Hello again readers. I am SO sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. For some reason it was just hell to write and it was fighting me the whole way. Hopefully you guys are happy with it, despite it being half the length of the first chapter and taking almost a month to get out. And hopefully the next chapter will come a lot faster. Alright, read on!

Warnings: mentions of dub-con/non-con

x x x

When he wakes up, he's burning. This is nothing new. He's woken up under the blazing Arizona sun many times before, chained to others of his kind behind electric fences. He's used to the feeling of cracking skin that's hot to the touch.

It takes him a moment to realize that this time is different. He's not lying on the hard ground breathing in dirt and sand; there are no chains around his wrists or ankles. He's in a bed. He's never slept on anything so comfortable in all his time on earth, and he wishes he could enjoy it, but right now he's far too hot. His head pounds, and his limbs are slow and heavy as he tries to move. The nerves in his back tingle painfully. He's sore all over, and that's nothing new either, except that this time he can't remember a beating from the night before.

The night before. He's groggy, and his mind is still clouded from sleep, but he remembers now that he was bought. He's in the bed his new master provided. Mr. Winchester. Dean. Whatever he wants to be called.

He remembers the glass of water that was placed on the bedside table the night before. He could use something cool, so he opens his eyes and sits up slowly. The room tilts, and his stomach turns.

He'll take the burning if it means the walls stop closing in on him, so he lies back down, the water forgotten. He should get up and start working, make himself useful, but he sinks into sleep before he can consider it further.

x x x

The next time he opens his eyes, Dean is there. It startles him, but he's too hot and tired and nauseous to do anything about it. Dean leans forward and places a cold, wet towel on his forehead. Castiel can feel the water dripping down the sides of his face. Dean hadn't wrung it out enough, but he doesn't mind. It feels nice.

"How're you feeling?"

He feels awful, obviously, but he doesn't say this.

Dean leans in closer still and Castiel's eyes widen. This too is familiar to him, these advances. It's basically what he exists for now, to satisfy the needs of whomever happens to own him. But he hadn't been expecting it today, not when he can barely move without the dull ache in his muscles flaring up.

Luckily, his assumption is wrong. Dean slides his hand around the back of Castiel's neck and props him up before bringing the cup of water to his lips. Castiel sips eagerly, sputters a little, and Dean tilts it back so that he doesn't choke.

"You've got a pretty bad fever," Dean finally answers. "Probably from all the infected wounds."

Castiel nods and his eyelids droop. The tingling in his nerves is getting worse, and it hurts like hell. He winces.

"Sorry. I wish there was something…" Dean trails off, and Castiel tries to re-focus on his face. He looks remorseful, so Castiel weakly waves his concerns away.

"Don't worry about it," he croaks. After all, it's not Dean's fault no doctor will touch a slave. "I'll be fine."

Dean's brow furrows. "I don't know a lot of medical shit, but I'm pretty sure you could die – "

"I'll be fine," Castiel repeats, cutting him off. "You cleaned the wounds. I'll take some Tylenol and I'll be fine." He doesn't tell him that he'd be fine either way. That no matter what happens to him, he'll always be fine. He can't not be.

They stare each other down, but in the end, Castiel wins, as he knew he would. Dean gives him a curt nod and leaves to get the Tylenol as Castiel drifts asleep once again.

It's a fitful sleep. He's only mostly unconscious, and he can feel himself tossing and turning and sweating. His dreams are close to the surface, just close enough for him to know he's dreaming, but not close enough for him to wake up. They come in flashes, quick bursts of color and form and subconscious thought.

First is the feeling of awareness. It's new and strange; he realizes quickly that this isn't just a dream – it's a memory. A memory of his creation. The first time he opened his eyes and simply existed. Awareness is only the beginning; seconds later he's overcome by an overwhelming devotion and sense of purpose. He is here to serve the one he feels such loyalty to already, even though they've never met. A name echoes through his dream like the chorus of a thousand angels in their true form – God.

The images change rapidly then. The wings and faces of his brothers and sisters, a vast, dark space filled with stars and planets. The blue and white orb called Earth where the humans live. They're fascinating, these people. Flashes of the many times he'd stood in Heaven, looking down and observing them, flip through his mind.

There are more feelings passing through his dreams so quickly he barely has time to recognize them. There's awe when he looks at the beauty God created, the love and faithfulness he feels for his elusive father, and a kind of muted affection for the other angels.

The images of the humans are what evoke the more varied, more passionate emotions. Sadness, hope, righteous fury. There is love too, stronger than what he feels for his siblings, but somehow forced.

Suddenly, the images are gone. There is only a blackness that stretches past the edges of his dreams accompanied by devastating sorrow and loss. It's intensified by the rest of the angels – they're all feeling it at the same time.

The emotions fade and the nothingness they leave behind is soon replaced. When the color comes back, it's dull. The sounds have lost clarity, and he feels dirty.

Only it's not really him that's dirty. He's in a vessel. He's never been on Earth before, never had to take a human host, and it feels strange. Confining and slow and like all his senses are muffled. He stands, flexes his new muscles, and looks down on the body he inhabits. It's filthy.

The images speed up once again and for this Castiel is glad. He doesn't want to relive this.

A searing pain at the back of his skull. He doesn't know what it is, not yet. A hundred other bodies shifting into consciousness around him. A chain-link fence. Electricity that burns his new hands. Leering humans and metal cuffs. A line-up. It's only one out of many he's been in. Money changing hands, the rough handling of men, the inside of cars. Most smelled like smoke or alcohol. Greasy hands, angry voices, carpet burn. His broken bones heal quickly and purple bruises blossom over his skin. There are whips and blood, dried come and slimy, hateful kisses. Violation. Imprisonment. He was trapped.

There's nothingness again, but this time it's different. Self-inflicted. For preservation. For sanity. He feels no emotions to go along with the next few flashes. Dreaming without feeling. He's immune. Nothing truly registers. They're just images now.

A pair of green eyes and a spattering of freckles. His eyelids wrench open and the dreams dissipate, scattering like shadows from the light. He takes a deep breath. They were only dreams. Memories at the most. Nothing more.

He still aches. The fever hasn't gone down at all. He sits up weakly and grabs the glass of water that Dean had apparently refilled to parch his thirst. There's a Tylenol pill there as well. Castiel picks it up, examines it for a moment, and quickly tucks it under the mattress. It will do him no good.

"Sam, come on, man. I just need this one favor."

Castiel can hear Dean speaking from behind the door. He must be on the phone because Castiel can't sense another presence in the house.

"Just go down to the clinic, tell them Jess has a fever… Bring it over here… No, I'll pay you back as soon as you get here, dude… 'Cause I just can't… He's in really bad shape, Sam, I can't just leave him here… Does it matter?... Look, I'll let you take the Impala next time you wanna take Jess out… What do you mean she doesn't like my car?" He makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Just get over here, okay? Yeah, yeah, I owe you."

He hears the beep that signals the end of the conversation, and then Dean opens the door. Castiel closes his eyes and pretends he's still sleeping. The soft click of the door closing soon after is the last thing Castiel registers before he falls asleep for real.

x x x

He doesn't like sleeping this much. Sleep used to be little more than another piece of earthly information to him. Now he spends hours and hours trapped behind his own eyelids. It may provide respite from his twisted reality at times, but his dreams are usually no better. He supposes it's because of his weakened state right now, and he wishes he would just hurry up and heal.

Dean's voice is once again the first thing he hears when he wakes up. Only this time there's another voice talking back. It takes Castiel a moment to put two and two together; his brain is working sluggishly through the haze of sleep and heat and pain. The voice isn't as low as Dean, but he assumes it belongs to his brother, Sam.

He's not surprised when he realizes they're talking about him.

"So you finally caved, huh?"

"What did the doctor say, Sam?"

Sam doesn't sound happy. "You're an idiot, Dean."

"Yeah, Sam, I know. Now what did the doctor say?" Dean demands, his patience obviously wearing thin.

A soft snort sounds from out in the hallway, followed by the rustle of a paper bag. "Just give him this. He should be fine. If he works the same as humans, I mean." He sounds unsure.

Dean doesn't. "He is human."

Sam snorts again, louder this time. "Never seen you buy a human for a slave, so I guess he's not to you."

"I didn't…" Dean cuts himself off, frustrated. Castiel is listening hard now, sitting up with his ear turned towards the door. He wants to hear this. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't mean it like what, Dean? You didn't mean to buy a human being or you just didn't mean for it to seem like an asshole thing to do? 'Cause it doesn't matter how you spin it, dude, it is."

"Look around you, Sam," Dean spits, his voice harsher now. "This is how the world works. You're not happy about it, I'm not happy about it, well tough. We can't change it. And besides, he's not… he's not a slave."

"What do you mean, not a slave? You bought him. What is he then, your roommate?" Sam scoffs.

Dean says nothing.

Ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous. Dean especially.

"No," Dean finally answers. "No, he's not my roommate. Look, I don't know, okay? I hadn't really thought it through. All I know is that Mark and Angela next door have been giving me weird looks, the Hammonds across the street don't talk to me anymore, I've been getting government-issued slave advertisements that are starting to sound a little threatening, and I even got a friendly reminder in the mail the other day about the low tolerance for anti-slavery. Sam, we gotta stop living in this fantasy world of ours if we want to stay out of trouble. It's gotten too big, too extreme. It's damn near close to law."

Castiel sits back, a little shocked. He hadn't realized how serious it was. Not surprising really; information was generally not considered vital to cleaning and fucking. But if Dean really doesn't approve of slavery, if he really doesn't want to use Castiel for anything more than a cover, what is he going to do with him? It's inevitable that he'll realize what a pointless purchase he's made sooner or later. Castiel can't leave, can't work, and Dean apparently won't use him for anything he's meant to be used for. So then what?

He wonders whether Dean will take him back to Gordon's slave market so he can be sold to someone with far worse intentions or simply keep him as a pet. As much as he hates the thought of being locked in here, purposeless and pitied, the other option is undeniably worse.

Sam voices Castiel's concerns. "So what are you gonna do with him then?"

"I don't know yet," Dean says, and it sounds like a sigh. "Right now, I'm just gonna get him better and then… I don't know."

"I don't have to tell you how much of an idiot you are, do I?"

"No, not really."

"Okay, good. I'm gonna get home to Jess then."

"Tell her I said hi."

"Sure thing. Maybe we can come over for dinner some time and meet this Castiel guy when he's better."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, sure Sammy," he says. Castiel thinks he sounds sarcastic. He's not sure why. He hears footsteps and the front door opening and closing, and then it's just him and Dean in the house again.

The door creaks open, and Dean looks surprised when he sees that Castiel is awake and staring at him like he knew he was coming. "Oh. You heard all that, didn't you?"

Castiel nods.

"Sorry. Thought you were sleeping." Dean wanders over to the bed. "Uhm," he mumbles awkwardly. "Sam says to take this. It'll help."

It won't, but Castiel takes it anyways because Dean is watching. Dean feels his forehead and then reapplies the wet towel that had slid off during Castiel's sleep. His touch is surprisingly tender though his fingers are rough, and he avoids Castiel's gaze the whole time.

"I'm going to be fine." It's a warning, not a reassurance.

Dean understands. "Yeah, I know."

"Soon."

"I know," Dean repeats.

"So then what? You can't just keep me here for nothing. You may not want me as your slave, but I'm still a prisoner."

Dean opens his mouth and then closes it. He seems to scramble for words and find none. Castiel can tell that he'd never thought of it that way and now that he has he feels awful.

He doesn't know why he does it. Maybe because for all the faults in this plan – if you could even call it a plan at all – of Dean's, he'd never meant any harm. Maybe because he was the first person to treat Castiel like more than the scum of the earth. He doesn't know why for sure, but he reaches out a hand and puts it over Dean's hesitantly.

"I know you didn't mean it to be like this." He meets Dean's eyes for the first time since he woke up from his dream. They're the same as the ones he'd seen, but he already knew that. What he didn't know was just how sorry Dean would look.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Castiel murmurs before moving his hand and closing his eyes.

x x x

I'm almost scared to ask, but what did you think? Leave me a review and let me know. Even if you hated it I'd still love to hear your thoughts. Next chapter will come out sooner and most likely be a lot better, so stick around!

- Nix (: