Fic: Scar Tissue (Supernatural, Castiel/Dean)
Title: Scar Tissue
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Anna Milton
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warning: Slavery, collars
Summary: Dean struggles with the strain of his secret work and has a surprising conversation with Sam. Castiel reveals more secrets and Anna is very helpful.
Author Note: Part Three in the Canyons And Collars series. Yes, I have finally finished this series which literally began years ago. My last piece of Supernatural fic is done. Hurrah :)
Sam looked at them differently now. Castiel could sense the change. Sam was analyzing, like he was seeing something new and trying to make sense of it. It was pleasing. There was a wall no longer there. It made Dean relax as well, even if he did not realize why.
There were more slaves pouring through the Winchester household. They were traded to houses and businesses, mostly good. Castiel saw how such activity made Dean tense, especially when he returned from jobs covered in somebody else's blood. Those were the nights that Dean was tortured by memories.
Castiel saw his eyes, wild and pained. He held Dean's wrists to keep him still. He whispered words in Latin and Enochian, the sacred language that his father had taught him. Chants and prayers with soothing rhythms. It seemed to help.
Dean never asked, but Castiel never left his side during those times. He thanked his father for equipping him, for allowing him to be found, for giving him this gift. When Dean fell asleep, Cas kissed his temple and followed.
*
As soon as Dean kicked in the door, he knew that this was going to be a really bad one. Huddled in the corner was a group of healthy-looking young girls. They all looked scared out of their minds and they all wore collars. Anger fought hard to make its way up Dean's throat.
His dad surged in beside him. John Winchester's expression closed up.
“Hey, there,” he called softly to the girls. “You want to get out of here?”
It was probably the first choice that they'd faced in forever. Dean watched, gun ready but pointed down, as several of the girls trickled towards them. Others stayed back, whispering urgently.
“Where are we going?” asked one with a red ribbon braided in her hair. “Does Len want to see us again?”
Dean grimaced; Len was the son of a bitch who ran this meat factory. He was away on a very delicate trade, and the worst of his security had been taken care of thanks to Ash. A rival trader, who specialized in kiddie slaves, was almost guaranteed the blame.
“Len'd be mad as hell if he knew, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice pitched low.
The girl stayed close, a determined look on her face. A fighter. She might make it past thirteen. Dean's dad had three-quarters of the girls gathered around him at the door. One, older than the rest with a hardness to her expression, stood up. They'd started her training, Dean could tell by her body language.
“What about the boys?”
Dean glanced at his dad. “Boys?”
“Behind the house,” the girl clarified, a green plastic bracelet rattling round her wrist. “That’s where we hear them.”
Kept separate from the girls, of course. Dean clenched his teeth, trying to keep his cursing low. His dad jerked his head at Dean. Right.
It didn't take long to get the boys out front. There were two trucks waiting, painted up to look like Len's rival's vehicles. Dean pulled himself up into the driver's cab, gun on his lap. The headlamps were dimmed and the kids told to keep quiet, or sleep if they could under all the blankets piled up back there. It was going to be a long drive.
Dean could feel sweat drying at the back of his neck. Dad had twisted the radio dial and Metallica was blaring as loudly as was safe. Jobs involving kids were always the worst, because there was no waiting; it had to be all or nothing. Sometimes, it was the latter.
Dean felt cold. He couldn't sleep.
*
Castiel held his hand in public. It sold the whole 'personal slave' cover and Dean's reputation. It was an extremely bad idea. Because Cas wasn’t just another slave working in the Winchester house; he was as compelling as the day Dean had seen him at the auction and now Dean knew him. Dean knew that he liked Cindy’s chocolate cake with the cream filling, that he was as geeky as Sam about books, that his kicks hurt like hell even in training, that he hogged the blankets, and that he murmured in a weird language as he slept. He wore Dean’s collar.
Cas wasn’t his. He couldn't be. If Dean forgot that for too long, he was going to screw everything up for Cas.
“All done.” Karen handed the list back and accepted Dean's card. “How's your Mom?”
“Still singing in the mornings.” Dean flashed a charming smile easily, like an inside joke.
Karen laughed, finishing up the transaction. “The delivery'll be done by Friday. Oh, and Dan said he'll keep the table clear for you tonight. He wants another shot.”
“Wouldn't miss it.”
Dean handed the paperwork to Cas without a glance. Karen winked at him with laughing suggestive eyes, Dean leered back at her. They’d hooked up a couple of times, back before she’d gotten married. He’d hooked up with her now-husband back then too. Dean gestured for Castiel to follow him out. Castiel was silent and pliable. The Winchesters could easily get groceries delivered to the house, but being seen in public was important for maintaining the family’s facade. Cas was part of that.
The day was hot and dusty with a hell of a strong wind, meaning that Dean's eyes stung like a bitch. A beer in the Roadhouse would taste great right about now, but his dad wanted that paperwork and extra hands for deliveries and Dean couldn't be late. Castiel frowned at him.
“Dean? Is all well?”
Dean huffed out a laugh. No one could construct a sentence like Cas. He squeezed Cas's hand. He'd lie and Cas would frown, seeing that Dean wasn’t being truthful. But he'd keep quiet because Dean didn’t want to talk about it. And that needled Dean, because Cas was still following orders, being the good slave he’d been shaped to be. But sometimes, he was a friend too, silent and warm understanding filling his eyes. He was something that Dean didn’t have too many of.
Dean needed him to be the former in public, but more and more, he selfishly wanted him to be the latter. He continually fought against his need for Cas to be whoever it was that curled up with Dean as he slept, who held his hand without being asked, and who made Dean's body fire up and want to go several sweaty rounds behind closed doors. Because that would send things all to hell. So Dean held his hand, gritted his teeth, and looked straight ahead. The mission, the life Cas was going to have, that was what mattered. Nothing else could.
*
Another of Cas's secrets was revealed when they got out of the Impala. The wind started up again, throwing dust in their eyes and tugging at their clothes. Cas's loose shirt rose up unexpectedly at the back and for a moment, Dean suddenly caught sight of thick white scars. His brain futzed, like a record stopping. Cas had scars, back-covering scars? That hadn’t been in his paperwork. Of course, a distinguishing mark like that would make it easy for his family to find him and Cas was an excellent forger. And as none of Cas’s previous owners had priors, that meant……
“Dean?”
Cas was looking at him questioningly. Dean swallowed with some effort. Because that wasn't right. He'd seen whip marks on twelve year olds, burns on every part of the human body, bullet holes riddling flesh, but on Cas…….
Cas had said that being caught by his family after he'd run away had hurt, he'd said that the same thing had happened to Anna. But this?
There were no words that Dean could grasp hold of to express how fucked up this was without shouting himself hoarse and then Cas would probably think it was his fault and that there was nothing wrong with being treated that way and there was no way they were doing this out in the street.
Inside, Cas immediately got drawn into a discussion with Dean's parents about his urgent paperwork duties - there were release forms needed for Miranda and Ria and next week’s shipping forgery was extra complex with seals and signatures and other stuff that Dean couldn’t think about right now. So he flipped open his cellphone as he escaped to the backyard with a beer, and hit speed dial. He was not gonna wait for answers.
“Hello, Dean.” Anna's warm and happy voice poured into his ear.
“Cas’s got scars, Anna.”
There was a short silence and then a sound like feathers rustling before Anna’s voice came through again breathless and quiet.
“He showed you?”
“No.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes, suddenly feeling like more of a seedy voyeur than usual. “Totally inadvertent. He doesn’t know I’ve seen them.”
“And you want to know where he got them,” Anna surmised quietly. “Dean, if he’ll tell anybody, it’ll be you.”
Dean leaned against the back wall, bottle neck loose in his hand. “It was your family, right? None of his previous owners have priors.”
Anna sighed and Dean figured she was probably nodding. “It’s part of the punishment for leaving, for making that choice.”
“Wait, does that mean you……?”
“I don’t feel any pain now. They’ve healed.”
Fury rocketed through Dean. His mind flickered through thousands of images of scarred slaves. Fucking sick. That wasn’t family, not at all. He was going to track them down and...
“Dean, it’s done now.” Anna was gentle and calming, like she knew exactly what Dean was thinking. He hated when she did that. “You can’t take them away. They’re part of us.”
Dean shook his head. Anna saw things differently, she always had. He figured that maybe it was something to do with how she’d been brought up and also something special going on exclusively inside her head. She and Cas were very different from each other and eerily similar. It was a little freaky.
“He will tell you.” Anna was confident. “He cares, Dean, a lot.”
Dean did not want to think about that. He grimaced round his beer.
Anna knew exactly when it was right to change the subject. “We might get services running next month; start my Father's work again.”
“Eat, drink, and be merry?”
“Among other things.”
“Not much that can beat out chocolate cake.” Dean smirked at a memory and figured from Anna’s laugh that she was thinking about the same thing.
Her voice was something bright and sure that Dean wanted to grab onto. “You need to have more faith.”
Anna hung up without a goodbye, like always. Dean drained the rest of his beer. It was going to rain tonight; it was in the air already. Inside, Cas was working, intent over his papers. His collar gleamed dully in the dimming light.
*
Dean waited until they were in bed, Cas beginning to wrap himself around Dean, before he slid a hand under Cas’s shirt. He was deliberately crossing his self-imposed lines because this? This he had to know. Cas stilled, watching and waiting as Dean’s fingers moved across his back, tracing the pattern he found there. It didn’t feel random.
Dean laid his hand flat against the raised skin. “I’m sorry, Cas.”
“Why? It was not your fault.”
Dean choked out a sort of laugh. Cas looked puzzled and almost distressed at Dean’s reaction. Dean stroked his skin.
“Shouldn’t have happened though. Family doesn’t do that.”
Cas leaned into his touch, sparking something inside Dean. Something territorial. Disgust at himself shut that down fast.
“I know that now,” replied Cas. “I have learned that, here.”
Dean’s mouth curled into something of a smile. Cas looked at him, way too much understanding in his eyes mixed in with something impossible. There was the family resemblance to Anna right there. Of course Dean recognized that in bed.
“You don’t know that, Cas. God, how can you even know?”
“I am more than capable of seeing the difference between then and now.” Cas didn’t blink, his expression earnest. “This is my choice.”
Dean swallowed. Cas slid closer, his leg resting between Dean’s. His touch was careful and almost reverent. He pressed his lips to Dean’s jaw. It was a gentle touch. Dean closed his eyes.
“Have faith, Dean.”
Dean shivered. Cas didn’t move any closer. Instead he turned the nearby light on low.
“Cas?”
Cas looked at Dean for a moment, then abruptly turned around and pulled his shirt off over his head in one decisive movement. His back was exposed. The exposed skin was covered in raised white scarring - the pattern that Dean had placed his hand against. In the low light, Dean could see that he'd been right - it wasn't random. It was a brand. Only, it was way too big for that.
“Cas, are those.....?”
“My family’s emblem, to remind us of where we belong.”
Cas's words didn't waver. Dean sucked in a breath. If Cas's back had been a damn canvas, then what was on it would have been a masterpiece - a stunningly detailed pair of beautiful wings. They were burned onto Cas's skin.
“It was not all done at once,” Cas continued quietly. “Each feather was done by hand.”
“Goddamn,” Dean swore, hands in fists and anger pulsing through him.
“The smell was the worst part.”
There was a pause, because what the hell could Dean say to that? Then Castiel turned off the light as suddenly as he’d turned it on and curled up against Dean. He hadn’t tugged his shirt back on.
Dean lay there frozen. Cas had just shared something that he’d clearly been hiding forever to keep himself safe. He’d shared it with Dean.
He’d been trusting and sure, fucking blowing Dean’s world apart. Dean didn’t get to sleep for a long time after that.
*
“He’s worried about you.”
“I can take care of myself. Dean knows this.”
“You’re learning, Cas, and he wants to help you. I think it’s sweet.”
A beat of silence.
“He has told you?”
“He didn’t have to. He thinks by not saying anything he’s keeping a secret.”
“He does not believe me.”
“Dean doesn’t believe anything good can happen to him. He deserves you.”
Another pause, not uncomfortable, stretched.
“You're in my thoughts, sister.”
“You too.”
“Be well.”
“Be well.”
They both hung up. Maybe one of them smiled.
*
Sam handed Dean a beer. “You look like you need it.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Visiting Jess’s grave was never a fun time. In fact, Dean hated it, but he did it because Sammy shouldn’t go alone. Sam hadn’t cried this time, but Dean’d seen his shoulders shake maybe once. Sam had left potted flowers, Jess’s favorites that’d keep on growing. Dean had awkwardly handed him a candle to light. He’d gotten the idea when Cas had talked about how his family had marked the passing of souls. It explained the flickering flames that Anna always had going in her church.
Dean had liked Jess. He hadn’t known her well, but she'd been smoking hot, had teased Sam, and had baked the best cookies. She’d loved Dean’s brother, that was all he needed to know.
God, he hoped to hell that this wasn’t going to turn into one of those conversations. Sam may not have verbalized his hate for Cas and Dean’s arrangement lately, but the disapproval wasn’t exactly hard to miss either. Sam sat down opposite him. The silence felt amplified.
“Cas’s something else, isn’t he?” Sam said suddenly.
Dean grimaced, that pleasure/pain thing searing through him again, guilt and something other. “That’s one way to put it.”
Sam nodded, drinking his own beer. This was going to turn into one of those weird talks where Sam took a really long roundabout way to try and get Dean to talk about something that he really didn’t want to talk about. Dean could feel it coming a mile off. He missed the days when Sam punished him with the silent treatment.
“Look, Sam, if you’re going to…”
“Dean, I need to say this, okay?” Sam gave a shaky smile. Huh, he was nervous. That was new. “Why do you think Castiel stays here?”
“What?”
“Cas, why do you think he stays here? Why doesn’t he go and stay with his sister now that he knows where she is? Or try and find his other brothers who got out?”
Dean rubbed at his forehead. This was taking a turn he wasn't prepared for. He drank more beer. “I don’t know, Sammy. He’s here, doing good work.”
“Yeah, good work,” Sam’s voice got real quiet and rebellious right then and Dean glared, starting to tense up when Sam pulled a bitchface, but wisely moved on. “Look, I’ve talked to a lot of slaves, hundreds actually. I’ve studied their behavior, all the different ways they react to the before and after.”
He waited, like Dean could fill in the blanks. It was all hanging there in the shadows, but Dean pushed it back and shook his head, giving Sam a warning look. Weariness felt like it was dragging him down.
“Sammy…..”
“He stayed because he thinks he can make a difference here, I know. But he also stayed because of you, Dean,” Sam blurted out, turning faintly pink. “You need to hear that, even though I know you don’t want to.”
Dean closed his eyes. The beer was still cold in his hands. Something was choking his breath and it wasn’t a collar. His life was a fucking joke.
Here was Sammy, after seeing his dead girl's grave, actually talking without yelling, not getting righteous. Interfering like a little brother. Dean smirked into his beer, feeling a sudden brief stroke of stupidly-relieving and nostalgic normal. Just for a moment.
“Bitch.”
There was a snort of laughter. “Jerk.”
*
The heavens were beautiful. Cas gazed up. He placed a hand on the Impala’s hood beneath him. He and the car had come to an agreement about Dean. It was satisfying for both of them. Dean was determined to teach Cas her inner workings, to show him how she ran. Castiel wanted to learn. He wanted Dean to see…
Castiel sighed. There was so much that he wanted Dean to see.
“You would love Dean,” he murmured softly. “He lacks faith, in himself mostly. It is highly irritating.”
Anna agreed. She was a source of strength and many interesting and helpful conversations. Castiel felt a rush of gratitude and warmth. Finding one of his sisters, one of the lost, was a miracle. Perhaps Gabriel would be as agreeable to locate as well.
“Dean is......extraordinary,” he said at last. “And he does not know it. He sees only the past and the pain. He doesn't see.....”
Castiel raised a hand to his collar. The item which Dean hated so much, that linked them together, signaling belonging even if it was a lie. Belonging.
Castiel opened his eyes. He didn’t stop praying.
-the end
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Anna Milton
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warning: Slavery, collars
Summary: Dean struggles with the strain of his secret work and has a surprising conversation with Sam. Castiel reveals more secrets and Anna is very helpful.
Author Note: Part Three in the Canyons And Collars series. Yes, I have finally finished this series which literally began years ago. My last piece of Supernatural fic is done. Hurrah :)
Sam looked at them differently now. Castiel could sense the change. Sam was analyzing, like he was seeing something new and trying to make sense of it. It was pleasing. There was a wall no longer there. It made Dean relax as well, even if he did not realize why.
There were more slaves pouring through the Winchester household. They were traded to houses and businesses, mostly good. Castiel saw how such activity made Dean tense, especially when he returned from jobs covered in somebody else's blood. Those were the nights that Dean was tortured by memories.
Castiel saw his eyes, wild and pained. He held Dean's wrists to keep him still. He whispered words in Latin and Enochian, the sacred language that his father had taught him. Chants and prayers with soothing rhythms. It seemed to help.
Dean never asked, but Castiel never left his side during those times. He thanked his father for equipping him, for allowing him to be found, for giving him this gift. When Dean fell asleep, Cas kissed his temple and followed.
*
As soon as Dean kicked in the door, he knew that this was going to be a really bad one. Huddled in the corner was a group of healthy-looking young girls. They all looked scared out of their minds and they all wore collars. Anger fought hard to make its way up Dean's throat.
His dad surged in beside him. John Winchester's expression closed up.
“Hey, there,” he called softly to the girls. “You want to get out of here?”
It was probably the first choice that they'd faced in forever. Dean watched, gun ready but pointed down, as several of the girls trickled towards them. Others stayed back, whispering urgently.
“Where are we going?” asked one with a red ribbon braided in her hair. “Does Len want to see us again?”
Dean grimaced; Len was the son of a bitch who ran this meat factory. He was away on a very delicate trade, and the worst of his security had been taken care of thanks to Ash. A rival trader, who specialized in kiddie slaves, was almost guaranteed the blame.
“Len'd be mad as hell if he knew, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice pitched low.
The girl stayed close, a determined look on her face. A fighter. She might make it past thirteen. Dean's dad had three-quarters of the girls gathered around him at the door. One, older than the rest with a hardness to her expression, stood up. They'd started her training, Dean could tell by her body language.
“What about the boys?”
Dean glanced at his dad. “Boys?”
“Behind the house,” the girl clarified, a green plastic bracelet rattling round her wrist. “That’s where we hear them.”
Kept separate from the girls, of course. Dean clenched his teeth, trying to keep his cursing low. His dad jerked his head at Dean. Right.
It didn't take long to get the boys out front. There were two trucks waiting, painted up to look like Len's rival's vehicles. Dean pulled himself up into the driver's cab, gun on his lap. The headlamps were dimmed and the kids told to keep quiet, or sleep if they could under all the blankets piled up back there. It was going to be a long drive.
Dean could feel sweat drying at the back of his neck. Dad had twisted the radio dial and Metallica was blaring as loudly as was safe. Jobs involving kids were always the worst, because there was no waiting; it had to be all or nothing. Sometimes, it was the latter.
Dean felt cold. He couldn't sleep.
*
Castiel held his hand in public. It sold the whole 'personal slave' cover and Dean's reputation. It was an extremely bad idea. Because Cas wasn’t just another slave working in the Winchester house; he was as compelling as the day Dean had seen him at the auction and now Dean knew him. Dean knew that he liked Cindy’s chocolate cake with the cream filling, that he was as geeky as Sam about books, that his kicks hurt like hell even in training, that he hogged the blankets, and that he murmured in a weird language as he slept. He wore Dean’s collar.
Cas wasn’t his. He couldn't be. If Dean forgot that for too long, he was going to screw everything up for Cas.
“All done.” Karen handed the list back and accepted Dean's card. “How's your Mom?”
“Still singing in the mornings.” Dean flashed a charming smile easily, like an inside joke.
Karen laughed, finishing up the transaction. “The delivery'll be done by Friday. Oh, and Dan said he'll keep the table clear for you tonight. He wants another shot.”
“Wouldn't miss it.”
Dean handed the paperwork to Cas without a glance. Karen winked at him with laughing suggestive eyes, Dean leered back at her. They’d hooked up a couple of times, back before she’d gotten married. He’d hooked up with her now-husband back then too. Dean gestured for Castiel to follow him out. Castiel was silent and pliable. The Winchesters could easily get groceries delivered to the house, but being seen in public was important for maintaining the family’s facade. Cas was part of that.
The day was hot and dusty with a hell of a strong wind, meaning that Dean's eyes stung like a bitch. A beer in the Roadhouse would taste great right about now, but his dad wanted that paperwork and extra hands for deliveries and Dean couldn't be late. Castiel frowned at him.
“Dean? Is all well?”
Dean huffed out a laugh. No one could construct a sentence like Cas. He squeezed Cas's hand. He'd lie and Cas would frown, seeing that Dean wasn’t being truthful. But he'd keep quiet because Dean didn’t want to talk about it. And that needled Dean, because Cas was still following orders, being the good slave he’d been shaped to be. But sometimes, he was a friend too, silent and warm understanding filling his eyes. He was something that Dean didn’t have too many of.
Dean needed him to be the former in public, but more and more, he selfishly wanted him to be the latter. He continually fought against his need for Cas to be whoever it was that curled up with Dean as he slept, who held his hand without being asked, and who made Dean's body fire up and want to go several sweaty rounds behind closed doors. Because that would send things all to hell. So Dean held his hand, gritted his teeth, and looked straight ahead. The mission, the life Cas was going to have, that was what mattered. Nothing else could.
*
Another of Cas's secrets was revealed when they got out of the Impala. The wind started up again, throwing dust in their eyes and tugging at their clothes. Cas's loose shirt rose up unexpectedly at the back and for a moment, Dean suddenly caught sight of thick white scars. His brain futzed, like a record stopping. Cas had scars, back-covering scars? That hadn’t been in his paperwork. Of course, a distinguishing mark like that would make it easy for his family to find him and Cas was an excellent forger. And as none of Cas’s previous owners had priors, that meant……
“Dean?”
Cas was looking at him questioningly. Dean swallowed with some effort. Because that wasn't right. He'd seen whip marks on twelve year olds, burns on every part of the human body, bullet holes riddling flesh, but on Cas…….
Cas had said that being caught by his family after he'd run away had hurt, he'd said that the same thing had happened to Anna. But this?
There were no words that Dean could grasp hold of to express how fucked up this was without shouting himself hoarse and then Cas would probably think it was his fault and that there was nothing wrong with being treated that way and there was no way they were doing this out in the street.
Inside, Cas immediately got drawn into a discussion with Dean's parents about his urgent paperwork duties - there were release forms needed for Miranda and Ria and next week’s shipping forgery was extra complex with seals and signatures and other stuff that Dean couldn’t think about right now. So he flipped open his cellphone as he escaped to the backyard with a beer, and hit speed dial. He was not gonna wait for answers.
“Hello, Dean.” Anna's warm and happy voice poured into his ear.
“Cas’s got scars, Anna.”
There was a short silence and then a sound like feathers rustling before Anna’s voice came through again breathless and quiet.
“He showed you?”
“No.” Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes, suddenly feeling like more of a seedy voyeur than usual. “Totally inadvertent. He doesn’t know I’ve seen them.”
“And you want to know where he got them,” Anna surmised quietly. “Dean, if he’ll tell anybody, it’ll be you.”
Dean leaned against the back wall, bottle neck loose in his hand. “It was your family, right? None of his previous owners have priors.”
Anna sighed and Dean figured she was probably nodding. “It’s part of the punishment for leaving, for making that choice.”
“Wait, does that mean you……?”
“I don’t feel any pain now. They’ve healed.”
Fury rocketed through Dean. His mind flickered through thousands of images of scarred slaves. Fucking sick. That wasn’t family, not at all. He was going to track them down and...
“Dean, it’s done now.” Anna was gentle and calming, like she knew exactly what Dean was thinking. He hated when she did that. “You can’t take them away. They’re part of us.”
Dean shook his head. Anna saw things differently, she always had. He figured that maybe it was something to do with how she’d been brought up and also something special going on exclusively inside her head. She and Cas were very different from each other and eerily similar. It was a little freaky.
“He will tell you.” Anna was confident. “He cares, Dean, a lot.”
Dean did not want to think about that. He grimaced round his beer.
Anna knew exactly when it was right to change the subject. “We might get services running next month; start my Father's work again.”
“Eat, drink, and be merry?”
“Among other things.”
“Not much that can beat out chocolate cake.” Dean smirked at a memory and figured from Anna’s laugh that she was thinking about the same thing.
Her voice was something bright and sure that Dean wanted to grab onto. “You need to have more faith.”
Anna hung up without a goodbye, like always. Dean drained the rest of his beer. It was going to rain tonight; it was in the air already. Inside, Cas was working, intent over his papers. His collar gleamed dully in the dimming light.
*
Dean waited until they were in bed, Cas beginning to wrap himself around Dean, before he slid a hand under Cas’s shirt. He was deliberately crossing his self-imposed lines because this? This he had to know. Cas stilled, watching and waiting as Dean’s fingers moved across his back, tracing the pattern he found there. It didn’t feel random.
Dean laid his hand flat against the raised skin. “I’m sorry, Cas.”
“Why? It was not your fault.”
Dean choked out a sort of laugh. Cas looked puzzled and almost distressed at Dean’s reaction. Dean stroked his skin.
“Shouldn’t have happened though. Family doesn’t do that.”
Cas leaned into his touch, sparking something inside Dean. Something territorial. Disgust at himself shut that down fast.
“I know that now,” replied Cas. “I have learned that, here.”
Dean’s mouth curled into something of a smile. Cas looked at him, way too much understanding in his eyes mixed in with something impossible. There was the family resemblance to Anna right there. Of course Dean recognized that in bed.
“You don’t know that, Cas. God, how can you even know?”
“I am more than capable of seeing the difference between then and now.” Cas didn’t blink, his expression earnest. “This is my choice.”
Dean swallowed. Cas slid closer, his leg resting between Dean’s. His touch was careful and almost reverent. He pressed his lips to Dean’s jaw. It was a gentle touch. Dean closed his eyes.
“Have faith, Dean.”
Dean shivered. Cas didn’t move any closer. Instead he turned the nearby light on low.
“Cas?”
Cas looked at Dean for a moment, then abruptly turned around and pulled his shirt off over his head in one decisive movement. His back was exposed. The exposed skin was covered in raised white scarring - the pattern that Dean had placed his hand against. In the low light, Dean could see that he'd been right - it wasn't random. It was a brand. Only, it was way too big for that.
“Cas, are those.....?”
“My family’s emblem, to remind us of where we belong.”
Cas's words didn't waver. Dean sucked in a breath. If Cas's back had been a damn canvas, then what was on it would have been a masterpiece - a stunningly detailed pair of beautiful wings. They were burned onto Cas's skin.
“It was not all done at once,” Cas continued quietly. “Each feather was done by hand.”
“Goddamn,” Dean swore, hands in fists and anger pulsing through him.
“The smell was the worst part.”
There was a pause, because what the hell could Dean say to that? Then Castiel turned off the light as suddenly as he’d turned it on and curled up against Dean. He hadn’t tugged his shirt back on.
Dean lay there frozen. Cas had just shared something that he’d clearly been hiding forever to keep himself safe. He’d shared it with Dean.
He’d been trusting and sure, fucking blowing Dean’s world apart. Dean didn’t get to sleep for a long time after that.
*
“He’s worried about you.”
“I can take care of myself. Dean knows this.”
“You’re learning, Cas, and he wants to help you. I think it’s sweet.”
A beat of silence.
“He has told you?”
“He didn’t have to. He thinks by not saying anything he’s keeping a secret.”
“He does not believe me.”
“Dean doesn’t believe anything good can happen to him. He deserves you.”
Another pause, not uncomfortable, stretched.
“You're in my thoughts, sister.”
“You too.”
“Be well.”
“Be well.”
They both hung up. Maybe one of them smiled.
*
Sam handed Dean a beer. “You look like you need it.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Visiting Jess’s grave was never a fun time. In fact, Dean hated it, but he did it because Sammy shouldn’t go alone. Sam hadn’t cried this time, but Dean’d seen his shoulders shake maybe once. Sam had left potted flowers, Jess’s favorites that’d keep on growing. Dean had awkwardly handed him a candle to light. He’d gotten the idea when Cas had talked about how his family had marked the passing of souls. It explained the flickering flames that Anna always had going in her church.
Dean had liked Jess. He hadn’t known her well, but she'd been smoking hot, had teased Sam, and had baked the best cookies. She’d loved Dean’s brother, that was all he needed to know.
God, he hoped to hell that this wasn’t going to turn into one of those conversations. Sam may not have verbalized his hate for Cas and Dean’s arrangement lately, but the disapproval wasn’t exactly hard to miss either. Sam sat down opposite him. The silence felt amplified.
“Cas’s something else, isn’t he?” Sam said suddenly.
Dean grimaced, that pleasure/pain thing searing through him again, guilt and something other. “That’s one way to put it.”
Sam nodded, drinking his own beer. This was going to turn into one of those weird talks where Sam took a really long roundabout way to try and get Dean to talk about something that he really didn’t want to talk about. Dean could feel it coming a mile off. He missed the days when Sam punished him with the silent treatment.
“Look, Sam, if you’re going to…”
“Dean, I need to say this, okay?” Sam gave a shaky smile. Huh, he was nervous. That was new. “Why do you think Castiel stays here?”
“What?”
“Cas, why do you think he stays here? Why doesn’t he go and stay with his sister now that he knows where she is? Or try and find his other brothers who got out?”
Dean rubbed at his forehead. This was taking a turn he wasn't prepared for. He drank more beer. “I don’t know, Sammy. He’s here, doing good work.”
“Yeah, good work,” Sam’s voice got real quiet and rebellious right then and Dean glared, starting to tense up when Sam pulled a bitchface, but wisely moved on. “Look, I’ve talked to a lot of slaves, hundreds actually. I’ve studied their behavior, all the different ways they react to the before and after.”
He waited, like Dean could fill in the blanks. It was all hanging there in the shadows, but Dean pushed it back and shook his head, giving Sam a warning look. Weariness felt like it was dragging him down.
“Sammy…..”
“He stayed because he thinks he can make a difference here, I know. But he also stayed because of you, Dean,” Sam blurted out, turning faintly pink. “You need to hear that, even though I know you don’t want to.”
Dean closed his eyes. The beer was still cold in his hands. Something was choking his breath and it wasn’t a collar. His life was a fucking joke.
Here was Sammy, after seeing his dead girl's grave, actually talking without yelling, not getting righteous. Interfering like a little brother. Dean smirked into his beer, feeling a sudden brief stroke of stupidly-relieving and nostalgic normal. Just for a moment.
“Bitch.”
There was a snort of laughter. “Jerk.”
*
The heavens were beautiful. Cas gazed up. He placed a hand on the Impala’s hood beneath him. He and the car had come to an agreement about Dean. It was satisfying for both of them. Dean was determined to teach Cas her inner workings, to show him how she ran. Castiel wanted to learn. He wanted Dean to see…
Castiel sighed. There was so much that he wanted Dean to see.
“You would love Dean,” he murmured softly. “He lacks faith, in himself mostly. It is highly irritating.”
Anna agreed. She was a source of strength and many interesting and helpful conversations. Castiel felt a rush of gratitude and warmth. Finding one of his sisters, one of the lost, was a miracle. Perhaps Gabriel would be as agreeable to locate as well.
“Dean is......extraordinary,” he said at last. “And he does not know it. He sees only the past and the pain. He doesn't see.....”
Castiel raised a hand to his collar. The item which Dean hated so much, that linked them together, signaling belonging even if it was a lie. Belonging.
Castiel opened his eyes. He didn’t stop praying.
-the end