Actions

Work Header

Structured Clutter

Work Text:

Dean squared his shoulders and confidently stepped out of the limo. Mr. Novak would be waiting for him, and he had no idea what to expect, but he sure as Hell wasn't going to go in there with his tail between his legs.

The Novak family was known for being kind to their slaves. They bucked tradition, had for decades, and no one knew it better than Dean, who had been born at Master Chuck Novak's estate.

Dean had come of age in the home, but Chuck still hadn't sold him. He never would've because that's just the way the Novaks were. They treated everyone like family.

His parents had been taken care of, even after John had died years ago. Dean had been raised along with Chuck's children, eating the same food, learning from the same tutors, though when they'd all been released after school, Dean performed his duties instead of running off with the rest of the kids.

Even then, it hadn't been all work and no play. He'd been to parties, he was allowed to play with the kids when he'd finished his chores, and Dean had been happy. He'd been free to drive Chuck's vehicles, go into the city to run errands, and he even accompanied Chuck and his wife a few times when they'd gone out of the country.

But he didn't know what to expect of his new master. The Novak name was all well and good, but Dean wasn't naive. He knew there were traditionalists out there who, while not being cruel, wouldn't tolerate most of the freedoms Dean had enjoyed. And if Mr. Novak was cruel, well, Dean knew his life would be getting hard sooner rather than later.

He'd chosen his nicest pair of dark slacks and paired them with a dark green button down shirt. He wanted to look nice for his new master.

As far as he knew, Mr. Novak had never owned a slave before, at least that's what Chuck had told him. And when Dean had asked why he was being given to Mr. Novak, Chuck had said it was for Castiel's own good, whatever that meant.

"Follow me," Hannah said as she walked in through the front door of a rather modern-looking mansion.

Dean followed closely as she took him up the stairs and down a long hallway. She didn't bother knocking when she opened the door to what turned out to be Castiel's office.

"Hannah," Castiel said, smiling as he grabbed his briefcase and headed for her, arms out at his sides.

"Hey," she said as she gave him a hug, then stood back and turned to Dean. "This is Dean Winchester."

"Hi, Mr. Novak," Dean said, hands behind his back and standing just inside the door. If Castiel was more of a traditionalist, he wouldn't want his new slave to shake his hand, so Dean took the more cautious route.

Castiel sighed. "Hannah," he said as he turned to pout at her, "I told him I didn't want a slave."

Dean tried not to react, but Hannah was having none of it.

"Castiel!" she chided. "The paperwork is already done, his things are being sent, and he's standing right there."

Castiel grimaced as he looked Dean over. "I don't know what to do with him."

Hannah shook her head. "I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said, then walked out, throwing a sympathetic smile at Dean.

Castiel huffed. "I don't know what to do with you."

Dean didn't really know what to say, and he didn't know Castiel well enough to gauge whether he should just come right out and make suggestions. Chuck had thoroughly spoiled him.

Castiel looked down at his watch. "I'm late," he said, lifting his briefcase as if that would explain it all. "I-I've gotta go."

Dean rolled his eyes after Castiel left the room. "Well, that could've gone worse, I guess," he muttered.

*

Dean figured out fairly quickly why Chuck had insisted Castiel take on a slave. His bookkeeping was a mess, his office was a mess, his organizational skills were lacking from the depths of his closets to his filing cabinets and even his refrigerator.

He stopped organizing things around four o'clock so he could make dinner, but it boggled his mind as to why Castiel hadn't hired a few workers even if he hadn't wanted a slave. He'd managed to clean up Castiel's office a bit, had reorganized the master closet, and had cleaned out the refrigerator, but he still had quite a lot to do. It could all wait for another day.

Dean heard the front door open about quarter after six and adjusted Castiel's schedule in his own head. He'd prepared a meal that could easily simmer for a while if Castiel wasn't home by half past five when most people arrived home from office buildings. At least until Dean could figure out some type of schedule.

"Oh," Castiel said as he stood in the archway to the kitchen, eyes wide. "You're still here."

"Dinner's ready, sir," Dean said as he pulled a plate from the cupboard. "Would you like to eat at the table or someplace else?"

"Oh, um," Castiel said, frowning. "My office. I'll eat there."

Dean nodded. "I can bring it up to you if you'd like."

Castiel paused for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, do that," he said, then turned on his heel and walked out.

Dean smirked as he dished up the food and grabbed some silverware. Castiel was an odd guy so far, but he seemed harmless. Dean knew that could change at any moment, but it was a relief to see things weren't going to be doom and gloom at the very least.

As he made his way to the office, he heard a crashing sound. He moved faster, hoping Castiel was okay, but as he walked into the office, he froze, plate in his left hand and bottle of water in the right.

"What have you done?" Castiel yelled as he kicked a filing cabinet drawer closed. Castiel's face was red, he was panting, and his tie was crooked.

"I organized the office, sir," Dean said, only just then realizing it hadn't been a good idea.

Castiel sputtered for a moment, then threw his hands up in the air. "Why would you do that?" he asked, a mix of furious and perplexed.

"I... It looked like, um," Dean started, but couldn't really come up with a tactful way of saying the room had looked like a pigsty. "It looked as if the office needed some organizing."

"Organizing?" Castiel yelled, then he picked up his discarded briefcase and dropped it onto the desk. "I had everything right where I wanted it," he said as he opened the briefcase and started pulling out files. "I knew right where everything was. Now I'm going to have to find everything I need by tomorrow morning and hope that I still have time to get it all together in time."

Dean felt like shit. He'd only been trying to help, but he'd made the world's worst first impression on his new master. "I'm sorry, sir. Would you like me to help?" he asked, shifting from foot to foot.

"No," Castiel said, already rummaging through the filing cabinets for his papers. "You've done more than enough. Just go to your quarters or something."

"Would you like me to leave your dinner here?" Dean asked.

Castiel looked up at him, bewildered expression on his face, as if he couldn't begin to understand why Dean was asking him that. "Just leave it on the floor," he said, waving him off.

"Yes, sir," Dean said as he set the plate and water bottle down by the door. "I'm sorry."

Dean stood there for a moment, but Castiel was too focused on his filing cabinets, so he turned around and left. He wanted to go to the kitchen and clean up, but Castiel had told him to go to his quarters. He figured he'd done enough damage for one day, so he did as he was told.

*

Dean wasn't sure what Mr. Novak would ask him to do for the day, but he got up and showered the next morning and put on some casual clothes. Castiel hadn't even looked at his clothes the day before, so he probably wasn't one who cared for such things. A soft pair of sweats and a grey Henley would do until he heard different.

He started making breakfast a little after seven in the morning, politely ignoring the fact that Castiel was already in his office, or perhaps he had never left it. He assumed Castiel liked coffee, since there was a coffee maker on the kitchen counter, so he filled a plate with eggs, sausage, and toast, then topped off a mug of coffee before starting up the stairs.

Castiel was standing at the desk, his back to Dean. "Sir?" Dean said, hoping he wasn't going to startle the man.

"Hmm?" Castiel said, then turned around, frowning. Was he ever happy?

"Would you like to eat your breakfast here in the office?" Dean asked.

"Um, oh," Castiel said, looking around the room as if someone nonexistent was going to answer the question for him. "Just set it on the desk," he said, waving at the mess of papers and books covering his desk.

Dean grimaced as he approached, grateful that Castiel was too interested in his papers to notice the sour expression. "Sir?" Dean said when he couldn't find an inch of open space on the desk.

"Oh," Castiel said, then pointed to the shelving unit to his right. "Just put it there."

Dean waited until he was standing at the shelving unit before he rolled his eyes. "Is there anything you'd like me to do for you today, sir?"

Castiel looked up at him as if he'd forgotten Dean was in the room. "Oh, well, um. Yes. I'm going to the office downtown today," he said as he shuffled his papers around, "so I've arranged for you to spend your time at the daycare."

Dean flinched without meaning to, but he forced himself to remain calm and nodded even though Castiel didn't see him. "Yes, sir," he said, working very hard to keep the disappointment and fear out of his voice.

"Hannah brought a change of clothes for you," Castiel said, eyes glued to the book he was scanning. "She tells me they're required, so make sure you're changed and ready to go in twenty minutes."

Dean shivered. "Yes, sir. Um, sir?"

"Yeah?" Castiel said, not bothering to put his book down.

"I'm really sorry about rearranging your office," Dean said. "I didn't realize you had everything right where you wanted it. I was just-."

"Yes, yes," Castiel said, waving him off. "You were doing your job."

Dean opened his mouth to say more, but he stopped himself. He knew better than to question his master. If Castiel saw fit to punish him, then he deserved it. And even if Dean had only been doing his job by cleaning up the house, he really should've waited for instructions from Castiel instead of taking the initiative. He'd gotten so used to Chuck and how easy it was to work for the man. It was going to take some time to get used to Castiel.

*

The ride downtown was quiet. Castiel was reviewing a stack of papers, so Dean stayed still and didn't say anything. His leg bounced a few times because he was nervous, but he forced himself to relax. He'd never been sent to daycare before.

Chuck had never even threatened anyone in his house with daycare that Dean could remember. The only reason he knew what went on there was from second and third-hand reports and whispers. If a slave fucked up and the master was too busy to discipline them, a slave was sent to daycare for correction.

Dean could handle it. He'd fucked up. He knew he deserved it. But that didn't mean he wasn't scared. He'd heard horror stories.

The Novak family was known for their kindness, though, so maybe Castiel's daycare wasn't like that. It was located in the same building, so it would be difficult to abuse slaves and still uphold the family name.

He played with the cuff of the white long-sleeved shirt he'd been given to wear. It was light cotton to match the pants, free flowing and something Dean would never have chosen for himself. The boots were an odd contrast, but Hannah hadn't left any shoes along with the clothing, so he'd worn his own. Chuck had gotten them for him.

Dean exited the vehicle after Cas, keeping his head held high. His parents and Chuck had raised him right, and they'd all told him time and time again that a cowering slave was obviously an untrained and disobedient slave who was only pretending to be a good slave. They told him he should be proud of what he was, take pride in his work, and never be afraid to speak up for himself, at least around the house.

"The daycare is through those doors," Castiel said as he headed toward the bank of elevators.

"Yes, sir," Dean said, walking to the daycare.

His confidence faltered the moment he walked through the doors. There was a front reception area with a secretary, and Dean made his way to her.

"I'm Castiel Novak's," Dean said. "He sent me here for the day while he's working."

"Name?" the woman said, uninterested in him.

"Dean Winchester," he said, playing with the cuff of his long-sleeved shirt.

"Wait there," the woman said, then picked up the phone by her left hand. "Ellen, I've got an unscheduled slave here, but he says he's Mr. Novak's slave. Okay, thank you, ma'am."

Dean tried to keep still and not fidget while the secretary went back to filing her nails, ignoring him as if he wasn't even there.

"Dean," a woman said from a doorway to his right.

Dean turned. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Come this way," she said, then turned and headed off down the hallway, as if she had no doubt he would follow.

Dean hurried to catch up with her, then fell into step behind her. It seemed odd to him that she was wearing jeans and a comfortable-looking button-down shirt, boots much like his own. He'd expected something more professional, but he didn't dare mention it.

She opened the door to a room about halfway down the hallway and went in. Dean followed her, then came to a stop when he saw where he was.

The floors were stained and coated cement, an off white color that was obviously easy to clean. There were eye-hooks on the walls and in the ceiling along with a St. Andrew's cross to his right, a padded bench to his left, and a wall of cabinets and countertops directly in front of him. He didn't want to know what was in the cabinets, but he had a feeling he was going to find out.

"Strip," the woman said. "A slave earns his clothes."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, immediately doing as he was told. His hands were shaking, making it difficult to get the buttons undone on his shirt.

"My name is Ellen," she said as she walked to the cabinets and unlocked the first one. "You'll call me ma'am while we're in the daycare."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, his voice cracking. He tried to control his breathing, but he was having trouble with it.

He set his boots to the side, then folded his clothes and set them next to the boots. When he stood up, Ellen was standing by the padded bench with a paddle in her left hand.

Dean didn't bother waiting for her to give him the orders, he just walked up to the bench and started climbing on, figuring if he waited he might lose his nerve.

"Hold up there, sweetheart," Ellen said, wrapping her fingers around his left wrist.

Dean stepped back away from the bench and looked at her, eyes wide. "Sorry," he said, wincing.

"I'm not gonna use this on you if I don't know what you did," she said, waving the paddle back and forth.

Dean fought the urge to run and instead nodded at Ellen. "Yes, ma'am. I was left alone at Mr. Novak's home yesterday, and he didn't leave me with any instructions, so I organized his office and closet."

Ellen's lips twitched, as if she really wanted to chuckle, but had much better control than to just let out some laughter. "Is that everything?" she asked.

Dean grimaced. "He doesn't know I cleaned out the refrigerator too. He was mad enough about the office that he sent me to my room before I could tell him."

Ellen nodded. "From what I read in your file, you've never been reprimanded at a daycare before."

"No, ma'am," Dean said.

"Okay, well, to put your mind at ease," Ellen said, patting his arm, "I'll tell you what's going to happen. The room can be a little intimidating even for anybody who's been to a daycare before. We do offer sexual training, but that's a specialized service, and Mr. Novak hasn't requested it. So today we'll just be going over basics after we get your punishment out of the way. Nothing fancy. It'll just be all the shit I'm sure you already know."

"Thank you, ma'am," Dean said, feeling a little relieved.

"Have you ever been disciplined before?" she asked.

Dean blushed. "My mom and dad both had me over their knee at times over the years, and Chuck -- I mean Master Novak did the same. Oh, and the cook, Bobby, he got me a few times."

"Ever been paddled?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," Dean said. "Bobby used a wooden spoon on me a few times, but everyone else used their hand or a belt on me."

"Can you stay still for me or do I need to tie you down?" she asked.

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He really didn't want to be tied down, but he wasn't sure he could stay still. "I don't know, ma'am. I'd rather not be tied down, but every time I've been disciplined, it was over someone's knee and they held me, so I just don't know if I can stay still."

Ellen gave him a small smile. "Thank you for being honest," she said. "Here's what we're gonna do. I'm gonna have you get on the bench, I'll give you a warm up, and at any time, if you feel like you can't stay still for me, say something."

"Thank you," Dean said, so relieved he wanted to hug the woman.

"Okay, then get on the bench," she said, gesturing to the bench with the paddle.

Dean was still shaky as he climbed on, but he settled down, his knees spread fairly wide and his chest down on the padded top. He took hold of the handles and tried to relax.

"I'm going to start with my hand, then I'm going to use the paddle," Ellen said.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, closing his eyes.

Dean sucked in a breath as she laid down the first smack. She was stronger than she looked, and it began to sting pretty quickly. He forced himself to stay calm, stay still. He squirmed a bit, her hand working up a good burn.

"We're gonna start with the paddle now," Ellen warned, then gave him a good smack.

"Ah!" Dean yelped, his chest coming off the top of the bench.

"Settle down," Ellen said, a hand on his back pushing him down again.

"Sorry, ma'am," Dean said, leaning down.

"You come up like that again and I'll tie you down," she warned.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said.

Three more smacks with the paddle and Dean was panting through clenched teeth. He tried to spread his legs a little to ease the pain, but it did nothing.

The next time the paddle landed, he let out a whimper. It felt so much different than when he'd been punished at Chuck's house. This was so impersonal. Before today he would've thought that it would make the whole thing easier, but it made it worse. He was scared and felt alone. Ellen was only doing her job and didn't give a shit about him. And he hadn't even meant to get in trouble. He thought he'd been doing his job, something he never would've been punished for at Chuck's house. In fact Chuck would've thanked him and given him a hug.

Dean's chest ached, his eyes burning as he felt a strong sense of homesickness. He'd never go back to Chuck's. This was his new home. And if he didn't learn soon, he'd be in here every day.

"Ow," Dean moaned, clenching his teeth and trying to stay still. "Please, ma'am, I'm sorry!"

"I know you are," Ellen said, the paddle still coming down on his naked ass.

He let out a sob, his vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. "Please, I d-don't think I can stay still!"

"You've got seven more to go," Ellen said. "You can stay still for seven more."

"Ah!" Dean cried out, flinching away from the pain.

"Dean," Ellen said, voice firm.

Dean turned his head so he could look at her. It was an awkward position, but he knew she wanted his attention. "Yes, ma'am?"

"You have six more to go," she said. "I know you can stay still. Cry out, wriggle around a bit, that's okay. But you're going to stay in position for me."

Dean nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said, panting.

"Good boy," Ellen said.

Dean pushed his face into the padded bench and squeezed his eyes closed. He had to stay in position. The smacks from the paddle landed so fast that Dean let out one long scream of agony, tears running down his face as he lost his breath with the remaining smack.

He cried into the bench, his body tense and shivering with pain and humiliation. He flinched when he felt her hand on his back, but then he leaned into the touch, taking the comfort she was offering.

Once his breathing calmed to occasional hiccups, Ellen patted his back. "I want you to slowly stand up. Go slow or you'll land on your ass."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, going slowly and letting her guide him up.

She already had a damp rag ready and washed his face, gentle swipes that reminded him of when his mother had done the same thing.

"You did very well, sweetheart," Ellen said. "Now I want you to go put your nose in the corner."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, sniffling as he made his way to the corner.

"I'm going to wash up a bit here, then we'll continue," she said.

Dean cringed, resting his forehead against the wall. She'd told him he was getting punishment, and he really hoped the paddling was it. If there was more to come, the day was going to be really fucking long.

*

"C'mon over here, sweetheart," Ellen said.

Dean turned around and walked to the center of the room, where Ellen was standing.

"Normally what I'd do with you is run you through some exercises to see if you know your way around a house," she said. "But you grew up in Chuck's house, you've been around the Novaks your entire life, and I think you know what you're doing."

"There's always more to learn, ma'am," Dean said humbly.

Ellen smirked at him. "You don't have to sweet talk me in here. Be respectful, but don't blow smoke up my ass."

Dean chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

"Now Castiel," Ellen said, drawing out Castiel's name as if he was a conundrum. Which he probably was. "He's different than the other boys. You know he comes from a big family, right?"

"I know there's at least three brothers," Dean said.

"Three brothers, two sisters, and more aunts, uncles, cousins, and kin than you'd care to meet," Ellen said, shaking her head. "He's the baby of the family, and as such he's a little more spoiled than the rest of them."

Dean frowned a bit. He didn't know much about Castiel, but spoiled just didn't fit what he'd seen so far.

"Now let me finish," Ellen said with a grin. "He may be spoiled, but that boy doesn't know it, has never acted like it, and is totally oblivious to the fact that his brothers and sisters would do anything for him."

"He works really hard. Doesn't he?" Dean asked, but it was more of a statement.

Ellen nodded. "He's a very hard worker. He doesn't like handouts, wants to do everything himself, and tends to get lost in his own little world."

"Yeah, I noticed the getting lost thing," Dean said with a smile.

"Cas is a brilliant man," Ellen said. "When it comes to business, technology, the sciences, he's a genius. But put him any kind of social situation or ask him to make a run to the grocery store and he's lost."

"Oh," Dean said, eyes wide.

"Yeah," Ellen said, nodding. "I love the guy, but he can be hard to get along with. Unfortunately for you, there's a steep learning curve."

"I already learned not to touch his office," Dean said with a wince. "Or his closets."

"Well," Ellen drawled, "here's the thing. He probably needs somebody like you in his life, which I imagine is why Chuck sent you. But Cas is going to not only fight it, he's not even gonna realize that you could be a huge asset to him."

"And in the meantime I get sent here?" Dean asked.

Ellen nodded, a sympathetic look on her face. "I'll try to go easy on you, but I think you're a perceptive guy. Watch him. He has plenty of tells, they're just not as big as the average person's."

"So instead of rearranging his office, what would you suggest I do to get on his good side?" Dean asked.

"Get him to step outside of his head," Ellen said. "I know that sounds daunting. And you have no idea how to get him out, nobody really does, but there's something about you, something I see in you that makes me think you'd have a better chance than most of us in pulling it off."

"Thank you, ma'am. I think," Dean said with a grimace.

Ellen chuckled. "You'll be fine. It's not gonna be easy, but you don't have a whole lot of choices open to you. Make the best of it. And until then, I'm going to let you do something, but only if you keep it a secret."

"Um, okay," Dean said, stomach clenching with nervousness.

"I'm going to let you come into my office and read up on Cas," Ellen said. "Nothing confidential, but if anyone found out I was sharing the info with a slave, especially about his own master, well, I'd lose my position here."

"You don't have to do this," Dean said, holding up his hands.

"Listen," Ellen said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I've watched that man trudge in and out of this office seven days a week for years. He never smiles. I've never seen him with anyone. I don't think he has any friends. Chuck's a smart guy, which you already know. If he thinks you're the answer to that hot mess up in the penthouse," she said, pointing up, "then I'm going to give you all the ammo you need to make this work."

Dean chuckled. "I think you're overestimating my abilities."

"Hmm," Ellen said, then shook her head. "Nope. I don't think I am. Now follow me," she said, then turned and walked out of the room.

"Do I bring my clothes, ma'am?" Dean asked as he hurried to the doorway.

"Yup," Ellen said, "but you won't be wearin' 'em anytime soon."

Dean sighed as he picked up his things and followed her. Chuck had never made him traipse around naked before. Had never insisted any of the members of the house do that. It was awkward, but Dean knew he shouldn't fret about it. It was odd to him, but not to the rest of the world.

*

Dean's neck was sore and the pillow Ellen had given him wasn't doing much to ease the ache in his ass, but he'd learned a lot.

"Okay, c'mon, kid," Ellen said as she poked her head in the doorway. "The cleaning lady just told me Cas is packin' it up, and there's always a chance he'll forget you're here, so let's get you out in the lobby so you don't get left behind."

Dean quickly dressed and followed her, his muscles protesting the movement after being cooped up in an office all day long. The elevator doors opened just as they made it to the lobby and out came Cas, and yeah, Dean had already started referring to the man as Cas after having been with Ellen all day. He hoped he wouldn't slip up and say it out loud.

"Good day up in the penthouse, Cas?" Ellen asked.

"Oh, Dean," Cas said, only noticing the two of them after Ellen had spoke, which Dean suspected was the only reason she'd spoken. "Ah, yes, it was a good day. I got quite a lot done, thank you, Ellen," he said with a bit of a smile.

"You boys get home safe," Ellen said, waving them both off.

"Thank you, ma'am," Dean said, giving her a smile that hopefully said much more than just 'see ya soon.'

"Goodnight, Ellen," Cas said with a head tilt, and then he was heading for the front door.

Dean followed, frowning when he realized it was dark outside. He glanced at the clock over the front intake desk and winced when he saw that it was eight forty-five. He really hoped Cas didn't stay this late all the time, but after everything Ellen had said and all the things he'd read, it was probably normal for Cas.

"Did you eat?" Cas asked when they got into the car.

"I had lunch, but I haven't eaten dinner," Dean said. "I can make you something when we get home if you'd like."

"Chinese?" Cas said. "I like Chinese. You want Chinese?"

Dean tried not to laugh, and he managed just a small smile instead. "I like Chinese."

"Clif," Cas said, loudly enough the driver could hear him. "Stop off at Wong's, please. Get enough for all three of us."

"You got it, Cas," Clif said.

Dean was taken aback by Clif's use of Cas' nickname, but he didn't say anything. Then he felt silly. Chuck's whole house referred to him as Chuck instead of Mr. Novak unless they were out in public, so why would it be a surprise that Cas was easygoing in the same way?

*

Dean carried the food inside after they said goodbye to Clif. He'd taken his own box and headed on home.

"Do you want me to set a place for you at the table?" Dean asked.

Cas blinked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm really tired. I'm going to take it up to my room and go over some notes while I eat," he said as he took a box of food from the bag Dean was holding.

"Do you want me to do anything for you tonight, sir?" Dean asked, really hoping Cas would give him at least one thing to do so he could prove himself after fucking up so royally.

"No," Cas said, shaking his head. "Enjoy your dinner," he said, then headed upstairs.

Dean sighed as he set the bag on the counter and opened the remaining box of food. He ate, standing in kitchen, then went to bed after he cleaned up.

*

Dean showered and dressed in his everyday clothes the next morning, then headed downstairs to make breakfast for Cas, but Cas was standing in the kitchen, a pen in one hand and a pad of paper in the other.

"Good morning, sir," Dean said.

Cas startled and turned to him with wide eyes. "Oh, good morning, Dean," he said. "I'm making a grocery list for Hannah. Feel free to write down anything you'd like and she'll make sure it's all delivered by tonight."

"I could do the grocery shopping," Dean said, then winced when he realized how forward that sounded. Cas blinked at him. "I mean, I can if you want me to."

"That won't be necessary," Cas said, then did a thing with his lips that might've been a forced smile. "You'll be at daycare all day, so I'll just have Hannah give the list to the grocer."

Dean's stomach clenched. "Oh, okay," he said, nervously looking around for something to do. Cas was sending him to daycare again? Rearranging the office and closet had been such horrible things to do that he needed two days of correction?

Well, that was for Cas to decide. Dean didn't have a say in it. He really was sorry, but if Cas thought he needed the lesson reinforced, then that's what would happen.

"Would you like me to make breakfast, sir?" Dean asked, forcing a smile, and hoping he was better at it than Cas.

"I already had a bagel," Cas said as he wrote on the pad of paper.

"Okay, then I'm going to go change," Dean said.

Cas either never heard him or didn't give a shit, so Dean trudged back upstairs to change into his daycare clothes.

*

Dean kept his head high again. He was upset about being sent to daycare, but that wasn't enough to make him crawl in. He was Dean Winchester.

"Hi, ma'am," Dean said to the secretary, flashing her a smile.

"Again?" she said, then rolled her eyes. "New slaves," she muttered, then picked up the phone.

Dean stood back, waiting for Ellen, but then someone else came down the hallway. It was a man. Shorter than Dean, but his presence more than took up the entire room.

"Dean?" the man asked, his dark suit out of place for the daycare center, but strangely enough looked just right on him.

"Follow me," he said, then turned to the receptionist. "I'll take lunch at twelve forty-five today."

"Yes, Mr. Crowley," the receptionist said, her polite attitude stark contrast to the attitude she'd used with Dean.

Dean followed Mr. Crowley to a different room than he'd been in the day before, but it was set up much the same way. This room was painted a light blue instead of the off white and it had a massage table in the middle of the floor instead of a padded bench.

"Strip, put your things in the basket," Mr. Crowley said as he draped his jacket over a chair near the wall and unbuttoned the sleeves of his red button-down shirt. He rolled the sleeves up, then went to the cabinets on the far wall.

"Yes, sir," Dean said.

"Mr. Novak didn't send any records down for you," Mr. Crowley said.

Dean didn't think the man was looking for a reply, so he just folded his things and put them in the basket by the door.

"Care to tell me why you've been sent to me today?" Mr. Crowley said.

Dean walked to the middle of the room, next to the massage table, and clasped his wrists behind his back. "Master Novak didn't tell me why, but I'm assuming it's for the same reason he sent me here yesterday. I took the initiative while he was away two days ago and reorganized his office and closet."

"You've done nothing since then?" Mr. Crowley asked as he turned around, a clipboard in his left hand and a pen in the other. The whole scene, even down to the way he was standing reminded Dean of Cas earlier that morning in the kitchen.

"I don't think I have," Dean said. "Master Novak just said I was coming here again today."

"All right then," Mr. Crowley said. "We'll assume he wants you punished again. We'll start off with that, then later we'll work on your etiquette. You were obviously raised in a permissive house, and that stance and attitude simply won't do," he said, waving the pen at Dean.

Dean flushed and looked down at the floor. Mr. Crowley was wright. Chuck had insisted the members of his house hold their heads high, that they exude confidence and demand respect, even when they had to be quiet. Dean knew most traditionalists didn't like it, and it was obvious Mr. Crowley was a traditionalist.

"Put your hands on the table and spread your legs, arse out," Mr. Crowley said as he made more notes on the paper, then set the clipboard down on the counter top.

Dean got into position and waited. His skin had still been a little pink that morning when he looked in the mirror. He had hoped hoping Ellen wouldn't punish him again, but it appeared he was out of luck.

"Don't break position, boy," Mr. Crowley said as he pulled something out of the cabinet and swished it through the air.

Dean looked up and had to bite his tongue. Mr. Crowley was holding a cane. He'd never been caned before, but he'd seen more than enough of it on television to know it was very painful.

"You're getting ten," Mr. Crowley said as he walked around behind Dean. "Count aloud. If you miss a number, we'll start over."

"Yes, si-ah!" Dean yelped as the first strike landed. He whimpered, his nails digging into the padding of the table. He had known it was going to hurt, but the depth of the burn surprised him. It hadn't hurt at first, but after a second or two the burn came and kept coming, flaring until finally it started to die down again.

"Count, Dean," Mr. Crowley said.

"One," Dean said, then whined as another strike landed. "Two," he said, his toes curling. He hissed as the third strike sent a flash of pain through his ass. "Three."

"You're not well-trained," Mr. Crowley said, "which is why I'm allowing the fidgeting, but if it continues, you'll be tied down and receive another ten."

"Sorry, sir," Dean said, then bit his lip as the next strike landed. "Four!" he yelled, his thighs shaking uncontrollably.

Mr. Crowley smacked the cane down on the padded massage table, making Dean flinch. He turned his head to look at Mr. Crowley and cringed. The man was angry.

"Did I not just finish telling you to behave?" Mr. Crowley said, voice eerily calm.

"Yes, sir," Dean said, nodding. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to hold still. I'm really sorry."

"I gave you a little leeway because you're untrained," Mr. Crowley said. "Then you proceed to yell at me."

Dean's eyes widened. "I didn't yell at you, sir," he said, shaking his head. "I was saying I was sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice."

Mr. Crowley stepped forward and grabbed the back of Dean's neck and leaned in close. "Do not tell me what you did or didn't do. It wasn't your apology that was shouted, but rather your counting. This is a punishment. It's supposed to hurt. You take it, you control yourself, then you respectfully tell me what number the strike is."

"I'm sorry, sir," Dean said. "I didn't know."

"Climb up on the table," Mr. Crowley said, letting go of Dean's neck and patting the table with his left hand. "I don't think you'll stay in position and I'm sick of dealing with your attitude."

Dean's bottom lip was wobbling, but he did as he was told. "I'm sorry, sir," he said again. He knew without asking that Mr. Crowley was going to give him another ten strikes.

Mr. Crowley strapped him down to the table with four strips of padded leather. There was one at each knee, one at his lower back, and one at his upper back. Dean put his forehead down on the table and told himself to keep quiet. Or at least keep whatever came out of his mouth down to noises. He didn't want to know what would happen if he swore around Mr. Crowley.

"No need to count," Mr. Crowley said, then laid down the first strike.

By the time Mr. Crowley's cane delivered the fourth strike, Dean was crying, and by the eighth, he was squirming and kicking, unable to control his legs.

"I'm sorry!" Dean yelled, even though he'd told himself he wouldn't. "I'm sorry, sir! I won't do it again! I'm sorry!" he screamed as the last two strikes were laid down, then he sobbed into the table.

Mr. Crowley released the bindings, then dropped a hand towel on the table near Dean's head. "I'll be back in five minutes. Don't move. When I return, we'll start with your training."

Dean put the hand towel over his face and allowed himself a few minutes of crying, feeling sorry for himself. He missed home. He missed knowing exactly where he was in life and what he needed to do. He missed Bobby and Lisa. He missed Chuck, missed Missouri. He missed his mom. He missed getting visits from Sam when Sarah brought him along to discuss business with Chuck. He missed driving himself places and feeling like a responsible adult. He missed knowing what was expected of him.

*

Dean's nose was in the corner for the fourth time. Apparently the answer to "what's for dinner?" wasn't "what would you like?" That's what got him sent to the corner. Corner time was so he could think about what he did wrong, but Dean had no clue what he'd done wrong, and Mr. Crowley was going to come back to the room soon, which meant Dean had to think fast.

"Front and center," Mr. Crowley said, voice stern and really too loud for the room they were in.

Dean was moving before Mr. Crowley was done speaking. He walked with urgency, but didn't run. That was what got him sent to the corner about an hour earlier. When he made it to where Mr. Crowley was standing, he kept his eyes on the floor, put his hands behind his back, and kept his voice calm and respectful.

Of course he still had to think of something to say. "Um, I've prepared a steak and mashed potatoes, sir," Dean said, suddenly remembering a seemingly meaningless comment Mr. Crowley had made a few hours back.

"I knew there was an intelligent man somewhere in there," Mr. Crowley said.

Dean blushed. It was the most praise he'd received from Mr. Crowley all day, and he felt like a fool for soaking it up as much needed attention, but he couldn't help it. He was starved for it.

"Now get your clothes on," Mr. Crowley said. "Mr. Novak is heading down the lift and he'll want to leave right away."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, so relieved he felt like crying.

He'd lived. He'd spent the entire day with Mr. Crowley and he'd lived. Now he could go home and try to prove to Cas he'd learned from his mistake and Cas wouldn't ever need to send him back here again.

Cas looked tired. His tie was already loose, there was a stain on the left side of his jacket, and his hair was even messier than when he'd left that morning. He looked debauched in a way that made Dean's cock twitch. Okay, so that was new. He hadn't realized Cas was hot before.

"I'm too tired to wait for something," Cas said as they walked out of the building. "I called the pizza place down the street from the house and it should be there a few minutes after we arrive."

Dean hadn't eaten lunch, and his stomach growled the whole way home. At first he was worried Cas would notice and give him a hard time for it, but then he remembered Cas never noticed anything. He was too busy reading over something on his tablet.

Dean could barely sit still. The welts from the cane were still sore, but when he'd used the restroom earlier, he'd taken a look in the mirror. Mr. Crowley was very good. There was no blood, just painful lines of red, raised skin.

"I'm going to eat in my office tonight," Cas said as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and one of the boxes of pizza. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Dean really hoped that meant the second pizza was his. He took the box and a soda from the fridge and made his way upstairs, his clothes rubbing painfully over his sore skin. He ate on his stomach, spread out on the bed with a book in front of him.

Hopefully Wednesday would be a better day.

*

Dean held his head high yet again as he walked into the daycare center. The secretary snorted when she saw him.

"Really?" she said, then rolled her eyes. "You aren't too fast on the uptake, are you?"

Dean didn't bother replying. He just stood to the side and waited for his caretaker. He really hoped Ellen would walk down the hallway, but it was Mr. Crowley.

"Come," Mr. Crowley said impatiently.

The only reason Dean was able to follow Mr. Crowley was because he was too afraid not to.

*

Friday morning hadn't come soon enough. Dean didn't even bother changing into his regular clothes, but instead came downstairs in his daycare outfit. He was never going to organize anything of Cas' ever again. He'd volunteer to un-organize things if he could.

Cas wanted to leave early, so they didn't even have a chance to eat before they were leaving.

"Damn, boy," the secretary said, shaking her head.

Dean got the feeling the girl had started to feel sorry for him instead of just disgusted.

"Hey, sweetheart," Ellen said from the hallway before the secretary even had a chance to call.

"Hi, ma'am," Dean said, trying his best to not get his hopes up. Just because she was standing there, it didn't mean she was going to be his caretaker for the day. Dean found that out Thursday when someone new came down the hallway, but they'd been on their way home, Mr. Crowley walking out only seconds later.

"Rough week?" she asked as she waved him back.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, his eyes burning with tears.

Dean came to a stop at the room he knew to be her correction room, but she kept on going, so he hurried to follow her. He was a little nervous, but when she opened the door to her office, he relaxed.

He didn't bother waiting for her to ask him. He just started undressing. He folded his clothes and put them next to the door, then stood in the middle of the room while she pulled out his chart and looked it over.

"All right, c'mon over here," she said, gesturing to the floor in front of her. She pulled out some surgical gloves and put them on, then grabbed a tube of something from the drawer. "Turn around and put your chest down on the counter."

Dean's eyes widened, and he tried to see what she was holding in her hand, but then she chuckled, and he looked her in the eye, blushing.

"Mr. Crowley tends to be very thorough in his punishments," Ellen said, then held up the tube. "This is to help with the pain."

"Sorry, ma'am," Dean said, the blush spreading to his ears and neck.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Ellen said, patting his arm.

Dean leaned over, resting his chest on the counter top and relaxing as she walked around behind him.

"A pillow isn't gonna do a damn thing for this," Ellen said.

Dean hissed as she started applying the ointment. He bit his lip and closed his eyes. It didn't hurt that badly, but the whole situation had him on edge.

"Did you talk to him yet?" Ellen asked.

"No, ma'am," Dean replied. "He's always busy."

Ellen snorted. "Yeah, he's always busy. That was my point the other day. He's never going to not be busy. Which is why you've gotta take the initiative."

"Like I did when I organized his office?" Dean asked, then winced when he realized he'd been kind of snarky.

Ellen finished putting the ointment on and took off the gloves, dropping them in the garbage. "You have to know what you're allowed to do and what you're not allowed to do. He's never had a slave before, and because he's too stuck in his own head, he never learned how to treat one properly. He probably doesn't even know he's supposed to tell you what to do. And if he does and he's just testing you, then talking to him is gonna get you there faster. Hiding from it isn't going to solve the problem."

Dean stood up. "My ass hurts," he complained. "If I try to get him to talk and he doesn't like it...," he said, then trailed off.

Ellen chuckled. "That's a risk, but so is leaving things the way they are."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said.

"Okay, we're going to do things a little differently today," she said. "I'm not going to punish you."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it. He'd been about to argue with a caretaker.

"I get to decide what happens to you while you're here," Ellen said. "If he doesn't like the way I handle you, he can do it himself or request a different caretaker."

Dean's stomach clenched. That wasn't what he was worried about. He was worried about Ellen getting fired. He like Ellen. And if she was gone, he'd probably be handled by Mr. Crowley.

"You're gonna help me rearrange the storage room," she said, then walked out of her office.

Dean followed her, nearly tripping over his own feet. By the time they made it to the storage room, he'd half convinced himself she was joking. But then he saw the room and changed his mind. It was a mess.

"Is this a punishment?" Dean asked, looking around the mess of a room.

"This," she said, putting her hands on her hips, "is so you can feel like you accomplished something really great this week."

Dean's eyes started to burn again. She must've known that's all he wanted, was to do something he knew he should do, work hard at it, and be able to say he'd done something well.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said.

"Or maybe it's just an excuse to get you all sweaty," Ellen said, shrugging.

Dean let out a bark of laughter when she smirked at him.

*

Dean had been worried that weekends would be spent at the office too, but Saturday morning found Cas busy at his desk in the upstairs office, stacks of books everywhere, papers strewn about on the floor, and filing cabinets open.

It was a complete mess, but now that Dean was looking, it was a completely different mess than the other day. Whatever system Cas had, it was of his own making, and he watched as Cas moved around the room confidently, grabbing books without even looking at them, shuffling papers, and making notes.

"Sir?" Dean said.

"Yah!" Cas yelped as he spun around.

"Sorry," Dean said, wincing.

"Oh, Dean, hi," Cas said.

"I was just checking to see if you'd like me to bring you some breakfast," Dean said.

"Um, well," Cas said, frowning down at his book. When he met Dean's eyes again, there was a tinge to his cheeks. "I really liked the eggs you made the other day. Would you mind making those again?"

"Dad taught me how to make eggs," he said, smiling. "You want anything besides the eggs?"

"Toast," Cas said. "With strawberry jam. And some orange juice."

"Okay," Dean said with a nod, "I'll bring it up in a few minutes."

"Thank you," Cas said, already flipping through the book again.

*

Dean didn't see Cas much the rest of the day, so when it came time for dinner, Dean made his way upstairs to see if Cas wanted to eat again.

"Sir?" he said, but then he saw a mess of hair on the desk. He walked in, quietly making his way to the desk and smiled when he saw Cas had fallen asleep, face smashed against his left arm.

Dean looked around for a pillow or blanket, but didn't see any, so he went to Cas' room and grabbed the throw from Cas' overstuffed chair. He draped it over Cas' shoulders, then left him alone.

*

The next morning Dean showered and headed downstairs to start breakfast, but Cas was already in his suit and tie, briefcase in hand.

"Let's get breakfast on the way," Cas said. "Go upstairs and change into your clothes for daycare. You pick where we eat."

Dean froze. He thought things had been going well. Cas hadn't seemed upset by anything in days, even though Dean had still been sent to daycare. Did he do something else? What the fuck had he done?

"Sir?" Dean said, his chest getting tight.

"Yes?" Cas said, setting his briefcase on the kitchen counter.

"I...," Dean started, but couldn't figure out what to say.

His eyes were burning and his throat was closing. His stomach suddenly felt so fluttery he was worried he might throw up. He couldn't take another week of daycare.

"I'm sorry," Dean said, his bottom lip quivering and a tear making its way down his right cheek. "I'm really sorry I screwed up last week, but I promise I won't do it again," he said, wiping at his face.

Cas turned to him, his eyes widening as he took Dean in. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I don't know," Dean said, shaking his head. "I don't know what I did wrong, but I'm sorry. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it. If I'm doing something wrong, just please tell me. I'll stop. Anything," he said, sniffling.

"You're not doing anything wrong," Cas said, holding his hands out to his sides as if he had no clue what was going on.

Dean let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a humorless chuckle. "I must be doing something wrong. It's okay. You can tell me."

Cas frowned at him, his head tilted to the side. "Why do you think you're doing something wrong?"

"I know you sent me to daycare all last week because I reorganized your office without permission," Dean said, blurting it out so fast he wasn't even sure if Cas would understand his words. "But I don't know what I did this week, or I don't know, maybe I'm still in trouble for messing with your office and closet, but I promise I'll never do it again. I'm sorry. Please don't send me back!"

Cas opened his mouth, tilted his head the other way, then closed his mouth. The frown deepened. "You don't like going to daycare?" he asked, nothing but confusion in his tone of voice.

Dean felt like the biggest asshole ever. He had no idea what Cas was going to do to him now. He should've never brought it up. "I'm sorry. It's a nice place. Yes, I like it." He was a slave. He had no say where he went. He should've been happy he wasn't being sold off to another family.

"People normally don't cry and beg not to be taken somewhere when they like the place they're going," Cas said, obviously trying to figure him out.

Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry. I never should've said anything. I'll go get ready. I'm sorry," he said and started for the stairs.

Cas reached out and grabbed Dean's left forearm. "Stop," he said, and Dean obeyed. "Tell me why you don't like it. And don't beat around the bush. I don't like trying to figure people out. I suck at it."

Dean wiped more tears from his face and took a deep breath to calm himself down. "The caretakers are great, the place is clean and very nice," Dean said.

"But...," Cas prompted.

"But I've already had five days of correction," Dean said, wincing because he couldn't refuse to answer, but he knew Cas wouldn't like the answer. "And I don't know what I'm doing to earn all of it."

"What do you mean correction?" Cas said.

Dean felt himself blush, but Chuck had always asked about his punishments at the house, so he should've been used to it by now. "The first day it was a paddling, the second and third day I was caned...," he started, but stopped when Cas sputtered.

"What?!" Cas said, letting go of Dean's arm and stepping back. "What are you talking about?"

Dean's eyes widened. "Did you want them to do something else? They told me you hadn't given any instructions, so they just used the implements they were used to."

"No!" Cas said, shaking his head, holding his hands up. "Wait a minute! Just wait a minute! I sent you to daycare, not a courthouse!"

Dean had no idea what to say to that, so he just kinda stood there and stared at Cas. Why was the man so upset?

"I didn't tell them to punish you!" Cas said, his voice getting louder. "Why would they do that?!"

Dean looked at Cas, at his Master, as if he'd grown another head. "That's what daycare centers are for," he said, face screwing up in confusion.

Cas ran his fingers through his hair, making it look even more disheveled than before. "No! Daycare centers are to care for you during the day! That's why it's called a daycare!"

"Oh, fuck," Dean breathed, jaw dropping.

"Are you telling me that's not what a daycare center is for?!" Cas said, arms out to the side again.

Dean shook his head. "They're for correction. When your slave isn't behaving as they should and you don't have time or patience to deal with them, you send them there for a day to correct them."

"A day? As in one day?!" Cas said, eyes getting impossibly wider.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, that's all it usually takes. I've never been to one before, but that's what I've heard."

"Oh, my God," Cas said, rubbing his hands over his face. "I sent you to a correctional facility for five fucking days!" he moaned into his hands.

Dean's head felt like it was going to spin off his neck. "You didn't know that's what they were for," he said, mostly to himself, because any minute it was going to sink in, but it hadn't yet. He'd spent five days getting his ass beat for nothing. Oh, there, yes, it had set in.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," Cas said, shaking his head, a stricken expression on his face. He growled as he slammed his hand down on the counter. "I told Chuck I didn't want a slave. I can't do this! I have no idea what to do with you! And I've just spent the last five days dropping you off at a correctional facility thinking you were spending the day doing arts and crafts or reading or playing board games!"

Dean didn't know what to say. He was relieved. It was a huge relief to know that Cas hadn't been pissed with him the whole week. Sure, it was horrible having gotten his ass beat for five days, but the reason he'd started crying had been because he'd been under the impression this was going to be a regular thing. Cas' reaction shot that idea right out of the water.

"Let me see," Cas said, taking another step back.

"Huh?" Dean said.

"I want to see what they did to you," Cas said, voice cold.

Dean nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, responding to the order. He turned around and dropped his jeans and underwear just enough to show his ass, wincing when the material scraped over his sore skin.

"Come with me," Cas said, grabbing Dean's left wrist and pulling.

Dean held onto his jeans and underwear with his right hand as Cas pulled him upstairs and into the master bedroom, then into the master bathroom.

"Are you allergic anything?" Cas asked as he opened up his medicine cabinet.

"No, sir," Dean said, confused as to what was going on.

"This is going to sting when I first put it on," Cas said as he pulled a small tube out of the medicine cabinet. "It's a formula I came up with a few years ago and have been pushing to get it on the market, but it's being held back by money hungry pharmaceutical companies. It'll heal your skin five times faster than anything else on the market right now."

"Um, okay," Dean said, shrugging.

"Bend over," he said, gesturing toward the sink.

Dean did as he was told, letting go of his jeans and underwear. Cas opened the tube and squirted some of the gel onto his fingers, then put the tube on the counter. He rested his left hand on Dean's back.

"This is going to burn a lot," Cas said, "but I promise it's not damaging you."

"Okay," Dean said, then closed his eyes as Cas rubbed the cool gel into his heated skin. He hissed as the gel started to burn. "Oh, fuck, you weren't kidding," he said, squirming.

"Let it dry," Cas said as he patted Dean's back.

Dean stood up straight, eyes watering as the burn intensified. "Ah, fuck, Cas, it really fuckin' hurts," he groaned as he reached around behind himself.

"Don't touch!" Cas said.

"Fuck," Dean whimpered, holding his hands out to his sides so he wasn't tempted to touch. "When does it stop? Fuck, Cas, when does it stop?"

Cas put the tube back into the medicine cabinet and turned around, a concerned look on his face. "About twenty more seconds."

"Ow," Dean whined, his hands balled into fists. "Oh, yeah," he moaned as the burn finally subsided. "Oh, that's so much better."

Cas smiled. It was the first time Dean had seen him really smile. "It works, doesn't it," he said instead of asked, proud of himself.

Dean chuckled. "If I still have an ass left after that, then yes, it works because it doesn't hurt at all."

"You're fine," Cas said, smirking.

Dean wiped the remaining tears from his face and chuckled again. "You might wanna think about adding some lidocaine to that gel," he said.

Cas' eyes widened. "Oh! I hadn't even thought of that!" he said, then ran from the room. Actually ran.

Dean stood there for a moment, blinking, then he snorted and pulled his jeans and underwear up. The material touching his skin didn't hurt at all. In fact, he couldn't feel anything against his ass. He made his way to Cas' office, expecting him to be furiously making notes, and he wasn't disappointed.

"I take it you liked my idea?" Dean asked.

"Lidocaine won't work," Cas said, glancing up at him, "but I had been so focused on healing the skin and stopping the pain from the injury that I hadn't even considered adding something to ease the initial pain of the gel working on the skin."

Dean chuckled. Cas looked genuinely excited. And it was because Dean helped him with a breakthrough, he'd done some good.

"So does this mean I don't have to go to daycare today?" Dean asked with a smirk.

"Oh!" Cas said, dropping the book on the floor and stumbling over to Dean, the books already on the floor making his way difficult. He took hold of Dean's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "I swear to you I didn't know that's what daycare was for. If I would've known, I never would've sent you."

Dean nodded, smiling. "I kinda got that when you freaked out downstairs," he said.

"I'm new to this," Cas said, his cheeks turning pink. "I'm not good with people. Which you've already gathered. But I also really don't like the idea of someone depending on me, especially when something like this could happen because of an oversight on my part."

Dean nodded. "I get ya. But Chuck seems to think I should stay here."

Cas grimaced. "Chuck needs to mind his own business," he said petulantly.

Dean chuckled. "And other than getting sent to daycare, I've enjoyed living here. You've got a really nice place, you eat anything I make you, and the few times I've been able to get your attention, you've been nice to me."

Cas blushed again, suddenly realizing his hands were still on Dean's shoulders and dropping them to his sides. "I really like what you did with my closet," he said.

"Seriously?" Dean said.

Cas nodded. "And I noticed you cleaned out my fridge."

Dean snorted. "You had some food in there that was older than this house."

Cas smiled, then he sobered a bit. "I'm really sorry about the whole daycare situation."

"It's okay," Dean said. "You didn't know. And please don't fire the people that work there. They were only doing their jobs."

"They won't be fired," Cas said. "But the daycare will be getting a makeover. It's going to be re-purposed into what I thought it was all these years."

Dean chuckled. "Like a daycare daycare?"

"Yes," Cas said. "I know the place slaves have in society, and I know it can't be changed overnight, but the idea of a correctional facility being run right inside my building is unacceptable. And if I send you there, I want it to be a place where you can do something positive as an alternative to being stuck in the house all day."

"That sounds like a great idea," Dean said with a nod.

"So I have no idea what to do with you," Cas said, throwing his hands up in the air. Dean laughed. "I'm open to suggestions and I want you to be honest with me. Chuck has always spoken very highly of you, and I want you to be happy here."

"Well," Dean said, trying to imagine himself in Cas' place, having never owned a slave, not really any clue as to what they did, "I can do your grocery shopping, you already know I cook and clean, and you've got a laundry room downstairs I could use."

Cas frowned. "But then you'd just be a...," he started, then made a noise of disgust. "No, I want to know what you want to do. I've hired people to cook and clean and do my grocery shopping. I pay them well."

"I'm a slave," Dean said, shrugging. "There's nothing you can do to stop that right now."

Cas let out a humorless laugh. "That doesn't mean I have to treat my slave like dirt. If you're mine, I can do whatever I want with you. And I want you to enjoy your life."

"I do," Dean said. "I know I'm a good cook, and I get a kick out of people looking forward to what I'm gonna make next. I like that my owners can leave the house a mess, but then come home from a hard day at work to a clean house."

"Okay," Cas said, holding his hands out to his sides. "We're getting nowhere with this, and it's only frustrating me."

"Sorry," Dean said, wincing.

"No, don't be sorry," Cas said, then sighed, shoulders dropping. "I'm sure Chuck has told you I'm not good with people. And you've seen that in your first week here. I can't think of what to say to you. I can't figure out how to get what I want the way most people do. My brain doesn't work that way."

Dean shrugged. "So do it the way you normally do. You're a successful guy, so you're doing something right."

Cas scrunched up his nose. "It's only because people depend on and want what I can give them, not because I'm charming and tactful."

"You're an inventor and a genius," Dean said. "Invent a way to do what you want with me."

Cas frowned again, but Dean could see the wheels turning already. And Dean could also immediately see when Cas figured it out.

"Go downstairs and cook your favorite meal," Cas said. "If the ingredients aren't here, go out and get them."

"My favorite meal is-"

"No!" Cas said, holding up his hands and waving them in Dean's face. "Don't tell me what it is."

"But what if you don't like it?" Dean asked, a ball of anxiety growing in his stomach.

"I'm not a picky eater," Cas said, shrugging.

"Yes, you are," Dean said, not too sure if he could disagree with his master, but figuring it was okay.

"Pretend I'm not," Cas said, a little tug at the left corner of his mouth that almost seemed like a smile wanting to come out. "Pretend I'm going to love whatever it is you love. Make it, then come back up here and pick out a book to read until it's dinner time."

"Which ones can I pick from?" Dean asked, glancing around the room.

"Any of them," Cas said, tossing his hands out to his sides. "Even if they're on my desk, the floor, or in my bedroom."

"Yes, sir," Dean said.

"And call me Cas, not sir," Cas said.

"Yes, Cas."

Cas sighed, frustrated. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Don't be so formal. Say 'okay' or 'sure' or, I don't know, 'fuck you, I don't wanna do that.'"

Dean tried not to smile, but Cas was adorable when he was frustrated. "Okay," he said. "When do you want me to start dinner?"

"Anytime you want," Cas said, then turned and picked his book up off the floor.

Chuck had given Dean a lot of wiggle room in his house, but Dean had grown up there, he knew what was expected of him, knew what Chuck liked and didn't like, so his freedoms in the house weren't scary, uncharted territory. This was an unknown. Even though Cas had told him to do whatever he wanted, it was a little worrying. He wanted something to go on. Some kind of order or even an inkling of what Cas would like.

Cas was already settling behind the desk, spreading books out in front of him, and it was clear that he was so engrossed in his reading that he'd forgotten Dean was still in the room.

Dean stood there for a moment, his stomach churning, his ass comfortably numb for the first time in days as he nervously played with the hem of his shirt.

And then it came to him. The files that Ellen had let him look through. No, they didn't have Cas' favorite foods in there, but he did know that Cas had gone through five grocery handlers in the last thirteen months, and that the latest one was good at his job, had many good reviews in his references about the fact that he got exactly what his clients wanted, never substituting requests, which meant everything in Cas' cupboards right now was exactly what Cas wanted.

Dean headed downstairs, steps purposeful and feeling more confident than he had since he got to Cas' house.

*

Dean had chosen a book at random, and it was boring the Hell out of him. Cas would probably let him choose another book, but he didn't want to annoy the man. Cas had a pile of books on the right edge of his desk, another pile on the floor to the left that he'd tripped over about five separate times, and somewhere around ten books strewn about the top of his desk.

"Hah!" Cas blurted about an hour and a half after Dean had started dinner.

Dean startled so badly he nearly fell off the couch. Cas had been muttering the whole time, shuffling about, shoving books around, but he hadn't made a loud noise since Dean had gone downstairs. He looked up at Cas, but smiled when he realized Cas had found his breakthrough and was typing furiously on his laptop, a half-smirk on his face that said Cas was very happy about whatever he'd figured out.

After checking the clock, Dean set his really boring book down on the couch and went downstairs. Dinner should've almost been ready, and Dean started in on a salad, complete with carrot shavings, celery chunks, grated cheese, tomatoes, and croutons he'd baked in the oven after finding a loaf of bread in the breadbox that was just a little too old to be used as a sandwich.

He mixed his own vinaigrette and dished up the salad, baked chicken, herb potatoes, and the broccoli he'd steamed. He shoved a beer into each of his pockets, then headed upstairs with a plate in each hand.

"Dinner," Dean said as he walked into the office.

Cas looked up, smiled, then cleared some space on his desk. "Sit with me at the desk," he said, gesturing to the spot he'd cleared across from him.

"Okay," Dean said, setting the plates down and grabbing the stool from next to a bookcase on his right. He sat down and looked up at Cas, freezing when he saw the frown. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Cas pointed at his own plate. "This is one of my favorite meals, not yours."

"I like baked chicken," Dean said, shrugging.

"But you don't like salads," Cas said, pointing at the offending food, "and herb potatoes aren't on your list of favorite foods."

Dean let out a huff of laughter. "I don't have a list of favorite foods."

Cas sighed. "You're good at obeying your masters, so I'm going to say this once, and I really don't want to repeat myself."

"Okay," Dean said, nodding.

"Do not lie to me," Cas said.

"I...," Dean started, but couldn't finish. Because it really wasn't his favorite meal. Everything had been what he knew Cas liked.

"It's hard enough for me to figure people out," Cas said, "and when they lie, it makes things so much more difficult for me."

"Sorry," Dean said, running his finger over the design on his fork.

"I emailed a few requests to Chuck's staff," Cas said, nodding toward his laptop, "and Missouri sent me a list of your favorites."

Dean felt his face flush. "Oh."

"I don't want to treat you like a slave," Cas said. "I don't agree with slavery, I want it to have never existed, but that doesn't mean I have a problem with you. I want you to be happy."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

"After emailing your mother and Missouri, and after speaking with Chuck, I've decided on a plan of action for you," Cas said, straightening up in his chair.

Dean really wanted to know what everyone had said about him. He knew it wasn't anything bad. He really had been a good slave and there had been very few complaints over the years. Those few complaints had been from people who thought slaves should be seen and not heard, and Chuck didn't want that, so really it wasn't Dean's fault anyway.

"If I ask you to cook a meal that is nothing but your favorites," Cas said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the desk, "then I want you to do that. Don't second guess me, don't cook what you think I want, and don't lie to me about it."

"Okay," Dean said, nodding.

"Everyone I contacted said spanking works very well for you," Cas said.

Dean's eyes widened. "Uhm, yeah. It does," he admitted, his face flushing again.

Cas nodded. "A lie will earn you a spanking. And I consider obfuscation a lie."

Dean squirmed on the stool. "Okay," he said, nodding.

"I'm not going to spank you this time," Cas said, "because I hadn't made the rules clear. Are they clear now?"

"Yes, si-Cas. Yes, Cas," he said.

"Thank you for making a meal for us," Cas said with a small smile. "I would've liked to enjoy a meal with you that were your favorites, but I appreciate the effort, and it smells delicious."

"Thanks," Dean said, waiting for Cas to start in his food before starting in on his own. "I'm sorry, Cas."

Cas shook his head. "You've already apologized. I consider it forgiven. We'll move on from here."

"Okay," Dean said, relieved. "Thanks."

"I can't change what you are," Cas said, his voice softer than Dean had ever heard it. "I wish I could, and I wish you were just a houseguest here, someone that enjoyed living with me, someone who raided the kitchen to get a snack for themselves and didn't care if I was fed or not, someone who left wet towels on the bathroom floor and wasn't scared they'd be sold off for doing it. But I can't change the way the world works yet, and I don't know how to change the way you feel about it."

"Chuck was a casual owner, not a traditionalist," Dean said. "You know that. He allowed all of us more freedoms than most people are comfortable with, but I'm still a slave. I'm still here to serve you."

"No, you're not," Cas said. "Chuck may have sent you here, but being my slave wasn't his intention and it isn't mine. Once you realize that, I hope you'll be happier here."

"I am happy," Dean said as he munched on a chunk of potato. "Your house is really nice, you've been really nice to me, and I can see that you aren't like most slave owners."

"I know it's ingrained in you," Cas said, "but I'm serious about the lying."

"I didn't li-"

"You're not happy here," Cas said. "I'm not very good at reading people, but you've been taken away from your family, the house you grew up in, the owner you loved and adored, and you've spent the last week being punished in a correctional facility only to come home every night to an owner you can't figure out."

"Let me rephrase it," Dean said. "I'm not unhappy."

"Okay," Cas said, nodding.

"I don't know where I stand with you," Dean admitted. "And I'm the type of guy who likes to know his boundaries. I need to know what's expected of me, and when I can perform, I feel right, I feel like I belong."

Cas frowned, staring off into the distance for a moment. Dean nearly laughed, because it was the same expression he'd had on his face when he'd been thinking about the formula he'd put on Dean's ass. Within just a few seconds, Cas had his solution, and his eyes brightened.

"For every task you do for me, you must do something you want to do," Cas said triumphantly.

Dean chuckled. "Okay."

"That way you'll feel that sense of accomplishment and you'll feel as if you've earned the right to do something you like doing," Cas said, pleased with his plan.

"Sounds good to me," Dean said, nodding.

"You've already done something for me," Cas said, gesturing toward his plate, "so once we're done with dinner, you're going to do one thing you want to do. And it can't be for me, even if it's what you want to do. Understood?"

Dean winced. "Yes."

"It'll be hard at first," Cas said, "but humans adapt quickly, and you're a smart man."

Dean huffed out a laugh. "Who told you that?" he said, shaking his head. "I'm not smart."

Cas smirked. "I won't consider that a lie because you really believe it, but I don't tolerate idiots, and I'm more than happy to have you in my home, which means you're not just of average intelligence. Otherwise I'd be bored and agitated around you."

Dean smiled, because it was just such an odd thing to say, but at the same time Dean got it now that he'd been in Cas' house for a few days. He saw that Cas just couldn't handle ignorance or things that didn't make sense. In his own way, Cas was complimenting him. It felt good.

"Once you're done doing the thing you want to do," Cas said, shoving the skin of his chicken to the edge of his plate, "I want you to order some clothing online. You may use my laptop. No less than five complete outfits and two pairs of shoes. All of which will be what you want to wear, not what you think I want you to wear."

"What about when I leave the house?" Dean asked, thinking of all the times he'd been given strange looks from slave owners simply because he'd been out on his own, and if he'd been walking around in jeans and a T-shirt, it would've been worse.

"No one has to know you're a slave outside the house," Cas said, shrugging. "You've been a fairly independent person under Chuck, and if you walk around in clothing you want to wear, using your own cash and credit cards with your name on them, the only way someone will figure it out is if they ask for your ID."

"I don't know, Cas," Dean said, wincing.

"It's not illegal," Cas said. "There are plenty of slave owners who don't have the time to micromanage their slaves, especially wealthy slave owners. The slaves are given credit cards, cash, and some of them even are assigned vehicles for their own use."

"I don't want you to get in trouble," Dean said.

"Let me worry about that," Cas said. "Your behavior has been outstanding, according to Chuck, and I'm not worried in the least that you'll cause trouble for me. If you do, I have the money, resources, lawyers, and tenacity to get the both of us out of whatever you get us into. Most of the time I end up getting the better end of the deal anyway, so if anyone realizes who owns you, they'll most likely figure it's better to never fight me on it in the first place."

Dean chuckled. "You seem pretty sure of yourself."

Cas shrugged. "I am."

"Okay," Dean said, nodding. "Can I ask something?"

"Yes," Cas said, giving him his full attention.

"Is there anything you don't want me to do?" Dean asked.

"Ah, yes," Cas said, nodding. "You need boundaries to feel comfortable."

"Yeah," Dean said, smiling.

"Inform me before you make purchases of more than one thousand US dollars, inform me of any damages to personal or public property should anything happen," Cas said, ticking each item off on a finger, "stand up for yourself whenever anyone, including me, does or says something you're not comfortable with or violates your state-given rights and the rights given to you by me, tell me the truth, tell me if you want or need something, and enjoy your life here."

"Is that all?" Dean asked, smirking.

"Yes," Cas said, nodding as if he didn't realize Dean had been joking. And he probably didn't.

"One more question," Dean said.

"Okay."

"What rules do you have for me when it comes to sex?" Dean asked.

Cas sat there, staring at Dean as if the thought had never occurred to him before. "Oh, uhm, well, you can have it," he said, nodding.

Dean snorted with laughter, then sobered when he saw the confused look on Cas' face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed. I meant how do you want me to serve you sexually."

Cas' face scrunched up into a look of disgust. "I don't!"

"Oh," Dean said, sitting back a little because Cas just looked so upset that Dean wished he hadn't said anything about it.

"I'm sorry," Cas said, waving his fork at Dean. "I'm not upset with you. I don't agree with slavery anyway, and I try not to think about the fact that owners have the right to sexual favors from their slaves."

"Oh, well, if you don't want me to mention it ever again, I won't," Dean said, shrugging.

"No, I...," Cas started, then shook his head. "You can have sex with anyone you want to have sex with, although I'd suggest you don't advertise that fact or you'll anger some slave owners. Again, if anyone has a problem with you, I'll fix it with no consequences for you unless you break a law or any of the rules I've given you."

"Okay, but what about you?" Dean asked.

Cas scrunched his nose up. It was adorable. "I don't like sex," he said, shaking his head. "It's messy and people like to play mind games. I don't like that."

Dean smiled. "Well, part of owning a sla-"

"No!" Cas said, shaking his head. "I'm not going to be using you."

Dean chuckled. "You didn't let me finish. Calm down," he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

"I'm sorry. Go ahead," Cas said, nodding at Dean.

"I really like sex," Dean said. "I'll take it almost any way I can get it, I don't play mind games, and you're kinda hot with this whole professor, genius, mysterious, rich dude vibe, so it wouldn't be a hardship on my part."

"I can take care of myself," Cas said, "but thank you for the offer."

Dean couldn't stop grinning as he finished up his potatoes. Cas was flushed and stabbing at his chicken like it had offended him. "Hey, what if sex is one of the things I want after I've done something for you?"

Cas glared at him. "I can order you a prostitute if you want."

Dean hid his smile behind the bottle of beer. He didn't think he'd ever heard someone say they were going to 'order' a prostitute. It sounded adorable coming from Cas.

"No, I've never needed to pay for sex," Dean said, shrugging. "A few people have offered to pay me."

Cas choked on his beer.

*

Dean wanted to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen. He really wanted to. But he'd been told to do something that wasn't for Cas. But cleaning up the kitchen would make Dean's job easier next time he had to cook, so really it wasn't just for Cas. Right?

"This sucks," Dean grumbled as he stood in the kitchen, holding a bottle of dish soap. "Can't just fuckin' tell me what to do."

He looked around the kitchen, searching for something he could do that would seem like it was just for him, and then he nearly kicked himself when he realized he could just clean the fucking kitchen and worry about the rest later. Cas was so busy, so interested in his research that he probably wouldn't even ask.

Twenty minutes later the kitchen was spotless, and since it was getting late, Dean decided to do a quick visual check of the house, then see if Cas needed anything before he went to bed.

Cas was still at his desk, and Dean wondered if the man's ass was sore from sitting there so long.

"You need anything before I go to bed?" Dean asked as he walked up to the desk.

Cas looked up at him, blinking, dazed for a moment as he pulled himself out of his own head. "Ah, no. I'm fine for tonight. Thank you."

"Okay, well I'm headed to bed," Dean said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Cas said, smiling before he started typing again on his laptop.

"Goodnight," Dean said, then turned around.

"Oh, what did you do for yourself after you made me dinner?" Cas asked just as Dean got to the doorway.

"I watched some TV," Dean said, turning to look at Cas.

"The one in the living room?" Cas asked.

"That's the one," Dean said, thinking himself very quick on his feet for having noticed the TV downstairs and pulling that idea out of his ass.

"The one that's not hooked up to anything?" Cas asked.

Dean realized he'd been too quick on congratulating himself for a lie well-told. "Uhm, yeah, I didn't," he said, wincing and reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. "I cleaned the kitchen. I didn't watch TV."

Cas closed his laptop and stood up, stretching. Dean caught a glimpse of the man's lower stomach as he raised his arms above his head. Cas finished his long stretch, then headed for Dean. "Come with me," he said as he took Dean by the hand and led him down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

"Cas, I'm sorry," Dean said. He wasn't trying to get out of punishment. He felt bad. Cas was trying to give him freedoms, but Dean wanted something different.

Cas pulled him into his bedroom, then let go of him, walking to a smaller linen closet that Dean hadn't gotten into because it had been locked. Cas opened it with a key from his pocket and Dean nearly pissed his pants.

"Oh, shit," he hissed as he caught a good view of more BDSM equipment than he'd ever seen shoved into such a small space.

It was organized, a place for everything, and there was a good variety of stuff. Cas pulled a small paddle out and shut the door before Dean could categorize everything, but in that time he saw a ball gag, a hood, three different-sized floggers, padded cuffs, and a long length of rope.

Cas turned around, a determined expression on his face. Dean's brain finally registered the paddle in Cas' right hand after the shock of seeing all that equipment. It was oval-shaped, no thicker than a hairbrush, and about six inches long, not including the handle.

"Get on the bed, face down and near the edge," Cas said, using the paddle to point at the bed. "Push your pants and underwear down to your knees."

Dean got into position, no hesitation. He wanted to be good for Cas, and he knew he'd fucked up.

"I'm spanking you because you lied," Cas said, "not because you cleaned the kitchen or couldn't figure out what to do with your free time."

Dean crossed his arms and used them as a pillow, pushing his face into them. "Sorry, Cas," he said, not quite sure how Cas knew Dean couldn't even figure out what to do instead of just assuming he'd shrugged it off.

He had no idea what was going to happen. The healing gel Cas had put on was still making his ass numb, and he didn't think he'd feel anything Cas did to his ass.

The first strike had Dean clenching his ass cheeks, but it had come down on his right thigh, not his ass. Cas knew what he was doing, that much was obvious. The pain was spread evenly, which meant Cas had good aim, and it hurt without being severe enough to break the skin.

"I like figuring things out, but people are difficult for me," Cas said, then hit him again. "And I don't mind if it takes you time to acclimate yourself here. If this is what you need, then I'll give it to you."

Dean wanted to say he didn't need it, that he just needed clear orders and boundaries, but as the next strike landed on his opposite thigh, he realized that no, he already knew his boundaries because Cas had told him, and he also knew what he was supposed to do. He just hadn't wanted to work at it because it was for himself.

"If you're having difficulty figuring things out," Cas said, landing another strike, "you can come to me any time, day or night, but do not lie to me."

Dean squirmed as the pain intensified, Cas letting him know that he really didn't like lying by giving him five hard strikes right in a row on alternating thighs. Tears welled up in his eyes. They always did when he was disciplined. He didn't like it, didn't like disappointing people, and he knew he'd disappointed Cas.

"I may not be easy to get along with," Cas said, "but if you help me figure you out, the both of us will be much happier."

Dean grabbed onto the blanket beneath him, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to keep still. It didn't hurt as much as when Crowley or Ellen had disciplined him, but Dean suspected that was because Cas was using this as a warning, not a flat out punishment. Dean had had worse, but a few tears still spilled down his cheeks.

The spanking stopped, and Dean flinched as Cas put a hand on his back, started gently rubbing. A few more tears ran down his cheeks because it just felt so good. The only times in his life he'd been spanked without being held or touched afterward had been at the daycare center, and it was a relief to know Cas was more like Chuck than he was Crowley.

"It frustrates me when I deal with something and it happens again," Cas said, but his voice wasn't harsh and the hand on Dean's back kept moving. "Please don't lie to me. And please remember that I consider you forgiven, that we can move on from here."

"Okay," Dean said, wiping his face with his forearms. It really hadn't hurt that badly. Most of the tears were because he felt so emotionally raw and because he'd disappointed Cas.

"That means no more saying you're sorry for this," Cas said, "and no scurrying around as if I'm upset with you. We got off to a bad start with a full week of correction for you, but please remember I would never have done that to you, and if it's within my power, that will never happen to you again."

Dean appreciated the promise Cas could really keep. The reality of the situation was that if someone took him away from Cas somehow, they could send him to a correctional facility for discipline. Dean liked that Cas didn't make the promise that he'd never experience it again. That would've been an empty promise.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean said, voice a little hoarse with emotion.

"Are you tired?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go to bed, if that's okay with you," he said, staying in position because Cas hadn't told him he could move yet.

"You're sleeping in here," Cas said.

Dean looked at him over his shoulder. "Huh?"

"I've just disciplined you and I want to make sure you're okay," Cas said, taking him by the left upper arm and helping him stand. "So change into whatever you wear when you go to bed, then we'll go to sleep."

Dean blinked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

By the time Dean changed into some soft sleep pants and put away his clothes, Cas was sitting up in bed, the lamp on his nightstand giving him just enough light to read by, a large book on his lap. Cas patted the spot to the left, so Dean crawled into bed.

"Would you like to have an orgasm?" Cas asked.

Dean forgot how to breathe for a moment. Cas had asked him the question in the same tone of voice someone might use if they asked about the weather.

"You don't have to," Dean said. "I know you said you don't like sex."

"Sex is messy, and that's not what I offered," Cas said, setting his book down on the nightstand. "I asked if you wanted to have an orgasm."

Dean's cock apparently thought it was a great idea. "Uhm, I guess."

Cas looked down at him. "I need a clear answer."

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding. "I sleep better when I can jerk off."

"I didn't say you could jerk off," Cas said, and Dean could just hear the air quotes. "That's too messy."

Dean let out a huff of laughter. "Okay, then why don't you tell me exactly what you mean, because I'm not getting it."

"When it comes to sexual partners, I like figuring people out. It's an exception to my usual difficulties with social interaction," Cas said. "I like experimenting and learning what they like, what they don't like, how fast I can make them come, how long I can draw it out, and I like to make them happy."

Dean would never admit to the squeak that came out of his mouth. "Okay."

"If an orgasm would make you happy and allow you to sleep more soundly, then I'm offering a blowjob," Cas said.

Dean's cock twitched. "Really?"

"I don't joke about sex," Cas said. "It confuses people and complicates the entire thing."

Dean smiled. "Well, then yeah, I'd like a blowjob," he said, more things about Cas finally clicking in his head with the new information. He'd never have spoken like that to another master, even Chuck, but Cas liked direct, didn't like bullshit, and that was a good thing because Dean appreciated direct himself.

Cas tossed the blanket off both of them and climbed over Dean's right leg, settling on his stomach between Dean's legs. Dean's eyes widened. He didn't know why, but he hadn't expected Cas to be so bold. He really should've known. Cas hadn't pussyfooted around anything so far. Why should he start now?

"If I do something you don't like," Cas said as he rested his forearms on Dean's thighs, "either say something or flinch or make some sort of noise. The same goes for when you like something. I can't learn if you mask your reactions to what I'm doing."

Dean chuckled. "Okay."

Cas pulled Dean's cock and balls through the slit of his sleep pants, Dean's cock already half hard. "I want to be able to see your face, so use my pillow to prop yourself up."

Dean grabbed Cas' pillow and shoved it behind his head. "Good?"

Cas nodded as he stuck out his tongue, then licked a stripe up the underside of Dean's cock, eyes locked with Dean's.

Dean opened his mouth, but he really couldn't think of anything to say. It was bizarre, surreal, and Dean was having a hard time wrapping his head around it. He wanted it. That wasn't the issue. It was the fact that slave owners weren't usually all that concerned about a slave's pleasure. Most of them didn't abuse their slaves, but he'd never heard of a master offering a blowjob. Reach-arounds and fingering, yes.

Of course Dean had never been in Chuck's bedroom. For all he knew Missouri and Chuck had a revolving door of male and female slaves in their bed, pleasuring them and treating them like kings and queens, but Dean had never noticed anyone else coming or going, and Missouri didn't seem like the type to share.

Cas' tongue prodded at the bundle of nerves under the head of Dean's cock, then up and over the tip. He wrapped his lips around tip, sucking just a bit. Dean gasped as Cas pushed the tip of his tongue into the slit. Cas froze, watching Dean carefully.

"That was a good noise," Dean said, nodding, remembering that Cas hadn't figured him out yet.

Cas' tongue immediately started pushing again, then running back and forth, almost painfully, but it felt so good that Dean bit his lip, closing his eyes. Cas must've realized it was a good reaction, because he pushed even harder.

Dean's breath caught in his chest as Cas licked back and forth, still pushing. It was a sensation no one else had given him before, and Dean loved it. Cas' tongue was strong, and it was obvious this was nowhere near the first time Cas had sucked cock. He knew what he was doing, and Dean had to shift his idea of Cas in his head once again. The man who said he didn't like sex was sucking his cock into his mouth and rolling his tongue along the underside like he'd studied and perfected every technique there was. And considering what he'd seen of Cas so far, he probably had.

He couldn't keep his eyes closed anymore. He had to see Cas. The man was still looking up at him, still focused completely on Dean.

"Hey!" Dean yelped as Cas bit down on Dean's cock. He didn't bite hard, but it was enough to startle Dean. Cas was smiling around the cock in his mouth. "Yeah, that would be the 'I don't like that' noise. But I suppose you knew that would happen and just wanted to see if I would actually let you know if I didn't like something."

Cas took a deep breath in and slowly sank down on Dean's cock, taking it all in. Dean whimpered as Cas swallowed around his cock.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean breathed, clutching the sheets beneath him, fighting the urge to run his fingers through Cas' hair.

Cas pulled back just as slowly as he'd sucked Dean in, not out of breath and not gagging once. He was completely in control of it. When only the tip was still in his mouth, Cas sucked again, sinking back down just a bit, then used his lips to clamp down just under the head.

"Ah, fuck yeah," Dean moaned as Cas pulled back, the tight grip just under the head creating an amazing sensation.

Dean gasped, flinching as Cas ran the tips of his fingers over his inner thigh through the sleep pants. He could just see the mischief in Cas' eyes. Of course Cas would get a kick out of the fact that Dean was ticklish.

Cas ran his fingers back up, then over Dean's balls, the tips of his index and middle fingers moving back and forth over the skin of his sac so lightly that Dean flinched again, holding his breath and clenching his teeth. Cas turned his hand, then tickled the underside of Dean's balls.

"Hah!" Dean blurted, then bit his lip as his face flushed, the tips of his ears even warm.

Cas smiled around his cock again, filing that information away in that big brain of his. His fingers moved lower, over Dean's taint through the sleep pants, and Dean squirmed, breathing shallow. Cas started bobbing on his cock just as he pushed his thumb against Dean's taint and rubbed.

Dean yelled with surprise, coming down Cas' throat, hips twitching as he forced himself to stay still so he didn't hurt Cas. Cas kept bobbing until Dean whimpered, then he pulled away, smug expression on his face.

"Yeah, you earned some gloating time," Dean said, watching as Cas got off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Dean pushed his cock and balls back into his sleep pants and rolled onto his right side so he'd be facing Cas when he got back into bed.

Cas brushed his teeth, then turned off the light and climbed into bed, getting under the covers.

"So what do you want me to do to you?" Dean asked as he reached out and rested his hand on Cas' lower stomach.

"Nothing," Cas said.

"You just gave me one of the best blowjobs I've ever had," Dean said. "Don't you wanna come?"

"No," Cas said. "I want to sleep."

Dean frowned. "Was that like payment or something?" he asked, suddenly suspicious. "Something to cheer me up after getting spanked?"

"You're thinking too much," Cas said, turning onto his left side and facing Dean. "I said I don't like sex. I'm asexual."

Dean's eyes widened. "But you just... Cas, you didn't have to blow me! Why did you...?"

"Calm down," Cas said, running his fingers over Dean's left cheek. "I have no sexual desire myself, and I only masturbate every once in a while when I get an urge. What I really like is making my partners happy. I liked giving you a blowjob, watching you enjoy most of what I did, and making you come so hard you lost your breath for a moment. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't want to."

"Oh, okay," Dean said. "So all that stuff in the linen closet?"

"I'm a dom," Cas said. "I like taking care of someone, pleasuring them, making them forget about everything else, and seeing how high I can get them. My job is very high-stress, and I don't like taking vacations or getting massages. I need some way of relaxing. Turning a sub into a happy pile of goo, and then holding them while they recover is how I relax."

"Wow," Dean said. "I didn't know asexuals liked that sort of thing."

"Just because I don't want to fuck or be fucked, that doesn't mean I avoid any interaction," Cas said. "If you want, I'll show you some time."

Dean chuckled. "I've never really tried any of that stuff before. I let a girl tie me up once, but that's about it."

"I'm not ordering you to do it," Cas said with a smile. "It's an offer you can refuse or take at any time."

Dean smiled, the smile slowly fading as they settled in and Cas closed his eyes. "Hey, Cas?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you," Dean said.

"For what?" Cas asked.

Dean knew it wasn't because Cas had no clue what Dean could be thankful for, but instead Cas wanted to know exactly which thing he was being thanked for.

"Well, the blowjob was amazing," Dean said with a huff, "but I also wanna thank you for not kicking me out, for listening to me and dragging it out of me when I was scared to go back to daycare, and for trying to work with me even though you didn't want me here in the first place."

"You're welcome," Cas said, eyes still closed. "And it's not you I minded. It's the fact that you're a slave. I plan on running this house as if you aren't a slave, and as much as we can get away with, you'll be treated as any other free man outside the house too."

Dean closed his eyes, unable to wipe the smile off his face. He didn't know what he did to deserve Cas, and he planned on sending Chuck and Missouri a full set of edible body paint as soon as he could politely ask Cas for the money to do so. Because damn, Chuck and Missouri loved that stuff and Dean wanted to show his appreciation to both of them for sending him to Cas.

He didn't know what this would be, what this would turn into, but what he saw so far he liked. He wanted more. And as Cas snuggled up to him, his knees pressed up against Dean's and his lips turned up in a tiny smile, Dean realized Chuck was right because it was exactly what Cas wanted too.

End.