"There are fish around your fingers," Dean whispered softly, watching Castiel's fingers as they grazed through the water as the boat slowly pulled along. Three silver fish darted alongside the appendages, often bumping them with their mouths and nibbling at the tips before swimming around each other. Castiel had a small smile on his face, the first that Dean had ever seen, and he could almost forget the threat of the guards that watched them carefully from their spot on the boat as he let his hands rest on the edge of the wood, keeping a hand on Castiel so he did not lean too far and fall in.

The other soldiers were asleep, having fallen one by one to the effects of traveling for several days on very little food and water. At first, Dean had slept as well, but only for thirty minutes at the most before he woke to the feeling of the boat shifting, and finding that the guards were getting too close for comfort, keeping him awake despite his efforts.

"Are they pretty?" Castiel asked, drawing Dean from his thoughts as he looked back down at the tiny fish thoughtfully. They weren't particularly eye-catching to him, but they did have a gracefulness about them that he had to appreciate as they moved through Castiel's fingers as if they knew every move he was attempting to make.

"Yeah, I would say they are," Dean replied softly, his skin tingling with the sense of danger when he saw one of the guards move closer, not even bothering to hide the fact that he was listening in on what they had to say. Dean shot him a glare, but the man only seemed amused by it. However, Castiel didn't even seem to notice, tipping his head with that ever present smile.

"The water feels nice," Castiel mumbled, taking his hand from the water momentarily and drawing a random pattern on the back of Dean's hand with it gently before returning his fingers to where they were. It managed to gain back Dean's attention, and he looked at the soft pattern that destroyed the dirt in its path, leaving little patches of clean skin in a sort of round shape with stripes through it, though Dean didn't really comment on the soldier's art skills.

"It does," Dean replied, letting his own hand reach out and touch the water for a moment, watching the ripples interact with the movement of the boat, "Would be nice to go for a swim, wouldn't it?"

Castiel let out a soft chuckle, his fingers stilling and just dragging in the water with the movements of the boat, "Yeah. A swim sounds amazing," He mumbled before the smile disappeared and he pulled his hand from the water, "How is your back?"

Dean rolled his shoulders at the question, feeling the soreness of the continuous beatings beginning to take a toll on his muscles, "It hurts like a bitch, but it's nothing I can't handle," Dean stated softly, glancing to the eavesdropping guard with a pointed look before turning back to the water, the fish dancing around his fingers now that Castiel's was no longer there.

Castiel was silent for a few moments, fiddling with the fabric on his thigh before sighing in regret, "I'm sorry," He whispered, his frown deepening as his head tipped in an almost child-like way, "It's my fault that you are hurt."

Dean sighed and removed his hand from the water, the coolness fading quickly under the warmth of the fading sun as he ran what little moisture was left on his fingertips over the back of his neck, "Cas, how could it possibly be anyone's fault other than them?" Dean asked, his eyes darting over the guard watching with a slight scowl on his face at the man's grin.

"It was supposed to be my beating," Castiel interjected softly, and Dean sighed, resting his side against the edge of the boat and looking at the sky, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to see anything past the glare of the sun.

"Yeah, but it's my platoons fault that you were blinded in the first place," Dean countered, feeling Castiel's hand tense against his. He internally winced, knowing he probably shouldn't have brought that up, but he never was good at subtlety. 

"You can't blame yourself for that. You didn't even know," Castiel mumbled with a dejected air about him.

"Neither did you."

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

"Come on!" A guard snapped as he watched the prisoners get off the boat one-by-one, slower than what the man would have preferred. Dean was already on the bank, holding to Castiel's arm gently. The guards had forced them off first, not wanting to deal with the blind soldier struggling to get anywhere.

Behind them stretched a large prisoner-of-war camp, brick walls lining the gate that had two guards stationed at the front, obviously having waited for their arrival in case any prisoner tried to make their escape. Through the large wooden doors, he could see several cabins lining the area, a worn path going through them and leading past them farther until it met barb wire fencing that rose at least fifteen feet tall, interlaced over each other until it looked like a tangle of thorn bushes.

Castiel squeezed his arm when the guard shouted again, kicking at one of the prisoners as he finally stumbled onto the bank of the river, water sloshing at his legs. It had been cold compared to the hot day, and Dean's own pants were still wet from it, giving relief to the heated skin along his calf at least. It wasn't until the last guard hopped behind the prisoner with ease that they were forced through the doors and into the camp.

They were led along the path, and Dean frowned when he saw that several prisoners were beginning to poke their heads out of the cabin doors, the sad and tired eyes of each one nothing compared to the sunken in cheeks and thin frames that clung to the prisoners. Dean swallowed, feeling a rush of dread as it sunk in that he would eventually look as sickly as that too.

The guards stopped at different cabins, sending different prisoners to different ones without any real rhyme or reason to their choices. Still, the guards only smirked when Castiel and Dean were the only ones left, and they motioned to the third cabin on the right, a toothy grin coming from one of them.

Inside, there were four beds crammed into this small cabin, two on each side and somehow barely managing to scrape against each other to fit along the walls. There wasn't a lot of walk space, just a strip along the middle with a single small window, not big enough for a person to squeeze through with an expanse of fields being the only view. Three other prisoners looked up as they entered, exhaustion in their eyes as they looked over the new prisoners, a cough leaving one's lips as a groan reached another's.

"Ya pissed them off, didn't ya?" The oldest one growled, his salt and pepper hair revealing his age despite his otherwise seemingly young appearance, "This is where they always bring in the troublemakers."

 "Troublemakers?" Dean echoed, not moving from the doorway with a distrustful look at the men sitting before him. Something seemed off about them. His very skin crawled with alarm, and he clutched a bit tighter to Castiel's arm, subconsciously pulling him behind Dean the smallest bit, though it did not go unnoticed by the men.

One soldier let out a snort and laid back on the bed, his starving frame not quite as worst as the others, an expanse of muscle still there that the others seemed to be lacking, "Injured soldiers are their favorite play things," He muttered, looking at them with a frown on his face as the other prisoner's eyes grew soft, a regret there that had Dean feeling like ice, "Sorry kid, but he won't last a week with the guards hanging around. You might want to just let him go if you don't want to be dragged through hell with him."

Dean growled at the thought of it, at the thought of leaving Sa-Castiel behind just for his own gain making his hand tighten comfortingly around Castiel's arm. He might as well kill himself and greet the Devil with open arms if he ever considered doing that to the poor soldier, especially when he could feel the quickened pulse of fear when his fingers brushed over Castiel's wrist.

"I'm not that kind of person," Dean growled hotly, the glare in his eyes making it clear that he was not going to even consider such an atrocious act. Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder, as if he was going to argue with Dean, but the soft growl that rumbled in his throat stopped the soldier in his tracks

"Fear does a crazy thing to everyone," The same soldier pointed out, and the words hung heavy in the air before he sighed and the man sat up, shaking his head, "Look. I'm sorry. Let's start over. I'm Winters," The man said, sitting up and holding out his hand to Dean, who took it suspiciously.

"Winchester, and this is Novak," Dean muttered, his eyes darting to the other two soldiers, who introduced themselves as Barneson and Letts. They each held out their hands, which Dean shook.

"I hope you two don't mind sharing a bed," Letts chimed in, his voice soft and almost timid compared to the other two soldiers, yet the set clench in his jaw showed that he was just as tough as the rest of them, "Seems Novak's injuries aren't the only thing they're getting a kick out of."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, not commenting on having to share a bed because really, he had done it with Sam enough times to not even think about it. Letts' expression turned into a wrinkled nose, as if he regretted mentioning it, and he didn't speak a word before Barneson took it upon himself to speak.

"They're real fascinated with queers," Barneson explained, his voice gruff in a way that reminded Dean of an old dog, "You playing this protective act must tickle their balls."

"We had a gay soldier in here once too. Poor guy got found out by the guards and they took a...special interest in him, ya see?" Winters added, turning his eyes towards the doorway with a distrustful look in his eyes, "They think that the queerfolk have magic powers. Something about it being in their religion, and if ya keep one around, it brings good luck."

"Why...why the hell would it bring good luck?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes as he felt Castiel shiver against him. He glanced back at the soldier, seeing his face had gone pale and forgot about the rest of the prisoners as he helped him gently to the empty bed, sitting him down and easing down beside him. Winters had the patience to wait until they were finished to talk.

"Superstition mostly," Winters answered, shrugging while the other soldier's adverted their eyes when Dean looked at them, a layer of guilt on their faces, "Sorry to say, but they'll be keeping a closer eye on you than a dog on a steak."

"What happened to the gay soldier you mentioned?" Dean asked, his brows furrowing as Winters tensed before turning a bit pale.

"Tore his own wrists apart with his teeth. Couldn't live with the constant...events led against him," Winters mumbled, shaking his head and sighing, looking sincerely grief-filled about the memory of the man, "I hope you two fair better, I really do."

Dean didn't reply, rather staring at the man as he laid back down and turned away from them. When he looked, the other soldiers had done the same, and he barely knew what he was doing when he looked to Castiel, seeing that the man was still shaking, his lip quivering at the thought of facing what they had just learned.

"I'll keep you safe. Just...rest for now," Dean whispered gently, clasping his shoulder gently in his hand and squeezing softly. Castiel nodded, lying down and curling into a small ball as close to the wall as he could get with out touching it. The bed wasn't big, and there was a lot of room, so when Dean finally laid down too, he worked himself partially in under the soldier, Castiel's back to his chest and pressing tightly together as he closed his eyes and prayed for sleep.