As a forewarning, Castiel's speech is supposed to be... incorrect, so if you see weird or missing words in his dialogue, it's supposed to be that way. If it gets too confusing or irritating, let me know, and I'll make sure to forego it in future chapters.

"How much longer do I have?"

The palm of his hand dug into his cheek, the boiling sun stinging his skin, but Dean Winchester couldn't leave his stand. The beach was crowded, children and adults alike running back and forth across the sand, the thinning waves of the ocean splashing up on them, making them scream as though they were being killed despite the fact that the only thing being murdered was Dean's sanity.

"About 40 minutes, maybe a little less," a scratchy voice replied from Dean's side. He looked over to the rectangular box, reaching out to press in the ribbed button on the side.

"Fuck that! I'm done now."

A child smacked into one of the faded-white legs of his stand, startling Dean. He stood up to look over the edge at the child, who brushed his legs up as he stood and continued running back to who Dean assumed to be his parents. He shrugged and sat back down.

"Sit your ass down, Winchester. I sign your paycheck. You have to listen to me."

"You don't sign my paycheck," Dean replied, eyes scanning over the beach and the water near it. "You just give it to me 'cause I hate going in to the office to get it."

"Well, you still have to listen to me. Sit down."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I needed to check if this kid was okay. The little shit just ran into my stand."

The voice on the other end didn't respond for a minute. "Dude, what the fuck? Don't lie."

"Why would I lie about a kid hitting my stand?"

"'Cause a kid hit mine, like, five minutes ago and another one did like, 30 seconds ago."

"What the hell? That's fucking- What the fuck?" Dean stood up to look down, another kid smacking in to his stand. Dean blinked down at the little guy. He snapped his fingers. "Hey! Yo! Dude." The kid looked up. "What are you doing?"

"Running?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you're the second kid who's slammed in to that thing. Wanna run somewhere else, chief?"

"I'm not supposed to. I'm supposed to run through here."

"Supposed to?" Dean asked with disbelief, looking out at the beach, scanning it before looking back to the kid.

"Uh-huh. Supposed to."

"Says who?"

"That gu-" The kid looked back to point out the man, but nobody was there. "I don't know where he went, but he gave me twenty bucks to do this."

"To run in to the stand?"

"He said distract you, and that other kid did it, and it looked like it worked."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Get out of here, kid."

The kid darted off, and Dean sat back down. The little shit had done his job, distracting him well enough that he remained that way even after the little man had run away, the thought of why, and for what, Dean would need to be distracted for constantly running through his mind.

He was focused out on the outer barriers of his area, so much so that he was shocked out of his watch by his replacement guard showing up. Dean looked back at her. "You're early."

"I'm supposed to be here fifteen minutes before shift. Something you wouldn't know."

"You all love me."

"You do make the job interesting," she responded, stepping in to the small box of a room behind Dean. She perched herself up on the flat wooden rail when she came back out. "Anything weird going on today?"

Dean glanced over at her. "Yeah, actually. A bunch of kids were smacking into me and Mitchell's stands. Why d'ya ask?"

"There was this huge wreck I had to get by on the way in, right on the corner for the beach road entrance. It was a mess. Apparently they're looking for this guy who was forcibly removed from the car he was in. I mean, there were claw and scratch marks all over everything. They don't know if it actually was him, but the car belongs to one of those, like, crime families, and their only son's been missing all day. And I guess that the suspects of who took him are like, their rivals, because the car that hit him belongs to, well, their rivals."

"Which family? I know the Novak's have a son, but don't they have more kids?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Five daughters. He's the baby of the family and the only boy."

"Why would they be after him? And which family?"

"When you're the one-of-a-kind son of a powerful family, you're worth quite a lot. And I'm not sure, they didn't tell me. I'm thinking the Matveev's. At least that's the name I heard the most of."

Dean nodded. "Have they checked the shoreline yet?"

She shook her head. "No. Well, not really. They didn't think the kidnappers would be dumb enough to take them to a public beach.

"Then I'm gonna go check out the private beach when I'm done here, alright?" Her eyes grew wide and he explained farther. "I don't think I'll see anything, but one of those kids pointed that way when I asked him what the fuck he was doing. Said some guy sent him to distract us."

"Only two of them came?"

"I guess. But I wanna see if I can figure out what's going on."

"You can go now," she shrugged, hopping down from her perch. "I don't mind taking over."

"You sure?"

"It's only, like, five minutes, Dean." She pushed him, trying to get him out of the chair. "I really don't mind."

"If you're sure," Dean responded, standing and handing off black strap around him like a sash, the end connected to a red float-tube.

Dean hopped off of the stand, foregoing the steps, landing in a pile of sand. The woman laughed, looking down over the edge at him. "Be safe alright? I don't think you'll see anything out there, but still… Just… be safe."

Dean nodded up at her, sending her a salute before putting on his sandals, which had slid off his feet in the pile of sand, and moved on.

It was about a quarter mile to the sand-and-reed barrier that formed a sort of fence around the private area of the beach. Dean always loved walking over here because it reminded him of back home, when his father would take him and his brother out to the coast of Maine, and the reeds and grass nestled in the sand between flat stones fit perfectly with all of the lighthouses always donning the beaches they visited. This small section of beach sent him back to a time where he never had to worry, and he loved it.

But he was not in a loving mood now.

Quickly ducking behind a patch of reeds, Dean watched as two men dragged a third shirtless one along the beach, their arms looped under his armpits, the middle man thrashing and yelling, though his shouts were muffled by what looked like a light grey t-shirt shoved uncomfortably in to his mouth. Just the thought of something that large shoved in to his mouth made Dean want to throw up, but he pushed the though aside as the man continued to struggle, shoulders smashing from side to side, his feet only coming up from the deep lines they were digging in the sand when he kicked hard to give himself more power in trying to escape.

It never worked.

Dean was unsure on what to do, and after a quick pat of his pocket for his cellphone, which was gone, he was at even more of a loss. The man was still struggling, and the other two had managed to bring him to the water.

That's when they switched. One of the men moved behind The Struggler, barring his arms between his own while the other stepped forward, kicking the man in the stomach before punching his face. The man let out a scream that Dean could hear clearly, even though he was muffled, and after another few kicks and punches, it became apparent what they were going to do to him.

Dean felt the bile roll up in his stomach.

He could only launch himself into acton once they began pushing The Struggler under the shallow water, sandy marshes pooling up around his body as he struggled against their strength. They pulled him up for a moment, his hair pressed flat to his face and neck. He took a gasping breath, barely able to close his mouth by the time they were forcing him back under.

With the largest stone he could find clutched in his hands, Dean was running forward, sneaking up to them the best he could. He was lucky that when he closed up on them, they were distracted, the one holding The Struggler under, the other kicking him in his stomach, trying to get him to let out the air in his body.

Dean smacked the one holding The Struggler under. In the head. With his rock.

The man yelped and let go of the one underwater, turning on Dean. Dean had hit him hard enough to break the skin, a thin line of blood coming from his hair, dripping down his neck proving just how much damage he'd done.

The man growled and lunged at Dean, and Dean swung at him with the rock again. The man knocked him in to the water, but the rock had left another significant blow. When Dean popped his head back out of the water, he saw The Struggler running away, back to where he had been dragged from.

Fuck.

The man Dean had attacked was recovering from the second blow, and Dean figured it was as good a time as ever to throw his rock, hitting them man square in the temple, hard enough to send him flying back. Dean watched at the man fell, and he looked back to where The Struggler had run off to. No sign of him anywhere, aside from his original foot trenches, and his fresh new footprints leading off into the reeds.

Dean pushed himself up to his feet in the slightly-below knee-deep water, and began to run. The man he had attacked initially was face-up in the water though not moving, but the man The Struggler had been left with was just returning from halfway up the beach, clearly giving up on chasing The Struggler any farther than he already had.

He had his sights set on Dean.

Dean began to run, his sand-slick feet causing him to slide with every step, the loose sand now a detriment to him, his wet feet sinking in to the sand making his running time slower, while the other moved easily across the dunes. It had become slightly easier when Dean shucked his sandals off, but even then, it did nothing to distance himself from the man chasing him, who tackled him down to the ground in a plume of sand that flew up and coated the sides of their bodies and the back of the man pinning Dean to the ground.

Dean let out an anguished groan as the man on top of him rolled off, flipping Dean from his stomach to his back. He hopped back on top of him, straddling his hips, feet hooking in a way around Dean's legs to prevent him from kicking too much. The man leaned forward, pressing his thumbs to Dean's throat as he pressed down hard, closing Dean's airway.

Dean began to struggle, shoulders shimmying, arms thrashing, and legs kicking to the best of their ability despite the fact that it did nothing of use to deter the man, who just continued to press on his throat.

"Don't. Kill. Me," Dean gasped out in a final plead, knowing it was pretty much useless.

"Loose lips sink ships."

Dean sucking in whatever meager breath he could manage. The man just pressed down harder. "I don't. Know. Anything. I'll. Be qui- et."

"Better to tie up loose ends."

Dean could feel his last breath being dragged away from him, his lungs screaming for air, but every gasp he attempted didn't bring anything in, only let it out. No amount of breath and strength training could have prepared him for this. His head began pounding, and he closed his eyes briefly, hoping to calm it.

Nothing happened.

Something was shifting to his side, but he refused to open his eyes until he felt his last moment coming up. He knew he'd black out before he died, and he wanted to see the world one last time.

He was not expecting what he saw.

When his eyes broke open, a large bang echoed around the beach, ringing in his ears for a moment, though he couldn't tell if it was from the shot, or the lack of oxygen in his brain, but then the man atop him loosened his hold, and blood spilled down the side of his head, curling around his ear in a loop, a wobbly line racing down his neck. He fell over and off of Dean's hips, and Dean rolled away, laying on his back, staring at the sun through squinted eyes as he tried to gulp down deep breaths, his lungs protesting to every movement.

His body was screaming but he continued to gasp in breaths, only stopping when a body was dropping down on to his hips. He let out a breathy shout. "No, god," he sobbed, his eyes squinted hard. "Just let me go. Don't kill me."

"I'm not killing you," the voice said, and it was gravelly and deep, but more gentle than the other man's. "Yet."

Dean blinked his eyes open. The Struggler was above him, bright and startling blue eyes piercing in to him, his half-wet hair pointing in every direction. The man's jaw was hard and well defined, and he was holding a gun steadily at Dean's head.

Dean's eyes went wide. "I thought you weren't going to kill me!?"

"Yet." Dean squeezed his eyes shut and the man continued. "Why did you come out here?"

Dean coughed. "Shouldn't you be grateful I did?"

Struggler cocked the gun. "Why did you come out here?"

"Oh god," Dean whined, squeezing his eyes tighter for a moment before cracking one open. "I heard someone, I'm assuming you, was taken from their car in this area. I just wanted to make sure something wasn't happening out here."

Then man stared down at him, never blinking, seemingly lost in thought. "What family are you from?"

"I-what?"

The man shoved his gun against Dean's head. "What family are you from?"

"Oh- god! Jesus christ!" Dean gasped. "Uhhh, Winchester, I guess. Winchester."

"Never heard of you."

"Yeah, well, we're not exactly a crime family."

A hand was shoved against Dean's neck, causing his eyes to fly open even though it wasn't cutting off his air flow. "And who said that my family is in the crimes?"

"Well, you kinda have a loaded gun pointed at my head right now…"

Struggler seemed to contemplate that, and removed the gun from Dean's skull, sliding his hand back from his neck. He finally blinked. "Where's the other man?"

"What other man?" Dean asked, slamming his head back into the sand, relaxing his neck.

"The other man! Other man! You know, one trying to kill me?"

"He should still be in the water."

The man got up, and Dean watched him walk away. He was young, maybe only a year or two off from Dean. Two older, Dean recalled, should he be the Novak's son. He waded through the water, walking slowly up and down the narrow stretch of beach in his already soaked shoes.

He looked like a punk, Dean though to himself. Dark, mused hair, slightly big t-shirt, dark jeans that fit him nicely, canvas shoes, and a previously empty thigh holster, one that probably held the gun he had in his hands. His golden rings were the only thing that gave him away, making the twenty-something look more menacing, if that were possible. His piercing eyes and strict face did the job for him.

The man let out an aggravated shout, shooting down at something in the water before he stalked over to Dean, who had sat up, resting back on his hands.

"Get up," he said, still walking toward Dean, his gun pointed at him. "Get up!" he repeated when Dean sat in the sand, staring up at him. Dean scurried up to his feet, sliding in the sand, kicking plumes of it in to the air as he got up. He held up his hands as the gun was cocked once again, walking backwards and away from the man. "Why you let him go? Huh? Why?"

Dean shook his head. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Kill him."

"With what? My bare hands!?"

"Whatever it takes. Always kill enemy."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "And how do you know what side I'm on? I mean, who said he's my enemy? What if you are?" Dean crossed his arms with a satisfied smirk.

The man pointed his gun at him with a roll of his eyes.

"You're not my enemy."

"Good," the man replied, dropping his gun as he began to walk down the beach and away from civilization. "Come on."

Dean remained where he stood. "What?"

"Come on," the man said a bit louder as he continued to walk. "Come with."

"No."

Struggler stopped, turning, pointing his gun at him again.

"Oh come on!" Dean whined, following after the man against his will. "You know, you can't just point your gun at me to get me to do whatever you want."

"Yes I can."

Dean groaned. "Can I at least go back and get my sandals?" He looked back over his shoulder at the slowly disappearing public beach, a sense of worry flooding his body. What was happening?

"No."

They walked along the beach until they came to a deserted pier, the only thing on it being a bank of telephone booths at the end of it. The man went to the center one out of the five, calling someone, muttering words in what Dean could only assume was Russian, based on his accent.

He decided he needed to ask about that.

"You Russian or something?" he asked when the man came over, sitting across from him. Dean had his back resting on the fencing put up, his legs splayed out on the ground as he looked at the man through slightly squinted eyes.

"Why you want to know?"

"Your accent-"

"I have no accent."

"-and you kinda leave out words sometimes."

Struggler held up his gun again, and Dean rolled his eyes with a groan. "God! You have got to get ahold of that thing, man. You're like the boy who cried wolf, for fuck sake."

"Boy who cried wolf?"

Dean stared at him. "Yeah. You know, like the story?" The man was staring at him with a hint of distrust and confusion so Dean explained. "This guy, a shepherd, or sheep-watcher, was meant to call wolf if a wolf came to eat the sheep. He kept saying wolf for no reason, just as a joke, so the one time a wolf actually showed up, he fucked all of the sheep over because nobody believed him when he said there was one there."

"So the wolf ate the sheep?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

The man smirked. "I like the sound of that wolf."

"You completely missed the point of that story."

"No," the man said. "The wolf smart, and cunning. He waited for perfect chance to take sheep. He knew the boy had been lying about him coming, so when he show up, there wasn't a damn thing boy could do, and so wolf got sheep, and got away free wolf. Wolf very smart."

"Never thought of it that way," Dean said, leaning forward a bit.

"Because you not very smart. You boy. Or in this case, sheep. I am wolf."

"Because you tricked me, or because you stole me away, and probably won't be caught for it?"

"Because I'm smarter than you." The man laughed a deep and round laugh, eyes crinkling at the edge. "I like you, Winchester."

"What'd I say?"

Struggler laughed again, and looked out at the sea. He stared long and hard, and Dean eventually turned to look out at the water as well.

A boat was making its way quickly across the large and choppy waves, and when it got closer, the man stood up, grabbing on to Dean's shoulder as he climbed over the edge of the fencing, his feet barely balancing on the small ledge on the outside. He looked at Dean. "Join me."

Dean did, his knees weak and wobbly as he tried to balance himself. They weren't extremely high, but the boat was coming toward them, barely slowing down, and a sick feeling rolled in to Dean's stomach. "Are we jumping?"

"In to boat, yes."

"What!?" Dean asked, eyes comically wide as he turned to the man who was calm and balancing just fine, one arm holding on to the railing, the other out to steady Dean.

"Yes. I tell you when to jump."

"Wait, what? How do you know it's safe?"

"It's not."

Dean stared at the man, lips parted open in shock at what he'd have to do. "I'm not jumping."

"Yes you are."

"No."

"I need my gun?"

"No."

"Then you jump."

The boat was coming closer, and Dean's heart was racing.

"I'm not jumping."

"Yes you are."

"No!"

"Yes."

"No-"

"Jump!"

The boat was nearly under them, and Dean didn't have a choice to stay behind anymore as Struggler had pulled him forward as he jumped. Dean yelled as he was airborne, but the man still remained calm. It was a short fall, but it felt like a year to Dean, time moving in slow motion as the uncertainty of what they'd just done washed over him, and he only snapped out of his daze when his feet hit the solid base of the boat, a shock rolling up from his soles through his knees, ending at his hips.

The man next to him reached out, grabbing his arm as Dean began to fall forward, pulling him back upright and down into one of the seats. Struggler sat down from him. "See? Not so bad."

"Not so bad? Not so bad!? That was terrifying!"

"But fun, right?" Struggler laughed. He reached back into the built in cooler, cheering quietly as he pulled out two bears. He broke the tops off of both bottle, offering one to Dean.

"Oh, no. I'm too young."

"Me too," the man said, taking a swig of his drink.

Dean hesitated, but Struggler waved the bottle, and soon he was reaching forward to take it. He was cautious as he drank from it, but he found the sweet taste to be just fine, and he was able to take normal gulps from it in a matter of minutes.

The man offered him another bottle, and Dean took it, finishing it about the time the pulled up to a dock. Struggler and Dean stood, the only difference being that the driver of the boat now had his hand on Dean's wrists, pulling them together behind his back as he snapped a pair of handcuffs on him, pushing him forward.

"Hey!" Dean yelped, unhappy with how he was being treated, and even more confused at the same thing. "What's this about?"

"Precautions," Struggler said, and the boat driver pushed him out of the boat and on to the dock. The man walked slightly ahead of him, guiding him up the shallow path to the secluded building they'd landed in front of.

"Where are we?" Dean asked as they walked in to the building, large doorways looming overhead, passing slowly as they walked through them, emerging in a large foyer, reminiscent of nothing the outside looked like.

The room was bathed in a round bronze light, burgundy flooring matching the light colored stone the walls were. A large chandelier hung int he center of it all, and it looked as though just one arm of the enormous light could hold Dean easily. There was a wide stairway that led up to what looked like another room similar to the one they were in now, but they passed it up, going in to yet another room, taking the slimmer staircase in there.

The boat driver had fallen behind the two of them, and Struggler led the way. The landing they hit led into a hallway with three doors, two of them leading to side-rooms connected to the main one right in front of them.

"Where are we?" Dean asked again.

"My home," Struggler said, pushing in to the main room.

A man was sitting at a large, burgundy colored desk that matched the floor filling the room. It sat on top of a rug that matched the walls, which were still made of the stone from downstairs, though darker and more brown than before. The man sat in a chair with a wide back, a phone pressed to his ear.

Angry sounding strains of what Dean once again assumed to be Russian flowed from his lips. The man was a bit pudgy, but Dean didn't realize how tall he was until the man caught sight of Struggler and slammed the phone down, pushing himself up and away from his desk.

"Castiel! My son." The man walked up to Struggler, now Castiel in Dean's mind, and hugged him close. Castiel wrapped his arms around him in return, and they shared a tight embrace while Dean stood off to the side and behind them, not saying a word.

The man broke the hug with his son, looking over his shoulder at Dean. He narrowed his eyes. "Who is he? Why is he cuffed? Was he the one who took you?" The man had broken from his son, walking over to Dean, pulling out and cocking his gun, aiming at Dean.

"That's where he gets it from," Dean whispered under his breath.

"What?" the man asked, pressing his gun to Dean's head. Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

"No! Dad! No!" Castiel said, placing a hand on his fathers chest as he pushed him away from Dean. "He's the one who saved me, Father. I'd be dead without him."

The man looked to his son, then back to Dean, switching between the both of them a few times before pointing his gun at Dean again. "That true? You save my boy?"

Dean nodded weakly and the man immediately dropped his gun, stepping forward to clap Dean on the shoulder, pulling him in for a brief hug he couldn't reciprocate.

"You did good," he said, stepping away from Dean and back to Castiel, pulling him close, kissing him hard on the temple. "Thank you for saving my son."

Dean nodded, but Castiel looked up at his dad. "Father, please protect him."

Dean looked surprised, and the man looked down at his son. "Protect him?"

"Not only am I in debt to him, but he saved my life. One of men who took me got away, and I'm afraid they'll come after him."

"You wish for me to grant him protection?"

"As if he were part of the family."

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Castiel, that is a lot to ask."

"Perhaps he can do something to earn it, but not too much. Father, he saved me."

The man looked Dean over, still holding his son in a side-hug. Dean felt a whip of jealousy course through him. He wished he was that close to his own father. The man was looking down at Dean's shorts, the only thing he currently had on, his shirt back at the stand. "What is your profession?" the man asked.

"I'm a lifeguard," Dean responded.

"You guard lives?"

"Yes, sir."

The man nodded. "Very well. You continue to do so, with my son."

Dean cocked his head in confusion, and Castiel looked up at his father. "What?"

The man grinned and clapped his son lightly on the shoulder as he walked over to Dean, doing the same to him. "He works for you, now. Meet your new guard."

Castiel stared dumbfounded at his father, and Dean was prepared to laugh, unaware that he could make a face other than 'solemn death-stare' for longer than a few seconds, but he was too far gone to laugh, completely lost in the fact that he'd just essentially been kidnapped, only to become some Russian crime lord's son's bodyguard.

"I don't remember agreeing to this," Dean said, twisting his wrists around as the boat driver was called back in with a key for his handcuffs and a shirt for Dean to wear. It was too big on him, but he didn't mind having something to put on.

"It only way for me to offer full protection," the man said.

"By putting me in the line of fire to protect your son?" Castiel was sitting in his father's chair, spinning around in it slowly.

"Only when needed. Castiel will not leave often. I don't want him taken again."

Castiel stilled in his chair. "I did not agree to this."

"You did when you asked to protect your savior."

"Maybe I don't want protection," Dean said, sitting down on one of the available chairs lining the wall behind him

"So you want death?"

Dean stilled, as did Castiel, who was prepping to spin himself again in the chair. Dean didn't speak until Castiel was spinning once more. "Why would I die?"

"Because they will be after you," the man explained. "You saved their enemy, the one they were sent to kill. You're a pawn in they're way. They will take you down, whether they need to or not anymore."

"So," Dean started, trying to simplify it. "I'm either your son's bodyguard, or I die?"

"Essentially," the man agreed.

"I…" Dean shook his head. How he had gotten roped into this whole this was lost to him, and his mind was swirling, just wanting this day to be over so that he could go home, wake up, and pretend as if it had never happened. He knew, though, somewhere in his mind, that this was all real, and that it wouldn't be going away any time soon, and that he'd have to live up to the fact that his life had just been flipped upside down, and he had no way to get out. "I don't even know how to fight somebody, let alone protect them," he said as a last-ditch effort.

"Don't worry about that," the man said, walking to and stilling Castiel in his chair. Castiel unfurled himself from in it and stood up, allowing his father to sit. "We will send you through training. For now, follow Castiel to your new room."

"My what?" Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no no. Dean was not staying here. He was going home, back to his father and brother, back to the life he'd always known.

"Your new bedroom," he explained, giving Castiel a light pat on the back, sending him on his way. "You'll be staying with us."

Dean stared at the man, unable to move due to shock, so Castiel came over to him, grabbing his wrist, tugging him out of the office and down the narrow stairway. He let go of his wrist once he knew Dean would follow.

He led him back out into the main room and up the wide, sweeping staircase. He wlked through a path of halls, halfway down the first hallway before turning right, all the way to the end of the second hallway, then up another sweeping staircase, though not quite as defined as before.

There was a narrow hallway at the top with two doors leading to separate rooms. Castiel stopped in front of them. He pointed to the one on the right. "It's yours."

Dean nodded to him, thanking him before stepping in to his room. It was large. About twice as big as the one he had back home, complete with a bathroom and walk-in closet that had nothing in it. Dean looked around in awe, momentarily forgetting that it wasn't home, and that it never would be, and that this was all just temporary, until they could agree that the whole ordeal had blown over, and protection wasn't necessary anymore.

For the time being, however, he was trapped. Castiel came in behind him, starling him as he brushed right passed him and to his closet. Dean followed him in, only to see him setting down a pair of boots, a t-shirt, and some sweats. Dean cleared his throat, and Castiel stood up, snapping his attention to him.

Dean gestured down at the pile of belongings, and Castiel explained. "I guessed you need some clothes. Boots are just a bit big on me, so they should fit you, and the others…" Castiel shrugged, refusing to meet Dean's eye.

Dean brought it up. "Why won't you look at me?"

"Because I'm sorry I have you trapped without anything. That wasn't my plan."

"It's okay," Dean said. "I'll get used to it. It's only temporary, right?"

Castiel shook his head no, but agreed with Dean verbally. "Right." Castiel rubbed at his neck for a moment before brushing passed Dean on his way out. "I'm to shower. Enjoy your new room." He was halfway out the door when he stopped, looking back at Dean. "And thank you. For saving me."

Dean shook his head. "No problem."

Castiel stared at Dean while longer before whipping around, heading across the hall and into his room, leaving Dean alone to do with himself what he pleased in his new and open room. He decided to curl up on his bed, closing his eyes. He wanted to take a short nap, exhausted from the day thus far, but his mind wouldn't stop racing, filling with thoughts of how'd he'd probably never be able to leave, and the only way out was to die, be it at the hands of once again saving Castiel's life, or trying to get away from doing just that.

He was trapped. He felt as though he was suffocating, much like he had been earlier that day, but there would be no end to this, as far as he could tell. No bright light before the dark of death.

Just hell.

If you couldn't tell from reading, this story is going to be violent. Be prepared for anything pertaining to that and crime life, including substance abuse, physical abuse, and possibly even character death. I don't have this all planned out, so those are just a warning.

Updates will be sporadic, so feel free to ask me any questions you have on here via comments, or on my tumblr, squidstiel

As this is a new story, please let me know what you think!