Dean hadn't expected to fall asleep that night. He hadn't even considered what the guards would find if he didn't leave the cabin before dawn, and instead just focused on the warmth of Castiel and the press of his weight against Dean's own. So when the guards came in, the first inkling that something wasn't what it should be was when the guards' eyes met his, and they filled with confusion.

Then chaos erupted.

The guards shouted in their language, grabbing Castiel and dragging him away from Dean, jerking the blind soldier awake and leaving him scared and confused as he yelled out for Dean, struggling against the hold of one guard, only to get tossed into the hands of another. He struggled to keep his footing, and his head turned back and forth, trying to make sense of his surroundings, but the noise was too loud, and the fear too great.

Dean had vaulted off the bed in an instant, swinging at the first guard that got too close and knocking the man to the ground and attempting to get to Castiel. A hard kick in the back of his knee brought him down, and the two guards not holding Castiel were on him in an instant, wrenching his arms behind his head and pushing his face closer to the ground, pain reaching every minuscule part of Dean's back ad making him tense and struggle against them to no avail.

Castiel was dragged from the room first, Dean jerked to his feet and getting a momentary view of the other soldiers before he too was pulled out of the building and down the steps. He could see the rest of the prisoners were beginning to line up, their exhausted curiosity spiked by the sight of the two of them being dragged towards that daunting building at the wall. As he passed Mills and Shadson, they could only watch, horror in their eyes as Dean's arm was twisted a bit tighter, making him hiss with pain.

The line of prisoners grew smaller as Dean and Castiel was dragged farther and farther away, Dean struggling ever step of the way, trying to get to Castiel who was being hauled roughly, barely able to remain on his feet as he tripped and stumbled with almost every step. A guard gave him a sharp elbow to his back, already sore, but he ignored it, his struggling only growing more pronounced as the building swallowed them up.

It had two rooms, the main area where prisoners are interrogated, and a room that Dean had not seen but only a glimpse through an open doorway. He was strapped down to the interrogation chair, the metal shackles that wrapped the chair arm biting into his wrists as he struggled to get away, only successfully pinned down when his middle was caught in a shackle, and he was trapped.

The same was done to Castiel, much easier than it had been against Dean, and the man shivered against his bonds as he stared blindly ahead, his eyes alight with fear while the guards circled around them, making sure they were properly bound before making their way out, leaving just two guards standing by the door as the interrogator appeared from the doorway, a grin on his face.

"You should have followed the rules," The interrogator said with a malice in his voice that had Dean snarling. The man merely laughed at the aggression, pulling out a knife about the length of Dean's palm before moving behind Castiel and letting the blade just barely brush the soldier, making him freeze.

"Dean?" Castiel called out, and Dean felt his expression crumble as the knife barely grazed Castiel's neck, making him shiver and look at the interrogator with wide eyes.

"Don't hurt him," Dean said, his tone stunted, as if he were in a momentary shock. It only took half of a second for that shock to turn into rage and he launched forwards against the seat, feeling the bolts that held it down groan against the strength the pull.

"Don't you fucking touch him!" Dean shouted, struggling as blood ran down his wrists and ankles and the shackle around his middle dug underneath his rib, cutting along the skin in his stomach. The interrogator pulled the knife away, a pleased look in his eyes as he took a step back, twirling the knife easily.

"Then tell me what you know of America's plans," The man said, as casual as talking about the weather, but Dean just felt the frustration reach his throat and he shook his head, his fingers slick with blood as the arm rests collected it.

"I don't know!" Dean shouted again, the frustration coming out and nearly driving his voice to a pure growl. The interrogator just released a sigh, a bored look on his face as he twirled the knife once more before driving it directly into Castiel's shoulder, bringing out a twisted shout of pain from the man, a sound he hadn't heard since the first night of capture.

"Dammit! I don't know! I can't tell you anything!" Dean shouted, desperation washing over him as Castiel cut the scream off, his breaths coming out in grunts as he attempted to face the pain in silence. The man jerked the knife out, pressing it against Castiel's throat and grabbing him by the chin.

"Do you really think that little of him? Are you willing to let him die?" The interrogator asked, drawing his chin up so Dean could see clearly as he pressed the tip of the knife against Castiel's neck, a bead of blood raising with the knife. It only just began dragging when Dean shouted, making the man pause in his movements.

"If I tell you...Castiel gets to come to the new cabin with me," Dean said, and Castiel's face gave everything he felt away in one single jerk of his head. He had a look of betrayal, of anger for Dean's submission, but also a hint of relief and guilt, and Dean swallowed, meeting the interrogator's gaze with a glare.

"You think you have the right for demands?" The interrogator growled back, his voice growing more nasally than usual as he jerked Castiel's head up with a sharp tug, the knife pressing back there.

"If you kill him, you better kill me too because you won't get shit," Dean hissed, stopping the interrogator in his path. The man watched him with narrowed eyes before slowly letting go of Castiel's face, pointing his knife at Dean as he approached.

"If you lie about one single thing, I'll make sure you watch him die in the most painful way possible," The interrogator growled, but Dean stared just as resolutely back, his lip twitching with the effort to keep from spitting in the man's face.

"The platoons you have captured were decoys to keep you distracted while a deploy of troops moves in from the north, effectively trapping you between the two groups of soldiers," Dean growled, his jaw set. He could see Castiel's face light up with confusion, only for realization to reach his eyes and for them to grow grim with secret. The guards didn't notice the lapse, but that wasn't surprising, as only Dean seemed to be able to catch the detail of Castiel's emotions.

"If this is true, when will they get here?" The interrogator asked, his skepticism clearly stated in his voice. Dean narrowed his eyes, glancing between Castiel and the man and doing a quick calculation in his head, his mind going to the barb wire fences that surrounded the place.

"Two weeks," Dean stated, the corner of his mouth twitching into a minute smile when the interrogator turned away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel touched Dean's wrists gently as they sat in the cabin, his hands brushing over the bandages that Mills had managed to make out of part of one of the bedsheets. She had been resolutely silent the whole time, her jaw set in a silent rage, and it wasn't until she poked at the back of his neck and he hissed that he knew why.

"You have a hand print on the back of your neck. Care to tell me what the hell you got yourself into?" She hissed as she wrapped his ankles and torso as well, not missing the painful flinch that he made when she nudged against his lower back. Dean knew he didn't need to speak to give her what she already knew, and he couldn't look her in the eyes as he instead looked to Castiel.

"It was nothing," He said softly, and she let out a huff, though it seemed less angry than before as she finished tying off his wounds and then rechecked to make sure Castiel's were on tightly enough.

"Dean...we only have two weeks," Castiel stated softly, dragging out a silenced look from Mills as she looked between the two, her eyes lighting with horror as she made the connection.

"You lied to the interrogator?" She hissed under her breath, Shadson appearing behind out of nowhere to listen. Dean swallowed softly, looking down almost shamefully, but nodding.

"It should be plenty of time though," Dean whispered, letting his fingers touch Castiel's and sending a jolt through his hand that warmed his heart.

"What are talking about? What do you think is going to happen in two weeks?" Mills asked, her voice livid as she looked between the two with desperation. If the two weeks passed, and Dean's information was discovered to be a lie, then...

"To escape," Dean said, his eyes moving to the bedsheets with a thoughtful look in his eyes, ignoring the stunned looks around him.