SPN: You Bring the Collar, I'll Bring the Cuffs 3
“A slave?” Isis looked torn between concern and amusement. “Loki bought you a slave?”
“No,” Castiel frowned. “He bought himself a pair of slaves whilst drunk, then gave one to me.”
“Ah. That does sound more like him.”
The pair were walking through Isis’ library in Egypt, a place hidden from mortals. There were books on all subjects here, and Isis had recommended that they start by looking at how the suggestion spell worked, to see if they could undo it. Or override it, Castiel wasn’t picky.
“Here we go,” Isis smiled as she pulled down a large book, old but still in pristine condition. “This has a breakdown of how most suggestion spells interact with the mortal mind.”
“Thank you,” Castiel nodded and took the book. “I know it’s odd, I just don’t feel comfortable having him mindless.”
“I know,” Isis laid a comforting hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “You really do care about humanity, both in general and in specific. It’s why I like you so much.” With that, she turned back to the shelf and scanned it, looking for another book. “Ah, here we go. This one is to do with the way different materials interact or interfere with suggestion spells. Could help narrow down the search.”
“I’m sure it will,” Castiel felt lighter than he had since arriving at Gabriel’s the day before. “You always seem to know how to help me.”
“Don’t mention it,” Isis ducked her head in embarrassment before tucking her arm through Castiel’s to lead him back out. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Master?”
“Hm?”
“Is there anything you’d like me to do?”
“You could try organising this place… I’m always bringing more books home, never quite got around to following a filing system.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“So Latin is derived from Enochian?”
“Only loosely. Much like how modern French is only vaguely similar to Latin.”
“Okay. Is that why Latin’s usually the language used for human spells and rituals?”
“Exactly. Because it still has echoes of the power of Enochian, it channels the magic needed better than modern languages do.”
“Ah. That makes sense.”
“What are you working on, Sam?”
“A list of all the books you have here, along with subject and author. Otherwise we’re going to lose them once I start organising things.”
“Excellent. Keep it up.”
Over the next week, Castiel and Sam fell into a routine. Sam rose early and ate, then bathed. Castiel was usually awake hours before Sam and ate, and spent the first several hours of the day training to stay in shape for when he was finally allowed to be a warrior again. He then bathed and went about his official research, which often had him stuck inside a book for hours on end. Sam would spend his mornings rearranging the house, organising the books properly by some sort of system that was apparently all to do with how often Castiel used a certain subject. It was more than a little unnerving for Castiel to realise just how much Sam was watching him work.
Sam would make food of some sort appear at lunch time, leaving it on Castiel’s desk until the angel surfaced from his preoccupation, noticed that it was there and ate it. In the afternoons Sam would do general housework and take care of the few potted plants outside, and Castiel would go on his rounds, visiting various contacts and buying anything they needed. When he got home in the evening, Sam would have dinner ready and the pair would eat together. After, Castiel curled up on the sofa to continue researching into the slave collars, while Sam cleaned up the day’s dishes and then read his own books. He seemed to be favouring history books, though sometimes picked up the few to do with technology that Castiel had.
It didn’t escape Castiel’s notice that Sam avoided going out if at all possible. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the collar’s compulsion on him, or if he simply preferred the solitude of their home.
Things seemed to be going okay, and Castiel was gradually becoming more comfortable around Sam. It was nice having someone around who he could talk to, since even when Sam didn’t understand the subject he asked the right questions to help him figure it out. Castiel was even gradually getting used to the brief touches Sam seemed intent on giving him. Sam seemed unable to let a day go past without brushing against Castiel’s arm in passing, or bending down in front of Castiel’s gaze. A few times Sam got close to Castiel’s wings, as though he was going to touch them, but Castiel’s reflexes were too fast when it came to anyone touching the vulnerable appendages. In all, the contact quickly became part of their daily routine.
It was this slow build up that he blamed when he realised that things were starting to get out of hand. He hadn’t noticed that during his evening reading, Sam had been edging closer and closer to him, until eventually his head rested on top of Castiel’s ankles, where the angel had drawn his feet up onto the couch.
Castiel gave a slight jerk and looked down, frowning. Sam was apparently absorbed in his own book, merely using Castiel as a pillow, and the angel found himself reluctant to disturb him. Sam’s long hair tickled his ankles a little, making him wonder what it would feel like in other places. He sighed, and turned back to his reading. The sooner he found a way to disengage that particular facet of the collar, the better off they’d both be.
His eyes kept travelling back to Sam though, taking in the way he frowned slightly when the book didn’t makes sense, how every so often his hair would fall into his eyes and he’d brush it back quickly as though not wanting to lose a second of reading time. Castiel caught himself starting to smile at the boy and dragged his gaze back to his own book. Having a warm, supposedly willing body so close was starting to get to him. That’s all it was.
“Sam,” Castiel asked one night while his slave was curled along the couch with him, “how did you and Dean become slaves?”
“I’m not sure,” Sam responded slowly. “I was very young. Our mother died when I was a baby, and Dad wasn’t around much, so Dean pretty much raised me. Then one day a man with wings came to the motel room we were staying in and put the collars on us. Dean fought at first, but as soon as the collar went on he calmed down. I was seven, I think, so he must have been eleven.”
“I see,” Castiel realised that he was subconsciously stroking Sam’s hair, as though the boy was a pet, and forced his hand to still. “And you never knew why you became slaves?”
“No, we were never told. But we’ve always been kept together, always sold as a pair. I think perhaps Dad had to give us away, or maybe he died. I don’t know, I haven’t seen him since then.”
“Were you… how many owners have you had?” It was something that Castiel was curious about - there weren’t many angels who harmed the slaves in their care, and he was certain that at least one of Sam’s owners had been abusive.
“The first took good care of us, explained what we needed to do. I was mostly helping in the kitchens of a hotel she guarded, while Dean learned to be a bodyguard. He really liked that angel. We both did.”
“What was her name?”
“Anna. She called herself Anna. She was really pretty, with red hair and-”
“Dark red wings?” Castiel finished, smiling a little.
“Yeah. You know her?” Sam looked up, seeming keen to know of his old mistress.
“She used to be in charge of my garrison. I lost contact with the others when I came to earth, but she was always a good leader.”
“Yeah. She taught Dean a lot about how to guard people.”
Castiel decided to leave it at that - he’d leave the fond memories alone. There was plenty of time to learn what had happened to Sam later.
“Sam, do you know why you left Anna’s service?” Castiel asked a few nights later. They were curled around each other on the couch again, each with his own book.
“Not really,” Sam’s voice was thick with sleep from where he’d almost dozed off in Castiel’s lap. “Just that one night when I was eleven Dean and I went to sleep, and the next day we were taken to the markets. The collars wouldn’t have transferred to the new master if Anna hadn’t let us go, so… we never saw her again.”
“No one ever told you?”
“Why would they? We were just slaves.”
This time, Castiel didn’t stop his hand from running through Sam’s soft hair. Sam seemed to like it, and it was the only way Castiel felt comfortable showing his sympathy.
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