6. Longing

The lights are off again when Castiel wakes. He uncurls and flattens his fans against his back as he rolls over to look up at the ceiling. He rubs at his eyes, blurring the view of the faintly glowing light bulbs. They are barely strong enough to cast the shadows of the fish that are lazily swimming in a small school. Castiel smiles and yawns. He’ll have to thank Bobby for providing his breakfast whenever he sees him again. 

Castiel ignores the fish for the moment. His stomach is empty and he is hungry, but he is nowhere near awake enough to chase his meal. He stifles another yawn and stretches his back, arching until only the crown of his head and the end of his tail are actually touching the floor. After working the kinks out of his spine and flaring the sleep from his fans, Castiel looks toward Dean.

There is a piece of paper stuck to the side of the glass. Castiel’s dark vision is more than enough to see the crude lines that make up an image that closely resembles the clock on the wall. The one on the paper is missing almost all of the symbols that Dean calls ‘numbers’ – something that humans use to count things, like time.

Castiel looks between the wall-clock and the paper-clock. The small ‘hand’ – he still thinks that it’s foolish to call them that, they look nothing like hands – of the wall-clock is halfway down the right side. The small ‘hand’ on the paper-clock is pointing firmly at the symbol that looks like the corner of a box that’s missing it’s opposite corner. The big ‘hand’ on the paper-clock is drawn straight up to the top of the circle.

He thinks about the differences and what the drawing could mean while he continues to stretch. His right arm is bent behind his head and he’s pulling on his elbow with his left hand when he realizes that it is a message from Dean. He thinks it means that Dean does not want to be woken before the paper-clock matches the wall-clock.

Dean is on his stomach again. He is sleeping, but he is not resting. He keeps shifting – as if he’s trying to get comfortable – and his dreams are a haze of emotions too subtle for Castiel to pick them out to see what they are. His eyebrows are pinched together and he’s frowning against his pillow. Castiel thinks Dean might be having bad dreams. The feelings that are barely winding into the kin-connection are dark and Castiel isn’t sure, but there might be some pain singeing the very edges of his mind.

Castiel watches Dean twitch and roll onto his side, dragging the blanket up closer around his shoulders as he folds in on himself. Dean is curling up as if to make himself smaller, less of a target. A sharp tang sours the back of Castiel’s tongue. He doesn’t like seeing Dean in pain. It makes his chest tight and he can feel his adrenaline spike. It makes his hands tremble. He wants to hurt whomever, whatever, is making Dean feel this way. He wants to wrap himself around Dean and cover him in his fans to protect him from any pain.

The intensity of his desire to shelter Dean startles Castiel’s thoughts to a standstill. He draws away to the opposite side of the small sea, settling in the corner and hugging his tail to his chest. He filters the kin-connection so that he won’t feel Dean’s emotions and he closes his eyes to the injured expression crinkling Dean’s features.

Castiel has lost count of how many days he’s been held captive in this small-sea. It is at once too long and too short. It is too long in the sense that the water is growing stagnant and stale against his gills. It needs a current. It is too short in that Castiel is finding himself growing dangerously attached to Dean. It can’t be more than a few days since his capture. He doubts it’s been long enough for a full rotation of the colony’s sentries. By human standards that would be – he does the math in his head – seven days. And he knows that if Dean were to leave him now and not come back, Castiel would be devastated.

He’s grown too comfortable in having a kin-connection with Dean. Despite the hiccups that center around Castiel’s confusion with humans and their equally stubborn personalities, they have both taken to sharing the link better than Castiel ever thought possible. There have even been occasions when Dean wants Castiel to establish the connection, even if neither of them have anything to talk about.

And Castiel knows it’s wrong. He shouldn’t think fondly of Dean. He shouldn’t consider Dean or Sam as his friends. They are his enemies. They keep him here in this cage to study him like an animal. And even though they protect Castiel from humans like Alistair and Gordon, they haven’t freed him. Castiel can’t even get his food on his own. He is entirely dependent on Sam, Dean, and whomever else he ends up in the care of.

Castiel is no fool. It’s wishful thinking to assume that Dean, Sam and Jess are going to be around for the entirety of his imprisonment. And he has no idea what sort of tests and plans that Lilith and the rest of the ‘scientists’ have in store for him. They have pictures of his insides from the outside with the x-ray machine. How long will it be before they want to see his insides from the inside?

The frilled fans along the length of his tail ripple in upset. He rubs his hands over his face. A sharp pang of loss lances through his chest when he notices he can no longer smell the proper salt-scent of the sea on his skin. The half-asleep fish flitting near the surface of the small-sea give off the faint, painfully familiar aroma. It’s not enough. Now all he has is his own natural scent and the slowly decaying wrong-water of the small-sea.

His heart clenches painfully and Castiel presses his palm against his chest. He had thought himself past this, having already worked through these thoughts the day before when Meg had to put him to sleep. Castiel breathes deep, trying to calm the staccato pound of his heart against his ribs. It takes more effort than it should to drag his thoughts away from the open ocean and the inevitable path he would take to thinking about the colony.

His efforts are aided, unexpectedly, by the fall of the weak filter he had placed between him and Dean’s sleep-feelings. Castiel gasps in surprise as it’s ripped apart by the maelstrom that is Dean’s nightmare. It’s like a whirlpool, sucking him down into a crushing dark red swirl of pain and fear. Castiel wraps his head in his arm and he trembles violently.

In his mind, Dean is screaming.

Castiel can’t see most of the images of Dean’s dreams. And he shouldn’t even be able to feel anything close to this level of Dean’s emotions. But this is a unique situation. Castiel has never be so in tune to the mind of another while they sleep. Fin-kin usually have a much stronger filter in place to separate themselves from the colony when they retire to their sleep-ledge for the night. It allows for the most basic of connections, should they need to be woken at any time, and it keeps their dream-thoughts as their own.

He made an exception for Dean. Castiel wanted the comfort of the background noise in his mind. He needed it to keep himself from going mad in the silence. Previous moments where he was awake while Dean slept or sleeping while Dean was awake had led him to letting his guard down. He didn’t know that a nightmare would affect Dean – and by extension the kin-connection and Castiel – like this.

Castiel struggles against the tide to regain a semblance of organized thought. Every new surge of fear is bathed in flickering reds, yellows and oranges. It’s something Castiel has never seen before and every flash of colour is bolded by a sucking fear that drags him back under again. And over it all, Castiel can hear Dean shouting, calling for Sam. There are bright bolts of pain and longing whenever he begs for his mother or his father.

His eyes are stinging with tears and his head is ringing and Castiel doesn’t understand how Dean can be sleeping through this. He doesn’t want to think that Dean’s only asleep still because it’s happened so often before. The flares of red-yellow-orange are tumbling through the connection are choked with the air of familiarity and it makes Castiel’s stomach turn to think that Dean could be used to this.

In among the molten streaks there is a quick flash of silver and Castiel hisses through his teeth. His side twinges at the remembered pain from the knife biting deep into Dean’s skin. He watches through the blur of his tears as Dean flinches under the blanket. It’s slipped down closer to his waist. Dean is grimacing into the pillow and Castiel can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He’s breathing hard and his fingers are erratically clutching at the cloth. A sheen of sweat covers his face and his shirt is darkened in patches.

Castiel pushes hard against the hurricane still ripping through the kin-connection. It would take less effort to simply sever the link, but he can’t leave Dean like this. It would be worse to face him in the morning knowing there was something he could have done to help him.

Somewhere in the far back of his mind, the little piece of him that’s still safe from the clawing vortex of Dean’s nightmare, a voice that sounds a lot like Lucifer’s speaks up. It says, in no uncertain terms, that Dean hasn’t tried to free Castiel from the small-sea and return him to the ocean. So why should Castiel free him from his bad dreams?

The dark, vindictive part of Castiel – the part that thought it was a good idea to attack Alistair when he was threatening him with the dart-gun – agrees. But he knows better. Dean may have had his moments where his temper got the better of him and he shut Castiel out for small periods of time, but he was the one who helped Castiel when he was hurt. Dean did his best to make sure that no one hurt him after that. He wasn’t scared of Castiel, or interested in studying him, or angry with him for being the reason he has to spend most of his time in this room.

And it’s because Dean thinks of him as his friend.

Castiel knows he does. Dean doesn’t yet realize just how many thoughts and emotions actually pass through the kin-connection. His loudest thoughts are what Castiel tries to listen to only. These are the thoughts that Dean specifically speaks to him. But there are always the background thoughts, the subconscious realizations and notes that people don’t fully register until they have time to stop and think. Castiel receives them just like he does when they talk, and Dean doesn’t even know that it’s happening.

This is how Castiel knows that Dean is protective of him, that Dean likes him. He knows Dean hates the people he works for but he loves his job. He loves Sam, Jess and Bobby, and they are all that is left of his family even though Jess and Bobby aren’t related to him by blood. He knows there is much good in Dean, but that he doesn’t see it in himself.

That is why Castiel decides to help him now. But he can’t do anything while the kin-connection is incapacitating him like this. He grits his teeth and severs the link with Dean. Everything immediately becomes blessedly silent. His head is still pounding and sore, but he can think clearly now. Castiel breathes deep to calm himself and he shakes away the remnants of Dean’s nightmares.

Castiel pushes away from the corner. He quickly measures just how high in the small-sea he needs to be. With a powerful kick, which smacks hard against the glass wall and makes him wince, he launches himself toward Dean’s side. Before he reaches the wall, Castiel rolls forward in a tight flip. The fans along the end of his tail spread wide and catch in the water.

It’s not nearly as big a wave as he had been aiming for, but it gets the job done. Water splashes over the edge of the glass-wall and a thick spray of it just barely reaches Dean’s bed. A good portion of the water catches Dean in the face and he bolts upright with a cry. Castiel sighs in relief and floats gently to the floor as Dean wipes the water from his face and squints at his hands.

With cautious and gentle touches, Castiel reaches for Dean’s mind again. The storm of his nightmare is gone, but Dean’s thoughts are muddled and confused. Castiel is thankful that Dean is not upset with him. It’s possible that he’s too shaken and still mostly asleep to be unhappy yet. Dean blinks blearily at him while plucking absently at his soaked shirt.

(What’cha splash me for, Cas?)

Castiel removes the fear and the pain from the memories of the last several minutes and gives to Dean the flickering images that had been forced upon him. (You were having a nightmare.)

Dean flinches and he squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers. He shoves the blanket away and twists around on the bed to put his back against the wall. His legs are folded under him, bent at the knees and crossed. He rubs his hands over his face and through his hair.

He wants to ask Dean many questions, but Castiel doesn’t think any of them are appropriate. At least not right now. Dean’s mind is still raw and he needs to relax. Castiel drags his touch over Dean’s thoughts, brushing them gently with a soothing calm. It earns him a small half-smile that doesn’t last long but Castiel finds it gratifying. He doesn’t say it with words, but the warm thanks that washes the connection is more than enough for him.

Dean doesn’t sit still for long. He gets up and pulls his shirt off. It gets dumped on the floor where it is joined by the cover of his pillow, his blanket, and the cover of his bed. Castiel didn’t realize there were so many pieces to making up Dean’s bed. It looks very different when it doesn’t have the cover. Dean does the half-smile again at Castiel’s curious confusion.

Over the next few minutes, Castiel gets a near wordless lecture on beds. He’s taught about mattresses, bedsprings, frames, and all the different types of bedding that can go on them and the differences between them. Fitted sheets are different from top sheets and those are different from blankets and blankets are different from comforters. There are cases for pillows and there are decorative pillows not used for sleeping that get a different kind of case called a ‘pillow sham’. Some beds get skirts which hide the frame to make it more appealing to look at.

Dean is amused when Castiel pointedly tells him that humans are ridiculous. Fin-kin have shelves or hollowed out spaces on the cliff walls to sleep. They don’t decorate their sleep places because they’re only there to sleep or rest. There is little point to putting effort into something like that. Dean simply shrugs and shakes his head as he bundles the wet bedding and his shirt in the fitted sheet. He moves it all aside and when he stands and stops moving, Castiel gets a good view of the mark on his chest again.

(What’s that?) He taps his own chest where the mark would be if Dean’s chest was his and then points.

He brings his fingers up and traces the curled edges of the mark. (It’s a tattoo.)

(Sam has one too. Is it a marking of your family?)

Dean laughs and shakes his head. (No. It’s… it’s a long story.)

Castiel smiles ruefully. (I’m not going anywhere.)

A frown tugs at Dean’s lips and Castiel wants to ignore his regret and his apologies. Dean drums his fingers on his thigh and looks between Castiel and the drawers at the end of his bed. (Can you keep a secret?)

Castiel nods. Aside from Sam and Jess, who else is there for him to tell? He doesn’t particularly want to talk to Meg and he hasn’t really spoken to Bobby yet. And he refuses to talk to anyone else beyond that. Dean must find this acceptable because he nods too and goes to the drawers. He crouches and opens the bottom one.

(I’m technically not supposed to have this on board, but we break way more rules then they’re actually aware of so… As long as you don’t tell anyone.)

His body blocks what he’s doing, but when he stands he’s holding a tall thick cylinder that narrows to a much thinner end. Dean holds it by the thin-end. It looks like glass and it’s half-full with an amber liquid that Castiel doesn’t recognize. There is a different coloured piece on the thin-end and Dean pulls it off before putting it to his lips and tilting the cylinder up until he can drink the contents. When he pulls the bottle away, he grimaces at it but his shoulders relax slightly. 

Castiel is not patient enough to wait for Dean to tell him what it is. He pokes at his thoughts with his curiosity and it makes Dean laugh. As he explains that the liquid is called ‘whiskey’ and it’s in a ‘bottle’, Dean returns to his place on the bed with his back to the wall. Whiskey is a kind of drink that humans make to lose themselves in, according to Dean. It’s a potent drink that steals inhibitions and loosens the mind and body.  It makes a person ‘drunk’, as Dean explains it.

He thinks that it might be another human thing he’s not going to be able to understand because it’s a something that the colony doesn’t have. The more Dean drinks the whiskey, the more blurred and incoherent his thoughts become. He’s laughing more and when he talks to Castiel, he speaks his thoughts with his voice too. Dean gestures become more exaggerated and sloppy.

Castiel settles in the corner between the glass-wall and the grey-wall, his tail folded under him. Dean starts talking about his nightmare without any prompting. He tells Castiel about how his mother died in a fire that ate their home. Castiel doesn’t know what ‘fire’ is and Dean shows him a flame from a small square of silver. The top half of it flips open and Dean drags his thumb over a rounded edge. A bright oval of flickering orange and red bursts out the top and flickers there before Dean closes it.

The red-yellow-orange from Dean’s nightmare are parts of his memories from the night his mother died.  Dean tries to show him the memories, but they are distorted by the whiskey muddling his mind. From them, Castiel manages to gather that Sam was still an infant at the time of the fire. He was small and Dean carried him out of the house while he father tried to find their mom.

Her name was Mary. His father’s name was John. Dean tries to explain that Mary’s death changed John and Castiel can understand why, though not from experience. They were in love and bond-mates. He’s seen fin-kin in the colony lose their minds when their bond-mate dies, even if the death is natural. Castiel thinks it might be different for fin-kin than it is for humans.

Fin-kin share so much of themselves through the kin-connection and it’s far more intimate for bond-mates. Thoughts and emotions are shared more openly and your mate becomes a part of you, almost literally. When a bond-mate dies, the fin-kin loses more than just a mate, they lose a piece of themselves. Very few fin-kin live on for much longer when their bond-mate dies.

Dean shows Castiel, in flashes of warped images, how John was never the same. They never settled down in a new home and they moved around a lot. It was a hard life for Sam and Dean. They never stayed in one place long enough to make lasting friends. John used to drink a lot too. More than Dean ever has, or ever will. He would spend most nights more drunk than Dean is now. Dean is adamant in explaining that John never hurt him and he never hurt Sam. John was a ‘sad drunk’.

Castiel doesn’t like these memories. Even though they are distorted, they are suffused with a bitter sadness. They put a far off look in Dean’s eyes and even though he’s looking directly at Castiel, he knows that Dean isn’t actually seeing him. It makes Castiel’s chest feel hollow.

He gets the urge to wrap Dean in his fans again when Dean’s hazy memories come forth with the time when John died. Dean tells Castiel about how he and Sam were waiting for John to come back to the temporary place they were staying and instead of John, it was the police who showed up and told them that John was in a car accident.

Dean doesn’t stop to explain what a car is, or what police are. Castiel adds them to an ever growing list of questions he has. He’ll have to ask Dean when he’s sober again. Or he might have to ask Sam instead. Dean barely acknowledges that Castiel is even here anymore. He’s reminiscing and Castiel thinks that Dean would be talking whether someone was present or not.

The memories get a little brighter after that. Dean starts to smile, a lopsided tilt to his lips that gets obscured by the bottle when he takes a drink. After John’s accident, Dean and Sam went to live with Bobby. Castiel adds their relationship with Bobby to his list. Dean liked his time living with Bobby. Sam was happy and he got to go to a place called ‘school’ and they both made a few friends.

But the brightness doesn’t last long and Dean’s next memories come on a swell of anger with the name and image of a girl. His memories of her start out with yellow hair, but her hair changes to black and it surprises Castiel. He didn’t know humans possessed the ability to change physical aspects of themselves like that. The girl’s name is Ruby and Dean’s feelings toward her are scalding and vibrating with hatred.

Castiel doesn’t understand exactly what Ruby did, but he manages to gather from the sharp fragments of the memories that Ruby and Sam were close and that it was a very bad thing. Sam got sick, a kind of sick that Castiel has never see before, and it was very upsetting to both Dean and Bobby. Apparently Sam’s sickness was because of Ruby.

The memories of when Sam left Dean and Bobby for Ruby are sad and angry and tinged with betrayal. Dean is scowling at the near empty bottle of whiskey and when he finishes it, he throws the bottle onto the pile of bedding. He tilts his head back against the wall and stares up at the ceiling. Dean isn’t talking anymore, but he’s still going through the memories. He’s still sharing them with Castiel and Castiel wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.

Dean is remembering how lonely it felt to be abandoned by Sam for Ruby. Ruby, who made Sam sick and wrong and was bad for him. It feels like a pit opens in Castiel’s stomach when a thrum of Dean’s nervous anticipation filters into the memories of his time searching for Sam. The pit expands and makes Castiel’s stomach clench unhappily when Dean remembers finding Sam half-dead in an alley. The same alley that Castiel recognizes from the memory with the knife. Ruby was with Sam and she was just as sick and wrong as he was, but she was always like that.

Castiel is prepared for the memory of the knife and it doesn’t hurt him like it did before. The moments leading up to it, when Dean is fighting off friends of Ruby’s, catch Castiel by surprise. He didn’t know that Dean was an excellent fighter. He dropped many of the enemies in the alley with his fists and his feet. He held his ground until Ruby got in the way. Castiel is just as stunned as Dean was then.

There are no memories of the alley after the knife. Castiel doesn’t know where it is that Dean wakes up, but everything blurs into one long rush of different rooms and many faces. Dean’s frustration from the memories fill the edges of the kin-connection. The rooms are broken up by the memory of getting the tattoo with Sam. The emotions that flow with it are of acceptance and forgiveness.

The stream of memories is becoming choppy and starting to slow down. Before they drop off completely, Castiel is given a few flashes of orange clothes and doors covered in bars. He’s seen pieces of these memories before, from the time when Lilith told Dean that he was to stay in this room with Castiel. They make Dean feel claustrophobic and they drop away, leaving the connection empty except for the buzz of several of Dean’s emotions. Castiel is watching him, but Dean is looking at the ceiling still.

(Are you okay?) Castiel asks softly, brushing gently against Dean’s muddled thoughts.

(Cas, I haven’t been okay since I was four.)

Dean tilts to the side until he falls over. He stretches his legs and his arms across the mattress before pulling the pillow under his head. Castiel is fidgeting with one of the fans along his tail. He pinches, rolls and folds the edge of it. He looks down and watches the fan uncurl when he lets go. He has so many questions he wants to ask Dean, but he has the feeling that he won’t get a straight answer right now.

(Did’ja always glow in the dark or s’that new?)

Castiel lifts his head and meets Dean’s bleary eyes over the edge of his pillow. He looks down again at his tail. When the lights are dimmed overhead, his glow returns. It’s very weak and Castiel is surprised Dean hadn’t noticed it before.  It happens every night. Castiel half-heartedly wishes that the room was darker, than his glow would return in full force. It would be a comfort to him and he could show Dean the light along the edges of his fans.

Dean reaches out and grabs the edge of the mattress. Castiel watches, confused, as Dean drags himself from the wall and staggers to his feet. He walks with wobbling steps to the door and his fingers fumble at the wall. Without warning, the dim lights blink out and the room is cast into a dark that reminds Castiel of the deep ocean.

There are small pin pricks of light along the opposite ledge, in the places where the machines are. The small-sea is dark until Castiel’s glow brightens. It bathes the area around him in a pale light and reflects on the glass. The school of fish dart along the border of shadow. Dean staggers into view on the other side of the glass. Castiel’s glow makes his face look ghostly white.

(Yer like m’own personal night-light.) Dean grins and picks up his phone. He opens it and points the back of the top half at Castiel for a few moments before replacing it on top of the drawers and slumping down on the bed again. (Remind me t’show Sam that in the mornin’.) He leans over and tucks the empty bottle of whiskey into the mound of bedding, hiding it. (I can keep the lights off every night if y’want, Cas. All y’gotta do is ask.)

(Thank you, Dean.)

(I know it sucks bein’ stuck in here. S’real small. I wanna make y’comfortable here til we get home. S’real nice there.)

Castiel’s fans flare and he stares at Dean. Home. Is Dean talking about his home beyond the shores? Or is he talking about Castiel’s home in the trench? Panic flares bright and hard in his chest and Castiel’s fingers tighten over his scales. He hasn’t given Sam nearly enough information about the colony to give them even the slightest hint of where his home is located.

(Y’okay?) Dean is struggling to sit back up and his concern is meandering into the connection.

Castiel takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. There is nothing for him to worry about. It isn’t possible for the humans to know where the colony is.

(I’m fine, Dean. You should go back to sleep.)

Dean’s amusement is wry and it flickers weakly in the connection. (S’why I got drunk. S’the only way t’sleep after that kinda dream.) He pauses and he scratches his fingers through the short hair at the slope of his neck. There’s embarrassed gratitude creeping along the edges of his mind and it almost makes Castiel smile. (Thanks for wakin’ me. I ‘preciate it, y’know?)

Castiel knows. He shushes the tumble of Dean’s thoughts and waits until he’s made himself comfortable, curled on his side facing Castiel again. Then he starts to sing. There is a sharp jolt of surprise through their link, but it eases off into a hum of pleasure. Dean’s eyes slip closed as Castiel sings a popular lullaby from the colony. He sings loud enough to be heard outside the small-sea, and he hopes it’s not loud enough to be heard beyond their room.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to drift off. Castiel continues to sing to the dark room, hoping to keep any more of Dean’s bad dreams at bay. He tries not to think about how his nest brothers and sisters would react to him being so protective over a human, over one of his captors.

There is a small swell of hope sitting cold in his chest. It makes Castiel feel cruel. It is a hope that if he acts carefully, if he can get Dean to care for him enough, he could use Dean’s feelings to get him to set Castiel free. He realizes it’s not hope. It’s a plan. It’s the kind of plan a warrior would make.

And Castiel is a warrior.

x 

When Jess walks in, the clock’s little hand is pointing at the two circles stacked on top of each other and the big hand is tilted to the left, a few spaces shy of pointing straight up. The lights flicker on and Castiel closes his eyes at the sharp stab of them. Irritation crackles along the edge of Dean’s mind for a moment and Castiel looks over to see his nose scrunch before Dean rolls onto his other side, his back to Castiel, and pulls the pillow over his head. He must make a noise, because Jess turns to him sharply.

Castiel is sitting at the front of the small-sea. Next to him is a neat pile of bones and the fish have been gone for quite some time. He pushes the button on the microphone and speaks softly into it.

“Good morning, Jess. Please shhhh. Dean sleep.”

She smiles brightly at him and she fumbles a little with some drawers under the ledge. Jess finds the headset and puts it on, pressing her fingers to the flat-circle over her ear. Her voice is soft and a little hard to hear in the water. Castiel is pleased because it means she’s speaking softly so as not to disturb Dean.

“Hello Castiel. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.” This is the second time he’s been asked this question first thing when they come in. Castiel wonders if it is part of their greeting or if there are many pleasantries that humans have to go through when talking to each other. “Jess sleep well?”

Jess’s is nearly bouncing and her smile is wide. “I did. Thank you for asking!”

Castiel nods and pulls away. He points to the bucket by the door and at the pile of bones. Jess immediately goes to get the bucket. Instead of holding it up to the edge of the wall for Castiel to push a handful through the bars one at a time, Jess goes to the platform against the left glass-wall. He gathers the bones and it takes only a small flick of his tail to carry him to meet her.

The mirror makes it a little disorienting. Castiel has to remember that the fin-kin swimming at him is really him swimming toward the mirror and he doesn’t need to duck out of the way. Jess unlocks and raises the bars. She’s watching him expectantly through the waves. His fans flutter against the floor before Castiel arches his back and twists up through the water. He flattens his gills to his neck and holds his breath, he doesn’t plan on staying up long enough to breathe any air.

Jess has the bucket waiting, titled against the lip of the glass, when Castiel breaks the surface. He beats his tail a few times to rise up enough to get his arms directly over the bucket and he lets the bones clatter into it. She steps away as he drops, slipping back underwater with barely a splash.

Castiel presses his hands to the wall and pushes away from it, executing a neat backward roll and stretching out in his lazy swim across the length of the small-sea. It’s not a long trip and he aches for more space to spread his fans and really swim. He wants to feel the burn of his muscles after a long swim through open waters. It’s hard not to think about whether or not he’ll ever feel that again.

Sam comes in just as Jess is putting the bucket back by the door. Castiel waits until he and Jess have spoken before he reaches for his mind.

(Hello, Sam. Please don’t wake, Dean.)

Sam is both startled and concerned. He leans around the edge of the small-sea to check on his brother and Castiel knows he notices that Dean is sleeping half-clothed without any of his bedding.

(What happened last night?)

(He had a nightmare. I woke him.) Castiel shows him the memories and Sam covers his mouth with his hand. His mind is teeming with amusement. He leans close to Jess, his lips by her ear. Soon Jess is smiling too.

Sam leaves Jess by the computers and goes to the pile of bedding. His movements change subtly the closer he gets to Dean’s bed, becoming more slow and careful. Castiel thinks it might be because he is trying not to wake Dean and again he feels a warm pleased flush behind his ribs. Sam bends to pick up the bundle but he stills almost as soon as he touches it.

His burst of surprise quickly melts into disapproval and disappointment. He lifts up the edge of the fitted sheet and Castiel knows he’s found the empty bottle. Sam’s expression is dark and displeased and the eyes he lifts to look at Dean are brimming with the anger that Castiel can feel radiating through the link. It is clear to him that Sam does not like it when Dean drinks.

Castiel doesn’t want Sam to be mad at Dean. He tries to soothe Sam like he did with Dean earlier. Sam shrugs off the touch and firmly closes the bundle before picking it up. His lips are pressed in a thin line and even Jess notices the tension in his shoulders. She crosses over to him, hand raised and reaching for his arm. She stops when Sam twists around to stare at Castiel when he presses a few words through the connection.

(His nightmare was filled with fire and knives.)

Almost immediately Sam’s expression softens and his shoulders sag. Jess is at his side. She must be itching to ask questions, but she isn’t. Castiel wonders if it’s because he asked them to stay quiet. Sam leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. He shakes his head and draws away from her and toward the door.

(I’ll be right back. I’m going to dispose of the evidence and get these washed.)

Castiel doesn’t watch him leave. He swims in restless circles around the small-sea. He notes that Jess sits in front of one of the computers. Meg arrives not long after Sam leaves. She waves at Castiel and he wiggles his fingers at her in a lazy greeting without stopping his laps.

Meg has a big brown square of paper under her arm and she gives it to Jess. Castiel changes his pattern into zigzaging twists, going from the floor of the small-sea to the surface, arching sharply so his back-fans barely brush the bars above the water, and going almost straight down again. It keeps him entertained until he reaches the next wall.

There is an itch under his skin and Castiel doesn’t know how to scratch it. It’s different from the untouched arousal from yesterday. That had been frustrating. This was more infuriating. The powerful muscles of his tail feel tight with disuse and he wants to stretch them. Performing the warrior exercises did him little good during the hours after Dean fell asleep and Jess arrived. The twisting, rolling chase to catch his meal by the light of his glow had eased the ache slightly, but it wasn’t enough.

He stops when Sam returns. Castiel notices that Jess and Meg are looking at squares of black they’ve spread out on the table where the shaving tools had been put yesterday. Every so often they’ll pick one up and hold it up to the light. The squares are glossy, covered in pale curving lines, and Castiel can see through them a little. It’s not like the paper that he’s seen before.

Sam brightens and his excitement is palpable in the connection when he sees what they’re holding. He starts walking toward them but stops when Castiel knocks on the glass. Castiel has a message for him and he means to deliver it before he forgets. He points at Dean’s phone still resting on top of the drawers.

(Dean said to remind him to show you something on his phone.) He shows him a brief flash of the memory of how Dean held the phone last night.

Sam’s eyebrows draw together in brief confusion that is quickly drowned by his curiosity. He turns and walks with exaggerated softness to get the phone. There is a soft pulse of annoyance from Sam’s side of the connection as he stares at it. He not exactly sure what it was Dean wanted to show him and Castiel listens in amusement as he pokes at random buttons.

Castiel knows when Sam has found what he’s looking for. His eyebrows raise dramatically and he lifts wide eyes to stare at him. He tilts his head and waits until Sam explains why there are waves of excitement and surprise rolling into the link. Rather than explain, Sam quickly shuts the door. Meg and Jess look towards him, both frowning in confusion and then the room is pitched into darkness as Sam turns off the lights.

Jess and Meg must make noises of protest because a buzz of irritation rises from Dean’s connection. Castiel presses calming thoughts against it, trying to lull Dean back to sleep. His glow starts weak and like the fish it draws Sam, Jess and Meg to the edge of the small-sea. He can see the shadows of their shapes against the backdrop of black that makes up the rest of the room.

Within a few seconds, his glow is bright enough to light the features of their faces. All three of them look fascinated. Castiel doesn’t quite understand why. Maybe, because of the bright-pearl in steady-blue and the lights that the humans can make themselves, there are no creatures who live above water that have their own glow. It’s a difficult concept for Castiel to grasp because there are so many different creatures with glows that live in the trench or at the bottom of the ocean.

Jess goes to the opposite ledge and comes back with a camera. Just like she did at the light-beds, she lifts it to her face. Castiel can’t hear the clicking of it like he could then. Sam’s excitement is nearly tangible and his grin is wide.

(We had no idea that you have bioluminescence. This is amazing! Do you know how it works? Can you control it?)

Castiel frowns and shrugs. His glow works like the rest of his body does and he’s never really thought about it before. He twists and flares his fans so Jess can take pictures of the glow along the spines of his back-fans and along the edges of his tail-fans. Castiel even demonstrates for them that he can, with some concentration, dim the glow.

(So the pattern on your tail is really your luminescent trail? It looks the same. Since you can control it, than it must be a chemical reaction instead of bacteria. Is there anything else you can do that we don’t know about?)

He shrugs again. There isn’t much about his body that they haven’t already seen. Castiel realizes that with all the light around, he hasn’t been using his echolocation. It’s possible that Sam doesn’t know about that. He’s right, judging by the pleased surprise that bursts brightly through the connection when he fires off a flurry of chirping clicks.

Meg turns the lights back on and everyone winces. Castiel hisses and flares his fans unhappily. He’s accustomed to the dark and even after many days in this lit room, he is still not quite used to just how bright it can be. Jess takes the camera to the ledge and sits down. Sam explains that she’s going to put the pictures from the camera onto the computer. Castiel stops him from explaining further. He barely understands what a computer is.

Sam follows Meg to the table with the black squares. He picks up a few and brings them to the small-sea. Castiel drifts closer to the wall and Sam holds up one of them to the glass.

(These are the x-rays that Alistair and Gordon took yesterday.)

Castiel’s fans flare in surprise and he presses to the glass, looking closely at the images of his insides. Sam points out the curves of his ribs and the line of his spine. He points at different blotches of colour that are apparently Castiel’s internal organs and explains how similar they are to the insides of a human. He shows Castiel several more x-ray pictures before Castiel is bored enough to swim away.

He knows what fin-kin look like on the inside. He’s seen the bones of the dead, picked clean by scavenger fish on the sea floor where they’ve had their battles. He’s cut open his own fair share of enemies and swam through clouds of their blood, leaving them to be finished by sharks too mindless with a feeding frenzy to stay away from a battlefield. He’s seen more than he’s ever wanted to and he doesn’t need to know what his own look like.

Sam doesn’t have any more questions for him at the moment and Castiel lets their connection drift until he wants to speak to him again. He returns to his irregular laps around the small-sea, waiting until Dean wakes up on his own. He still has many questions for Dean and he won’t ask Sam. It’s not that he can’t ask him. Castiel doesn’t want to accidentally anger Dean by telling Sam about all the things Dean showed him during the night.

Dean had been angry yesterday when Sam had showed him things Dean wasn’t prepared to share with Castiel. He doesn’t want a repeat of that happening. Sam might not be happy that Dean shared so much about their pasts without first consulting him and Castiel could get in trouble for telling Sam that Dean shared it in the first place.

Human interactions have the potential of being so confusing. Castiel catches himself before he starts thinking about how simple life was back in the colony. He doesn’t need to drive himself to upset with thoughts like that.

The small hand on the clock reaches the number composed of a straight line and a circle. Dean still isn’t awake. The big hand  is just past halfway to the bottom of the clock when the door opens and Lilith walks in. Castiel doesn’t like her and he doesn’t stop swimming to greet her. The connection with Sam swells with unhappy surprise and a nervous panic. Sam and Jess are both looking subtly at Dean and Castiel gets the feeling that Dean might get in trouble for still being asleep.

Lilith sends a disapproving frown in Dean’s direction. Her dress – red this time, instead of white – swirls around her legs when she turns and walks toward him. Castiel stops sharply with a flare of his fans and knocks hard on the glass, startling her. He hisses and spreads his spines as wide as they will go. It’s a sign of aggression and even though he has no plans to hurt Lilith, he wants her to know that she should stay away from Dean.

He can see the lines of Lilith’s jaw tighten and she narrows her eyes at him. She turns again and walks quickly back to the others. Sam isn’t as well versed with translating through the connection as Dean is, but Castiel understands the basis of Lilith’s conversation with them. She’s asking why Dean is still sleeping. Sam lies to her. He tells her that Dean wasn’t feeling well during the night and was sick on his clothes and bedding.

(Make them stop.)

Dean’s whine is ringing with pain. It’s different from the pain he was feeling with his memories. Castiel reaches out to try and soothe it, but the brush of his mind makes Dean flinch and draw away. He pouts when he feels Dean put up a wall between them. It’s not as solid as the previous times Dean’s kept Castiel out. He can still hear some of his thoughts, but he can’t actually touch Dean’s mind.

(Sorry, Cas. Apparently hangovers and the kin-connection don’t mix. Keep your hands off my brain until I can get some Tylenol in me or something.)

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer that. He decides to fill Dean in on the situation. (I think you should act ill when you get up. Sam told Lilith you were sick during the night. She’s still here, by the way.)

Dean sits up quickly, eyes wide and hair tousled. The others all turn to look at him. Meg looks smug, as if she’s happy that Dean is potentially going to be in trouble with Lilith. Jess and Sam both look vaguely horrified that Dean is not only awake, but – according to Sam’s thoughts – he’s wearing nothing but his underpants in front of their boss. Lilith is glaring hotly, everything from the frown on her face to the way she holds her shoulders is telling Castiel that she doesn’t believe that Dean is sick.

Dean drops his pillow into his lap and looks away. He’s face has gone red and if the kin-connection was fully open, Castiel thinks he might be drowning in Dean’s embarrassment. Lilith points at the drawers at the end of Dean’s bed and her words through the glass are sharp and clipped. Dean nods and slides off the bed. His expression turns to confusion and Castiel notices him looking around at the floor.

(Sam took the bedding to be cleaned.)

Dean winces and looks guiltily toward his brother as he pulls fresh clothes from the drawers. Sam shakes his head and one shoulder rises and falls in a shrug. Castiel subtly checks his connection with Sam to make sure he isn’t upset with Dean for drinking himself to sleep. Dean dresses quickly while Castiel tells him that Sam knows about the nightmare.

Lilith’s glare doesn’t leave Dean until he’s taken his brown pouch and left the room.

(Just gotta freshen up and then I’ll be right back, Cas. Sam will keep you safe, I promise.)

As soon as Dean’s gone, Lilith turns to Sam and starts talking rapidly. It’s too fast for Sam to translate everything. As far as Castiel can tell, Lilith is asking about the kin-connection. Sam is both confused and surprised and displeased that she knows about it. His confusion ebbs into annoyance towards Meg. Castiel thinks that Meg might be the one who told Lilith. He reminds Sam that yesterday he told Jess that he was talking with Castiel through the kin-connection and that Meg had been sitting right there.

Sam chastises himself for it. Castiel brushes it off. He doesn’t care who knows and if the humans are studying him, more of them will have to know about the kin-connection at some point. As it is, they won’t be able to create the link with him. Castiel will only talk to the humans he wants to talk to.

Lilith is not one of them.

(She wants you to talk to her.) Sam turns his eyes from Lilith to Castiel. A cautious hope is creeping along his words and his eyes are pleading.

Castiel’s fans ripple in displeasure and he drifts over to the microphone. He looks directly at Lilith when he pushes the button and speaks. “No.”

Lilith’s eyes narrow dangerously. She speaks sharply and quickly to Sam.

(She wants to know why not?)

He presses the button again. “No like Lilith.”

Her cheeks go red and she starts gesturing widely with her hands. She’s isn’t yelling yet, but Castiel thinks she might soon. Especially if he continues to turn her down. His side-fans flick out widely at one of the things Sam translates in Lilith’s demands. Even Sam’s mind is vibrating along the edges with dislike for her words.

Castiel bares his fangs and hisses, smacking his hand on the glass before pressing the button.

“Lilith no own Castiel.”

Lilith’s lips curl into a snide grin and she actually laughs. She takes the few short steps to carry her to the glass-wall at the front of the small-sea. Castiel twists up until his eyes are level with hers. He refuses to let her glare down at him like he’s something lesser than the warrior of the colony that he is.

They glare at each other for several long moments and Castiel will not back down first.  Without looking away, Lilith raises her hand and holds it a little behind her shoulder. Her fingers twitch slightly and Castiel recognizes the way her lips form Sam’s name when she speaks. He doesn’t recognize the words that follow, but Sam steps closer and he translates for her, word for word.

(This is my crew, my boat, my tank and my expedition. They caught you on my orders and they do what I pay them to. They feed you because I tell them to and I can just as easily have them stop.) Sam’s thoughts stutter and burn white hot with anger.

(That’s not true! Even if she told us to, we’d never let you starve.)

Although he’s grateful for the assurance, Castiel grits his teeth and his upper lip twitches back in a snarl. He asks Sam for the next words he wants to speak. He wants to be the one to say them to Lilith and he wants to be perfectly clear without stumbling over his stilted used of their language. Behind Lilith’s shoulder, Sam clearly tries to fight a devious smile as he gives Castiel the words he needs.

He tips his head forward and pins Lilith with his most challenging look. His fans are flared as wide as they can go and he reaches down to press the button. 

“Go ahead.”

Her smug smile falls into a disdainful sneer. She turns and speaks to the others and both Sam and Jess look equally horrified. Castiel knows, through Sam, that Lilith is telling them he isn’t to be fed until he starts cooperating with everyone and not just Dean and Sam. Even Meg raises her eyebrows at this order.

Castiel starts to calculate how long he thinks he’ll be able to last. He’s gone a few days without eating before and that was pretty bad, but he was in the middle of a war and hunting was scarce at the time. He was far more active then than he is now. If he doesn’t move much for the next few days he could slow his metabolism and last longer. But even he can’t predict how long it will be before the hunger gets to him. He doesn’t know if he’ll even be able to keep himself from begging for something to eat.

He doesn’t want to place any hope in Sam’s words that they’ll keep feeding him despite Lilith’s command not to. 

When Dean gets back and Sam tells him about what happened, Dean throws his brown pouch across the room. It splits open and the contents scatter over the floor. The only thing Castiel recognizes is the razor. Jess cleans up the mess.

(Why the hell would you tell her that, Cas?!) Dean is angry and yelling with words at Sam and thoughts at Castiel.

(Are you saying I should be cowed by her? I’m not afraid of her, Dean, and I won’t let her push me around.)

Dean is pacing and he’s dropped the wall in their connection. Castiel is subjected to the full brunt of his anger and frustration. But most of all, he can feels Dean’s fear. Dean is afraid that he won’t be able to keep him alive if he insists on butting heads with Lilith. He’s scared that Lilith will lock up Dean and Sam and Jess, and maybe even Meg, and keep them away from Castiel where they won’t be able to help him.

Sam explains that Lilith has many other people working for her that are more loyal to her than they are. If she gives the order to keep Sam and Dean away from Castiel, they won’t be able to fight it. If they did, they could be in more trouble than just with Lilith. Humans are bound by many laws and rules that Sam doesn’t explain because there are so many intricacies that they could still be talking about it well into tomorrow.

(We’ll do our best to get around her orders, but for your sake, Castiel, please don’t start fights with her.)

(Why did she want me to talk with her?) Castiel narrows his eyes at Sam and crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

(She…) Sam shifts and looks away.

Jess and Meg have returned to their work, albeit slowly. Dean is still pacing and his aggravated anger continues to flare up through the connection even though he isn’t speaking directly to Castiel at the moment.

Sam runs his hand through his hair and looks back. (She didn’t think it was fair that you talk to me and Dean and not her. She really does think she owns you, y’know? You’re her… her pet. This science stuff? It’s just so she can make a tax write off for all the money she’s spending on catching herself a fin-kin. I know you don’t understand that, but Lilith is a collector. She likes owning rare things that no one else has, and you’re one of them. The moment we caught you, by human standards, you belonged to her.)

Castiel snarls and beats his tail against the floor, rising up and spreading his fans again. (I belong to no one!)

He severs his connection to both Sam and Dean. Rather than curl up against the grey-wall and hide under his fans from them, Castiel swims. It’s a foolish thing to do, considering he might not be given food for many days. But he is angry and needs to move.

By the time the small hand of the clock is pointing at the stacked-half-circles, Castiel hasn’t stopped swimming. He is unsatisfied and the itch is back under his skin. He’s tried to stop, just to rest for a moment, but he can’t hold still. It’s nearly unbearable to stay in one place for long. His time has been sent practicing battle formations and imagining the rest of his garrison in line on either side of him. It’s difficult in the tight confines of the small-sea and it only serves to raise his ire.

He’s purposefully not paid any attention to what the humans are doing beyond the glass-walls. For the last several hours Castiel actually has no idea what Sam and Dean, or Jess and Meg, have been up to. He has no desire nor curiosity to see and even though his mind is craving the contact of the kin-connection, the buzz of being close to someone, he doesn’t reach out to anyone.

On what could be his hundredth or his thousandth time around, Castiel notices that the bars are still raised. It’s a desperate split-second decision that has him swimming straight for the opening. He flattens his back-fans as tight as they’ll go and breaks the surface in a grand splash. His momentum carries him halfway over the glass-wall and the edge of it catches him painfully just beneath his stomach.

By then he can hear their voices shouting but he pays no attention to them. He sends water spraying everywhere with the thrashing of his tail as he tries to lift himself up enough to get over the edge. Castiel is coughing the water from his lungs and his throat itches with the feel of the air. He lands on the platform shoulder-first and pain pierces down his arm and back in bright bolts.

A hand is on his arm and it’s not his own. Castiel snarls and lashes out with claws. “No touch!”

He only vaguely registers that it’s Sam who falls back with a pained grunt, red seeping through the sleeves of his white coat. Jess is at his side almost immediately and pressing her hands tightly to the wounds Castiel has given him.

Castiel’s left shoulder burns when he pushes himself up. His arms tremble. He doesn’t have any water to help buoy him, and for the first time Castiel is lifting his full weight. He grips the edge of the platform and twists his tail, trying to get some kind of leverage. With more difficulty than he thought, Castiel manages to pull and push himself to the edge. It’s not too far to the floor, but he grunts when he drops to it in a curled mess of his tail.

When he rights himself, there are legs blocking his way. Castiel looks up and Meg is pointing the dart-gun at him again. Castiel watches her finger and ducks to the side when it tightens over the curl of metal that makes the dart fly. It tears a hole through the fan along the left side of his tail by his hip but Castiel doesn’t even feel it. The dart clatters across the floor uselessly. He bunches his tail beneath him and uses the coil to launch himself forward, knocking into her legs and sending Meg crashing to the ground with a sharp cry.

He’s managed to drag and push himself halfway to the door before it swings open and Dean is there. Castiel didn’t even know he was gone. He’s holding the square white boxes that Castiel knows hold their food. Castiel doesn’t stop to wonder why Dean is holding five instead of the usual four. Dean’s mouth is hanging open and he’s staring wide-eyed down at him. Castiel flares his fans and hisses at him.

“Move, Dean!”

Dean’s eyes track from him back the way he came. Castiel knows the moment that Dean sees Sam bleeding. He closes his mouth, his jaw goes tight, and his eyes harden. The white containers hit the ground and a few of them spill their contents. The smells are strong and new and if this was a different situation Castiel would have liked to learn what each one was, but Dean is walking forward with long steps that bring him right there.

“No touch!” Castiel tries to get out of the way, but out of the water he is slow and fumbling and Dean is on him before he can get upright enough to fight him off.

Castiel thrashes, rolling onto his back to try and push Dean away. His tail knocks over two of the chairs and slaps noisily against the floor and the outside of the small-sea. Dean gets his wrists in his hands and he keeps trying to hold them down against his sides. He manages to pin them to the floor. Castiel is shouting at him in his native language. He tries to twists his arms free, fingers scrabbling to dig his claws in. Dean stays well out of reach of Castiel’s teeth.

“Cas, stop!”

Deans has one leg on either side of Castiel’s hips and his knees are pinching his fans against the floor. It’s painful but it’s not enough to get Castiel to stop. He arches his back in an attempt to knock Dean off and Dean settles himself more heavily. Before Castiel can curl the end of his tail forward to hit him from behind, a weight – Jess – drops over it.

“No!” Cas writhes ineffectively under Dean and Jess. “No!”

With Jess, and now Meg, holding his tail down, Dean slides up until he’s centered over Castiel’s stomach. He’s leaning forward, the weight of his upper body pressing heavily down on his wrists. They’re pinned to the floor up by his shoulders.

“Calm down, Cas! Christ, calm down!”

The world is blurred and Castiel realizes belatedly that he’s crying. He doesn’t care, but his attempts to dislodge Dean are becoming less frantic, desperate. His chest is heaving and each breath rattles painfully. Castiel strains against Dean’s hands a few more times before he goes limp. When he looks up at Dean again, he’s expecting anger in his eyes for hurting Sam.

All he sees is pain.

Castiel opens his mouth and his words come out on a strangled sob. “Home! Please, Dean, please!” He closes his eyes and rocks his head back. It bares his throat to Dean, but he doesn’t care because Dean’s already won. He has Castiel pinned and helpless. He cries his most important plea again. “Home!”

There is no response and Castiel’s stifled sobs fill the room. They’re accompanied by the humans’ heavy breathing. He doesn’t expect Dean to let go of his arms so soon, not before Meg or Sam or Jess can get him with the sleeping dart again. But Dean does. His wrists throb dully when the tight grip is gone, but Dean’s hands don’t go far.

Castiel opens his eyes in surprise and his sob catches in his throat when Dean’s hands slip under his back and lift him up against his chest. Dean moves back down his body, sitting astride Castiel’s lap again and he holds Castiel tightly. His face is pressed into Castiel’s damp hair and he’s whispering words against his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so fucking sorry. If I could, I would. I really would. But I don’t know how. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeats it again and again and again.

Castiel can hear it above him and he feels the vibrations of the words under his cheek. His arms are hanging loosely down his sides. It would be so easy to reach up and tear at him with his claws or open his mouth and bite. Dean is leaving himself open to any number of attacks and over his litany, Castiel can hear Sam’s objections. It's another staggering example of Dean's trust in Castiel. It takes him several long moments to recognize that the burn in his chest isn’t because he’s holding his breath. He doesn’t know the right words to name or describe this ache behind his ribs.

His first breath is thin, little more than a hiss of air between his teeth. The second rattles down his throat and into his lungs. The third is a sob that makes his shoulders quake. Before Castiel realizes it, he’s curling his fingers into the back of Dean’s shirt and clutching at him as tightly as he can. He’s crying against Dean’s chest like he did as a hatchling crying against Gabriel when their father disappeared.

Castiel cries until he has no more tears and the sobs that continue to wrack his body are dry and painful. His throat is tight and threatens to choke him at any moment and his face feels hot where it’s pressed against Dean’s neck. He keeps whimpering out broken pleas between breaths and Dean continues to whisper apologies, fingers brushing through Castiel’s now dry hair in soothing strokes that travel down his neck and spine before starting again.

He doesn’t remember when Dean moved them, but they’re sitting with Dean’s back against the small-sea. Castiel is twisted in his lap. They’re chest to chest and Castiel’s tail is wrapped under Dean’s bent knees and folded back over his feet. Dean’s right hand is curled over his hip, holding Castiel in place. Somebody keeps dripping water over his scales and Dean’s jeans are soaked from it.

Castiel sniffles when he finally lifts his head. Meg and Jess are gone and Sam is sitting with his long legs bent and crossed before him. His back is to the closed door and he’s got the bucket next to him. When Castiel’s tail starts to dry, he dips a very-small-bucket into it and pours the water over his scales. Towels are placed all around them, soaking up the excess that drips to the floor. Sam’s coat is gone and the sleeves of his crisscross-patterned shirt are pushed up to his elbows. His left forearm is wrapped tight with bandages that are already stained through with red.

Castiel wipes at his nose with the back of his hand and leans his forehead against the side of Dean’s jaw. He watches Sam demurely and when he speaks, his voice is little more than a croak. “Sorry, Sam.”

Sam looks from Castiel to his arm and back. The corner of his mouth crooks up in a small smile and he shrugs. “It’s fine. Happens to the best of us. And I really wasn’t expecting to get out of that without a scratch or two.”

Without the kin-connection, Castiel barely understands half of what he says. His head feels tight and there’s a pounding in his temples. He’s too drained to even think about trying to reach out and connect to either Sam or Dean. Castiel tries another question, hoping for a simple answer. “Sam okay?”

“Yes, Castiel, I’m okay.” He nods.

Castiel’s fans ripple lightly in response and it makes him wince. He looks down at the hole in his webbing. He reaches to assess the damage with touch, but Dean catches his hand with his own and presses it back to his shoulder where Castiel had been holding his shirt.

“Don’t touch it, Cas. Let it heal.”

He lifts his head to look at Dean. He’s tilted his face up and his eyes are closed. Castiel's right hand is tucked against the small of Dean's back. He gently presses his fingers into the muscle. “Dean okay?”

Dean nods. “M’fine. Gonna have a few really nice bruises though. You okay now?”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head and leans against him to press his face into Dean’s neck again.

Dean is a wall of warmth and even though Castiel is used to the cold waters of the deep, he finds it comforting and relaxing. He’s tired and dry and he wants to go back in the water, but at the same time he never wants to wet his tail in the small-sea again. He hates the confining walls and the slowly stagnating water.

He starts trembling again and his eyes hurt from the sting of tears that aren’t there. Dean’s arm tightens over his shoulders and he brings up the other to squeeze Castiel against his chest. By all accounts, this should feel more closed off and small than the glass-walls of small-sea. But here Castiel feels better. He’s warm and he feels safe and secure.

Castiel tilts his head and rubs his nose into the dip of Dean’s collarbone. Dean smells like nothing Castiel has ever smelled before. There’s the tang of salt on his skin and beneath that, a deeper, darker roll of scent that Castiel thinks might be purely Dean. He likes it and it suits him. Dean tilts his head back more when Castiel tucks up under his chin to press his nose under his jaw.

Sam huffs a little laugh and Castiel doesn’t know what he finds amusing. Dean’s chest jerks under his hand and a puff of air ruffles Castiel’s hair.  “Shut up, Sammy.”

There’s a clicking noise and Castiel lifts his head in time to see Sam lowering his phone. Dean snorts again but doesn’t move. “I’m not above tossing your damn phone overboard, y’know.”

“Oh come on, it’s cute. Wait until I show Jess!”

Dean makes a weak grabbing motion for Sam’s phone and Sam laughs as he holds it out of reach. The spot where Dean’s hand had been resting on Castiel’s side grows cold and he doesn’t like it. He grabs Dean’s wrist and puts it back in place before curling tighter against Dean. Sam makes little cooing noises and Dean tells him to ‘shut up’ again, but he doesn’t take his hands away.

Castiel lets his thoughts wander slightly as Dean and Sam make rude noises at each other. He notes absently that Dean’s bedding is folded and piled neatly on the ledge by the door. For a moment he wonders when those were returned and who brought them back. Castiel thinks it was probably Jess. He can’t barely see Dean’s bed from where they’re sitting. It’s mostly obscured by the solid base of the small-sea.

He can see the large square of white that Dean put up on the wall the other day. Castiel never did get the chance to ask what it and the squares with the numbers are. He wants to ask now, but he knows if Dean answers with his voice he won’t understand most, if not all, of his answer.

It takes more energy than he’s willing to admit to reach out to Dean. To his surprise, Dean grasps the weak tendrils of the kin-connection and pulls. He strengthens it and reaches through and his touch is gentle and as soothing as the hand pressing into the muscles along the edges of his back-fans. Dean doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even physically react, but he offers up all the comfort that he can with just his thoughts.

Castiel basks in it. He takes Dean’s kindness and wraps himself up tight in the reassuring feeling that is Dean. He lets Dean warm both his body and his mind and for several long moments Castiel finds it hard to care about anything else. It stirs up an oddly light and floating feeling in his chest that is at once both frightening and one of the best things he’s ever felt.

The splash of cool water on his scales and the webbing of his fans jolts Castiel from sinking into the calming abyss that he’s quickly coming to associate to Dean. He blinks his eyes open and wonders when he shut them. The corner of the white paper on the wall catches his attention again and Castiel remembers why he wanted to talk to Dean.

He dredges up an image of the squares on the paper and slides it through the connection. Dean takes it and Castiel hears and feels a thoughtful hum vibrate under his cheek.

(It’s a calendar. We use it to keep track of days, weeks, months and years.) He explains slowly, with simple images and small words about how the humans count days.

Castiel looks at the calendar again and asks Dean about the bright red lines drawn through some of the squares. Dean explains that he’s marked how many days Castiel has been on the ship. Despite Castiel’s grumble of protest, he moves his hands long enough to spread all his fingers. On one hand he lowers all the fingers except his thumb.

(This is how many days you’ve been here.)

A heavy weight settles in Castiel’s chest. He’s been gone from the colony for nearly an entire sentry rotation. His turn would have been tonight. The quick thrum of sadness that rises at the thought is swallowed up by Dean’s touch as he wraps Castiel in his mind again and hugs him close.

Castiel forcefully turns his attention back to the calendar. Far at the bottom, a few rows of squares away from the red lines marking his imprisonment, there is a day circled many times in red. Castiel brushes the image of it with curiosity against Dean’s mind. Dean’s body tenses and his arms tighten almost painfully around Castiel.

(That’s when the boat reaches our home.) The words are cold and not nearly as happy as Dean had been when he’d spoken about his home during the night. (That’s when you’ll be moved from here to Lilith’s place. That’s when we’ll be separated and you’ll never see the ocean again.)

Castiel reflexively tightens his grip on Dean and his fans flare where they aren’t held down by Dean’s arms. Dean shushes him with a soft touch.

(That’s how long Sam and I have to get you back to the sea.)