"Why, Mr. Winchester. It seems you have no faith in the prize at all. Or your own virility." Crowley smirks though. If they're lucky, this will prompt the Winchester pup to drop out of the race, and they can all go back to regular business tomorrow.

Castiel knows all this. He's been tested, proven fertile, then promptly threatened. His family expects him to breed, and fast. Not for a happy, healthy marriage, not for the sake of his own wellbeing, but so they don't lose status. They rarely produce omegas - so the moment they have one, it has to be the best, most fertile, most obedient little bitch on the market.

He nods, slightly, looking just a tad crestfallen. "I see." He has no idea how to make a salad.