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The angel markets were a terrible place and Sam kind of hated his brother for bringing him to one. But Dean was insistent in wanting to get Sam an angel for his birthday, even though Sam had made no bones about the fact that he hated angel slavery and didn't want one.
The market was a compromise, in a way. The angels here would be cheaper, most likely, because they were second-hand (and didn't Sam just HATE that sort of talk) but it also meant that they might be rescuing an angel from a far worse fate. And Sam was going to be the one to choose the angel Dean bought.
Angels had been enslaved centuries. They were, by most, considered to be about the mental equivalent of a really smart cat with the ability to follow orders like a dog, only able to follow more complex commands. They could understand pretty much any human language, but they couldn't speak them. Sam still wasn't certain how, exactly, that equated to 'too stupid to be considered a person', but apparently it did. They didn't age once they reached their mid twenties, though they could die. Historians said that they were called 'angels' simply because of the wings on their backs.
Just the sight of so many crowded in the warehouse where the market was held made Sam sick, though. The pain in the room was nearly palpable, though he wasn't certain how Dean could ignore it. He pushed through it, looking around the room. There were angels everywhere, with wings of every hue. He knew some of those would be dyed, as owners were likely to do, but many of them would be natural. The religious imagery of angels said that their wings would all be white. The physical Angels, though, had wings of all colors. Some of them were even multi-colored, which was in vogue at the moment.
Turning, Sam's eye caught on a pair of black wings. Fashionable around the time that Sam was born, he knew they'd fallen out of favor. The wings themselves were ragged and obviously hadn't been well taken care of in a while. The angel himself was scruffy, with five o'clock shadow and dirt, which meant he had probably been in the market for a while.
What really got Sam, though, was the fact that Crowley was looking the angel over. He knew damned well that Crowley owned the local brothel. Before he realized exactly what he was doing, he had crossed the room and looked to the man holding the chain. "How much?"
He didn't want an angel. But there was something about this one that made his blood boil at the thought of Crowley even touching him.
The market was a compromise, in a way. The angels here would be cheaper, most likely, because they were second-hand (and didn't Sam just HATE that sort of talk) but it also meant that they might be rescuing an angel from a far worse fate. And Sam was going to be the one to choose the angel Dean bought.
Angels had been enslaved centuries. They were, by most, considered to be about the mental equivalent of a really smart cat with the ability to follow orders like a dog, only able to follow more complex commands. They could understand pretty much any human language, but they couldn't speak them. Sam still wasn't certain how, exactly, that equated to 'too stupid to be considered a person', but apparently it did. They didn't age once they reached their mid twenties, though they could die. Historians said that they were called 'angels' simply because of the wings on their backs.
Just the sight of so many crowded in the warehouse where the market was held made Sam sick, though. The pain in the room was nearly palpable, though he wasn't certain how Dean could ignore it. He pushed through it, looking around the room. There were angels everywhere, with wings of every hue. He knew some of those would be dyed, as owners were likely to do, but many of them would be natural. The religious imagery of angels said that their wings would all be white. The physical Angels, though, had wings of all colors. Some of them were even multi-colored, which was in vogue at the moment.
Turning, Sam's eye caught on a pair of black wings. Fashionable around the time that Sam was born, he knew they'd fallen out of favor. The wings themselves were ragged and obviously hadn't been well taken care of in a while. The angel himself was scruffy, with five o'clock shadow and dirt, which meant he had probably been in the market for a while.
What really got Sam, though, was the fact that Crowley was looking the angel over. He knew damned well that Crowley owned the local brothel. Before he realized exactly what he was doing, he had crossed the room and looked to the man holding the chain. "How much?"
He didn't want an angel. But there was something about this one that made his blood boil at the thought of Crowley even touching him.
It had been happening little by little. Almost small enough increments not to be noticed, but Sam and Dean were both masters of noticing little details. It was the line between life and death far too many times.
(At least when they wanted to. Both were entirely too good at not seeing the forest for the trees when it was something they didn't want to know about.)
It had been slow, but steady. Sam and Dean had their hunts and Castiel had his job and his own life separate from their own. Especially once he got a boyfriend. It was only natural that they didn't get a chance to meet up as often.
But it wasn't just that. More and more often, Castiel begged off from meeting up or simply didn't answer voicemails left for him. And when they were able to get together, Castiel was quieter and obviously pulling away. It was worrying and Sam and Dean sat down and talked about it in the bunker, even pulling Kevin into it. They all agreed that, even if there wasn't a problem, they needed to at least check up on the former angel.
Which was why Sam was outside the gas station in one of the cars from the Men of Letters' garage, waiting on Castiel to finish his shift. This was something that was better talked about in person, anyway.
((Content warning for discussions of abuse and abusive relationships. Also BDSM done wrong.))
(At least when they wanted to. Both were entirely too good at not seeing the forest for the trees when it was something they didn't want to know about.)
It had been slow, but steady. Sam and Dean had their hunts and Castiel had his job and his own life separate from their own. Especially once he got a boyfriend. It was only natural that they didn't get a chance to meet up as often.
But it wasn't just that. More and more often, Castiel begged off from meeting up or simply didn't answer voicemails left for him. And when they were able to get together, Castiel was quieter and obviously pulling away. It was worrying and Sam and Dean sat down and talked about it in the bunker, even pulling Kevin into it. They all agreed that, even if there wasn't a problem, they needed to at least check up on the former angel.
Which was why Sam was outside the gas station in one of the cars from the Men of Letters' garage, waiting on Castiel to finish his shift. This was something that was better talked about in person, anyway.
((Content warning for discussions of abuse and abusive relationships. Also BDSM done wrong.))
It had been a very long day so far. For Sam, that day mostly meant waiting, fidgeting with the present in his hands.
More than a few of the others had watched him as they waited, wondering what he was doing here and, more than once, Sam had found himself wondering the same. The Novaks were a family with a lot of wealth and a lot of connections, political and otherwise. He'd done his research. The family was full of Alphas and Betas, insinuated into massive companies and running more than a few of their own. They were old money and old power and most of those who had come to court were the same.
Not Sam. Certainly, the Winchesters were an old family, but they weren't wealthy by a long shot. They were involved in law enforcement, which wasn't exactly a rich occupation to begin with. Sam was going to law school, but his interest wasn't in making money but in helping people and putting away those who abused their positions and their power. But, long ago, John Winchester had made a promise to the Novak family because Mary Campbell had mated him rather than Michael Novak. That one of his children would be offered as a mate to the Novaks should there be a compatible one. It had been a sop, meant to quiet tensions between the families but nobody had thought much of it. Dean had been a Beta and Sam had been an Alpha and that seemed that.
Until the Novaks threw an Omega. Not unheard of, but rare. And, suddenly, Sam seemed to be the one Winchester with a chance, small enough though it might be.
He started when he heard his name called, pulling himself to his full height with the present clutched in his hands. He followed Zachariah Novak trying to ignore the feeling of unworthiness. He was an Alpha from a good line. There was no reason, other than money, to think he didn't have a chance here.
More than a few of the others had watched him as they waited, wondering what he was doing here and, more than once, Sam had found himself wondering the same. The Novaks were a family with a lot of wealth and a lot of connections, political and otherwise. He'd done his research. The family was full of Alphas and Betas, insinuated into massive companies and running more than a few of their own. They were old money and old power and most of those who had come to court were the same.
Not Sam. Certainly, the Winchesters were an old family, but they weren't wealthy by a long shot. They were involved in law enforcement, which wasn't exactly a rich occupation to begin with. Sam was going to law school, but his interest wasn't in making money but in helping people and putting away those who abused their positions and their power. But, long ago, John Winchester had made a promise to the Novak family because Mary Campbell had mated him rather than Michael Novak. That one of his children would be offered as a mate to the Novaks should there be a compatible one. It had been a sop, meant to quiet tensions between the families but nobody had thought much of it. Dean had been a Beta and Sam had been an Alpha and that seemed that.
Until the Novaks threw an Omega. Not unheard of, but rare. And, suddenly, Sam seemed to be the one Winchester with a chance, small enough though it might be.
He started when he heard his name called, pulling himself to his full height with the present clutched in his hands. He followed Zachariah Novak trying to ignore the feeling of unworthiness. He was an Alpha from a good line. There was no reason, other than money, to think he didn't have a chance here.
They tended to switch bars a lot, never sticking to any one location and they'd drive out a ways away from the bunker. Lebanon was way too small for them to hit up the bars there very often, but it wasn't that far to the state line and there were other towns around, too.
Sam and Dean had gone their separate ways tonight, each planning to hustle pool or cards in a different place. As usual these days, Castiel had come with Sam. The former angel had picked up pool rather quickly, which wasn't surprising considering it was pretty much all math and angles. For the moment, though, Sam was the one cleaning the table with the current set of drunkards who had decided to try their hand against him.
He looked up just as he finished the current game, gathering up the money that had been bet. He'd been going to call out to Castiel, but the sound died in his throat when he saw someone else was talking to the other man. Someone who was entirely too close for Sam's liking.
He nodded to the other players, pocketing the money before walking over and putting a hand between Castiel's shoulder blades before letting it slip down. "Hey, Cas. Who's your friend?"
Sam and Dean had gone their separate ways tonight, each planning to hustle pool or cards in a different place. As usual these days, Castiel had come with Sam. The former angel had picked up pool rather quickly, which wasn't surprising considering it was pretty much all math and angles. For the moment, though, Sam was the one cleaning the table with the current set of drunkards who had decided to try their hand against him.
He looked up just as he finished the current game, gathering up the money that had been bet. He'd been going to call out to Castiel, but the sound died in his throat when he saw someone else was talking to the other man. Someone who was entirely too close for Sam's liking.
He nodded to the other players, pocketing the money before walking over and putting a hand between Castiel's shoulder blades before letting it slip down. "Hey, Cas. Who's your friend?"
