knowledge of how humans interact and survive. That will help me infiltrate their society and start burning through whatever humans I can find once I get out of here. And, of course, I'll kill the brothers. I mean, before I leave, I'll obviously… of course, I'll kill them. I meant to say, 'once I kill the brothers and get out of here.' I just didn't think about it because it's implied.

Castiel looked at Sam, watching the young man invest himself in his work.

I'm going to kill them.

"I don't know, it just came out!"

Dean spread his arms with an incredulous and not at all quiet, "Do you have any idea how bad of an idea this is?"

"He's never going to change if we don't get him out in the real world." Sam said that, but his face said he wasn't fully convinced of his own plan.

"Two weeks ago, he was locked up twenty-four seven so he wouldn't kill us, and now you wanna take him out on the town for a little mix and mingle party?" Dean kept his voice from getting any louder, even though the angel in question was locked in his room. "That's a pretty big jump!"

"Yeah, well, he had a pretty big meltdown, and now he's suck in the middle of a pretty big crisis." Sam spread his hands, his expression silently begging, 'What else was I supposed to do?"

Dean exhaled and ran his hand over his hair, knowing there was a bit of truth to what Sam was saying. "What kind of hunt would we even take him on?"

Wetting his lips, Sam started to think. "I don't know. It would have to be something close in case one of us needs to drag him back here."

"It can't look like a possible angel hunt." Dean paused. "Demon hunt, maybe? Demons are probably the only thing he would hate more than humans, so it's pretty safe to bet he won't team up with one of those to take us down."

"It can't look too serious," Sam added. "We can't be watching him and fighting the biggest and baddest at the same time, so if there's any unusual or concerning activity, it's a no-go. We need a straightforward case that lets us split our attention between him and the job." He snapped his fingers and pointed at his brother. "We could also go for something that can't help him kill us."

Dean was confused for a split second, but then his face lit up. "Like a vengeful spirit. No sentience, just instinct, so it can't plot an evil scheme with him." He thought for another moment and then shook his head. "I don't know, Sammy. This is pretty sudden."

Sam deadpanned. "Not as sudden as shouting, 'I'll take him for five hundred,' in a crowded hunter's market."

"I—well—just—just think about how mad you were when I did that. Right? Because it was stupid." Dean winced at his own words, not having a better argument.

Which, of course, Sam knew, so he just waited it out in unmoved silence.

"We…" Dean rubbed his face. "Fine. We can keep our eyes open for a hunt. We're not going looking for one, and if whatever falls into our lap isn't right, we're not doing this."

"Of course. I'm not stupid, Dean, and I'm not chomping at the bit to make this happen." Sam lifted his arms helplessly. "I don't even know if he's gonna accept the offer in the first place. I just… want to be ready if he does."

Dean snorted. "We're never gonna be ready."

For once, Dean wished Sam would do his favorite thing and argue. But for once, Sam didn't. Which made sense because, really, what argument could be made?

"Alright, time for bed."

"I want to watch another one." Castiel let the words drop flatly, keeping his eyes on the screen as the credits rolled. What are you going to do? Will you grant my request? Or are you going to push back because it's inconvenient?

"Uh… I mean, sure." Dean shrugged and sank back onto the couch. "M*A*S*H* episodes aren't that long, so…" He trailed off, clearly confused and not understanding what Castiel was doing. But he glanced at a dosing Sam, shrugged, and made the credits speed up with the TV wand.

Castiel sat there, watching the episode but not really observing it. He was too wrapped up in the next step. He almost wished the dumb show would go faster. The means were annoying; the ends were what he wanted.

"Okay, now it's time for bed."

"I want to watch another."

Dean slowed halfway through standing, clearly knowing something was up. "It's late. We lost Sam an hour ago, and I'm tired."

Castiel stayed sitting. "I don't care. I want to watch another."

"Too bad, so sad." Dean grabbed the TV wand and made the screen go dark. "Come on."

"So," Castiel finally looked at Dean, lifting a brow, "you're placing your needs over mine."

Dean wasn't amused. "I'm placing my wants over yours. You're not gonna die if you don't get another forty minutes of Hawkeye."

"I thought the ultimate goal of survival wasn't the only thing of importance," Castiel countered.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine. Rephrase. Your week isn't going to be ruined by misery if you don't see the next episode tonight. It might make you annoyed for the next ten minutes, but then you'll get over it. On the other hand, if I don't get enough sleep, all of tomorrow is gonna suck for me. So, yeah, I'm willing to inflict five minutes of annoyance on you to keep from yawning my way through tomorrow."

Castiel stared for a long while, and that was almost a test in and of itself because he wanted to see if Dean would allow him the time and space to think. He ran his tongue over the inside of his teteh, blue staring unwaveringly into green, and then his lips started to move. "You believe the benefit of offering collaboration is more important than what you risk by taking me outside this bunker."

"Uh, well…" Dean tilted his head slightly, rubbing the back of his neck with a conflicted, almost guilty expression. "We can't see the future, you know. We don't know what you're gonna try to do, but… sometimes you gotta take a little risk."

Thirty more seconds of silent examination, and then Castiel slid to his feet. "I'll return to my cell with you. And when you have obtained a hunt, I will accompany."

"Um… yippee? I guess?" Dean shook his head, moving toward the hall. "You overthink stuff way too much, man. You gave me a lobotomy with your eyes just to decide whether you're gonna take Sam's offer?"

Castiel didn't know what a lobotomy was, but he didn't particularly care about Dean's opinion on his so-called overthinking, so he didn't press. He had bigger things to think—and perhaps overthink—about; primarily, what his plan was for the potential hunt. Whatever it was, it would be thorough.

He wouldn't accept anything less.

"Castiel, we're needed on Earth."

Turning his head to the left, he blinked himself into awareness and found his sister standing in the silver hall. "What are they doing this time?"

Anna sighed softly, caught somewhere between disdain and pity. "It seems a group of ruffians—sorry, no, it's Riffian. It's the species name or something, and they attacked a group of Spain humans, and the Spain humans attacked back, and now they're throwing chemicals at each other, and…" She waved her hands and wiggled her fingers, as if dispensing the nonsense into the air. "Regardless, Michael is concerned about the conflict spreading, so we're going to intervene."

"I suppose it is that time of century when they start acting up." Castiel got to his feet, wondering why it was so impossible for humans to make it more than one hundred years without fighting.

"I'll brief you when we get to the surface." Anna opened her mouth to continue, stopped, and then squinted. "Can I ask… what were you doing when I walked up to you?"

Castiel looked at the silver bench beside him. "I was just sitting here, quietly."

Anna smiled. "You're such a peaceful being, Castiel."

"Thank you." Castiel gestured down the hall toward one of the windows they used to look down on Earth. "We should go. If we wait too long, they might go extinct."

Because that's how they are. That's how they all are. Castiel opened his eyes and inhaled deeply, staring at the ceiling for several moments before rolling onto his side. We all saw it. We watched, and we intervened, and they would be fine for a little while, and they would dissolve again. Sam and Dean were just in the 'fine' phase. But I've given them more than enough reasons to reach the dissolving phase.

But he wanted the familiarity of what he had known before the angels fell. He didn't know what it was—a sense of predictability, perhaps?—but he so desperately wished he could go back to knowing instead of guessing and theorizing and flying blind in the spaces between. He couldn't, though, could he?

I can't see it. He lifted his hand, gently pressing the left side of his neck. But I know it's there. He had looked at it in the bathroom mirror as discreetly as possible, always waiting until Dean or Sam would turn away to adjust the temperature of the water or grab a fresh towel from the closet, and then he would lean in and trace the useless lines with his fingertips.

"I said stop! I changed my mind."

Humans were supposed to be illogical, but they were supposed to be illogically violent. They were supposed to hate for stupid reasons—race, religion, age, nationality, politics—but they weren't supposed to be kind for stupid reasons. How could they all be the same species, carrying the same chemicals and organs and genetic traits, and yet end up on completely different ends of a spectrum? From risking their life to kill as many people as they could, to risking their life to save that many more.

He had no reason to stop the tattooing. He knew his brother would be mad, he knew it wouldn't change my mind, and he knew it would leave me better equipped to kill him. He wet his lips, throat tightening, and he hated the uncertainty of it all.

"…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."

But it wasn't pleasant. Maybe it didn't hurt, but he hadn't enjoyed the pricking of the needle or the faintness that came over him after the fact when he refused to consume the food and drink they told him to. But maybe they were lying. Maybe humans don't donate their blood. Or maybe—maybe they obtain the blood by force. Some kind of law or rule intended to keep them from extinction.

"It's a hoodie from when I was in college." Castiel had no idea what college was, but it was clearly some kind of link to Sam's past; a link he had no reason to mention. "Back before… I mean, I took a break from hunting, and I…" He told Castiel about choices from his past that held no relevance or significance. Like he just wanted to talk and share information about himself for the purpose of… what? "I don't even know why I still have it. It's stupid. But, uh, but it's really comfortable. Softest hoodie I've ever owned." And it was. It had been very soft, and it had brought Castiel comfort, and he didn't understand why.

Why did Sam care how comfortable Castiel was? Castiel had made the decision to scratch himself up, and he had been the one to get himself all bloody. Why not let Castiel face the consequences? Why grab the softest thing he could think of and extend it to someone who didn't like him, wouldn't thank him, and had gotten themselves into the situation all by themselves?

But they hate each other! They rape and steal and kill and—and if there isn't punishment, if they slip into anarchy, they do it even more. Because the only thing keeping them from evil acts is an inbred need to survive. They don't want to be locked up, or in pain, or dead, so they obey.

But if that were true—if the only reason they didn't do bad things was to protect themselves—then why, in the name of all things holy, would they repeatedly do good things knowing it would put them at risk?

Rolling onto his stomach, Castiel folded his arms on the mattress and buried his face in them. For three seconds, the only sound was the clinking of the chain connected to his ankle, but in the seconds that followed, it was joined by heavy breathing and the heartbeat throbbing in his ears. Tell me what to do. I just want to know what to do. He screwed his eyes shut even tighter. Anna, you always explained things so well. Uriel would tell a joke, and everyone would get it but me, and you would take my hand and just… help me get it. I want to understand this. I want to know what's going on and what I'm supposed to do.

He gripped his upper arms, nails digging into his skin and reminding him of the last time he had called on a sibling for help. He had wound up on the floor, then on a couch, then… wherever he was now. It was how he got here in the first place.

If I'm careful—if I remain analytic and logical and suspicious—would it be so terrible? I can study humans of all kinds while maintaining distance and control, and if I study them, I can figure out the discrepancies. I can understand why they do what they do, and I can figure out how to gain the upper hand. I just have to be careful.

He took a shuddering breath.

I have to be very, very careful.

Author's Note: Hahahahahahahahahahaha, wait until Castiel finds out we fight so, so many more wars than one every hundred years. Ahahahaha. Oh, Castiel, you naive little sweetie baby.
Also, if you want to see my brother's doodle of Sma and Dearn, which happened while he was trying to make fanart for Chapter 6, check out my tumblr. I will post the actual fanart eventually, but it's not quite ready yet, and I ain't about to rush him.
Thanks for reading, guys! Your support is always appreciated!