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Be Loud, Be Brave

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June.

41, 42, 43, 44. Dean pushed through his second set of push-ups that morning. Being in the Empty meant he didn’t get enough space to be able to do this outside where he usually worked out. The cubic space he got to stand in for half an hour a day he could stretch out his arms and touch either side easily. No room in there to actually break a sweat. He refused to lose his strength in the Empty, especially as he was supposed to be going back into Purgatory, into gen pop today, if the warden kept his promise that was.

The Empty was solitary confinement. Twenty-three and a half hour days locked inside a concrete cell that had a window up too high you couldn’t even see out of it. Your bed was on the floor, no desk, no nothing. A mattress, a toilet and a sink. That was it. Prisoners got sent there for breaking the rules. Dean liked to run his mouth, had an attitude problem and some of the other prisoners weren’t a fan of it. Gordon in particular wasn’t a fan of it. They had come to blows more than once, this time it was not different. Gordon shoving Dean in the yard, muttering something about being a white pussy and Dean couldn’t let that slide. Not in here, in here you can’t let anything slide.

45, 46, 47, 48. There was movement outside of his cell, the sound of keys rattling.

“On your feet Winchester,” The guard called out. Dean stood up. “Back to the wall, hands behind your back, you know the drill.” Dean followed the orders. The cell door unlocked with a resounding clang. Metal slammed onto metal as the lock moved that echoed into his room. He was getting out, finally. Four days was enough, he was starting to go crazy down in there. The guard cuffed him to lead him out.

“Let’s go Winchester.” The guard tugged on the cuffs, on hand on Dean’s shoulders to guide him out. He went willingly. The urge to make some snarky comment about how he was more than capable to walk himself back to Purgatory was there on the tip of his tongue. He held it. The warden was out in the hall, arms crossed over his chest giving Dean a stern look.

“Next time you land yourself down here Dean, I’ll forget you even exist and let you rot till your decomposing body is smelled all the way in gen pop. Do I make myself clear?” Shurley, the warden, man who ran the whole prison from his ivory heavenly tower warned.

“Yes sir.”

Shurley nodded to the guard who pushed Dean towards the direction of the exit door. He opened it. The sun hit his face like a blinding light, the fresh air filled his lungs and the sound of the other prisoners weren’t far off in the distance.

“Damn, it’s good to be alive.” He let the heat wash over him. Four days he’d been down there.

“Keep moving Winchester, I don’t gots all day.” Another shove from the guard.

Thing was, Dean had all day. He was one year into his sentence, a whole lot more to go. Dean had so many days in here he wasn’t even gonna try counting. For now, he was just gonna try to not get sent back to Empty. 


 

Dean had been released from his cuffs and back into the wild of Purgatory he went. Its 8am, yard time. It gave the prisoners time to stretch their legs, get out in the open, or at least more open than the concrete walls they were confined before their work detail. Not that Dean needed it, his work detail was outside, but he enjoyed yard time.

He spotted Sam and Charlie leaning against one of the fences chatting. They kept to themselves, not wanting to draw too much attention. Charlie saw Dean first, hit Sam’s chest with the back of his hand and Sam turned. His lurch of a brother smiled at him as he crossed the yard.

“You’re out!” Sam said. He took his hands from his pocket to embrace his brother in a hug. Dean was glad his brother was still in one piece, no bruises, no cuts, nothing. A relief. He hated being down in the Empty, meant he didn’t get to keep an eye on his little brother, not that he probably needed much minding, towering over most of the people in here.

“Break it up, no touching.” A guard said. Dean let go and didn’t complain, no back talk, no attitude which was unlike him. That got a curious brow from his brother.

“Someone being on their best behaviour?” Charlie asked nudging Dean with his shoulder.

Charlie, small guy, red fired hair about as long as Sam’s in Purgatory for something involving hacking people he wasn’t supposed to, online terrorism. Dean couldn’t keep up with the technicalities of it all. A whizz with computers, and it landed him a 4-year stint. He was only 6 months in. He was a good kid, smart witted once he opened up to the rest of them. Kids like him would get eaten up around here. Kids like him needed friends like Sam and Dean to survive.

“Shurley paid me a personal visit, basically told me to keep my mouth shut or else.”

“I give it a week.” Charlie said. Sam nodded in agreement. He wanted to shove them but yeah, he needed to be on his best behaviour, so he gave a glare instead. Can’t get sent to the Empty for glaring and Dean could do a mean glare. Charlie handed him a smoke and the three of them leaned against the fence to begin watching the yard. It was what they did in morning yard time, keeping tabs on others helped them stay ahead of the game. Who to avoid, who was in a bad mood, who was eyeing up who etc.

“So, what’s been happening since I was in the Empty?” Dean took a long drag of his cigarette. No smokes in the Empty, he missed that burn. It took him three months to get hooked on them. Needed three a day at least to keep that itch away.

“Aside from the usual Folk Nation and Aryan turf wars?” Sam questioned.

“Yeah, anything new?” Dean casted his eyes around the yard. The Folk Nation by the gym equipment, the Aryan on the bleachers keeping an eye on each other but remaining distant. They were always at each other’s throats, race wars. Gordon, the guy who landed him in the Empty in the first place was working up a sweat with some barbells. He needed to stay away from Gordon for as long as humanly possible from now on, needed to keep off his radar. 

In the farthest point from him Dean could see the Russian’s on a bench, playing cards. They kept to themselves unless provoked, no one fucked with the Russians, ever. People who came up against them, didn’t last very long in Purgatory.

There was someone new at their table, someone new sitting in the center of the table more importantly. Uriel, the usual center of the Russian gang nowhere to be seen. This guy was younger, about Dean’s age, hair as dark as the Empty got in the nighttime.

“New Russian?”

“He came down from Hell yesterday, Uriel’s nowhere to be seen.” Charlie informed him.

The new guy, Russian, had to be if he was sitting at the table and also the tattoos were a giveaway. Too distant for Dean to see them clearly though which was a shame, Dean had a curiosity about the Russian gang tattoos. He never got himself close enough except maybe in the showers to get a decent look at them and he had to extra careful where his eyes landed in there for obvious reasons.  

It was easy enough to tell who belonged where. Folk Nation, an all-black prison gang, aggressive, intimating by their stature usually in for drugs and weapons. Aryan Brotherhood, white as fuck usually skinheads with a Nazi symbol or five plastered on their bodies, most of them meth heads and bat shit crazy tended to be in for human trafficking or drugs. The Bratva, Russian gang, cold, collected, ruthless when provoked, tattoos etching their bodies too but less obvious than the Aryan. People speculated what their sentences were for, not that they’d ever say for certain. Dean had his money on them being in Purgatory for money laundering or racketeering, though chances were their list of illegal activity was endless. The Russians were next level bad news.

And if this guy came from Hell, max security down the road, he was some bad news, next level, do not fuck with me kind of dude. Not that anyone here was particularly good news, hell even Dean was a bad guy but max security? Serial killers, psychopaths, sociopaths, all the paths under the sun were kept down in Hell.

Dean deduced he must have replaced Uriel, the last head of the Russian gang in Purgatory. The way the others reacted to him, drawn to him, waiting on his every move before they make theirs. Like he was the engine and the other inmates worked around him. 

“Looks important.” Dean noted.

“Looks terrifying.” Sam replied.

As if the guy knew they were talking about him he lifted his head towards them. Dean met his cold blue eyes from across the yard. He didn’t break the stare from the Russian. He should have, he knew he should, but he’d been in the Empty for the past 4 days and his internal guide book for surviving in Purgatory hadn’t kicked back into full gear yet. Sam was right, the guy was terrifying but also, he had this dark and mysterious thing going for him that Dean found oddly alluring though he’d never admit it. The Russian tilted his head almost amused that Dean was still looking over at him.

The others lifted their heads too, the entire table now staring at Dean.

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam shoved his brother making him break his stare.

“What?”

“You trying to get yourself killed?” his brother was unimpressed with him. He wasn’t trying to get himself killed, the last thing he wanted was for Sam to be alone in here without him. Shurley’s threat still on his mind. Dean needed to kick his prison guide book back in fast. He smoked the rest of his cigarette, careful not to look back over though he could swear the Russian was still looking at him with those cold blues.


Benny told him during lunch that Garth, his old celly, topped himself when Dean was in the Empty meaning chances were, he had a new celly to go back to once lunch was over. 

He and Benny worked together on the compound. The manager of grounds in Purgatory paired them together most of the time because they weren’t at each other’s throats every two minutes. Dean originally met Benny at intake, they shared a bunk for a month before going into gen pop. He was in on assault and battery, doing 9 years. 

“Did he leave a note or summin’?” Dean asked through a mouth full of food. The food here was garbabe, the food in the Empty was worse. He’d chow down on pretty much anything after the meals he had down there. Benny leaned over the table careful of eaves droppers.

“Word is, he got jumped in the showers by the AB.” 

“Shit.” Dean’s nightmare.

“Yeah, it was real bad apparently. Someone I know who works janitor detail had to clean up the blood.” Benny told him.

Dean looked over to the AB, all huddled up together on their table cracking jokes and cat calling anything that had a pulse and wasn’t built for fighting. People like Garth. 

“Those fucking Nazis, why can’t they just fuck each other? There’s enough of them to go around.” he kept his voice low. His tone tensed.

“It’s a power game brother, aint all about getting off.”

“I know, just…” Dean lost his appetite. He dropped his spork into his tray.

“You gonna eat that?” Benny pointed to Dean’s tray. He shoved it into his friend’s space. His jaw was set tight. Garth talked too much, was a pain in his ass most days and cried himself to sleep most nights. If anything, Dean should be glad he’s getting a new celly but the way it went down, what happened to Garth, he didn’t deserve that. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Alright inmates, back to your cells for count! Let’s go! Let’s go!” the guards shouted banging their batons on the rails they were standing near. Dean dropped his tray off and walked back with Benny to their block in anticipation of who was going to be there waiting for him.


 

When he climbed the stairs to his cell there was someone outside of it. A Russian. The count wasn’t called yet. Dean walked up, hands in his pockets taking a deep breath as he went. Last thing he wanted was to bunk with a Russian.

“You my new celly?” he questioned the guy. The guy didn’t respond. Dean wondered if they even spoke a word of English sometimes. All they did was speak in Russian to each other and rarely spoke to anyone else. He spotted a dagger tattooed through the guy’s neck under his orange uniform.

“He isn’t,” a Russian accent came from inside his cell. Dean looked over the guy’s shoulder, seeing that Russian from the yard lying on the bottom bunk. He was reading a book. The one with those cold blue eyes. The one who was in Hell not two days ago for who the fuck knows was now Dean’s new celly. That’s just what he needed to make sure he wasn't going to get sent back to the Empty, a psychopath in his sleeping quarters. 

“Ostav’ nas.” He said in Russian Dean presumed and the guy outside left without another word. Now that was some power. Dean might have been impressed if he wasn’t slightly shitting himself on the inside.

“Leave us.”

Dean stepped into his cell. He was hesitant, it had been his cell for almost a year and he suddenly felt like this wasn’t his space anymore. Not with what just happened. That little display had been for a reason. The guy outside the cell, waiting for Dean to come back a power display of what kind of person Dean was about to be sharing his cell with. Not that Dean needed any more convincing how terrifying this Russian could be. Even relaxing on his bunk, reading a novel he had a presence.

Before Dean had a chance to introduce himself, they were called for count.

He stood outside, leaned against the rails and the Russian followed leaning against the rails with him. Dean shifted an inch further away to avoid brushing his shoulders with the guy. 

“I saw you, earlier in the yard looking at me.” the guy said. That deep voice rang through Dean’s body like a gong, vibrations making the hair of his skin stand on edge. Dean was surprised he remembered, that Dean had been someone this guy could recall in a yard full of inmates. That gave an uneasy feeling in his gut. He didn’t want to be one this guy’s radar.

“Yeah, I was in the Empty for a few days, so didn’t recognise you was all.” Dean replied trying to keep his voice neutral. Don’t show weakness, don’t show anything other than neutral and angry.

The guard, Zachariah, did the count, passing them clicking the clicker in his hand and eyeing them up.

“You going to cause me anymore trouble Winchester?” the guard asked. Dean shook his head, making a point to not even look at the guard as he spoke. Zachariah was a dick to Dean, liked pushing his buttons. Seemed this time would be no different. He liked making a spectacle out of him.

“What? No smart comments out of that pretty mouth of yours?” he taunted Dean. He said it loud enough some of the AB could hear and wolf whistled. Dean kept his head down, don’t react.

“The Empty cut out your tongue Dean?” he kept pressing. Dean inhaled sharp. Don’t react.

Zachariah chuckled enjoying this mute Dean that wasn’t going to react to being provoked even if his blood was starting to boil.

The guard looked the Russian up and down next but didn’t say a word. He saw his new celly bring up his right hand like he was showing Zachariah something. It made the guard tense, made him take a step back from the Russian. He even managed to put fear in the prison guards.

Dean and the Russian went back inside, another guard sealed them up for the hour till yard time.

Dean’s fist was so tight he gave himself white knuckles. He hopped up onto his bed and tried to calm himself down. He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes trying to get the words “pretty mouth” out of his brain, trying to get those looks the AB were giving him out of his brain. Trying to not let Zachariah rile him up any more than he already had.

The bottom bunk moved. The guy back lying on his bed reading his book probably. He didn’t need his new celly seeing those looks either, getting ideas that it was something Dean did or something that he could take from Dean. They were similar build but if he was like any of the other Russians in here, he could take on someone twice his size and still win. Dean couldn’t take that chance. He hopped off the bed needing to set some house rules. 

“Can we talk?” Dean asked. He pulled up the chair from the desk, turned it around to straddle it. Now a bit closer to the guy he can see some of his tattoos. A rose wrapped in barbed wire was the nearest one too him. The hand he lifted up to Zachariah had a skull on it with sharp canines. Prison tattoos.

“Are you part of the Aryan?” The guy didn’t look up from his book as he asked.

“What?” Dean took his eyes off the tattoos, missing the question. “Am I…?” 

The guy sighed, closed his book and turned his head to look at Dean square in the eye.

“You look Aryan, are you part of the brotherhood?” he spoke slower, like Dean couldn’t understand him. That ticked him off.

“I can understand you, no need to slow down your words. I’m not an idiot.”

 "And yet you have not answered my simple question.”

Dean ran his hands through his hair. Don’t fight, don’t provoke, don’t piss off the new head of the Russian gang on day one.

“No, I’m not with any gangs.” He replied. The guy sat up on the bed, swung his feet around to plant them on the ground in one swift movement. His elbows resting on his kneecaps. There were more tattoos on his other hand, symbols and letters. Dean spotted something creeping out under his sleeve, the end of feathers maybe.

“Not a wise move for someone like you.” He looked back to the guy, trying not to get distracted again by the tattoos.

“Someone like me?” Dean raised a brow not really paying much attention to the words, more focused on how his eyes shifted around Dean’s face subtly, the tiniest darts like he was trying to join up Dean’s freckles.   

The guy dropped his eyes to Dean’s mouth.

“Someone with a pretty mouth.” He said matter of fact. It made Dean suddenly aware of how dry they were, that they were slightly parted which happened sometimes to Dean when he was distracted. He licked them on impulse. The guy’s brow raised slightly, watching Dean’s tongue coat his bottom lip. He was more conscious of himself now. That stare made him feel like he was on show. He shuffled in the seat, why in the hell did he choose to straddle it. 

Don’t appear weak Dean.

“I can handle myself.” Was what Dean decided to answer with. The guy took the opportunity to drag his eyes down the length of Dean’s body. They were in the same hideous orange uniform. The heat meant they didn’t have to wear the orange V neck top at least, both of them in white round neck t-shirts and the polyester orange trousers with white trainers. Somehow Dean felt he wasn’t just looking at his clothes, the guy stopping to look at how Dean’s arms stretched over the fabric in his sleeve and the same on his thighs.

“I’m sure you can.” The guy lifted the side of his mouth an inch. Enough for Dean to notice. The heat rose up the back of Dean’s neck. He couldn’t tell if the dude was flirting or admiring him or whatever, either way Dean needed to get back on track. Dean wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew what he looked like. Enough people outside of Purgatory wanted him and that was the same for inside of it.

“We need to set some ground rules.”

“You want to give me rules?” his tone had changed. It was grittier, a ‘you don’t want to fuck with me today or any day’ tone. The somewhat interest he had in Dean vanished in a second. Dean felt his heart rate pick up, a deer in head lights. His instinct was to back down, but he couldn’t.

Dean challenged it. He had to.

“You say that like I’m supposed to know who you are.”

“Not someone you give rules to Dean.” The guy had been sitting on his name the whole time and never mentioned it. Another power play, a damn good one too seeing as Dean knew next to none about this guy except, he thought Dean had a pretty mouth, whether objectively or subjectively was yet to be decided and most likely part of the Russian gang if not the head of it.

Dean got up out of his chair, stiffened himself up.

“Just don’t touch my stuff, or me without asking. Got it?”

The guy rolled his eyes and nodded reluctantly. He needed a verbal confirmation.

“Say it.”

“Yes, I understand,” his voice lost its grit. He took his book back and lay back down. Dean took that as their conversation was over. He hopped back onto the top bunk, trying to get his breath back. He survived that, not too bad.

“Castiel.” He called out from the bottom bunk. Was that Russian?

“I don’t speak Russian.”

“It’s my name Dean, my name is Castiel.”


 

Chapter Text


Castiel worked in the kitchen which meant he was gone early in the morning before Dean managed to see him and he didn’t see him for rec-time before dinner either. When they were back in their cells for lights out Castiel just read his book, kept to himself. It was peaceful, not what he had expected. The other Russian remained outside till the cells were locked. Even if the guy was there to protect Castiel, it gave Dean some peace of mind that no one would be trying to come in. He didn’t need Gordon or some AB looking to start something with Dean.

At breakfast word had spread to the rest of his friends that his new celly was Castiel. They wanted to know everything. Dean had some questions of his own too. He had been too scared to even attempt to start a conversation with Castiel on his own after barking orders at him. He was surprised he still had all his finger nails and teeth.

Even in the dead heat they had porridge for breakfast, a banana, slice of toast and some coffee. He brought his commissary cherry jam with him, it helped with the blandness.

“And he just said he’d leave you alone? Just like that?” Bobby questioned. He knew Bobby from the outside, good friend of their Dad when they were both out of prison at the same time. Bobby wasn’t going to see the outside of this place again. Life without parole he got this time for grand theft auto with a deadly weapon. It’s his third offence. No one messed with him though, he was a vet in here, people respected that in all the gangs. Well, except the AB because they’re bat shit crazy.

“I mean he said he understood. He speaks pretty good English.” Dead answered.

“They all speak English doofus,” Charlie said. “Just not to each other.”

“Can’t believe Shurley told you not to step out of line again and then he drops you with the head of the Russian gang in your cell. It’s like he wants you to mess up.” Sam chimed in.

Yeah, it was messed up. Shurley liked that, the sick fuck playing out situations in his head, letting them unfold like they were all just puppets and he was pulling the strings. He knew he owned them, could do what he wanted pretty much. The guards followed his every order like he was some God or something. He never liked Dean, had it against him ever since he found out who his Father was. This was just one more story Shurley wanted to see play out. What would Dean Winchester do when he was provoked by someone like Castiel and what would Castiel do to him? Real life Sims.

He had to keep his head down and his neck in. No more slip ups, no more attitude and no more letting his anger show. He needed to be more like his brother, not rise to it. Easier said than done. That was hard when the Aryan Brotherhood were making it their mission to make Dean uncomfortable since the guard decided to point out his mouth in front of them. They passed the cell, eye fucking Dean, another reason to be glad of the security detail courtesy of his new celly.

Dean had spent the first six months here establishing some sort of a reputation for not taking shit like that from anyone, the lewd looks, the comments, the casual groping, before, if any of them even tried it they’d get what was coming to them. Now all he could do was keep his head down, bury that rage inside of him and try not to lash out. There were cameras in the common areas if he did anything Shurley would know, he couldn’t hide. 

One of them in particular was looking at Dean like he hadn’t eaten in about a month. It made his skin crawl. Alastair, he remembered his name being, charged for human trafficking though word around was that he was a known rapist in his town, not that he was convicted of that. That was all that Dean needed, a rapist looking at Dean like his next target. He wanted to hide his face in his hands, crawl under the table. He did the opposite, ate his food like he hadn’t a care in the world. Don’t let them see you sweat. 

“Alastair keeps looking over here.” Charlie noted.

“No shit,” Dean replied. “I feel like I’m a fucking prized pig over here.”

“Ignore it Dean. It’s not worth it.” His brother tried to be rational. Dean didn’t work in rational. That’s why he got more time than Sam in the end. He wasn’t thinking straight when it all went down. Five more years he got and for what?

“You don’t have a sign on your damn back Sam that says ripe for fucking.” He snapped. His voice accidentally raising.

“Easy boys.” Bobby said as the guards walked past them as they ate.

“Problem Winchester?” the guard asked after hearing Dean raise his voice at his brother. 

“No, all good here.” Sam smiled. It wasn’t good, it was anything other than good. Nothing was kept secret for long in this place. If the AB knew that Dean couldn’t step out of line, was only time before Gordon found out.

“We all got our eyes on you Winchester.” He heard to guard say as he walked off. Dean dropped his head between his shoulders.

“Chin up Dean, sulking only going to make you look weaker,” Bobby told him.

He downed some of his bitter black coffee. It burned his mouth. Least it made him feel something different. With his chin up, coffee close to his mouth, he took in the room, eyes avoiding the AB instead gravitating towards the kitchen, to where Castiel was leaning against the door frame with his own coffee in his hand. He was staring back at Dean like he had been watching Dean for some time already. He was wearing an apron. It was spotless though.

Castiel lifted his mug to Dean in a hello. Dean mirrored the gesture back. He was staring at Dean like he had been before Dean pissed him off, that air of interest, curiosity. It was in the way he tilted his head, like he was studying him. Castiel didn’t look at Dean like the AB did, he looked at him like he was trying to see underneath him. That presence his had was alluring, Dean couldn’t deny that. One of his minions called him away.

“What was Cas in Hell for?” Dean turned back to his table.

Bobby almost choked on his coffee. “Cas?”

“Cas-tiel. Whatever Bobby. You know or what?”

“I might know.” Bobby answered carefully.

“You might?” Charlie pressed.

He just shrugged taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Going to need more than a damn shrug Bobby. I live with the guy. What we talking here, rape, murder, rape and murder?”

Bobby looked around, careful again for no ears listening in. Snitches got stitches even Bobby wasn’t immune to that way of prison world.

“All I know is we’re on our way to breakfast, next thing the siren goes and we’re all on the ground wondering what the hell is going on then I hear 10-54d on a guard’s radio as he runs past me…”

Dean turned to Sam to tell him the code.

“10-54d, a possible dead body.” Sam knew all of them.

“Couple of hours later I walk pass, see the bloody body covered on the floor still. It’s not covered probably, just a plastic sheet over it with the navy uniform sticking out. That was two years ago I wanna say.”

There was only one kind of people around here who wore a navy uniform.

“He only got 2 years for killing a freakin’ guard?” Charlie loud whispered.

“Allegedly.” Bobby pointed out. They all rolled their eyes at that. Allegedly meant yes. There were cameras in the dining room. People would have seen that. Shurley would have seen that. Cas must have some sway up in Purgatory to only get essentially a slap on the wrist of two years in Hell for something as rough as that. Then again, the way Uriel was treated was similar, he got away with so much. The guards were as scared of him as the rest of them were.

Dean looked back up to the kitchen. Cas hadn’t returned to his post. It would be hours before he saw him again, back in their cell for count and then lock up. Somehow knowing that his celly shanked a prison guard doesn’t stop the feeling that Dean wished those eyes were back on him, trying to unpick him from afar.


Work detail had been a ball ache. The manager wanted he and Benny to take the bird shit off the roof of the maintenance sheds like anyone was going to able to see on top of the shed anyway. Manager put it down to Shurley’s orders and there was nothing she could do about it. Her hands were tied even though they had started yesterday on making some new fences that needed actual replacement, a real problem they had but no, Shurley wanted Dean scooping up bird shit off the roof of sheds so that’s what he had to do.

He was all kinds of pissed off when he got back to his cell. That guy with the dagger tattoo stood outside again, not letting Dean get passed him into his cell.

“I live here dumbass.” Dean was close to shouting it. So, fucking close.

“Avtoritet, u vas yest’ kompaniya.” the guy said unwavering in his stance to block Dean. 

“Authority, you have company.”

“Get out of my way Russian.” Dean stepped closer into the guy’s space. Again, the guy doesn’t even flinch, if anything he smiles.

“On milyy kogda zlitsya.”

“He’s cute when he’s angry.”

Dean was this close to slamming this Russian into the bars behind him. Another Russian came out of his cell, walked away without looking back. Cas came forward then from inside the cell and put his hand on the guy’s shoulder.

“Dostatochno Balthazar, vpustite yego.” He said.

“Enough Balthazar, let him in.”

The guy stepped to the side. Dean pulled the flesh inside the bottom of cheek into his mouth. He was never going to win with those guys. He resisted hitting the guy in shoulder with his body as he passed.

“Ostav’ nas.” Dean had heard that phrase before. It resulted in the guy leaving that time and he did it again this time.

“Leave us.” 

“If I say that to him, will he piss off too?” Dean asked planting himself in the chair. He ran a hand over his hair trying to soothe himself back to some rational state of calm. The heat nearly made him sweat through his clothes, his hair damp from it.

“No, Balthazar will only listen to me.” Castiel replied. He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees again leaning forward to look at Dean.

“I’m not in the mood for a staring competition right now Cas.” He could see his celly eyes squint at the name. Dean was about to correct himself then decided against it. If the guy wanted him to call him Castiel, he’d tell him, or he’d hit him.

“What are you in the mood for then?” was what he got instead of a name correction.

“Something to take this damn edge off.” He leaned his head back, eyes closed, trying to calm down. That electric current of pissed off was still coursing its way through his body, in his veins, in his bones. He wanted to punch something, someone, he wanted to exert this energy.  

He felt a cold hand on his thigh. Dean snapped his head back, hand immediately grabbing Cas’ wrist before it got any further up his leg. His other hand in a fist ready to use it. 

“I told you not to fucking touch me.” he growled. 

Cas moved quick, like a fucking cat or something. He slipped out of Dean’s grip with ease, was off the bed, in Dean’s lap, hand grabbing Dean’s hair pulling it back and pressing something sharp into Dean’s neck before Dean had a chance to even register what was happening.

A shiv. Dean had a shiv against his throat.

“Try not to move Dean, you might cut yourself.” Cas warned. There was a slight amusement in his voice, like he was enjoying this.

“Look, I’m sorry Cas, please…” Dean pleaded. His heart beat rang in his ears.

“Don’t beg lev.” Cas sounded disappointed in him, like this wasn’t what Cas wanted.

“You have a freakin’ shiv on my throat, what do you want me to do, sing a song?”

Cas smiled at that. Usually his attitude would get him in trouble, Cas seemed to like it. He eased up, dropped the shiv but didn’t get out of Dean’s lap. Dean wasn’t going to protest. The guy did just almost slit his throat. He was just glad to be still breathing.

“I heard you used to be loud, brave.” Cas ran his hand up Dean’s hair. It made him shiver from the base of his neck down his back. Cas brought up his other hand, ran that through the side of Dean’s hair, brushing his palm over his ear. Dean wanted to lean into it. He had a weakness of people playing with his hair. Always made him go limp.

“Yeah, well that was before…” he paused. Cas dug his nails in harder into his scalp. Fuck that felt good. The anger slowly seeping out of his skin from the touch. He didn’t understand though, one second the Russian was going to shiv him, now he was running his hands through his hair. The Russian was seriously unpredictable, one second hot, the next cold. 

“Before?” Cas asked. He ran his fingers under Dean’s top at the back, pressed his thumbs into the muscles there just at the base of his neck. Dean tried to hold in a pathetic whine that was making its way up his throat. He had a murderer's hands on his body, and he didn’t want it to stop anytime soon.

 “Dammit Cas, you can’t expect me to have a conversation when you’re doing that.”

The Russian smiled again. Dean was enjoying this much more than he probably should. His trousers were getting a bit tight in the crotch region, happy that Cas wasn’t sitting that close on his lap to feel it. He needed to keep some dignity, getting a hard on for someone playing with his hair like he was a teenager was not dignified.

“You want me to stop?” Cas pressed again, right where his neck met his shoulder. The whine came out that time, low and from his chest.

“Fuck no.” Dean breathed. He closed his eyes, let himself revel in this for as long as Cas was going to give it to him. Cas’ long nimble fingers alternating between digging into his muscles to softly pulling through his hair. He was helpless with the shiv in his throat, now with it gone he was still helpless under Cas’ hands and cold blues trying to unravel Dean bit by bit. 

It had been so long since someone touched him like this, since he enjoyed it.

He couldn’t say how long they stayed like that. Two minutes, ten, Dean lost track of time. The anger in him vanished, his body lax, he could almost go to sleep. 

When the count was called Cas got off of Dean’s lap, walked outside the cell like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Dean watched him walk with heavy eyes, the shiv that was on his throat Cas slipped into his waist band, his tawny skin peeking out with some more ink there too.

“If you do not want to get in trouble, I suggest you join me lev.” Cas called out to him. Dean got up off the chair, shook himself back to some sort of respectable stance, fixed his hair, fixed his dick more importantly and joined Cas outside.

This time when Zachariah came, he didn’t make himself small. He stood tall, chest out, chin up, squaring Zachariah in the eye.

“Someone’s feeling brave today.” Zachariah noted.

Cas smirked enjoying the show.


 

Chapter Text


It had a been few days since Cas tried to slit his throat, nothing more had happened since. That didn’t stop Dean from thinking about it. He thought about it at work, in bed, in the shower, you got the drift. Cas’ hands left an imprint in his brain, on his body. When he ran his own hands through it, it just never satisfied him. He never thought he’d be seeking out the hands of a Russian gang member on him but damn, he kinda was, not that he’d ever admit that aloud, ever, to anyone, not even to the Russian and his magical deadly hands. 

Dean being bi was not public knowledge in Purgatory. He wanted to keep it that way, promised Sam not to tell a living soul once they landed themselves in here. Charlie figured it out early on being gay himself, he also kept the secret safe as Dean kept his. Charlie would be prime prag material for a daddy, especially if they found out he liked it in the ass. Appearing straight kept them away, unless you were Dean apparently.

He was standing in the commissary line with Sam when he got his ass smacked. Dean jolted forward, reaching for Sam’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Oh, that’s a mighty fine behind Winchester,” One of the Folk Nation gang walked on shaking his hand that he had used. “Might need it to take that for a spin real soon if ya know what I’m sayin’.” He added.

“You son of bitch.” Dean cursed about to step out of the line, go after the asshole when his brother pulled him back in by his top.

“Dean don’t do it,” His brother pressed him against the wall. He wanted to rip the Folk Nation’s throat out with his bare hands, wanted to break every bone in that hand of his that touched Dean. “Let it go.”

“Let it go? Let it go!” Dean pushed against his brother’s arm that was holding him in place.

“There are cameras everywhere Dean, guards everywhere.” his brother explained. He was right. He couldn’t react. Dean ran his hands through his hair, got his breath back and regained himself. Sam let go and they walked on ahead in the queue. Everyone in this damn queue just saw that guy get away with slapping Dean on the ass. That was going to spread like wild fire. That was going to get back to Alastair. 

They stayed in the queue. Dean wasn’t going to let it seem like it got to him. He needed things, anyway, running low on body wash and jam. Their block only got commissary one day a week. He missed the last one being in the Empty.

“So, how’s the Russian?” Sam asked.

“Quiet.” Dean shrugged. He wasn’t lying.

“You haven’t managed to piss him off yet?”

“Nope.” Dean shook his head, hands in his pockets. That was a lie.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

He looked over at his baby brother. All 6ft 4 of him towering over most of the guys in here. That didn’t stop Dean from seeing the little kid who he pretty much raised, tried to protect, tried to keep safe and yet he still ended up in here with Dean. 

“It’s fine Sammy, don’t worry that pretty head of yours.”

Sam didn’t press it. They got to the commissary window.

“Hello boys.” Crowley greeted them.

“Crowley.” Dean nodded. Crowley managed to get himself one of the best work details there. Everyone wanted to work commissary. The English inmate refused to tell anyone why he was in there made everyone think it was something bad. Dean assumed it was for something stupid and he was too embarrassed to say it. The guy was sleezy and had eyes everywhere, he wasn’t a part of any gang, but he did own most of the sex workers in Purgatory. Kept one with him in the commissary to run around collecting the things, this week it was Masters, a favourite among Dean’s particular block. Crowley had the guy out to flaunt him no doubt, get the guys in his block thirsty for whatever Master had to offer.

“What’ll it be today?” his eyes darted between the brother.

“You first Sammy.” Dean said. Sam called out his inmate number for Crowley as Dean waited patiently. Masters was leaning against the rail near the body wash, playing with his part, eyes landing on Dean heavy full of desire. Dean shook his head, deciding to turn to not face him. He wasn’t interested, not in Masters anyway.

There was something happening down the queue. Everyone was rubber necking to see what was going on. Dean followed, leaning out of the queue to see.

Dean saw Cas with two others, Balthazar and someone else try to get passed in the queue, jumping it. The Russians jumped the queue, always, no one objected it ever. It looked like the new inmate, still in his grey uniform from intake didn’t understand this and was kicking off, trying to show off in front of the others.

“Do ya hear me Russian scum?” the guy shoved Cas. Dean felt the whole corridor inhale as they watched on.

“Dead man walking.” He heard someone say.

The guy went for a punch this time, arm out swinging, and Cas ducked his head with ease, brought his fist up to deliver an uppercut. Dean winced at the sight of it, easily a shattered chin, few broken teeth. The guy fell back with a resounding thud, knocked off his feet. No one moved, no one dared move. Cas stepped on either side of the guy who was holding his face in pain.

“Derzhat’ yego za ruki.” Cas said. The other two moved to pull the guys hands off of his face.

“Hold his arms.”

Cas hit the guy, again, again and again. After the first blow his two men didn’t even need to hold his hands down, he was unconscious. The guards didn’t move, pretended not to see because Cas had that kind of power in here. Cas stood back up. Fist bloodied. Balthazar pulled a cloth from his pocket for Cas to wipe his hand, like he’d just eaten a taco and got some grease on his hand, not beat on someone to within an inch of his life.

The Russians stepped over the body, leaving it there and walked on towards the top of the queue, towards Dean and Sam. No one touched the body. Everyone returned to their conversation, as if nothing happened. 

Dean grabbed his brother, pulled him back to give Cas and the others space to get to the window. He watched Cas wipe the blood off of his hand as he walked then handed it back to Balthazar. His fist was cut from the force of his hits. Dean was hesitant to speak with others around, with his brother around.

Their eyes met. Cas’ calm, serene, he hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Thank you, lev.” Cas said noticing he’d made space. Dean nodded. They stayed there while the Russians got their commissary from Crowley, no inmates number were called out. They didn’t even need to pay for it. Dean remembered being near the top of the queue when Uriel was running the gang, he had to pay. He noticed they didn’t get anything to treat Cas’ hand. 

When they left, Sam collected his things, Dean called out his number, asked for body wash, cherry jam and a small first aid kit.

“What’s layif?” Sam questioned as they made their way back to the block.

“Huh?”

“Layif, Castiel said thank you layif to you.”

“Oh, I don’t know, he says that sometimes.” Dean shrugged. He never paid much attention to it probably because he had other things on his mind, a shiv to his throat, an erection to hide. Sam nodded. No doubt his little brother would find out exactly what it meant.


Dean was back in the cell before Cas this time, rare enough thing to happen. Sitting at the desk they shared staring a piece of paper for the last ten minutes trying to figure out what to write on it. So far, he had, Dad. Had to start somewhere right?

When the Russian came back, he was mid conversation with Balthazar. 

“Ya ne ubival yego.” Cas said entering the cell.

“I didn’t kill him.”

Balthazar didn’t go in any further than one foot inside the cell.

“Chto vy khotite, chtoby ya skazal yemu.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

Cas sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his face, irritated by something. Dean spotted the dried blood on his right hand. He hadn’t even cleaned it properly yet. The stains on his fingers still there from hours ago.

“Nothing, Uriel needs to remember his place,” Cas replied in English to Balthazar. Dean raised a brow at that, as did Balthazar. “Ostav’ nas.” He shooed Balthazar away with his other hand. Dean figured that meant go away now, the only Russian he knew. Balthazar obeyed, returning to his own cell down a bit. He shared with one of the other Russians. They all shared with each other except Cas actually that Dean came to think of it.

“How come you don’t share with the other Russians?” Cas pulled his hands off of his face to look at Dean. His blue eyes squinted. “If you don’t mind me asking.” Dean added.

“A captain does not share the same space as his soldiers.” Cas replied. Dean nodded understanding. He didn’t realise it was organized like that, unless Cas was merely giving him an analogy that Dean would understand. They were private, secretive and didn’t share much with outsiders, like their tattoos. Their own language.

Cas looked at his hand. Dean did too. The devil with the sharp teeth. A circle with a dot on the inside on one of his fingers.

“You need to clean it,” He said. Cas huffed but got up to their shared sink and ran it under the tap. Dean took out the first aid kit from his drawer, opened it to set it up. Cas came back to sit down, noticed the green kit on the desk. “Lemme see.” Dean put his hand out. 

The Russian tilted his head at the order. 

“C’mon, thought you didn’t like it when I begged.” Dean joked.

Cas smirked and handed his hand over. Dean took it carefully, brought it close to him to inspect it. Most of the stained blood was gone now. It wasn’t that bad all things considered. The other guy was sent to the infirmary, broken nose, teeth missing, fractured cheek. He would live and he wouldn’t talk to a Russian like that ever again.

He worked in silence, could feel Cas’ eyes on him as he dapped the cuts on his knuckles with anti-septic, took out some dirt that was in there. He remembered Sam doing this for him, in Purgatory and out. His fists bloody from fights. That anger getting him into trouble constantly. Revenge fueled rage that permeated his very being. They spent most of their life seeking it, the rush when they got it, the finality of it all. They knew chances where they’d land themselves in prison, they didn’t care. It was everything to them. Now when someone wronged Dean, wronged someone he gave a shit about he had to do something about it. It was inked into him like Cas’ tattoos, a permanent fixture.

“What are you thinking?” Cas asked.

“About your tattoo.” Dean wrapped the bandage around his hand, covering the tattoo on his finger, half covering the skulls head. Dean made sure its teeth were still sticking out. They seemed important.

“I have many, be specific.”

“I mean I think about all of them,” Dean let slip. He felt the heat rise on the back of his neck admitting that. Cas smirked. Half of Cas’ tattoos weren’t on visible, hidden under his clothes. “I mean, eh, the skull.” Dean finished up the bandage, tied it in a knot on his palm and tucked it under. He turned Cas’ hand back over, ran his thumb over the canines.

“It means I am not afraid of authority.” Cas explained. He felt this was privy information Cas was giving him. That not many other Russians would hand that knowledge over as easily. Explained why he showed it to Zachariah during count. A reminder that he did not fear the prison guards. A reminder of what he did to one of their own 2 years ago. Allegedly.

“Something tells me you’re not afraid of anything Cas.”

“I’m afraid of…” Cas paused trying to think of the word. “…angry wind and rain?" 

“Storms?”

“Yes! Storms. I don’t like them.” Cas shuddered.

Dean broke out in a loud laugh. “Scariest son of a bitch in Purgatory is afraid of a storm?”

He shook his head chuckling at the Russian. Cas did too, their laughs echoing in their little cell that they shared. It was a light moment between them. Those were few and far between in Purgatory. Probably more so for someone with as much power and status as Cas had. His cold blues now flooded with light like they’ve let something bright in for once.

He realised he still had Cas’ hand in his, not that the Russian seemed to mind Dean outlining the skull over and over. Dean gave it back, packed up the first aid kit and stood up as count was called.

“You should laugh more Cas, suits you.” He said as he walked out of the cell.

“You too lev.” There it was, that word again.

When the count was done, Dean got onto his bed. The railing shut and they were locked in for the night. The bunk moved, Cas getting into his bed. He lay on his side, saw Cas had draped his top over the back of the chair. The urge to get a sneak off his tattoos were there. Dean thought about Cas lying there, hands behind his head, ink on show. He wondered what other tattoos he could trace over and over with his fingers. If Cas would let him. 

The lights went out.

“Night Cas.”

“Goodnight Dean.” 


 

His good few days had to come to an end at some point. Dean had been riding some sort of a high, no trouble, no worries, no nothing. Work detail was fine, Sam was fine, the Russian was fine. Everything was working like clockwork, even the AB seemed less gawky. He still got stares but that was about as far as it went. It had been quiet for Purgatory.

Saturday morning, he headed to the showers.

He spotted Sam and Charlie coming out of them as he headed in, both of their hair slicked back from the water, towels wrapped around their waists. They were deep in conversation.
“They looked like wings?”

“And what was with the church?”

“What you two nerds talking about now?” Dean asked when he got close enough to them.

Sam gripped his brother’s shoulder in a greeting.

“Your celly’s ink.” Charlie replied.

“He’s in there.” Sam gestured to the showers.

“No loitering you three, move it.” A guard told them. Dean walked on. Showers were not leisurely things. They went in, washed and got the fuck out of there before anything could happen. The guards hated working the showers. It was hard to see with the steam. Stabbings were known to happen and everything else you could imagine. It was a minefield.

The moisture in the air clung to Dean’s skin. Even in the heat they were having, the showers only had one setting, hot near scorching. It was great in the winter. The summer, not so much. Dean hung up his towel and walked into the communal shower. It was busy. His eyes scanned quick for the Russian, spotting him with his head under the spray. His back to Dean.

Dean nearly had to catch his breath seeing the Russian because the ink on his back was all kinds of mesmerizing. The wings spanning over his should blades, curving over his shoulders and down onto his upper arms. Each feather distinct and when he lifted his arms to run his hands through his hair it looked like he could take off right there.

As Dean walked past him, he turned, eyes still closed under the spray washing away the soap off of his body. Dean felt his mouth dry up. His tongue licked their lips and now he felt like the AB. Eyes hungry, looking at Cas like he hadn’t eaten in months. A year really if Dean was going to be honest, he hadn’t eaten in a year and Cas was the food he wanted to taste. There were a set of eyes sitting near his hip bones staring at Dean. He didn’t dare look any lower just let himself indulge in the sight of Cas washing himself for one second longer, his parted mouth and exposed neck, things Dean wanted to imprint in his memory then he moved on to find a free shower head.

He turned it on, let the heat drop onto him, willing the thoughts of Cas to go away already. His dick was interested. His dick should not be interested while in the shower surrounded by other inmates. He was glad for the steam, least that gave him some coverage and the shitty windows that didn’t let in much light too helped. Dean needed to shower and get out of there, hid his erection in his boxers, hope the Russian would leave like he usually did, and Dean could take care of it quietly on his bunk like he had for the past week since returning from the Empty.

Too consumed by his thoughts Dean let his guard down, too distracted by the memories of Cas’ tattoos, his body, he didn’t register that the shower room had emptied rapidly, well emptied of anyone other than a group of particularly white shaved head prisoners.

“Dean Winchester alone at last,” The twang of a southern accent rang in his ears. Dean turned quick, met with the face of Alastair staring back at him, eyes wide, grin big. There were two others on either side of him with equally crazed looks in their eyes.

“You fucking touch me...”

“You’ll do what? Zachariah tells me you have to be a good boy or else. Now do me a favour Dean,” he stepped into Dean’s space. Dean stepped back, hitting the tiles. Alastair brought his hand up, caressed the side of Dean’s face. “And be a good boy for me or else." 

Dean wasn’t going to let it happen that easily. He couldn’t. He had to fight, he had to try. Dean shoved Alastair back. The Nazi stumbled, laughing. The other AB crowded his space, punching Dean in the stomach, making him keel over. The other kicked the back of his leg, made him drop to the tiled floors hard. Alastair watched as his men held Dean down, pulling Dean’s arms back hard till it hurt. He wanted to shout, cry out for help but he couldn’t. He’d either die for snitching or let Alastair do whatever he wanted to do to Dean and have some chance of surviving it. The urge to fight was so strong in Dean though, he wanted to tear them apart, hear their bones crack. He struggled in the Nazi’s grip, if he could just get away.

Alastair produced a shiv from behind his back. A sharpened end of a toothbrush with a razor blade attached to it. Dean froze at the sight of it.

“You going to be a good boy now?” Alastair asked. 

Dean didn’t respond, jaw set tight, eyes on the ground. If he didn’t give what Alastair wanted, he’d bleed out on the shower floor. Alastair dropped down to look at Dean, ran the shiv over the side of Dean’s face on the blunt side.

“Let’s see what that pretty mouth feels like around my dick eh?”

Dean closed his eyes, turned his head away from him. Alastair grabbed Dean’s chin, forced him back and pulled his face up.

“Then I’ll let my boys have a feel too.” He grinned.

They might be quick with him, he hoped they would be. The way they’d been stalking Dean all this time, that pent up that only thing he could hope for at this stage is that they’ll be quick with him, they won’t cut him, bruise him. He’d do it, he’d take it if it meant it was over quicker. He wanted to throw up from the thought of it, probably was going to throw up once they started shoving their dicks in his mouth one after the other.

Dean was honest to God petrified of what was going to happen. He couldn’t let it show, had to be strong, always had to be strong even when faced with being assaulted like this. He’d prefer if they just bet the crap out of him, why did he have to look like this, why did he have to run his mouth for so many months, riling them up for them to want to take Dean down a few pegs, show him his place, on his knees in the shower and there was nothing he could do about it. Fucking nothing. 

“Boss.” One of the AB holding Dean’s arm said. He wasn’t looking at Alastair or Dean. His eyes set on something behind their boss. Alastair turned his head. The Nazi’s body was in the way of Dean for him to be able to see what was happening, what they were looking at.

Whatever it was, it was making the AB guys loosen their grip on Dean’s arms. Loosened them enough for Dean to get out of them but the shiv was still in Alastair’s hand. He couldn’t chance it. It might be a guard, he had to stay where he was.

Alastair was unmoving in his stance.

Then someone spoke, “Leave, before I skin you with that shiv in your hand.”

It was Cas.

The AB guys dropped Dean’s arms on command. Alastair put his hands up like he’d just been caught by the guards and not another inmate. His whole stature went from threatening to afraid in seconds. When Alastair moved, he saw Cas standing in the middle of the shower room, hands crossed over his chest. Those eyes staring at Alastair with such grit and anger Dean’s surprised the Nazi didn’t shit himself. They left without saying a single word. 

When they left Dean managed to get himself back up off the tiles. The adrenaline still coursed through him. His knees ached from the impact, his shoulders felt strained from being pulled and held for that long. His heart pounded in his ears. Dean pressed the button, turning the shower on. He looked back, saw Cas still standing there, watching. He was safe. The Russian had protected him. He knew there would be consequences for that but for now he didn’t care. He was just glad he didn’t have to go through with what AB were going to do to him, glad Cas was there. He let himself close his eyes, arch his head back into the spray and wash away the touch of those assholes from his body.


 

Chapter Text


Dean was in the yard the next morning, smoking a cigarette with Sam, Charlie and Bobby. They were chatting some shit Dean couldn’t give a crap about. He was just happy to be around them, enjoying the sun on his face, the heat on his skin, his tan line was getting a bit ridiculous, but he refused to take his shirt off. That couldn’t be said for the rest of the inmates, most of them walking around shirtless, white tops hanging out of their pockets, his brother included.

“Dean, you even listening?” his brother nudged him with his shoulder.

“Nope.” Dean replied with a cheeky grin not taking his eyes off the yard. He could feel the eye roll without even needing to see it. The smoke filled his lungs. Someone was coming towards them out of the corner of his eyes. Rufus.

“What a bunch of sorry sons of bitches we got here.” He bellowed out.

Rufus was from Folk Nation but he and Bobby went way back. He was in here for as long as Bobby was, if not longer. Dean can’t recall exactly. Assault and battery charge it was in the end. He was a gang member when it suited him, he was big into it when he was younger, now he took more of a back-seat role.

“What you want Rufus?” Bobby grunted.

“C’mon Bobby, that any way to treat an old friend?”

“You coming over in during yard time I know you aint here as a friend.”

He had a point. Yard time they tended to keep to themselves, unless you needed something. It was like the diplomatic area for sorting out tensions or keeping people informed. Either way, Rufus had been sent to talk to them.

“Word on the street is Dean’s protected, got himself a Russian Daddy.” He said. That got Dean’s attention. He snapped his head over to Rufus. The others were looking at Dean confused. He hadn’t told them what happened yesterday, the less people knew the better. He didn’t need Sam worrying, didn’t need Charlie giving him sympathy. He wanted to forget it ever happened. The AB clearly had other motives, spreading around that Cas saved Dean from a gang bang.

“I’m nobody’s prag.” Dean spat out.

“So, it’s not true.” Rufus clarified. Dean stomped out his cigarette, stood up off the table and went to Rufus so he could hear it loud and clear.

“I am not a fucking prag Rufus.”

“Watch your tone boy.” Rufus’s low and deep, slightly threatening. It would have scared Dean once upon a time but when you hear a pissed off Russian gang leader, not much scared you after that.

“I aint your god damn boy either.” He snarled. Rufus’ chest puffed out. Behind him the Folk Nation were all watching, gearing up to come over here.

“Alright, alright,” Bobby gripped Dean’s shoulder. Dean fell back. “Let’s just calm down.”

“Yeah Dean, sit your ass down.” Rufus said. Reluctantly he did what he was told, sitting back down on the table beside Sam. His brother handed him another cigarette. He took it.

“I think what Dean was trying to say is that whatever you heard is not true.” Bobby reasoned with the old Folk Nation. Rufus nodded.

“You better make sure he stays in line Bobby or I’ll get one of mine after his sorry white ass.” Rufus pointed to Dean. Dean was about to stand up again when his brother pushed him back down by his shoulder. He growled low in his chest.

Rufus walked back across the yard to his gang. Bobby sighed, coming over to Dean to give him a talking to no doubt. Dean kept his head low between his shoulders, trying to catch his breath back.

“Smoke your cigarette, don’t do anything stupid for the next twenty minutes. You think you can do that for me Dean?” Bobby grunted. Dean nodded. “Good.”

It took Sam one minute exactly to ask.

“Why would Rufus think you’re Castiel’s prag?”

“It’s nothing.” He dismissed it.

“Dean…”

“Drop it Sam.” He snapped.

This was what he was worried about. Cas protecting him like that. It looked like he was stating a claim, marking what’s his and that no one was allowed to touch him. If anyone else had seen that, they would have walked on, none of their business. It shouldn’t have been any of Cas’ business, then he made it is, he made Dean his business and the whole fucking prison knew about it. 


 

After lunch Dean was back at their cell waiting for him. He was pent up, had been all work detail figuring out how to have this conversation without getting another shiv in his throat. Benny stopped trying to interact with him after the first hour. Dean was snapping and grunting till his heart content the further he went into his anger, frustration and embarrassment.

At lunch it felt like everyone was talking about him and the fucking Russian who saved him from the Aryan Brotherhood. Alastair didn’t even look at him, none of them did. Dean even walked past them, and they kept their heads down as if he didn’t exist. It should have made Dean feel better, that they were off his back, but it didn’t. They were only doing it because of Cas and the power he had over them all.

The Russian came back just as count was being called. They stood outside the cell. Zachariah clicked them in, and they were locked inside for the next hour while the guards changed.

He sat on Cas’ bed, the edge of it with his hands in his hair, elbows on his knees trying to gather up the nerve to tell Cas how pissed off he was with him. The guy saved him, and this was the thanks Dean was going to give him? Disrespect. Cas doesn’t work with disrespect. 

The bed dipped beside him. He didn’t move.

“What’s wrong Dean?” Cas asked.

He wanted to talk. Words weren’t coming out though.

Then there were fingers in his hair. Starting the nape of his neck and moving upwards tugging his hair backwards. His whole body shuddered with it, hairs standing on edge. He watched his arm raise in goosebumps from the touch.

Cas ran his hand back down Dean’s head, nails digging in as he went, and Dean was crumbling with each breathe he took. The Russian knew what this did to Dean, knew that when Dean was angry, he played with his hair and the last time Cas did this Dean was a mess, falling apart bit by bit from the touch of his hands. Cas knew how to play him.

The Russian put his other hand on Dean, had to move in closer, rearranging himself so that one leg was behind Dean on the bed, the other touching Dean’s knee. Cas reached around to curve with the shell of Dean’s ear with his thumb and Dean’s breath caught in his throat because that just was just all kinds of electrifying. Sparks igniting on his body as the Russian undid Dean painfully slowly with his fingers. He had to hold his lip between his teeth to stop the moan trapped in his chest that were dying to come up for air. He was beginning to forget why he was pissed off with Cas in the first-place cause damn his hands were amazing, and Dean craved them so bad.

“Talk to me lev.” There was a smile in his voice, like he knew Dean wasn’t going to talk. 

“I can’t when you...” Dean said voice broken and wrecked. The Russian pressed his head to Dean’s temple, his breathes hot and short like Dean’s. A small relief that at least Cas wasn’t as calm about this as Dean assumed then a hand dipped under Dean’s top, reaching down to skate over his chest, brushing over his nipple and Dean arched into that so fast, chasing that hand for that touch again. When the Russian gave it to him, fingers rolling his nipple gently Dean bit his lip so hard he tasted copper in his mouth.

Cas pulled him back with a fist of hair in his hand. His lips were close to Dean’s ear.

“I want to hear you Dean, let me hear how much you like this.”

He couldn’t cope with that. His mind flooded with images of what he wanted to do, wanted to shove Cas on the bed, let Cas put his mouth on him, his hands, anything. He wanted anything and everything the Russian would give him, so damn gone on his touch. He wanted to be loud, so loud that the whole block would hear how hard he’d come for Cas. He wanted to be brave, not give a fuck they’d they hear him crumbling and falling apart in his cell over and over again till the sun came up if Cas would let him.

The Russian’s had his hand on the hem of Dean’s top silently asking to take it off. If he took his top off it would be game over, all control he was holding in would be lost. He couldn’t do it, remembering the consequences, remembering the rumours that would then be true. Rumours he refused to give into. He wouldn’t let Cas fuck him as his prag.

Dean got off the bed, needed to create some distance between them to get his breath back, get the imprint of Cas’s hands off of his body, compose himself back to who he usually was in here. He was Dean Winchester for crying out loud and he was no one’s prag, even if he wanted Cas in every way imaginable, it wasn’t happening. He wasn’t going to give everyone in Purgatory the satisfaction that Dean was getting fucked by the head of the Russian gang because he owned him.

The width of the room between them and it still wasn’t enough. The air of what could have happened if Dean hadn’t walked away lingering between them. Dean was still a little breathless. When he turned back around Cas was still on the bed, he brought his leg that was around Dean back to the ground. His usual pose of his elbows on his knees looking at Dean with those cold blues. He was pissed.

“You’re annoyed.” Dean said.

“I’m horny.” Cas clarified. His eyes dragged over Dean’s body. The Russian was not going to make this easy for Dean. Cas got what he wanted, always and Dean was not giving him what he wanted.

“It’s not happening Cas, the whole freakin’ prison already thinks I’m your prag.”

Cas sighed. He was irritated and locked in a cell with nowhere to go.

“And you care what they think?” Cas asked.

“I don’t want to be seen to be a prag, it’s pathetic.”

“You would have preferred I let those Nazis fuck you then?”

“No, I just…” Dean moved to sit on the chair. “I used to beat the crap out of anyone who looked at me the wrong way in here and now it feels like I’m back to square one.”

It was a difficult situation. On one hand Dean was glad Cas had saved him from the Nazi, that he didn’t have to experience what they were going to do to him, if he even survived it. On the other, the display Cas did of his power over the Nazi for the sake of Dean was never going to go unnoticed. Dean wasn’t part of the Russian gang, the only logical reason why Cas intervened at all was because he owned Dean.

Cas got the privilege of not caring what people thought about it, they were so beneath him it made no difference in his life. Dean was bottom of the barrel. He was only a year into his sentence. What people thought about him mattered, he was still building some kind of a reputation for himself. This rumour was going to set him back on top of the fact he wasn’t allowed to react to other inmates. The threat of being sent to the Empty still there.

“I can fix this.” Cas said and lay back on the bed, took his book out from under his pillow. That was Cas’ way of saying the conversation over. The Russian had a plan, not that he’d let Dean in on it. He had another half an hour before yard time, decided to climb up onto his bunk and not poke the pissed off Russian any more than he already had.


 

Dean didn’t have long to wait. He was in the yard with Charlie waiting for his brother to come out to join them in their usual spot. Sam was rarely one of the last out which was odd enough, but Dean didn’t think much about it. His brother entered the fenced off yard and nodded in Dean’s direction.

Sam got to the center of the yard when Dean noticed one of Cas’ Russians walking to the center of the yard from their table they occupied. Eyes on Sam.

“Little Winchester!” the Russian called out. Sam turned his head.

He turned back to the Russian’s table. Cas had his eyes on Dean, then moved them to his brother as if trying to tell Dean something then Dean clocked how the guards simultaneously turned their attention away from the center of the yard, one even making a point to do a 180 and walk back the way he came. 

“Oh fuck.” Dean said under his breath.

His feet were moving before his brain kicked in. Walking, to jogging, to running to get to the center of the yard before the Russian got to Sam. He wasn’t quick enough. Dean watched as the Russian squared up to his little brother, smile so wide, threatening and taunting. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, just that whatever it was seemed to have pressed a button on his brother. Sam shoved the Russian with all he had. The Russian stumbled back, laughing and dove back in, his fist colliding with Sam’s jaw.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted.

The yard started to take notice, roaring and shouting for a fight about to break out. The guards didn’t react. Dean kept running. Sam looked like he was about to hit the guy when Dean put his body in the way, right in the firing line of the Russian.

“Dean, you can’t.” his brother said. Dean didn’t care, the guards weren’t watching.

“Big Winchester,” The Russian said, standing ready to fight still, one leg in front of the other, bouncing of the balls of his feet. “Here to protect little brother.”

Dean put his fists up. “You’re gonna regret this Russian.”

A group had surrounded them, eager to watch the bloodshed. This was the plan, Cas’ big plan to fix Dean’s problem. He was setting up a fight for Dean to remind those in Purgatory who he was and with the baddest of the bad in here, the Russians.

“What are you waiting for?” the guy asked, he made a come-hither gesture.

Dean needed to make this count, needed to make a statement. He looked in the crowd searching. “Him,” Dean pointed to Cas who had joined the group. “He gave the order.”

The crowd stared at Cas to see if he’d take the bait, if he’d step in and fight Dean. If Dean was really his prag, he wouldn’t fight Cas, he wouldn’t even challenge him. If Cas was supposedly protecting Dean, then he wouldn’t fight him. It was kind of genius, if Cas would do it. There was a noticeable pause, anticipating Cas’ response.

Then Cas answered. He stepped into the circle.

“Eto prosto stalo interesno.” the Russian spoke eyes now moving to Sam knowing that Cas was going to take Dean on now that he challenged him in front of everyone.

“This just got interesting.”

“Dean, are you trying to get us both killed?” Sam was beside him.

“Get ready to fight Sammy,” his brother picked up his hands. “This is gonna sting.”

The Russians advanced in sync as did the brothers. Dean took the first hit. It was too easy. Cas didn’t even try to protect himself from it. Cas wiped the side of his mouth, slowly turning it into a grin. Dean realised that was the first time he’d touch the Russian. He’d laugh if he wasn’t supposed to be angry but if anything, he was thinking he was gonna enjoy this. It had been too long since he’d hit something and if Cas was letting him, then why waste the opportunity.

They both got a few solid hits in by the time Dean had Cas in a choke hold. His sides ached, his jaw hurt, and the taste of blood flooded his mouth. Cas wasn’t looking too good either.

“You going easy on me Cas?” Dean whispered. The roars of the crowd overpowered their conversation. His heart pounded in his ears from the adrenaline.

“A little.”

“Show me what you really got.” he said into the Russian’s hair.

Cas’ elbow met Dean’s ribs hard. He slipped from the chokehold, dropping to slide his leg along the ground knocking Dean off of his feet. His back met the concrete hard taking his breath away. The Russian stood over him, watched as Dean tried to catch the air that wasn’t coming. He had been holding back more than a little it seemed.

Then the siren started going off around them. The group fell to the floor, hands behind their heads. Guards barged their way through the breakup the fight. Sam and the other Russian were still going at it. Cas crouched down to wrap his hands around Dean’s neck.

“Sleep lev. It’s over.” The last thing he remembered seeing was cold blue then fade to black.


 

Chapter Text


He came to in the infirmary. The florescent light slightly blinded him as he opened his eyes.

“Dean?” he recognised that voice.

“Sam?” he replied groggily. He tried to lift his hand up to his face, block out some of that light when cold metal pressed into his wrist. Dean was handcuffed to the bed. Turning his head towards the voice he saw his brother lying beside him in another bed, arm in a sling, face bruised, gauze on his eyebrow covering stitches. “You look like crap." 

“Shut up, you’re the reason I’m in here.”

“You gotta admit, was kinda fun.” He tried to smile, it stung. Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean saw through it, his brother loved fighting as much as he did. Underneath that good guy wrong place façade he liked to portray he was programmed just like Dean. A good fight made them feel alive.

Balthazar came into the infirmary along with the Russian who provoked Sam initially into the fight. Sam and Dean were cuffed to the beds, couldn’t leave even if they wanted to. His brother didn’t look frightened though. The Russian who bet him up actually nodded his head towards Sam as a greeting.

“You friendly with the Russians now?” Dean asked.

“He put up good fight.” the Russian answered in broken English. “Good actor.”

“Wait, you knew?”

His brother shrugged, not giving anything away. The two Russians pulled up chairs beside Dean as if they were here on a friendly visit, checking up on him. 

“He knew we were helping you,” Balthazar answered. “Now you owe us.” 

Dean pulled a face. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing is free Dean, we did this for you, now you do something for us.” He explained. The other nameless Russian nodded his head in agreement. Of course, nothing was for free. Dean thinking Cas was doing something out of the goodness of his heart was his mistake. He shouldn’t have thought someone as important as Cas would be in the business of doing someone like Dean a solid. He wasn’t a charitable man. 

“What do you want me to do?” Dean asked.

“Give Castiel what he wants.”

“Am I supposed to know what he wants or are you going to enlighten me?”

“You.” Balthazar grinned. Dean’s eyes widened at that.

“Come again?”

“We see how he looks at you, your little pet name. He wants you Dean.” Balthazar explained. He had his legs crossed, used his hand to gesture as he spoke. Dean could feel Sam’s eyes on him, that wide eyed deer in head lights thing he did when the pieces are finally making some kind of picture for him.

He had been keeping things from Sam. Trying to tell himself he was doing it to keep Sam’s mind at ease when probably it was more to avoid the judgement and concern his brother would give him. His attraction towards Cas was something he kept inside the cell, clearly the Russian didn’t have the same sentiments if his minions were picking up on it.

“And if I don’t?” he dared to ask.

Balthazar got off his chair, walked over to Sam and pulled the neck of his top down, exposing the dagger tattoo piercing his neck. With a clearer view of it, Dean could make out two drops of blood coming off of the end of the knife.

“You know what this means Sam?”

Sam didn’t respond straight away. Balthazar pressed his thumb into the gauze above Sam’s face making him cry out in pain. Dean swung his feet around to reach for him, pulled on the metal cuff that was holding him back. The other Russian pushed Dean back onto the bed tutting at him for even trying something as stupid.

“Means you’ve killed prisoners.” Sam replied hesitantly.

“Yes, each drop is an inmate. You want little Winchester to be added to it?” he threatened Sam. If Dean didn’t do it, Balthazar was going to kill his brother. He had no choice.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” He agreed.

They let go of the brothers and walked towards the door.

“Make Avtoritet happy, lev.” Balthazar said. They left.

Dean didn’t want Cas to fuck him as his prag, now he was going to have to let Cas fuck him to keep his brother alive. He’d do it, of course he would. He’d do anything to keep his brother alive. Balthazar doesn’t give empty threats. He’s killed prisoners for less Dean presumed. It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to enjoy it, not like he hadn’t thought about it before, but he wanted it as equals, maybe that was his stupidity again. He was never going to be equal to someone like Cas.

“It means lion,” Sam told him. “Lev. It’s a term of endearment.”

Dean turned away from his brother, not wanting to have a conversation about it. This wasn’t a heart to heart moment for them. This was something Dean needed to do, there was no way out of this one. He had a debt to pay.

Lion he thought, more like cat, a pet, Cas’ pet that he got to stroke whenever he felt like it and Dean gave it to him and now Dean was going to give all of him once he got out of this infirmary bed.


He got out during rec-time in the cells. Sam tried to talk to him on their way out, but he wasn’t listening, too focused on the task at hand. Rip it off, like a band aid, no point mulling it over longer than he had to. The quicker this was done, quicker the debt was paid. He brought his brother back to his cell, just to be on the safe side. Charlie was leaning against the railings talking to Masters of all people.

“If it isn’t the Winchesters, back from the nurse’s office,” Masters said voice in a constant state of sultry. He reached out to touch Sam’s sling. “Need help getting undressed stud?”

“I’m good,” Sam stepped to the side of Masters. “Thanks.” Ever the polite brother.

“You hanging around Dean? I finally saved enough to buy my own deck of cards,” Charlie waved the fresh deck at Dean. “You can show me how to actually play now.”

“Maybe later, I’m pretty wiped.” He lied.

“Dean.” Sam’s concerned voice echoed out from the cell. He couldn’t look at his brother, choosing to walk away and climb the stairs to his own cell. It was like he was psyching himself up for it with each step he took, hands gripped tight onto the bannisters as he went. He passed the Russians outside their cells, eyes on him, quiet murderous smiles on their faces. Cas wasn’t with him which meant he was probably in his cell, waiting for Dean.

He took a few deep breaths, slapped his face, he could do this. He had to do this. Dean walked into his cell, clocking Cas lying on his bed, book in his hands relaxing. He peered over his book at Dean, watching Dean attentively with those cold blues as Dean maneuvered himself onto Cas’ bed, into Cas’ lap, legs on either side of his waist.

Cas tilted his head. “What are you doing?”

Dean took his top off, hoping that would be answer enough. A smile found itself on the Russian underneath him, his eyes skated over Dean’s chest landing on each bruise Cas had made on him the day prior out in the yard. He propped himself up on his elbows to get a closer look, a hand gently reached out to touch the bruise on his ribs. Its deep purple in a circle the size of his elbow. Dean’s breath hitched. Muscles contracted from the touch.

“Sensitive?”

Dean nodded. He half expected Cas to press harder into it. He didn’t, choosing to run the flat of his palm up the center of Dean’s chest free of bruises up to his neck. Dean’s skin covered in goose bumps from it, hairs standing on edge as Cas’ hand touched his skin so freely, so unashamed and almost tender. It kinda ruined Dean a little.

Cas couldn’t reach into Dean’s hair from this angle, he knew he wanted it, so Dean leaned forward, braced himself on one of the metal rods that was keeping his bed above Cas’. When Cas’ hand reached into his scalp Dean let out a soft moan. He couldn’t help it, so weak to that touch.

This wasn’t some affectionate moment, this was a transaction, he had to keep that in mind.

Make Cas happy, give him what he wanted, whatever he wanted, and Sam lived.

“Let me put my mouth on you Dean,” Cas said. “I want to taste your skin.”

Dean nodded, words failing him as they usually did. The Russian pressed his mouth to Dean’s collarbone, easiest part for him to reach at this angle. His mouth hot and wet from licking them before touching his skin. Dean inhaled from the sensation of it, it being too long since someone’s mouth had been on him in this way. He hated how tactile he was sometimes, how much his body responded to things like this, something as simple as Cas’ tongue licking the into the dip of his collarbone.

The next moan was accidental though it spurred the Russian on letting his teeth graze Dean’s chest as he moved down his body, trying to find other places to make Dean lose his control again, like he wasn’t holding on by a thread already.

The more Dean responded. The heavier Cas’ mouth got. Those subtle kisses and teeth grazes being replaced by bites and long licks and Dean was crumbling after each one, hands gripped so tight onto the metal rod holding him up as Cas did his worst to Dean. Control becoming a distant memory as Cas licked under Dean’s armpit, something Dean never experienced before and now needed it more in his life than he thought possible.

He grinded his hips down, meeting the Russian’s that was pressing up, their growing erections meeting in the middle pulling a groan from Cas that he tried to mask in a bite on Dean’s skin. It was rec-time, they had to be somewhat discrete even if chances were Balthazar was making sure no one was going to be passing this cell anytime soon. 

Cas moved a hand, palming over Dean’s erection.

Cas.” Dean breathed arching into the touch like his hips had a mind of their own. 

“I want to,” He replied pressing his palm harder, an awkward angle but Cas was making it work. This guy seriously knew how to press Dean’s buttons, his skin was coating itself in a whole new sheet of sweat for Cas to taste. “Can I?” Cas slipped a hand under his waistband, pausing for Dean to give permission, like he even needed it. Dean nodded wanting to be good for Cas, give him what he wants and more pressing, what Dean needs.

The thought of Sam’s life on the line was being sidelined by the sheer desire he had for Cas to make him cum already. The Russian was taking his sweet time about it, like they had the luxury of being slow about this in Purgatory.

“C’mon Cas, get on with it already,” Cas looked up at Dean, that head tilt, one eye squint he played when he was trying to look unimpressed at Dean. He was starting to learn the facial expressions, differentiating them. This wasn’t a serious one. “You want me to beg?”

“Never.” the Russian smiled, licking one corner of his mouth as he reached in to pull out Dean’s cock that was trapped in his tented trousers and boxers. Its exposure to the air made Dean suck his breath in between his teeth. He wasn’t going to last, this was going to be over embarrassingly fast, like senior prom embarrassing if Dean had gone to one.

The Russian bastard knew what he was doing, swiping over the head of Dean’s cock eliciting precum using it to slide down Dean’s shaft. Dean watched. It was easier to watch this than whatever look Cas had on his face. It made it less personal, easier to manage, whatever Dean had left to manage. His cock was in one of the most dangerous man in Purgatory’s hand for crying out loud but fuck he seriously loved it.

His precum wasn’t enough though, not enough to avoid a chaffed rub out. Cas knew that and licked his palm to help him. It was obscene and Dean saved it to his memory wank bank. Cas’ spit covered hand now back on Dean’s cock and jerking him off with a confident steady pace. All Dean could do was hold on for dear life and pray he kept his mouth shut. Cas did anything but kept his mouth shut. It’s like the silent, brooding Russian enjoyed not only ruining Dean with his hand and mouth, no, the sick fuck liked to use his words too.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long Dean, get my hand on your cock, feel it like this.”

Dean rolled his hips down, his ass grinded on Cas’ own cock in his trousers. The Russian bucked up into it and Dean nearly hit his head on the metal springs above his head.

“You want me to fuck you Dean?”

He didn’t answer.

“Tell me, you ever been fucked in the ass before?”

Couldn’t answer. No one could know, even if he wanted to admit to Cas. The Russian grabbed the back of Dean’s neck, pulled him further down to him so their foreheads were touching. He whispered, “I’d fuck you so good, you’d never go back to a woman again. I’d ruin you, lev.”

He wanted it. He wanted Cas to ruin him in so many ways he knew and probably ways he never even thought of. Dean felt his orgasm building in the pit of his stomach, bit his lips so hard he could taste the copper. Cas didn’t ease up once he caught on, pushing Dean over the edge with one last sentence,

“Cum for me Dean.” and he did, spilled out over Cas’ hand, his stomach, Cas’ stomach that had been exposed from his shirt riding up, the set of eyes peering out over his waistband staring up at Dean as he came. A full body experience ripped out of insides by the man lying under him.

The Russian looked pleased. He brought his messed hand up to his mouth to taste Dean’s cum. One finger at a time he cleaned them while Dean caught his breath back and returned to earth. The walls he used to protect himself in Purgatory were back up and fully operational. 

He noticed Cas was still hard. Maybe his debt wasn’t repaid just yet.

“You want me to eh…” Dean pointed at the erection.

“Do you want to?” Cas asked. He scoffed.

“What does that matter?”

The Russian used his elbows to lean up to focus on Dean. He was yet to move from the lap. Cas’ brows furrowed in confusion. What he had to be confused about, Dean didn’t know.

“You’re the one who sat in my lap Dean. I didn’t force you.”

That earned him a chuckle from Dean. Cas tilted his head in more unimpressed confusion.

“Yeah right Cas, you’re funny,” His hand went for Cas’ waistband. “Look I’ll give you a hand job if it means my debt is cleared and Sam doesn’t end up as a blood drop on Balthazar’s neck or whatever you had planned on doing.”

Cas stopped him before he pulled out his cock. “Get off me.”

“What? C’mon man if I gotta then…”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Cas grabbed Dean’s thigh and used his weight to toss Dean out of the bed. He hit the concrete ground in a loud thud. “Jesus Christ Cas!” he groaned. Dean was only out of the infirmary for the guts of half an hour, still battered and bruised from the last assault the Russian had given him. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. He never got the chance. Cas was up and out of his cell in the blink of an eye.

Loud Russian voices carried into this cell. He got up slowly and walked to peer out of his cell to see what was going on. Cas stood in front of his men.

“YA ne sobiralsya ubivat’ yego mladshego brata.” Balthazar spoke.

"I wasn’t actually going to kill his little brother.”

Dean would give his left hand to understand what they were saying. Cas had taken off his top, which Dean was grateful for as it had his cum stains on it and it made Cas look even more intimidating that already was with all of his ink on show for everyone to see.

“Mne vse ravno. Vy vypolnyayete zakazy. Vy ne vydayete zakazy.”

“I don’t care. You carry out orders. You do not give out orders.”

“Castiel.” Balthazar stood up, hands out in a submissive stance.

“Snachala ya avtoritet, potom tvoy drug. Ne zabud' etogo.”

“I am the authority first, then your friend. Do not forget that.”

Balthazar nodded. The others did too. Cas turned his head round and saw Dean peering out of his cell. He forgot to re-adjust his hair, probably a mess from Cas’ hands. The Russian sighed, moved past his men and descended to the ground floor of the block. Dean stood over the railing to see what he was doing, where he was going. If he was going to Sam’s cell.

He passed it, moving on to Masters who was standing outside of his cell, topless, trousers slung low on his hips. Cas didn’t pause, didn’t talk to him just walked right into his cell and Masters followed in.

“Fuck.” Dean cursed. He walked back into his cell, climbed onto his bed and pretended not to care. Pretended it didn’t matter that Cas had gone to Masters instead of coming back to the cell, that he was fine with Cas getting his rocks off with someone else, that it really was just a transaction, a debt that needed paying, that Cas just wanted to play with him then he was done with him. He pretended so hard, so fucking hard that the pain in his chest was from the beating he got and not down to the feelings he had for the Russian.

Feelings made you weak, weakness got you killed in here.


 

Chapter Text


That became a regular thing in the week following. Cas going down to Masters cell, avoiding any long periods of time in the cell with Dean. Dean did too, choosing to spend rec-time with his brother and Charlie down around their cell. Any time spent in the cell reminded him of Cas, couldn’t look at the man’s bed without a spark of heat running through him, couldn’t look at the chair either. The only space untouched by Cas was his bed, and the toilet. So, half of the cell was tainted by Cas and the memories surrounding him.

It didn’t however stop his eyes from landing on the Russian, like his brain was wired to search him out in a crowd, in the yard, in the showers, in the kitchen. That jet-black hair and cold blues were everywhere, all the time and Dean was a magnet unannounced to himself till someone hit him or Cas’ eyes landed on him too. 8/10 it was the latter. Sometimes he’d find Cas already staring at him, rather than holding the stare like he used to, he’d tear his eyes away and that only pained Dean even more.

He wanted the Russian back, wanted Cas back. He was starting to miss him for crying out loud. It was pathetic and seriously pissing Dean off. Especially when Cas would pass him on his way to Masters. That pissed him off to no end. Pissed himself off even more because he had nothing to be pissed off about. He got one hand job off the guy. It wasn’t like they were…whatever. Cas got what he wanted out of Dean and was done with him. Transaction complete, debt paid, people used Dean for his body before, why was Cas any different? So, he was pissed off about that but also, he missed the attention, missed those eyes on him and hated that Masters was getting it instead.

Yeah, he was pretty damn pathetic alright.

The next passing was like the others. Dean with Charlie, playing cards with Charlie’s new deck. He had been learning black jack from the boys, picking it up too easily. Being good at math lent itself well to counting cards. If they were allowed to gamble, Charlie would be raking in the money by now.

“Hit me.” Charlie said to Dean.

“You sure?” the cards on the table were close to being over 21 already.

“Did I stutter Winchester?” Dean was about to flick over the card from the deck in his hand when Cas came down the wrought iron stairs and onto the ground floor. He was pulled away from the game while he watched Cas walk through the mass of people. Some people moved, some didn’t seem him till he was nearly on top of them and spurted out a million apologies. It was like he was Moses and the sea parted for him. That power radiated from him and it was felt by everyone around. It didn’t take long for Cas eyes to meet his.

That gaze drying up his mouth and lips instantly. His tongue flattened out on his bottom lip to wet it. The cold blues moved to it, watched Dean pull his top lip over his bottom. He wanted them to stay on him as long as he could get, indulge in it by running a hand through his hair like he was putting on some kind of secret show that only Cas would understand. If he remembered. If Dean was even worth remembering. It was all Dean thought about it. He wanted Cas to want him again.

“Hello? Earth to Dean?” Charlie waved his hand in front of Dean’s face. He tore his eyes away. “You hearing me in there?”

Dean lifted the card off the deck. It was a ten.

“You’re out.” He dropped the deck of cards. When he looked up again to see Cas, he had moved, standing outside of Masters cell. One hand above the shorter man’s head, holding himself up and blocking Masters in. Dean’s stomach turned. The way Masters ran a hand up Cas’ arm as he spoke in quiet hushed tones, snuck it under his sleeve to touch the feathers inked into his skin. Dean set his jaw tight, hands in fists on the table.

Masters caught him staring. A smirk plastered across his face like he knew. The man took Cas’ hand, dragged him into the cell. The bastard.

“Dude?” Charlie waved his hand again.

“What?” he snapped.

“Whoa, easy there,” His friend put his hands up. “Not trying to start anything.”

“Just shuffle.” Dean handed him the cards. He needed a distraction. Masters moans were louder than usual, Dean couldn’t take it, throwing his cards down and storming back up to his cell to drown out the noise by sticking his head in his pillow, or down the toilet. Anything to not hear what Cas was doing to Masters. The things he wanted done to him.


The silent treatment between them continued till one night, a massive storm rolled in. Dean couldn’t sleep, the thunder bellowed in and the lightening lit up the block from all angles. They heard it was going to be a big one from the guards, they didn’t expect it to be this big. Electricity was out. Not that it made much of a difference, Purgatory was so old and run down they were still locked into their cells by keys.

He stared up at the ceiling, counting the seconds after the lightening to see how close it was. It was what he and Sam used to do as kids. Count the seconds till the thunder came and that was how far away the lightening was to them. This was close, Dean only managing to count to five or six at most before another loud rumble of thunder rolled in.

Cas was awake, unsettled beneath Dean, tossing and turning making the bed springs creak. He remembered Cas telling him he didn’t like storms. The only thing that scared the Russian ironically was the weather. He was a thinker, a strategist, he worked rationally (well, whatever he constitutes as rational) and somehow weather was what made him quake in his boots. Sam had that fear too when he was a kid, though he learned how to deal with it when he grew up. Dean would help him out. He could help Cas out now if he wanted to.

This could be a golden opportunity to get them back on speaking terms if he played it right.

“Cas, you awake?” he asked.

There was a noticeable pause.

“Yes.”

“You doing alright?”

“Yes.”

“You lying?”

“A little.”

Dean sighed, kicked off the blanket he was lying under and hopped down from his bunk. His bare feet came into contact with the concrete floor. Cas wasn’t lying on the bed, he was sitting up, back to the wall and kneels tucked under his chest. He looked small, smaller than Dean’s ever seen him. His hair a mess from tugging at it presumably. Arms wrapped around his knees holding him tight.

They never let it get pitch dark in here for safety reasons. There were orange and red lights out on the balcony that cast an ominous hue into the cells. It made the thunder more atmospheric, like they were in some old horror movie. Probably made it more frightening for Cas. Lightning struck, lighting up the block in a quick flash. Cas startled.

“You gonna shiv me if I sit beside you?”

The Russian shook his head and scooted over for Dean. He climbed in, sat on the bed, mirrored Cas’ body language of his knees tucked up under his chin, elbows resting on his kneecaps. They were opposite in their attire. Cas kept his bottoms on, top off, Dean kept his top on, bottoms off. The thunder rolled in, took longer this time.

“That one was further away, guess that’s somethin’.” he said. Cas turned to him, brows furrowed. The urge to run his hand through that darkness was there, sooth the Russian, untense those shoulders he’d been holding so tight probably since the storm started hours ago.

“What do you mean?”

“The thunder, it took longer for us to hear so the lightning must be moving away from us.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion.

“C’mon didn’t your parents ever explain that to you when you were a kid?”

Cas raised his ring finger, showing Dean a tattoo of a circle with a dot inside. “Sirota.”

“Orphan.”

“Huh?” Dean asked. 

“I don’t have parents.”

Dean nodded understanding. Cas was/is an orphan. He didn’t work in pity, assumed Cas didn’t either. It was said matter of fact rather than looking for some sympathy about it. He supposed he might as well be an orphan too at this rate, or at least in a few months he would be, unless the date got delayed. The cell lit up again and distracted from going down that hole of dark and twisty.

Cas jumped again and let out a groan in frustration. He got to 10 before the thunder came.

It definitely was moving away from them. It’s the surprise that got Cas though, when the lightning struck, he could never prepare for it, completely out of his control. He was on edge, waiting for it strike. A battle he was never going to win. He needed a distraction.

“Sammy used to be scared shitless of thunderstorms when we were kids,” Dean paused to see if the Russian was going to tell him to shut up. He didn’t, so Dean continued. “We travelled around a lot, slept in my Dad’s car most nights so thunderstorms were pretty scary when your house was effectively a tin can,” he chuckled as a memory came to the forefront of his mind. “I remember one time it was so bad we had to park the car on the side of the road, and he hid under my leather jacket the entire time. The poor sucker.”

A lightning flashed through the cell. The Russian still flinched.

“When will it be over.” He groaned, hands in fists. The million-dollar question.

“You can’t win against a storm Cas, you gotta try relax.”

“I can’t.” Cas dropped his head, pretty much shaking at this stage. Dean kinda hated seeing him like this, completely powerless and overcome with what Dean could clearly see was anxiety. The hyper-vigilance exhausting him and keeping him awake at the same time.

Taking a breathe, he took a bit of a risk and put his arm around Cas while his head was down. The gap was there for him to do it without much effort. A smooth move, if Dean was on a date in a cinema and not in a cell in Purgatory. He waited for Cas to pull away, tackle Dean to the ground, shiv him in the neck, none of those things came. His hand rested on Cas’ bare shoulder, probably wrapped around his wings and all it took was the tiniest tug and Cas’ body fell into Dean’s side.

Yep, he was still breathing, internal organs still internal.

Cas seemed ok with this, probably more than ok with this. He moved his arm and wrapped it around Dean’s bare knee grounding himself. Okay, scratch that, Cas definitely was more than ok with this.

Cas made an incoherent content noise, his head nuzzled further into Dean’s side. Dean couldn’t help laughing at it, little murderous Cas getting snuggly. The Russian felt the laugh and made a quiet point, “You tell anyone about this I’ll…”

“Paint a mural with my blood? Wear my intestines like a necklace?”

Cas chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Who would believe me anyway?” he started to draw circles on Cas’ shoulders with his thumb, trying to calm him down further now that he apparently had permission to do this. “Hey guys, guess who just spent the night cuddling with Castiel cause he’s afraid of the weather.”

The bright white light flashed in again. Cas tensed. Dean brought him in closer.

“It’s ok, I got you.” He said quietly into Cas’ hair. They just had to wait out the storm. He wasn’t going to deny it, this was nice, real nice even. He liked Cas being close to him, finding solace in Dean’s embrace. The countless times Cas had helped Dean out, now it was his turn to help, wanted to help. Also, selfishly, he wanted to be wanted again, hopefully this gesture would mean Cas would let him back in. The pain in his chest lessened the longer Cas stayed close to his side.

Eventually his breaths evened out, the lightning hit and he didn’t jump, then when Dean heard the tiniest snore from the Russian, Cas had fallen asleep on him. His head dropped on top of Cas’ and he drifted off too. Thunder rumbled on outside but they were safe on the bed.

He stayed till he heard the guards coming into the block, figured Cas wouldn’t want a guard to see him like this, small, vulnerable, seeking comfort from someone else. Dean climbed back up onto his bed after lying Cas down onto the bed, careful not to wake him up. 

A sleep filled Russian voice whispered. “Thank you, lev.”

His nickname returned. The last of the pain vanishing from within Dean. He smiled. 

“Anytime Cas.”


 

Chapter Text


Dean was on his work detail with Benny, scrubbing the road where the delivery trucks rolled in. The searing heat of the sun refused to let up and they weren’t allowed to strip their tops off. It was deemed unprofessional, and not appropriate. They wanted the inmates to look the part, rehabilitation or whatever for when they got out. Skills and behaviours they gained while on work detail, like there was any skill involved in scrubbing roads clean. Besides, Dean didn’t get paid for what he looked like. He could do this job in a freakin’ tutu if he felt like it, as long as the job was done, he got paid. Paid in serious cash too, not these fifty cents an hour bull crap he was getting in here.

“This heat is killing me.” Benny said. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his arm.

“I don’t think I’ve sweated this much in my life.” Dean replied. Every time he licked his lips, he could taste the salt from his skin. He gave up trying to wipe the sweat away, it kept coming back and wouldn’t stop till they finished this road. They started at the gate and were working their way towards the back of the kitchen. Dean swore they just made jobs up to keep them busy, roads weren’t meant to be clean.

They started picking out the weeds from the cracks, then were supervised with weed killer to get the moss on the sides and the last part, scrubbing with soap and buckets of water and tough brushes to remove the bird crap and whatever else roads had on them. What he’d give for a power washer right now.

Benny didn’t look where he was going, walked backwards, tipped over the bucket of soaped water spilling it over the road.

“Fuck sake Benny.” Dean groaned. He was so not in the mood to trek all the way back to the shed to re-fill the bucket and carry it all the way back here.

“Sorry brother.” Benny put his hand on his chest. He was an earnest man. That didn’t help Dean with the situation he had. They had fifty meters left to clean and no water to do it.

He assessed the situation. The shed was too far for his liking and he was tired, exhausted even. He could just do a shitty job on the last fifty meters though chances were the compound supervisor would just make them do it tomorrow. Dean was just about done with this damn road.

The back door to the kitchen opened and Balthazar walked out for a cigarette break. Dean got an idea.

“Wait here, look busy.” He told Benny and grabbed the bucket to walk over to the Russian.  

Balthazar eyed him coming over, smoke between his lips, one leg crossed over the other. After Cas, Balthazar was next in the ranking. His second in command, right hand man, whatever way you wanted to call it. This man was less stoic than his boss, he smiled more and was a bit more approachable, emphasis on a bit. Dean still had to thread carefully.

“Last time I spoke to you I almost lost a limb,” Balthazar exhaled the smoke into the air. Dean looked at him confused. Brow raised. “Never mind. What do you want Winchester?”

Cas walked through the back door. For someone who worked in the kitchen his apron was always spotless, like he never actually did any cooking in there. He had a smoke in his hand.

“Hello Dean.”

“Cas! Just the Russian I was looking for.” He beamed a smile and Cas returned a quiet one. Balthazar rolled his eyes at them both. He hadn’t seen Cas since the storm last night, he looked tired, eyes sunken into his head. Granted Dean didn’t get a great sleep last night and today wasn’t helping either. The heat was making it hard to stay upright.

“You need that filled I am assuming.” Cas pointed to the bucket. He took a seat beside Balthazar on an overturned container. Dean nodded.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, Benny knocked it over and it’s too damn hot to walk all the way back to the shed to fill it up.”

Cas nudged Balthazar, pointing to the bucket.

“Deystvitel'no?" "Really?" his right-hand man groaned in Russian. Cas responded in an unimpressed glare. Balthazar got up and took the bucket from Dean, muttering in Russian as he walked back into the kitchen. It was entertaining to see Cas order his soldiers around, even without speaking, kinda hot too. It left them alone for a few moments.

He lifted the hem of his shirt up to wipe some of the sweat off of his face. Cas watched him, inhaling the cigarette. His cold blues on Dean in that way he had missed, like Cas was imaging his mouth on Dean again, especially considering the amount of sweat Dean had on him. He looked down at his exposed upper body, smirking. “Enjoying the view?” he questioned playfully.

“Yes.” Cas replied nonchalant. Dean decided to be a pain and run his hand over himself. He liked riling people up, the Russian was no different. He liked how Cas’ mouth gaped a little, how his head tilted slightly, and the smoke let his mouth on its own accord around the cigarette. If they were anywhere but here, he’d tell Cas to come over here already and have a taste. That Russian filled his brain with far too many explicit images and scenarios.

“One filled bucket for the pretty boy.” Balthazar’s voice came before his body did. Dean let his top drop from his grip in time. He stepped through the door carrying the bucket, steam from the hot water rising above. Dean took it off of his hands, ignoring the comment about being a pretty boy.

“Appreciate it.”

Balthazar replied in more mumbling Russian Dean didn’t understand and went back inside.

“I’ll catch you later Cas.” He started to walk back to Benny.

Cas called out to him. “Dean.”

“Yeah?” He turned his head, saw Cas stub out the cigarette on the ground and stand. He watched Cas lift his own shirt up, hiked it up just enough for Dean to see the end of his cross that’s etched into his skin, the top of the eyes on his hips peeking out to say hello. He watched as Cas ran his own hand over his lean stomach, imitating Dean’s show earlier, reciprocating the gesture though he took it one step further, hand dipping in under his waistband to get a hold of his cock and Dean nearly dropped the bucket in his hand.

Cas looked up, hooded eyes meeting Dean’s. “Enjoying the view?”

Dean was already hot from the sun, thought he couldn’t any hotter and Cas had to go and do that. How in the hell was he supposed to continue scrubbing the ground with that image rolling around in his head? He hoped he was far enough away for Cas not to see the red that had made its way onto Dean’s neck or his dick twitching in his trousers. Cas already knew he could break Dean in close quarters, he didn’t need him to know he could break Dean at a distance too and damn was Dean breaking.

“Winchester! Get your ass back to work before I write you up!” a guard shouted at him.

He didn’t get to reply. Cas would have to wait for his answer, if he was willing to give it.


Dean was waiting outside his cell for count. Cas hadn’t come back from the kitchen, which was worrying. Usually was in the cell already by the time Dean finished his lunch. Had expected to see him lying on his bed, book in hand as per usual. The vacant bed gave Dean a sinking feeling like something was off. The month or so he’d lived with Cas he had his schedule almost down to a T. Missing count at lunch was a glitch in that schedule.

His right-hand man that occupied a cell further down from them was also missing.

Zachariah came up to him, expecting an interrogation as to where Cas was, a snide comment or a jibe at his physical appearance Dean was ready for whatever the guard threw at him. He wasn’t expecting though for Zachariah to click twice, as if Cas was standing beside him and just walking on to the next cell.

Something was definitely up.


The Russians were out during yard-time. Cas sitting in the middle of their table acting like nothing had happened when the whole Purgatory knew they missed count. Nothing was secret in there.

“Up to no good my bet.” Bobby remarked.

“Yeah but aren’t you a little curious as to what they were up to?” Charlie looked over.

Dean was, completely consumed as to why Cas missed count, missed their lock in and somehow returned unscathed. How Zachariah had counted him when he wasn’t there.  

Sam piped up also interested in the whereabouts of the Russians. “Unaccounted for almost two hours, what could they get up to in two hours?”

“A lot I’d say.” Charlie stubbed out his smoke on the bench.

Bobby nodded. “Uriel never had that kind of sway in here.”

“Uriel aint as high up as Cas in the Russian food chain.” Dean said casually. He inhaled his cigarette.

The others exchanged a look between them.

Charlie nudged him. “Oh? And how long have we been sitting on that nugget of information?”

“What?” Dean turned his head to his friends. “I heard Cas say something about how Uriel needs to know his place a while back to Balthazar, figured that meant he was his boss.” He shrugged.

“You speaking Russian all of a sudden boy?” Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head. “No, he said it in English.”

“In front of you?”

This information seemed to have his brother a dumb founded for some reason.

“Yeah, why?”

Sam moved closer to Dean like he was about to disclose some kind of big secret. Dean leaned in too. “They don’t speak in English with each other, it’s like a rule.”

That didn’t help Dean understand. “You’re going to need to spell it out for me Sam.”

“If Castiel broke a rule it’s because he wanted you to know he has more power than Uriel for some reason.”

Dean looked over at Cas, he was talking to Balthazar who was sitting opposite him. Elbows on the table leaning into each other. It looked a bit pensive but then again, most conversations Dean witnesses between them two were pensive. The idea of Cas breaking a rule for Dean didn’t add up, he had it down to Cas slipping up by accident.

“You think too hard sometimes Sammy, it’s not good for that brain of yours.”

“I’m serious Dean they live by their code.”

Dean sighed. “And I’m telling you you’re looking for something that aint there.”  

Sam gave up trying to argue. He knew it was a lost cause and Dean was as stubborn as a bull when he wanted to be. It would be wasted breath on him. The code was of interest to Dean though. He could read it in the books that Sam must have, or he could it first-hand, if Cas was up to divulging those details.


Cas didn't come back till they got locked in the for the night. He stayed close to the other Russians during rec-time away from his cell and Dean knew not to go near them, he didn’t have a death wish. Also, even though he did get his reputation back for fighting with Cas he still felt people were talking about what happened in the showers with Alastair. It was best to keep their interactions private for his own sake.

Dean was at the desk in his cell, managed to get some more words down onto the letter for his Dad other than “Dad”. Now he’s got “Dad, you’ll be glad to know Sammy and I are still alive and kicking down here in Purgatory, all limbs attached.” He half debated writing “happy to know” but, that seemed like a stretch. His Dad wasn’t a happy man, not since their Mom died. Glad was a better descriptor. It would help with their Dad’s guilt knowing his two sons at least still had their two arms and legs.

He heard the footsteps of his celly coming into the room, the springs of the bed creak and out of the corner of his eye he made out a head of black hair on the pillow. Cas sighed audibly, like he was emptying his lungs after keeping it in all day.

Their cell bars closed and locked. They were in for the night.

“Your ears must be on fire Cas.” Dean said.

Cas flipped himself over onto the side to look at Dean. “Why would my ears be on fire?”

“Because everyone’s been talking about you, your ears are burning,” Dean pushed the letter away from him done with it for now. He shuffled the chair back so he could put his feet up on the desk in front of him to relax. All he’s missing is a nice cold beer and some classic rock.

Cas still looked confused and in need of further explaining, not that Dean could give him one. “I don’t know man. It’s just an expression people use.”

“People have been talking about me?” Cas asked him. Dead nodded. “Why?”

“Missing count gets people talking, not like we have much else to do in this joint.”

Stories had been spread, most of them just hearsay, some downright insane. The more plausible ones being about them going to Hell to see Uriel, about talking to Shurley, about taking a trip into the nearest town and there was even one about outside gang members coming in for a visit.

“If you want to know where I was, you could just ask me Dean.”

Dean scoffed at that. “Yeah right, and you’d answer me honestly?”

“Like you said last night, who would believe you anyway?” Cas smirked. Dean liked the Russian’s smile. The tiniest lift of the side of his mouth was endearing. A smile he never saw outside of these four concrete walls they shared. His façade quick to drop when he alone with Dean. It made him think Cas trusted him.

“Alright then, I’ll bite. Where were you?” he asked then he remembered Russian’s never handed out things for free, he had the fine print to deal with before he landed himself in hot water again. “Wait, you’re giving me this information because you want to, right?” Cas looked at him attentively as Dean continued to explain himself. “Balthazar aint gonna come knocking for me to do something for you again cause if that’s the case, you can keep your damn secrets Cas.” That came out stronger than he intended.

Dean was too emotive for his own good sometimes, the feelings of the last exchange he had to do were bubbling up to the surface, the way Cas threw him off of him like he was a fly that needing swatting. He didn’t need that again. The face Cas gave him made him think he wasn’t about to lose a pint of blood which was something. His harsh edges were soft, eyes almost apologetic as they looked at Dean.

“I didn’t give that order Dean,” Cas said. Dean raised a brow. “When Balthazar threatened your brother’s life, when you…” he didn’t finish that sentence. Dean knew where he was going with it. When Dean basically threw himself at Cas. “I didn’t know that’s why you were giving yourself to me. I would never force you into anything like that even if I want it.” The Russian ran a hand through his hair with frustration.

It made sense to Dean now. The way Cas looked at him, that confusion plastering his face when Dean mentioned his brother and Balthazar. Cas had no clue, assumed Dean did it because he wanted to not because he was made to do it. A part of him did want it though.

He was still unsure on how much he could trust Cas with that part of himself yet, to let Cas in on his sexuality and more importantly his feelings for the man who was looking up at him with what Dean could only describe as regret.

He could play it off, save their friendship and possibly get some more orgasms out of the Russian in the process as well. Dean knew Cas wanted him. He never hid that part of himself from Dean. He could keep his straight guy façade up, a straight guy in need of some release, that kinda thing happened in Purgatory all the time. The sounds the other inmates made during the night didn’t leave much to his imagination.

“Look Cas,” he needed to play this right, careful with his words. “I mean, yeah, when that went down, I was more concerned with Sammy not dying by the hands of one of your minions,” his hand reached back to scratch his neck, a bit embarrassed to admit the next part aloud because it was the truth. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.”

Cas perked up at that, the regret being placed by intrigue. His blue eyes squinted like he wasn’t buying what Dean was selling. He took his feet off the table, planted them on the ground in front of Cas and leaned over to really sell it. From this close Dean could see the depths of the blue in Cas’ eyes, like an abyss. He could easily fall into and never come out. If only they hadn’t known each other in here and Dean could show Cas who he really was.

“What I’m saying is…” He decided to be bold and took Cas’ hand, placed it on his thigh. Cas didn’t move it back. The weight of it grounding him in this moment. A moment he hoped ignited something between them. “I’d let you put your hand on my dick again.”

Another truth.

There was a noticeable pause before the Russian responded, voice heavy in desire.

“Would you let me put my mouth on your dick too?” he asked.

Fuck yes Dean screamed in his mind but he needed to keep that truth under wraps, for now.

Dean chuckled and put some distance between them so Cas couldn’t pick up on Dean’s neck heating up under his t-shirt. “Might need some building up to that one.”

Cas nodded understanding what Dean was saying. Receiving a blow job from another guy was not something a straight guy would immediately jump to though words like that in Cas’ sultry tone made it difficult for Dean not to picture Cas with his mouth around his dick. He’d be eager, Dean knows how Cas responded to him before, the enthusiasm and the sheer drive to illicit sounds from him. Dean could build up to fast if he let himself.

“So whaddya say? Mutual orgasms between cellys something you’d be interested in?”

The Russian answered with moving himself off of the bed and into Dean’s lap in one quick swift movement like he had before. One hand braced on Dean’s shoulder, the other moving down his chest at an equally swift pace. This time Dean didn’t have to hold back as much, this time he could let some of his enjoyment show and not worry about losing control under Cas’ touch. He rested his hands on Cas’ waist as Cas went to work on him, resting soon turned into gripping as the Russian got his hand on Dean’s cock under his trousers.

“Shit Cas,” Dean grunted, hips bucking a little under his touch. He couldn’t move much with the weight of Cas in his lap and Cas enjoyed that. Smirking at Dean’s failed attempts to fuck into his hand. He let his head roll back to revel in the touch and pace Cas was hell bent on setting. Slow and steady, like the Russian was trying to memorise every twitch or move Dean made depending on what he did. Cas pressed his thumb into his slit.

“Oh fuck, that’s good.” he huffed.

He looked down between them, noticed Cas was hard in his trousers too. He moved his hand around, been thinking about touching Cas’ cock since his little display earlier. Cas stopped him, other hand on Dean’s wrist. He lifted his head to Cas, the slight worry on his face made Dean think that Cas thought he was doing it out of obligation, something Cas didn’t want. He only wanted Dean to do it if Dean wanted to, which he did. He definitely did want to get his hand on his cock, rip an orgasm out of him as hard as Cas did to him.

“Let me,” Dean pushed through Cas’ grip. “I want to.” He added for good measure.

Cas let go of his grip, watched as Dean reached in to feel Cas. His cock twitched in Dean’s grip, hips rolling on their own accord chasing Dean’s hand. He pulled it out to get a better look at it, pink and throbbing alongside Dean’s.  “This ok?” he asked stroking it with a firm enough grip. It’s how liked it, hoped Cas did too.

“Yes Dean.” Cas replied. Voice wrecked. Dean smiled at that, liked to know Cas wasn’t as cool and collected as he tended to be in these situations, that it wasn’t just Dean who was falling apart. The times he had thought about doing this to Cas, to imagine what Cas would look like was nothing compared to the real thing. Cas’ blissed out face, his mouth open and slack, teeth and tongue on show as he let Dean jack him off, giving himself over like it was as easy as breathing.

The attention he was giving Cas left the Russian incapable of doing much to Dean’s cock. He could jack them both off together, something he’d done plenty of times before with strangers in motels and public bathrooms. That skill straight guys didn’t have off the bat, and Dean wasn’t about to give the game away on the first go.

“C’mon Cas, don’t blue ball me.” Dean shook Cas’ shoulder to spring him back into action.

“Apologies,” Cas brought his attention back to Dean. “You are surprisingly good at this.”

Dean shrugged casually. “It’s not like I don’t own one myself.”

“This is true.” Cas licked the palm of his hand then reach back down to get a hold of Dean again. He inhaled through gritted teeth, hips once again failing to lift up into the Russian’s hand. He swore he could hear Cas snigger quietly to himself, like he was purposefully toying with him, well two could play at that game.

“You son of a bitch, it’s so on.” He said and mirrored the action, slicking his hand. Cas sped up. Dean followed.

It was a fight to the finish line after that. Both of them speechless and breathless, the smacking beneath them the only sound in the cell. The longer it played out the more Dean was losing that competitive streak of his because as per usual Cas pulled out all the stops. His free hand roaming around Dean’s body, sneaking up his shirt to rake down his chest and moving to grip his hair and yank it back. His breath coming in hot and heavy on Dean’s neck.

“Let go Dean, I know you want to,” Cas whispered. “I can feel you’re close.”

This guy would be the death of Dean in here.

“You too, cum with me.” Dean managed to get out, free hand reaching down to grab Cas’ balls to bring him over the edge with him. Cas started to falter, and Dean couldn’t hold it in any longer, he came, and Cas followed, grinding himself into Dean’s fist and Cas kept stroking all the while, kept going till there was nothing of Dean left, completely spent at the hands of him. Nothing but a shell of who he was minutes ago.

The Russian leaned back, collapsing onto his bed in such a thud the whole bunk shook. Dean missed the weight of him immediately, felt empty somehow. He thought Cas would have stayed though mutual orgasms between celly’s rarely ended in cuddling. Dean needed to remember that. He went to their toilet, grabbed some paper to clean himself off, brought some over to Cas who took it quietly and wiped himself up too.

Dean returned to the chair, put his feet up on the table and his hands behind his back, happily sated in his afterglow. He looked over to Cas who looked equally pleased with what happened. Dean took a mental snapshot of the swollen lips the Russian was sporting and the slight pink on his cheeks, how his chest was rising and falling fast still trying to get his breath back. Yeah, Dean caused that, and he liked knowing it.

The lights went out, but he had no intention of going to bed yet. He had questions that still needed answering. Hopefully a post orgasm Cas made him more willing to talk to Dean about things that should be kept secret.

“So then, where were you today?” he asked.

The Russian answered.


 

Chapter Text


The decision for mutual orgasms during lock in time was hands down one the best decisions Dean had made since landing himself in Purgatory. Cas had an insatiable appetite, one that Dean was more than willing to keep up with seeing as the Russian tore orgasms out of Dean like no one else could including out in the real world. It was like his celly was made for him, sent by some sex God with a sole mission on making Dean cum at least once a day.

And it was at least once a day, sometimes twice depending on if Cas was in their cell during their day time lock up. The reason why he was missing count was still ongoing, but he was always back in the night time for some hands-on time with Dean. Hands-on time Dean spent most of the day looking forward to. He was gone on his celly, so pathetically gone on him and it was getting increasingly harder to keep this straight guy gig up.

There were moments when they lost themselves in each other, Dean wanted to kiss the Russian, run his tongue along his dried-up lips and taste him. Sometimes he swore Cas looked like he was about to, blue eyes locked on Dean’s lips like he was debating doing it, till he dropped his head to Dean’s shoulders where it was safe and away from danger. Dean wanted that danger though. The urge to pull Cas back up to meet his face and press their lips together was getting difficult to not give into.

The thing was that Dean had started to like Cas, like him more than just his body. Along with the mutual mind-blowing orgasms came the conversations after, their friendship kindling in their afterglow when the lights in their block were turned off. It was like the darkness brought this blanket of safety between them, safety to tell each other things they’d never tell anyone else in here.

Dean spoke a bit about his life outside of Purgatory, how he and Sammy earned a living hunting down people they deemed were “bad”. They’d follow missing people cases, murders, things like that in various states and did what needed to be done. Sometimes people would hire them for their services, if Dean and Sam felt the person was worth taking out, they would. He had a clear conscious on every kill he made, well, nearly every kill. Dean’s job wasn’t all that black and white, even he made mistakes he couldn’t take back. No one outside those he trusted knew that about him, not even Charlie knew the full story.

He even found himself telling Cas about how he ended up in Purgatory, something he rarely spoke out. How his Dad was obsessed with finding the person who killed their Mom, how once he found the bastard, tortured him and killed him the police showed up because their Dad had been reckless. Dean being the loyal son that was took the gun off of his Dad when the cops raided the place, not that it mattered. They were all charged. Their Dad admitted everything, even admitted to crimes the boys had done in order to get Sam and Dean a lighter sentence than he did. Any sentence would have been lighter than a death sentence.

Cas was less open about his past, tied by a strict code not to let outsiders in on any Russian mafia business. That didn’t stop Dean from asking questions, sometimes Cas would answer, sometimes he wouldn’t. Dean respected that. Well, he respected that eventually. There was one occasion he pushed too hard and Cas shoved him into wall, wrapped a hand around Dean’s throat and demanded he show him some respect.

That occasion was quickly followed by some leg crumbling frottage on both their parts because as terrifying as Cas could be, the Russian was equally as hot when he went pure dark side. Another instance where he lost himself in the moment and completely forgot he was supposed to not be ok with another dude’s dick rubbing up against his, but he was, he was so damn ok with it. Dean shrugged it off to it feeling good and that because they had their trousers on it totally wasn’t gay, even if it totally was.

Cas told him about why he was missing count. That he was getting deliveries into the kitchen containing contraband that was going to be split between Purgatory and Hell when it was ready. Whatever “when it’s ready” meant Dean wasn’t privy to. It wouldn’t be feasible to do it with other inmates lurking around and especially during their work detail when they actually had to cook food for the place. They paid off guards to help them, those who wouldn’t take payment were threatened or blackmailed into complying to them. Zachariah was included in that mix, made sense why was pretending Cas was there for count when he blatantly wasn’t.

Dean told Sammy about why he was missing count. He knew his brother wouldn’t ease up on till he figured it out. At least this way Sam was in no danger of getting his head kicked in for looking in places he wasn’t supposed to. He kept the mutual orgasms to himself though, for obvious reasons. Cas did too. As far as anyone knew they were cell mates and that was about it.

As the days passed Dean kept to himself, kept his head down. Charlie and Sam bought him a chocolate bar for being two months out of the Empty. They earned more than he did so a chocolate bar wasn’t much to them, but it was everything to Dean. He earned next to nothing in his work detail. The sacrifice he made so he could at least be outdoors more than the rest of them.

“Seriously guys,” he said mouth full of its sugary goodness, “You didn’t have to get me a freakin’ chocolate bar.” It was rec-time they were hanging outside Sam and Charlie’s cell like they usually did. Dean’s cell being up on the balcony meant he didn’t have much space to hang outside of it, down on the ground floor there were tables to sit at.

“Think of it as an incentive to not do anything stupid.” Charlie replied.

Dean swallowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you get bored easily.” Sam explained.

He didn’t see the sleaze ball encroaching from behind, but Crowley sat down on their table.

“Idle hands are the devil’s work.” Crowley said like he had been listening in on this conversation since it began. Dean looked over at the English douche and took a chunk out of his chocolate bar unwavering his glare.

“What do you want Crowley?” Sam asked knowing all too well that Crowley didn’t interact with others unless absolutely necessary. He kept to himself, kept to his sex workers and observed Purgatory from a safe distance. People came up to him, he never sought out people.

“A little birdy told me your bunk buddy is brewing up Angel Grace,” He said to Dean. Dean was glad for the taffy chocolate in his mouth inhibiting him from replying with words, he pointed to his mouth signally he couldn’t respond. “A simple head nod or shake will suffice.”

“As if Castiel would tell Dean anything,” Charlie scoffed. “The Russians are about as secretive as the Illuminati.”

Dean chewed down his taffy. “What he said.” He gestured to his friend across the table. If he flat out denied it that would be too obvious, and he couldn’t exactly tell the truth either. Not that Dean even had all the truth, he knew it was contraband, he didn’t know it was freakin’ drugs they were working with in the kitchen. If it even was Angel Grace that is.

“And how the hell would they be able to cook up something like Angel Grace in Purgatory?” Sam questioned the legitimacy of that rumour. It was a bit of a stretch to think something like could be happening in here in broad day light.

“Shame,” Crowley stood up. “If it were, I might have offered my services.” And with that he walked back to his post on the peripheral of the block, back to watching and being a general creep that he was. Dean took another chew of his bar.

Charlie excused himself, having to take a leak.

Sam leaned over dying to know. “Is he making Angel Grace Dean?”

“Beats me, he doesn’t give me those kinds of details.” Dean mumbled through a mouth full. It was true, he didn’t, not enough details anyway. Cas was selective on what Dean knew and didn’t know.

“Don’t you think you should maybe find out?” his brother asked. Dean pulled a “are you serious” face at him. His brother just told him not to do anything stupid, asking Cas if he’s bringing drugs into Purgatory sounded pretty stupid in Dean’s mind. “C’mon Dean, if Angel Grace gets in here, we’re going to need to be ready.” Sam was serious, concerned even.

“Ready for what?”

Sam shrugged. “Chaos, carnage, take your pick.” Sam looked around the block. Dean followed, the place was already chaos, it was easy to drown out what was going on around them once they got used to the place. The constant noise, the constant turf wars, the only thing keeping them in line were the guards and even then, that wasn’t enough sometimes.

Add Angel Grace into the mix and everyone on it was going to go off the handle big time. That stuff made you feel invincible, like nothing could touch you and the way it interacted with your system gave you some serious strength while it lasted. A bunch of inmates high on Angel Grace could potentially turn Purgatory into a blood bath. Sam was right, they needed to be prepared if this was going down. He needed to know what the Russian was up to if they had a chance of surviving it.


The Russian was lying on his bed when Dean walked into their cell. His top already discarded leaving his chest on show for Dean to admire. Dean had a serious hard on for Cas and his tattoos. Each one with a purpose and a significance that he was still trying to decipher. Cas told him about some of them, when he was in a particularly happy mood, usually after basking in his afterglow. The stars on either shoulder to signify high ranking within the gang and the cross to show that he was a part of the Russian Bratva were the ones he knew about. He had yet to understand the meaning of the Madonna on his stomach or the set of eyes peering out over his trousers.

Now that Dean thought about it, the better the afterglow, the more likely Cas would tell him privy information. Maybe even information about what he kind of contraband he trying to get into the Purgatory and Hell.

He noticed Cas was holding a notebook of some kind, studying it carefully. Dean being nosey reached for the book and snatched it from Cas’ hands. Their recent bonding time had let him get away with these kinds of things. Cas entertained them up till a certain point.

“Dean.” Cas’ voice was particularly deep this evening.

“Cas,” He attempted to mimic the Russian accent and failed. Dean flicked through the pages, all in Russian. Go figure. He handed the book back. “What is it? Recipe book?”

Cas went back to the page he had been reading. “Sort of.”

He stayed in the chair till the guard locked them in. It was how they worked, keep distance, wait for the guard to lock them in then they had at least an hour to get each other before the 9pm count. The only good thing about being in Purgatory was how it ran like clockwork.

When he heard the lock sliding into place and the guard disappearing from the view. Dean took Cas’ attention off of the book and onto him by getting into the bed, sitting on the back of his knees between Cas’ legs. Cas’ cold blues peered over the book. He didn’t move though, didn’t put the book down. Dean pouted jokingly.

He shook his celly’s knee, wanting to get the show on the road. “C’mon Cas.”

“I’m reading.”

Deciding to take matters into his own hands (literally and figuratively), Dean pushed on with tonight’s proceedings without Cas’ full attention. He knew he had some of it. The Russian didn’t shove him off, which he had done before or get off the bed and onto the chair, which he had also done before when Dean tried to get his hands-on Cas’ body. This time when Dean ran his hands up Cas’ thighs, he saw the Russian settle into it rather than push away.

A little sigh let itself be known between them.

“Feels good huh?” Dean asked, he pressed his thumbs harder into the muscle. Another sigh, this time more audible. Cas put the notebook down, let it rest on his chest still on his marked page as he stared at Dean.

“You’re not going to let me read, are you?”

Dean slipped his fingers into Cas’ waistband of his trousers and shimmied them down without any protest from the man underneath him. Cas’ unashamed, unself-conscious attitude only added to the attraction Dean had for him.

“I can let you read,” he stripped his own top off. “Or I can suck your dick, your choice.”

It would be the first time he did this to Cas, not the first time he thought about it. Cas’ dick was something Dean had wanted to get up close and personal with for some time now. His hands and Cas’ dick were friends, good friends even and his mouth was starting to feel left out. He was patient though, something he needed to pretend to be able to build up to. A couple of weeks of hand jobs and frottage was enough patience in his book.

He rubbed the palms of his hands over the eyes staring up at him on Cas’ hips, like they could see into his soul, see past the façade that was becoming more like a thin transparent veil as time passed in this cell. Cas grinded up into the touch, as tactile as Dean was. Where Dean liked soft, Cas liked hard. He pressed down a little more, enjoying the furrowed brows Cas was sporting and lips parting an inch more than usual. Good signs.

“Have you ever given one?” Cas asked. 

“I’ve received plenty, I know the basics,” he knew more than the basics. He knew the whole freakin’ instruction manual on giving blowjobs. “So, what’ll it be Cas? Book, or blow job?”

Dean got his answer when Cas put the book on the ground. He got it when Cas cupped Dean’s jaw with his hand and guided him down to where Cas’ dick. Dean wet his lips, like he was getting ready to devour something heavenly and he probably was if he was being honest. That cockslut in him was hard to keep down. Cas’ moved his hand around to the back of Dean’s head, getting a grasp of his hair.

With his stomach pretty much flat on the bed between Cas’ legs he looked up at the man. Cas was up on an elbow, helping him get a good view of what Dean was about to do. 

He licked his lips once before licking a strip up Cas’ length in front of him, licked all the way up till he reached Cas’ head and wrapped his plush lips around it. The Russian’s stomach contracted, a mutter of Russian left his mouth, not that Dean knew what he was saying, he just knew it meant Cas was breaking and he chased for more Russian swears as he took more of Cas in his mouth.

Cas was warm in Dean’s mouth, pre-cum leaking out and Dean lapped it up like an ice pop that’s melting in his hand on a summer’s day. He was anchored to the bed by Cas’ hands in his hair that didn’t know if they wanted to grip tight and fuck into Dean’s mouth or gently hold on and enjoy whatever Dean gave him. Dean was holding out for the former and when Cas let go completely Dean pulled off and told him to put them back.

“I don’t want to scare you off Dean.”

As if Dean would ever be put off by getting his mouth on Cas’ dick again.

“Trust me, I aint that easily scared.” Dean smiled wickedly.

The Russian decided to be caring for a moment. “Dean.”

“I want you to,” Dean admitted. “It’s hot man, I like it.”

That seemed to be good enough for Cas. His hands went back into Dean’s hair, reaching up to the top of his hair, grabbing a fist full of it. Cold blues looked down as Dean rut himself on the bed from the feeling of it, because somehow being pulled from the top of his head had managed to make its way all the way down to his cock. He had been hard giving Cas head, now there was a growing damp spot he was working himself into.

With Cas' lust filled eyes on him he lifted one of his legs up higher, grinded himself down because Dean needed Cas to know what he did to him. Things he refused to say in words. The more want, the more desire he had for the Russian the filthier he found himself getting. Not many people got to see Dean like this, needy and inhibitions down. He hid his head in Cas’ thigh, his soft leg hairs brushed against Dean’s face.

“You want to ruin my bed lev?” Cas asked dark and heavy. He would, he was close if he let himself indulge more than he already was, letting his hips sway into the bed, getting a good friction going but he also wanted to make Cas feel good, wanted to feel Cas cum in his mouth and fall apart just like Cas makes him fall apart.

“I wanna ruin you.” Dean replied. He pressed his mouth to Cas’ thigh, a light kiss. His first.

“U tebya uzhe yest’”

You already have.

Cas pushed Dean's head back down onto his cock. Dean let his mouth go slack, knowing what was coming and couldn’t fucking wait for it either, with his hands braced he felt Cas lift his hips up off the bed, sliding himself deeper into Dean’s mouth till he hit the back of his throat. He gagged a little, a reaction he couldn’t control. Cas eased back down just to ease back up again, building up a motion that was toe curling for Dean, spine shivering and downright excruciating. Tears filled his eyes as he got skull fucked with a relentless pace.

“I’m going to…” Cas stuttered out. Dean nodded, hand reaching down to get at his own neglected cock, wanting to fall over this edge with Cas. Always wanting to find euphoria together if they could. He came as Cas spilled into Dean’s mouth, throat coating in his cum and Dean swallowed all of it, sucking Cas’ dick till the Russian pushed him away from it being too much.

Dean let his head drop to Cas’ thigh again, trying to get his breath back after yet another earth quaking encounter with his celly. His brain came back to his body slowly, slower than usual. Lines had been crossed, one being his mouth on Cas’ dick, the other being that Dean still hadn’t gotten up off of Cas’ body. Truth of it was that he didn’t want to, he hated the part after it when they separated, like he was just being used and not wanted.

“Dean.” Cas noticed that his celly wasn’t moving.

“Not yet,” Dean whispered. “Please Cas.” He needed this.

Cas put his hand back in his hair, this time soft and placid. Dean sighed into it, happy and sated. His hand reached up to give his own touch to the Russian, deciding to trace his finger over the outline of the Madonna holding a baby. Cas relaxed into it eventually. Something told Dean he wasn’t used to these kinds of touches.

This close Dean could just about make out the scars on his stomach, noticed what looked like a bullet wound breaking up the ink in his tattoo.

“You got shot.”

“Yes,” Cas answered. His hand reached down to touch the wound. “A long time ago.”

Dean ran his finger along what looked like a knife wound above the Madonna’s halo. It felt deep, jagged like the knife wasn’t all that sharp. Cas hitched his breath, stomach flinched. Dean moved his hand away with a quiet apology, “Shit, sorry.”

“Bad memories.” Cas took Dean's wrist to move Dean’s hand back to the tattoo, away from the knife wound.

“Here’s good?” Dean asked, making sure the Russian wasn’t just humoring him.

“Yes, I like it there.” Cas’ body untensed. Silence fell around them. It was peaceful even if the sound of Purgatory was anything but outside of their four walls. If Dean concentrated hard enough, he could cancel out the noise and home in on nothing but Cas.

They didn’t move till coming up to 9pm, when the guard was on his way back for count.


“So, what did you find out?” Sam joined him for breakfast.

Dean looked up over his coffee mug. Brain still attempting to switch on. “What now?”

“Did you talk to Castiel about you know what?” Sam punctuated the last three words insinuating something. Crap, the Angel Grace, he completely forgot to ask about it.

“He wasn’t in a talking mood, was reading this notebook.” Dean answered, not a complete lie. A slight blurring of the truth, hopefully Sam wouldn’t pick up on it too much.

Sam leaned over, careful of listening ears. “What was in the notebook then?”

He pushed his brother back to his side of the table, too early for this shit.

“I don’t read Russian Sam, how the hell am I supposed to know what’s in it? Now shut up and eat your damn breakfast.”

They switched out their breakfasts, Sam took Dean’s banana, Dean took Sam’s extra slice of toast. His brother didn’t like to load up on bread, not good for his health or whatever.

As his brain started to switch on Zachariah came over to the table with another guard.

“Morning maggots,” He had his trade mark shit eating grin on his face. Still not allowed to step out of line Dean nodded in his general direction. “What no good morning back?”

Dean put his mug down. “Good morning Zachariah.” He stuck a hint of attitude into it but refrained from name calling.

“Warden Shurley wants to see you two pronto.”

“What?” Sam asked. “Why?” he added.

Zachariah didn’t let anything out, just motioned for the guard to grab Sam by the shoulder and hoist him up off the bench.

“Hey!” Sam exclaimed, tried to pull himself off of the guard. Dean stood up too, instinct to kill anyone and anything who lay their hands on his little brother. Zachariah pulled out his baton and hit Dean in the back of his leg, crumbling him a little.

“Don’t try anything stupid Winchester.” He warned. Dean huffed, slightly snarling his teeth trying to keep his rage inside of him. The dining room had their eyes on them both. Cas even came out of the kitchen to see what was going on. Their eyes met for a split second. Cas looked like he was about to come over when Balthazar physically blocked him. Zachariah pulled his attention away by shoving him towards the exit.

He fell in line with his brother, heading towards the Warden’s office.

“You know what’s going on?”

“Not a clue.” Dean answered. He had been good. He hadn’t done anything. The only thing Dean could think was that Shurley was coming to collect on the fight that they had with the Russians a few weeks back. He couldn’t hurt them, but he could hurt the Winchesters. That didn’t add up, if he wanted to throw them in the Empty, he would just get his guards to do it. He rarely intervened unless it was for something big.

The times that Dean had been in Shurley’s office were when he first arrived, when his Dad’s sentence had been decided and when his date had been pushed back. That gave Dean a sinking feeling in his stomach. He looked over to his brother whose face was becoming more worried as they walked. He was having the same thoughts too. This was about their Dad.


 

Chapter Text


Dean knew Shurley was talking to them. He looked at the warden, his thick beard hiding his lips that were moving, his red blazer contrasting with the painfully bright white walls behind him. He knew he was talking but he couldn’t hear him, like Dean was under water, the words were distant and muddled in his brain.

Nothing else seemed to go in once he heard the words,

“Your Dad was put to death last night.”

He knew his brother was beside him, his head hanging low, hair covering his face and tears starting to fall down on his cheeks. If he reached out, he could touch his brother’s shoulder, but he couldn’t, his limbs were heavy, weighing him down like they were made of lead.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice.

“Dean!” Shurley’s voice.

He emerged from the water, lifted his head, blinked back his eyes that he didn’t realise had flooded with water. He sniffed sharply, put the heels of his palms into his eyes to stop the water from falling.

“Yeah, I heard you.” He lied. He hadn’t heard anything. He just wanted to get out of here, wanted to find a wall and tear it down with his fists till every bone in his hand broke. To feel something other than his heaviness he was experiencing right now, like he was trying to swim and failing, being dragged to the bottom.

The water kept coming, kept rushing over his head. He couldn’t breathe.

“Do you want to see the body before its cremated?” Shurley asked.

Dean looked over at his brother. Sam had fought back his own tears. His head held a little higher, shoulders pushed back like their Dad taught them. Memories came to Dean of their Dad squatting down in front of them when they were kids, giving the boys a pep talk before he left for another job that had no end date. They wouldn’t know when he’d come back, they wouldn’t know if he’d come back.

No crying when I’m gone boys and no looking for me.

Dean mirrored the body language of his little brother, head up, shoulders back, chest out.

No crying when Dad’s gone and no looking for him.

“No.” they answered together.


It didn’t take long for the rest of Purgatory to find out that infamous vigilante John Winchester was put to death. That’s what the papers had called him. At 1.13am, he kicked the bucket, or they kicked it for him.

Dean managed to get through work detail, lunch and lock in (without Cas) without someone mentioning his Dad. At yard-time there were murmurs, whispers that he could over hear. He tried to drown them out, cigarette after cigarette chain smoking to get as much nicotine in him as possible to get him through till the end of the day.

Charlie tried to get the brothers to talk, even Bobby tried to drum up some conversation. It didn’t work, they weren’t in a talking mood. Sam answered out of being polite, Dean didn’t have that problem. He had that vacant thousand mile stare out into nothing as he inhaled his fourth cigarette. He filled his lungs as much as he could, till it hurt, till it burned to feel something.

The guards called them back in for rec-time in the block. Dean hopped off the bench he was sitting on, walking back alone to his cell to hide out till dinner. It wasn’t a great idea to be alone. His brain wasn’t operating on great ideas. He heard Charlie and Sam call out to him to wait up, but he wanted to be by himself. It didn’t last for long.

“I heard your old man got put down today,” it was Gordon. His voice was low as he leaned into Dean’s space. Dean ignored him, kept walking into the crowd that was exiting the yard. Gordon stayed glued to his side though, clearly not done antagonizing Dean.

“Like a rapid dog. Shot right in the temple, boom, lights out.”

Dean turned his head, eyes glaring at the man he had spent the best part of two months successfully avoiding.

“You shut your mouth.” Dean warned through gritted teeth.

He didn’t.

“I heard he went kicking and screaming like a little bitch,” Gordon continued in a loud whisper that only Dean could hear. “Calling out your whore of a Mother’s name over and over and –” Dean’s elbow collided with his nose. He could take the Dad digs but no one bad mouthed Mary Winchester.

Gordon stumbled back into the chest of another inmate. Dean’s hands made fists on their own accord, ready for a fight. He did say he needed to punch a wall, punching Gordon would suffice. The inmate shoved Gordon back into Dean, he moved out the way, watched as Gordon fell onto the ground.

Dean stood over him, nostrils flaring.

“I said shut your god damn mouth.”

Gordon rubbed the blood that had dripped down to his mouth. Another Folk Nation came in to help him up onto his feet. Dean noticed that something shining had been passed into his hand. A shiv.

“Big mistake Dean.” Gordon cracked his neck, eyes wide and focused in on Dean.

Dean put his hands up. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

He was ready for whatever Gordon to going to throw at him. He needed to get away from this drowning feeling, this cold numbness he found himself slipping into. Ripping Gordon’s face in half would help with that. Anger would put a fire in Dean he needed. Gordon was in on drug charges, wasn’t like killing people was part of his job, unlike Dean.

Gordon swiped at him, razor melted into the side of a toothbrush crossed Dean’s face, as if in slow motion Dean grabbed his wrist and smacked the weapon from his hand. Easy. It skidded along the ground, landing at the foot of another inmate. A hand that had a skull with exposed canines inked into it picked up the shiv. Cas had a front row seat in the circle that had grown around them. The Russian put the shiv into his pocket, removing it from the fight. Dean met his cold blues, eyes darting from Dean to behind him to where Gordon was.

“Be brave Dean.”

Dean nodded.

He knew he only had a minute, two, max before the guards signaled for everyone to get down and break up the fight. Dean needed to make this count if he was going to turn this ice into heat. He went for Gordon, jabbing him in the side, getting Gordon to wince, distract him enough to pull a move Cas had done on him when they fought. Dean dropped and spun, letting his leg knock Gordon off of his feet.

“Dean! No!” Sam’s voice called out above the rest. If he looked at his brother, he’d drown and he couldn’t drown, he needed to survive, feel alive and this was what made Dean feel more alive than anything. Dean straddled Gordon, fists colliding with his face over and over and over like a machine. One hit after the next, the blood spilled from Gordon’s face, the bones in Dean’s hands were cracking, knuckles mixing with the blood of the bastard under him.

The siren went, bodies dropped to the floor and he didn’t stop. He didn’t stop hitting till his arms were being pulled back, till he physically couldn’t beat on Gordon anymore. Dean shouted, cried out in rage as he was being pulled away by the guards, feet dragged along the ground and he fought against them. It took five men to take him down and carry him away.

He broke. They knew he would, and he did, two and a half months he lasted.

They threw him into the Empty.

“See you never Winchester.” The guard smiled.  

They locked the door, threw away the key.

Dean didn’t stop shouting till his voice broke, till his throat burned and his chest heaved. He punched the wall till both his hands were covered in blood, the adrenaline coursed through him keeping the drowning away. He knew it would come, inevitably it could come, and he would drown in it.

At least when it came, he’d do it in here. At least in the Empty no one would see him sweat, no one would see him cry. No one would see him again, period.

They warned him but he didn't listen. He never did. 


September.

A new Russian arrived into Purgatory two weeks after his big brother was tossed into the Empty. His name was Gabriel and it didn’t take much for Sam to realise that this guy was Cas’ equal in authority. He was nothing like Castiel, overtly charismatic and brash though equally as violent when provoked. Sam soon found himself getting extra servings at mealtimes, he saw the way the Russian looked at him as he sucked on sweets he never seemed to be too far away from. He started going to the library during Sam’s work detail. Admittedly he was a good distraction for Sam. The thoughts that his brother was still in the Empty, that his Dad was dead seemed to fade away whenever he was around Gabriel. When he inevitably pushed Sam into the mythology section of the library and climbed him like a tree, Sam didn’t try to stop him.


October.  

Angel Grace successfully infiltrated Purgatory and as Sam suspected chaos and carnage erupted. A riot broke out. The guards were outnumbered. Chuck had brought guards down from Hell to get the prisoners back under control. Sam had tried to stay out of it, but he couldn’t. Gordon was back from the infirmary and out for blood. He knew he wouldn’t survive on his own. On the second day he walked up to the Russians and asked Gabriel for protection. He knew what he was asking. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to die in here. He had to survive. Dean had to get out eventually, they couldn’t keep him in there forever and he wouldn’t die before he got to see his brother again.


November.

The riot was under control for the time being though murmurs of another one was getting loud among the inmates. Sam sat on the bench out in the yard with the Russians, never too far away from them now. A heaviness found itself in his chest as he thought of his brother. If he was ok, if he was still sane after over two months of being locked up in nothingness. He missed him. The carnage would be easier with him around.

“You’re dreaming again,” Gabriel ran a hand through Sam’s hair. “Come back to me.”

“Sorry, kinda missing my brother today.”

The Russian pressed his mouth to Sam’s temple to soothe him then turned his attention to Castiel who sat across from them reading.

“Vy mozhete vytashchit' yego?” Gabriel spoke.

Can you get him out?

Castiel responded to Gabriel's question with a simple nod, not lifting his eyes from his book.


 

Chapter Text


December.

Dean stopped counting the days after the fifty, with a loose screw in his rickety bed he would crave the days into the wall similar to the others who had stayed in the Empty. Once he reached fifty, he stopped seeing the point. The days were molding into one. Winter meant the days were short, the nights were long and when the sun went down Dean felt it dimming his soul. The tiny window he couldn’t see out of was his only solace.

There was no light for him in here except for that window about as big as a shoe box. He had a bed, a flimsy mattress covered in mold spores, no covers and a toilet, no sink. The guards let him shower sometimes. Usually when the smell of him seeped through the cracks in the door they’d bring him out, shove him under the shower head and turn it on. With the drop-in temperature Dean welcomed the scorching heat of the water, savoured it as much as he could before he was thrown back into the cold.

He survived the drowning, the grief had swallowed him and spat him back out again after about a week. The Empty swallowed him then and refused to let Dean out of its pit of darkness. There was no coming back from this. He had been warned, stepping out of line and he’d be back in here and for good this time. Dean had only himself to blame. He just hoped Sammy was ok without him, that he was surviving in Purgatory and not getting into trouble.

On the nights when he heard the thunder he thought of Cas, wondered if he was doing alright by himself, if he was even still by himself. They might have gotten him another celly. He pictured Cas curled up in a ball with no one to tell him it would be ok, to count the seconds to see how far away the storm was. He longed to be running his finger over the halo of the Madonna on his stomach again, longed even more for the Russian’s hands to be in his hair, whispering lev over and over. He wasn’t a lion though, not in here, not anymore.

As complete darkness fell again onto Dean, he heard steps outside of his cell. Change of guards he assumed, things were unpredictable in the Empty, nothing like Purgatory. He didn’t pay too much attention to it till he heard the lock unbolting on his door. Dean sat up in his lame excuse for a bed. The door swung open. Light flooded in from the hall blinding Dean. His hand came up to shield his eyes.

Zachariah stepped in.  “You must have a guardian angel Winchester because I honestly have no idea how you’ve managed to wrangle your way out of this place, again.”

He wasn’t following. It had been months since he’d spoken to anyone. “Excuse me?”

“Your ass is going back to Purgatory.” Two more guards came into Dean’s cell and hoisted him up out of his bed. Their uniform was different, completely black unlike Zachariah’s navy.

“I am?”

“I’m as surprised as you are, trust me.” Zachariah stepped into Dean’s space. “Though, the place has had a bit of a make-over since you’ve last seen it. I’m sure your brother will fill you in on everything, if he’s not too busy on his knees with a mouth full of Russian that is.”

The guards dragged Dean from the Empty and towards the exit door he thought he’d never see again. He was out.


His block was locked in for the night. When he walked through the ground floor, he could hear wailing, shouting, moaning, sounds he hadn’t heard in so long that sounded so loud in his ears. The silence of the Empty he had grown accustomed too though something told him the block sounded louder than usual. The faint orange and red lights from overhead lit up the space. Dean could make out bodies in cells, some pacing shadows were muttering to themselves like they were completely restless, some even were shaking the bars of their cell, trying to get out of them screaming for more grace.

Angel Grace.

They brought him upstairs, brought him to his cell.

“Hands on the wall Novak, we’re opening up.”

He saw Cas’ shadow get out of bed, walk to the farthest wall. The guard unlocked the door, Dean stepped inside and waited for them to take the cuffs off of him. Red and orange hues cast into the cell and Dean could make out Cas’ wings, arms up by his head like they were spreading. Dean didn’t think he’d ever see them again. Didn’t think he’d see Cas again.

The cell bolted. The guard walked away.

Dean’s legs started to give way, crumbling underneath him he couldn’t stay up right. His hand tried to reach for the bunk to steady himself, his perception was off, and he missed it, falling to the ground on his knees hard.

He was out. He was here, back in his cell, back with the Russian and he couldn’t really fathom it. This was a joke. It had to be. This was just Shurley playing his puppet mastery and he’d take Dean away or Dean would wake up and be back in the Empty, that he never really left. The warmth around him wasn’t real, the dry ground under him was just his mind playing tricks on him. They had played enough on him during his time in the Empty.

“Dean.” There was a hand on his shoulder, a body in his view sitting on the ground in front of him. One he’d dream out countless times. He could make out the stars on a chest, the top of the cross in the center. He couldn’t bring himself to look any higher. His dreams wouldn’t let him see Cas’ face, wouldn’t let him see those eyes he missed on him.

He closed his eyes. “You’re not real.”

The hand moved to his neck. It felt warm, soft. A thumb brushed his grown out facial hair.

“This is just dream.” His voice croaked. “You’re just a dream.”

The hand moved up to Dean’s hair. “Look at me lev.”

Lev. His dream Cas never called him that.

Dean lifted his head. His dreams were torture, removing the two things he wanted and there they were staring at him and calling out his name. He could see Cas, actually see him for the first time in so long. The orange lit up his face in the darkness, his eyes were soft with the quietest smile Dean found so endearing.

He was awake, this was real.

“I’m real.” Cas took Dean’s wrist, lifted it to touch his chest, placed his hand over his heart. The faintest of beats under his palm, calm and steady. Cas put his forehead on Dean’s. Warm breath spreading across Dean’s cold one, heating him up.

“You’re real.” He said it so quietly, as if saying it louder would take it all away from him. 

Dean couldn’t say how long they stayed like that, heads touching, Cas’ hand grounding him in their cell. He was back. This was real. He wasn’t dreaming. In a loop it went around and around in his mind till he believed it. His body started to sag. Exhaustion crept up on him.

“Cas?”

“Yes Dean?”

“Can we pretend it’s a thunderstorm just for tonight?”

Cas got up, pulled on Dean’s wrist, pulled it till Dean got up too. They went to Cas’ bed, Cas first lying down on his back with arms out for Dean to fall into them. He was actually going to let Dean do this. Dean took his top off and got on the bed before Cas could change his mind.

He lay down on Cas’ body, chest to chest he enveloped himself over the Russian, head resting on one of the stars. Cas brought up the blanket, encased them in it. Warm hands roamed around the skin they could reach, across his shoulder blades, down his arms, over his thigh. One permanently in Dean’s hair though, where it needed to be. He let his breath out, slow and shaky. This was real. He wasn’t dreaming.

“It’s ok,” Cas whispered. “I’ve got you.”

All he wanted, all he needed was this, to be touched by Cas, coaxing him back to some kind of reality that wasn’t darkness and nothingness. Cas was going to resurrect him tonight.

He wrapped an arm around Cas’ waist and breathed the life back into himself.


In the morning Dean skipped out on breakfast for another hour in a bed that felt like a freaking cloud in comparison to the one in the Empty. Cas had left him in his bed, they had slept like that, entangled in one another and they didn’t move till the guard came for Cas in the morning. Dean was too tired to care, too drained to really comprehend what that meant, and Cas didn’t kick him out, so he felt it was ok with the Russian he stayed.

He’d deal with the consequences of that later. Too tired to care at that moment and he wanted his energy back for yard time, what waited for him out there. So yeah, another hour and then a shower and a shave were needed in exchange for missing out on the grub.

His brain had been mostly kicked back into place by the time he grabbed his blue winter coat from this clothes trunk under the bed and grey wooly hat. A once over of himself in the mirror and he almost looked human again. Two deep breathes and he stepped out of his cell, headed downstairs to join the crowd heading out into the yard.


It didn’t take long for Dean to register some of the make-over Zachariah had mentioned. The place was swarmed with guards, more than he had ever seen there. Decked out in all black, half riot gear, bullet proof vests on their person on the outside. They looked like military grade, their stoic faces and alert stance surveying the yard. They stood back from the crowd, didn’t interact with anyone, not even with each other. Dean clocked some of them had guns, rubber bullets Dean hoped was what was in them.

The other glaring difference being those off their head on Angel Grace. In the space a three- minute walk to the yard he had been asked if he had any on him and saw an exchange go down in front of him. Hands passed between people. A flash of pure white went from palm to palm. The rumours were right.

Final noticeable difference being the space where he usually stood with his brother and Charlie, sometimes Bobby had been replaced by new inmates. His brother, his friends were not there. Dean scanned the yard, eyes on the hunt for his lurch of a brother landing on the Russians with his brother and Charlie sitting with them. Wait, what?

Sam spotted Dean. He stood up off the bench and walked towards his brother. Sam didn’t stop walking till he ran his body into Dean’s, winding him a little.

“You’re out.”

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam. “Yeah Sammy, I’m out.”

“Winchester.” A guard called out. Sam stepped away. He ran his hand over his hair that had fallen from behind his ear. His brother looked worse for wear, about as bad as Dean looked if he was being honest and his brother hadn’t spent the guts of three months in the Empty. His eyes sunken into his head, bags as big as trash bags and bruises on his neck, not bruises, love bites.

“Is that a freakin’ hickey?” Dean pointed at the mark. Sam lifted the collar of his coat to hide it, it still peeked out over it the thing was that big.  

“I haven’t seen you in months and that’s what you’re concerned about?”

‘Sorry, just,” Dean shrugged. His eyes looked behind Sam to find Cas but someone new was at the table that caught his attention. “Wait, who’s the new guy?” he nodded his head towards the table. Sam turned to follow Dean’s stare. He noticed his brother lift his mouth in the tiniest of smiles.

“Gabriel.” That response was full of more affection than Dean had heard from his brother in a long time. He hadn’t said someone’s name like that since Jess was in his life, not even Ruby got that kind of tone from Sam.

“Gabriel?” he mimicked his brothers’ puppy lovesick tone. Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re going to need to fill me in on all of this.” he waved his hand over his brother and his radiating tenderness for the new Russian.

“Dean, a lot has happened in Purgatory since you got thrown in the Empty.” His brother walked to an empty bench, sat down and gestured for Dean to sit too.

“Clearly,” he sat opposite his brother. “Now you gonna catch me up or what?”


The information took a moment to sink in. Dean wasn’t going to lie. It was a lot to take in. Sam explained it well, didn’t miss any bits out and went back to reiterate things if they were of import. In the three or so months he had been away the whole of Purgatory had been turned on its head and had yet to find its feet again by the sounds of it.

“So, let me get this straight,” Dean lifted his hand up to go over the main highlights. He lifted one finger at a time as he spoke. “Gabriel is running the show with Cas now.”

“As far as I can tell yeah.”

“Angel Grace is turning these sons of bitches into super strength mutant lunatics?”

“Yep.”

“There was a riot that lasted like, what, a month?”

Another nod.

“These scary mother fuckers in the black get up are from Hell to keep us in order in case another riot breaks out, which apparently might happen.”

“Yeah, there’s whispers going around.”

The last left a sour taste in his mouth. “And you’re a freakin’ prag?”

His brother didn’t appreciate the last one. “Dean.”

“I know, I know, Gordon was trying to kill you.” Dean ran his hands over his face. It was hard to swallow. He had beaten Gordon to within an inch of his life, left him for dead as far as Dean was concerned. He hadn’t bet on Gordon coming back from that, not in one piece anyway. He was too in his own head, too absorbed in his own shit to recognise that he was leaving Sammy behind.

“I know you did what you had to Sammy.” He said to his brother. “If I didn’t snap like I did…” You wouldn’t have had to this on your own. You wouldn’t have had to go to them for help.

His brother wasn’t having any of it though. “Don’t do that to yourself Dean, don’t beat yourself up over this. Gordon deserved what he got.”

“Not enough if his heart is still beating.” Dean tightened his jaw. His hands were in fists on the table.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m good Dean,” he gave his brother an unconvinced face. Sam put his hand on his chest. “I am. I mean sure things could have been better, the riot was touch and go for a few days, but things are more settled now, more than they have been in weeks. I mean we’re still stuck in here and it still sucks but it’s better than it was.”

“Especially with a Russian in your back pocket keeping you pretty eh?” Dean tapped his neck earning him another eye roll from his little brother. He looked over at the Russian table. Charlie playing cards with them, smiling, laughing along with them. It was weird.

“Yeah well,” that smile came back. “He’s a big part of why things are better for me.”

He could tell his brother meant that. If his brother found some shred of something decent in Purgatory, who was he to deny that from him, even if it meant his brother was no longer technically a free man. He was owned. That changed things, changed their dynamic.

“So, what now? I’m not exactly part of the gang.”

“You’re going to need protection. Gordon is still hell bent on killing me, once he gets a whiff that you’re out he’ll be after you too.”

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal. “I can handle…”

“You can’t handle yourself in here anymore Dean,” his brother retorted. “This is not the same place it was. Inmates are dropping like flies either from grace overdoses or being shanked by the addicts high on the stuff and that’s on top of Gordon wanting your head on a plate. Don’t be an idiot.”

He scoffed. “What I’m going to get myself a Daddy too?”

“You know Castiel would...”

“You finish that sentence I’ll break your jaw.” He pointed at his brother. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t.

He looked behind his brother, the back of Cas was to him. He kept his hat off. The midnight black was a stark contrast to the grey heads of the others around him. The guards started to round them up for their work detail. Sam got up off the bench throwing in the towel knowing full well Dean wasn’t going to listen to him, at least not in the way he was going.

“I’m glad you’re out Dean, I missed you.”

That made Dean’s stomach drop. If reasoning wasn’t going to get Dean to cave, then a good old-fashioned guilt trip might. He hated that his brother knew him that well. Dean already felt shitty enough for leaving his brother here alone without Sam having to tell him he missed him when he was gone. If Gordon had a hit out on Dean and this Purgatory was not the same as he left it then he was going to need all the help he could get to survive. As much as it pained him, he was going to have to ask Cas the one thing he’d been trying to avoid at all costs.


 

Chapter Text


Benny was still alive. The Louisiana smooth talker was surviving by getting ahead of the game and actually supplying Angel Grace to the nut jobs who were looking for it. His work-detail meant he could roam around the grounds with enough freedom and lack of supervision to get away with it. He refused to give Dean his source, though chances were that it was the Russians.

“So, what was the riot like?” Dean asked.

They were bricklaying one of the walls between the blocks that had yet to be rebuilt after the riot. Compound work in winter was tough but Dean was happy for the open space and fresh air even if his balls were going blue by the minute. Anything was better than the Empty. He needed to remind himself of that for when he got the courage to ask Castiel what he needed to ask him. That wasn’t happening for another few hours at least.

“I’ve never seen anything like it in all my days,” Benny replied. He added another brick to the wall. “Started off when the first wave of Angel Grace died down, there was a lot of demand and not much supply. Inmates were getting real itchy.”

“And their genius plan was to riot?”

“Nah, see Dean the addicts were the distraction. Whoever wanted to start the riot used the addicts as a decoy. It was a cover.”

Some of the guards from Hell walked past them. Dean leaned in closer and lowered his voice, suddenly more interested by what Benny was telling him. This was bigger than Dean had initially thought.

“A cover? For what?” he whispered.

Benny leaned in too. “It was like it was one big card trick, while everyone is busy looking at one thing happening over here,” he lifted his hand, waving it in Dean’s face. “Something bigger is happening over here.” He jabbed Dean in the rib, sending him onto his ass in a thud. His friend chuckled at him. Dean got himself back up onto his hunches, brushed the rubble off his backside, debating whether to throw some concrete onto Benny for that.

“Oi, you two, stop messing around or I’ll write you both up.” A guard called out. Whatever about the navy guards being piss poor excuses of authority, these guys from Hell were not playing around. Dean reluctantly threw the concrete onto the wall for next brick and not onto Benny.

He cast a suspicious look over to his friend. “You’re just talking out of your ass Benny, aren’t ya?”

Benny shrugged but his smirk gave him away. “Maybe I am brother.”

He wasn’t.


He was queuing up for his lunch when Gordon spotted him. Gordon raised up his spork to his neck and made a gesture that he was going to slit Dean’s throat. Dean gulped but didn’t break the stare. He couldn’t let them see him sweat even if he was a little. If Gordon was jumped up on Angel Grace, he could easily take Dean out if he wanted to. He wouldn’t be as stupid as he was last time, provoking Dean in an open space. Gordon would be clever about it. He’d plan it out, get Dean when he least expected it. That’s what Dean would do if he wanted to kill someone in here.

“Get a move on boy.” Bobby nudged him forward in the queue.

Dean stepped up, waiting for his tray to be loaded with food. He noticed his brother ahead of him was getting way more than anyone else was.

“What gives?”

Sam took his tray, practically overflowing with their lunch of mac and cheese. “It’s Gabriel.”

“What he trying to fatten you up?” Dean joked. Sam didn’t respond, kept on walking to the end of the of the line to take his cutlery.

Cas was leaning against the arch into the kitchen, cup of something warm in his hands. Dean could do with one of those. Perks of working in the kitchen, unlimited hot drinks, not just for breakfast. If he was Cas’ prag, could he wrangle some perks like Sam got? Hot drinks would be nice in this freezing weather Dean had to spend outside in. He was practically shivering.

Positive sides of being a prag was what Dean had to focus on. Seemed to be the only thing keeping his pride from being completely demolished. That and telling himself he was doing this for Sammy. Dean nodded his head towards Cas, silently asking him to come over. The Russian kicked off the wall he had been leaning against, walked over to Dean.

“Hello Dean.”

“You going to be back for count and lock in after lunch?”

Cas sipped his drink, eyes locked on Dean’s. “I can be if you want me to be.”

Want, that’s a strong word. Dean felt the back of his neck heat up a smidge, thankful for the collar on his coat hiding it.

He kept it professional. “I need to talk to you about something so yeah, if you could.”

The Russian nodded. He noticed Dean had yet to take his hat and coat off and put his cup on Dean’s tray. Black coffee he could smell, steam still rising from it. “To warm you up.”

Dean appreciated it. “Thanks man.”

Gabriel walked out from the kitchen. Cloth swung over his shoulder, lollipop in his mouth grinning like he was anywhere but in Purgatory.

Oh Castiel.” Gabriel called out lyrically, like singing a sonnet to the other Russian.

Cas rolled his eyes and let out an audible sigh. It made Dean smile.

“I’ll see you later Dean.” He turned on his heel and walked back to Gabriel. They started conversing in Russian, Cas sounding pissed off, Gabriel with a shit heating grin like he was trying to rile Cas up. Their relationship was much different than the one Cas’ had with the other Russians. The equal status between them was very noticeable. Gabriel ruffled Cas’ hair and Cas shoved Gabriel playfully. They looked like he and Sam would be sometimes.

“Dean!” Sam called out for his brother. Being on his own was not good for Dean right now with a target on his back the size of Kansas.

Dean shifted his attention, joined his brother at the table. He shimmied out his coat and hat. Sam clocked the cup on his tray, raised a brow and pulled the side of his mouth up, like he was insinuating something.

“Shut up.” Dean lifted the mug to this mouth, let the steam warm up his face.

Sam put his hands up like he’d been caught. It took a while for his insinuating smile to drop.

Dean didn’t par-take in their conversations during lunch, too busy in his own mind trying to figure out how his conversation was going to go with Cas. This was possibly his last meal as a free man, soon to be property of one Castiel Novak.


His hopes of being calm and collected about this went out the window when Cas joined him outside of their cell for count. Part of him had hoped the Russian forgot Dean had asked, give Dean more time to psych himself out of it. All the reasons he had to not do this were blown out of the water with the simple fact of if he didn’t Gordon was going to gut him and Dean kinda liked being alive. 

Zachariah counted them in, and they were locked inside.

He took the chair, creating some distance between them. Cas noticed him shuffling it back but didn’t question it, choosing to sit on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees waiting for Dean to start talking. He forgot how much ink Cas had on his arms and hands while in the Empty, he was practically a walking Russian mural.

Right, Dean was the one who wanted to talk. He had to kick start it.

If only he could find the words.

Cas bet him to it. “You’re going to ask me for protection, aren’t you?”

Dean’s eyes widened, out in the open, no beating around the bush with that one. He rubbed his jaw, reached back to scratch his neck trying to answer it in words. Nope, no words yet apparently. The lump in his throat deciding to grow into tumor the size of his fist. He nodded instead.

“You know what that means,” Cas waited for Dean to respond. He didn’t give one. “I thought you didn’t want to be a…”

“I don’t.” Dean answered that time. Refusing to hear the word out of the Russian’s mouth.

Cas squinted his eyes. “And yet you’re asking to be one, to be mine.”

Yeah, Dean was well aware of how this was sounding and coming across. He knew he lost it last time someone thought Dean was Cas’ prag. The shame and embarrassment of it wrecked him and it wasn’t even true, now it would be true. Now, everyone would know.

There was only one thing that was winning over the stubbornness of refusing to be a prag and that was the stubbornness of wanting to live. Dean had 10 years left to serve, 7 maybe with good behaviour. If he survived in here, he could have a life out there.

“I know.” He said. 

“You’re going to have to act like mine if you want people out there to believe it.”

He knew how to do it, seen other prags around here. It wasn’t an uncommon way to survive in Purgatory. How they stayed close to their Daddy, how they hung out of them and did anything they wanted, whenever they wanted, like a plaything for the sake of a beating heart. He was going to have to do that and look like he meant it, make it believable.

The slow realisation of what he’d have to do to sell this was creeping its way into his mind. Images of following Cas around, sitting at the Russian table, losing any sense of autonomy he had. Sure, it wasn’t like Dean didn’t want Cas. He did, just not like this. Dean ran his hands over his face. “I know.”

Cas stuck his hand out for Dean to shake it. It felt like he was as reluctant about this as Dean was. That was somewhat comforting. They were friends and at times Dean felt they were more than that, but this was going to change their entire relationship.

He put his hand out, clasped it in Cas’ and shook. It was done. Dean was offically owned.


He sat with them at yard time, walking out with Cas wasn’t that bad. Dean had half expected Cas to make a spectacle about it. He didn’t. He acted normal, nothing out of the ordinary as far as Dean could tell other than telling Dean to sit beside him at the table which he did. Sam and Charlie were already sitting when he joined them.

“Dean.” Sam nodded a hello. Charlie smiled. Dean acknowledged them back in a nod. The Russians started talking in Russian, as if the others weren’t even there.

“Eto ne zanyalo mnogo vremeni.” Balthazar said.

“That didn’t take long.”

Gabriel leaned into Sam. “Moy krasiveye.”

“Mine is prettier.”

Cas’ glare seemed to have silenced them both from what they were talking about. He wondered if the other two were picking up any Russian. Questions for later.

Charlie took out a deck of cards and shuffled it. “I’ve gotten pretty good at this since you’ve been away.” Charlie said to him, acting as normal as ever. Dean supposed this was their new normal, they’d been sitting with the Russians for a couple of months. It was Dean who was finding this entire thing strange. If he blocked out the Russian chat and how the side of his body lined up with Cas’, he could pretend he was on the other side of the yard where he usually was.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that short stack.” Dean joked. Charlie dealt him and Sam the cards. They played a few hands of blackjack, some rummy and even a go fish to spice things up and it was good. Normal, almost. 

Gabriel sat beside Sam, every so often whispering things in his ear and making Sam smile like a sixteen-year-old girl which made Dean want to hurl in Cas’ lap but apart from that it was actually ok.

“Deal us in.” Balthazar said at one point when they were finished with their conversation. Sam shuffled the cards, handed Cas, Gabriel and Balthazar a pair each. The urge to peak at Cas’ cards was there. He resisted. It seemed Cas didn’t have that same sentiment, leaning over into Dean’s space for a look.

Or at least what Dean thought was a look, it was actually to kiss his cheek. The tiniest of kisses, if Dean blinked, he would have missed it except Dean didn’t blink. He felt it, Cas’ dry slightly chapped lips from the cold on his face. His whole body froze for a second, registering what happened. A kiss he had wanted in the confines of their cell, was in the open for everyone to see. This was what it was going to be like, Dean had to get used to it. There was nothing behind it and yet everything behind it. Cas doing what he wanted which in that moment was to kiss Dean’s cheek. Cas could do that.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel nice, once the initial shock wore off.

“Relax lev.” Cas whispered low enough for just the two of them to hear. Somehow the pet name helped. Being called lev by Cas was something he missed being in the Empty. The name meant Cas was content and Dean liked being the reason Cas was feeling that way. Maybe he could be a decent enough prag for the Russian after all. Making them happy was part of the job description.

Dean reacted like any prag would, leaned into Cas some more, let his head nudge Cas’ shoulder, like a cat looking for more affection. He was ready for the next one. This time above his brow, over his woolen hat. He let himself enjoy that one, his insides warming up from the display of affection. A genuine smile found its place on his face.

Yeah, he could probably get used to those kisses. Baby steps and all. The other stuff would inevitably follow. For now, Cas was easing him into it and Dean appreciated it.


The expectation of something happening once they were locked in for the night was there. It was what they did before the Empty, Dean assumed it would carry on after he got out. It didn’t though, Cas made no advances on Dean and he wasn’t going to go looking for it either, at least not tonight. He was shattered, eyes hanging out of him. Tomorrow was another day to see if the Russian was still game for mutual orgasms.

Being back in Purgatory exhausted him, between going back to work, keeping an eye out for Gordon and asking to be Cas’ prag, Dean was bet. All that time in the Empty reduced Dean’s energy to nothing, even after the night of cuddling with Cas and the nap he took during rec-time Dean was still about to clock out for the night before 10.

He climbed up onto his bunk, grateful for the mattress, even more grateful for the blanket and pillow. He never thought he’d be grateful for being in Purgatory but compared to the nothingness in the Empty this place was the Four Seasons. Dean snuggled himself into his blanket, nestled his head into his pillow and sighed.

“I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight, I can feel it.” Dean said.

“Good. You’re going to need your energy for tomorrow.”

He leaned his head over the bunk, peered down to Cas sitting up with a book in his hand. The blood started to rush to his head looking upside down like this.

“Tomorrow? What’s happening tomorrow?” he asked. Cas looked up at Dean. Face not giving anything away. “C’mon Daddy, tell me.” Dean teased.

Cas grimaced at that name, like a bad taste in his mouth. “Not a fan?”

“Not when you say it.” Cas replied, shaking his head. That was a small relief for Dean. He wasn’t too keen on calling Cas that even if it was standard protocol for being a prag. Didn’t stop him from wondering what Cas meant by that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cas reached for his hair, ran his fingers through it idly. “You’re not cute and small Dean.”

“I think I’m adorable.” Dean replied playfully, reaching his own hand down to mimic Cas’ movements, losing his hand in the midnight of Cas’ hair. Those bright blues smiling up at him. Dean had spent so long calling them cold blues, they weren’t though. Dean knew what cold was, the Empty, that was cold. Initially he chalked Cas’ eyes down to being like a Nordic sea when the more he looked at them, they seemed to be from warmer climates.

He turned his head into Dean’s palm, kissed it sweet. Kisses he had been getting through-out the day whenever Cas felt like giving them. “You are, now sleep.”

A big jaw cracking yawn came out of Dean. He did need to sleep, sleep for a year if he could have the option. Cas took his hand back and Dean pulled his head back up to the rest of his body. The blood made its way back to the rest of his body as he drifted off to sleep, enjoying the sensation of Cas’ wet lips drying on his palm. Day 1 as a prag, a solid 7/10.