It was cold and dark, the only thing visible was his own baited breathe. His body was riddled with goosebumps, each tiny hair sticking up on end, as if they were wanting to shield him from what was to come.
'You should know by now. You'll never rid yourself of me for long.'
He turned at the sound of the voice, his stomach lurching, his fingers curling into tight fists. He span on his heels. His chest rising and falling faster than what his lungs could keep up with.
'There's nothing you can do to stop this.'
He lashed out. Throwing his arms and legs blindly into the air, one after the other. Hoping one would land a hit.
No, no he had sorted this. Stopped this.
He tried again, almost tripping over his own two feet. His actions becoming desperate, his training long forgotten.
A shiver ran down his spine as warm breath trickled across the back of his neck. A presence, already far far too close, now just millimeters away from touching him.
Wanting to scream.
Numbness spreading through him like wild fire.
Without warning his knees buckled and he fell to the ground. His hands scraping against the rough surface.
The figure, loomed over him. Smiling, in what could almost be mistaken for sympathy.
'There is no fighting this, you were made for me Sam.'
Sam bolted up, a thick line of sweat dripping from his brow. He yanked at his T-shirt, pulling the soaked material off of his skin. He tried to keep his breathing quiet, forcing his ragged breaths into a slower rhythm than what his body required.
Why hadn't he been able to force him out?
Why hadn't he even considered trying?
"I thought you had this under control."
He closed his eyes, muttering things that would turn the air blue, before glancing to where his brother sat. Of course he had woken him. Their beds were too close together for him to have not.
"That it had gotten better?!"
So had he!
"Not now Dean." Was about all he managed to rasp, his fingers grasping at the bed sheets, clutching them tight.
Dean shook his head, pushing himself up off of the old mattress. Sam recoiled the second he turned to face him, his posture rigid, a sharp metallic taste dancing across his tongue. Logically he knew it was just Dean in front of him, but his mind still saw someone else. Another figure hidden in the shadows. Reaching for him. Determined to take him.
He twitched, his eyes squinting, as if he was expecting some sort of blow to follow.
Dean swallowed hard.
It's the nightmare. He had to keep on repeating to himself. It wasn't a reflection on him.
His little brother wasn't scared of him .
He lowered his shoulders all the same, trying to appear as less of a threat to the man's confused mind. When that failed to make a difference , he stepped out of Sam's line of sight, pushing his own hurt aside. This wasn't about his pride right now.
Moments later, Sam could hear the rusty squeak of an old tap being turned, the trickle of water hitting glass. He never had had the heart to tell Dean that a drink never really did much for him, when it was the only help the man could offer.
He grabbed at the wet material again, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor.
A cold shiver ran through his body.
There really was no escape. Lucifer, was right. He would always find a way of getting to him.
He took the glass when it was offered, keeping his gaze firmly away from his brother's eyes.
They both tried to ignore the way his hand shook.
The first thing he became aware of, was that he couldn't move his arms. In an instant his eyes snapped open, wide, darting around like that of a caged animal. The room was hazy and he felt like he was floating, like his mind had been pumped full of stifled air.
He lifted his head and a wave of dizziness crashed over him. Black spots dancing around his vision.
He fell back, fighting against the urge to empty the contents of his stomach as the ceiling shifted in and out of focus. The most horrible smell of bleach and disinfectant swirling up his nose.
He tried again to sit up, twisting his body awkwardly, but it produced the same result.
His chest tightened.
His heart thumping away against his already battered ribcage.
He tried to kick out, but found his legs wouldn't move either.
His nostrils flared.
The whites of his eyes shining through.
He jolted his arms, trying to force them to obey him, shook his head, curved his spine, rolled his shoulders. His actions becoming more and more desperate. Uncontrolled. He arched his back, finding that his hips were the only things left unbound.
His toes curled, his fingers digging into the bed with such force the frame creeked.
He needed to get up. Needed to get away. Needed his freedom.
His eyes rolled back, but it just made him want to fight harder. A jingling sound of metal hitting metal joining the annoying beeps of the machines. He grunted, and growled, jolting his knees up and down, disturbing the blankets he lay beneath.
This was ridiculous.
He twisted and turned the best he could. Pulling at the bounds so hard his arms shook from the strain.
The bleeps gathered pace.
The sounds leaving his mouth became louder, more aggravated.
He was hot, too hot, he needed his arms free, he needed to remove every piece of fabric from his body.
Still no one came.
He tried harder, moved quicker, barely registering the sting as he stretched his stitches.
Nothing seemed to work.
His wrists ached and his shirt suddenly felt very wet. A new, rustic smell hitting him, almost making him want to throw up all over again.
He threw himself back against the pillows in defeat. His chest heaving, the room spinning.
What the hell was going on?
He closed his eyes and sucked in a careful amount of air, trying to calm himself down. Trying to keep the nausea at bay.
What was happening to him?
The last thing he remembered was waking from that horrific dream and now he was bound to a bed.
Right. Because he had hit someone and that wasn't allowed.
He hissed out an array of curses that would have made Dean proud.
He had been confused. Surely that should have earnt him a free pass? Strapping him to a bed seemed a little extreme. The guy had barely bled...
He froze. A flash of that man's face almost taking his breath away.
The shape of the almost black blood trail as he stood back up. The sneer his lips twisted ever so briefly into. The way his skin cracked and then fused itself back together again.
He watched him fall in almost slow motion. Watched as the man's wrist became disjointed at an odd angle as he landed. Watched, as it then simply snapped back into place. He hadn't registered seeing that at the time, but now he could recall it as clear as day.
He could recall it all.
And by God, that wasn't normal.
That wasn't even human.
He frowned, desperately trying to rationalise it all. There had to be a simple explanation. There just had to be. The alternative didn't bare thinking about.
He was on drugs. He had a nightmare or maybe it was all just some weird hallucination.
Stories from eons ago tricking his very mind.
Yeah that had to be it.
He gulped, his eyes shifting from one side to the other.
He could feel the blood flow rushing through him. Adrenaline pumping through his veins.
And he was still way to hot, in fact his limbs felt like they were on fire. His chest, like someone was crushing it.
He banged his head on the stiff pillow. Once, twice, a third time, wanting nothing more than to knock himself out. If he was unconscious he wouldn't have to think. Wouldn't have to feel. Wouldn't have to live with what his mind was trying to tell him. What his mind thought he saw.
A cold blooded monster.
As the door to his room creaked open, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
This wasn't happening.
This wasn't real.
There wasn't a monster in the hospital, and it most definitely wasn't after him.
He could hear footsteps approaching from the left. The heavy heel of a shoe, tapping forcefully against the floor.
His eyes snapped open.
No one in the hospital had called him by that name before. Only the Winchesters. And even they spoke in hushed tones.
He slowly glanced to the side and almost instantly wished he hadn't.
There, looking down on him, were a pair of black, soulless eyes.
Oh God have mercy.
Sam sighed exasperatedly, only just resisting the urge to elbow his brother in the stomach.
"It's not funny Dean."
Dean flashed him a toothy grin in response.
"No, it's frickin hilarious." He replied, despite the smile not quite reaching his eyes. He rested his hands on the edge of the bedpost and leant forwards to get a closer look at the offending objects; Leather, buckled, chained to the bed but not the angel. That was a good start. It meant it should be easy enough to remove them.
He snorted to himself, not that under entirely different circumstances Sam would want him too. In fact he was sure his brother would rather enjoy the angel sprawled out like that.
Tied to a bed.
His every fantasy coming true…
He flinched. The elbow jolted into him harder than he anticipated, faster than he was prepared for. His face scrunched up and he let out an 'ohhfff' his hand reaching over to cover his aching ribs.
"Ow!" He gestured, flinging his hand out. What the hell was that for?
Sam folded his arms, glaring at him at of the corner of his eyes. He didn't have to be psychic to know exactly where the man's train of thought was going. Especially as he had said something similar moments after they had gotten that phone call.
Dean winked, the corners of his lips tugging upwards once again.
Hey, he didn't hear him denying it.
"That's easy for you to say. This material is horribly uncomfortable." The man interrupted, his forehead creasing at their interaction but choosing not to say anything. He tried once again to pull at his bounds. Hoping his voice didn't falter as much to them as it did to his own ears. He forced his expression to remain as neutral as possible. Wanting to sound like what they expected him too. Like his whole world hadn't just been blown apart.
'You do something for me, and you get out of here alive.'
He shuddered and pulled at them harder. Knowing it was pointless but wanting the pain which came from the growing bruises.
Pain meant it was happening, that it was real.
That he hadn't just completely lost the plot.
He ceased his movement however when Sam's large hands came and covered his own.
"Hey, it's okay, we're going to get you out of here."
He relaxed slightly and nodded. Yes, they had promised that. The second they arrived, (when Dean was done laughing of course) they had announced their intentions to 'spring him' from the place.
Which was good.
Which was what he wanted.
To get as far, far away from this building as possible.
Even if that meant staying in a motel with two virtual strangers.
He paused when the tone of Sam's voice finally settled with him. His head tilting to one side as he studied him curiously. He was quieter than usual. Only by a few decimals, it wouldn't have been noticeable at all if his finely tuned ears weren't already on high alert. His movements as well seemed off, sluggish, and his eyes definitely held less of a light to them than before.
Had the demon paid him a visit too?
No, he decided almost instantly. He didn't look anywhere near as uneasy as he felt.
It was something else. But what?
Was he still upset about how their last interaction ended?
He wasn't sure how he could fix that.
An apologie maybe?
Dean cleared his throat. "Incomining."
He glanced towards the older Winchester, who was now busying himself with what he knew to be a fake interview pad. A pen, scribbling across the white sheet in a series of uncontrolled swirls. His eyes discreetly glued to his watch. The man dropped the pretence as soon as a passing nurse disappeared from sight.
He turned his attention back to Sam. Who had been nodding, as if they were in the middle of some deep conversation.
He couldn't help but draw his eyebrows together in suspicion.
What were they doing?
"Three minutes, 52."
Sam nodded again, this time with more purpose, his previous, stone like expression melting away.
The one that was left however, concerned him greatly.
'It's really quite simple. You mean a lot to the Winchesters… whereas right now they mean nothing to you.'
"Are you alright Sam?" He asked, breathing out slowly. Shaking away the memory as quickly as it came.
The demon's statement had been chilling enough to him at the time, but now, with both brothers in the room, he felt the unease even more. He wanted to deny it, but wasn't sure he could. What kind of person did that make him? They had shown him nothing but kindness, kept coming back when they were under no obligation to. Surely that counted for something?
"Mmhmm? Of course. I'm fine." His face morphed into another mask, one he was certain was meant to reassure, but it had the opposite effect on him.
He looked drained. Like perhaps he should be the one laying in a hospital bed. He was far too pale too. His eyes red, verging on bloodshot. The lines in his face, cracked, like cold air had dried wet skin far too often.
"You don't look it."
Two pairs of eyes were instantly on him.
Perhaps that was too blunt?
Surprisingly it earned him a small smile from the much taller man. A hint of amusement fleetingly crossing his features.
"Oh you're Cas alright." Dean snorted, making his way over to the door and peering out the small glass window. When he deemed it safe, he slowly closed the blinds. Sam however shook his head, a hissed 'Dean' leaving his lips.
"We don't know that." He replied when his brother turned to him questionably, trying to keep his voice low enough to go unheard by the man in the bed. He failed spectacularly.
That time, he did feel the sting in his chest, but it felt somewhat different than the one his wounds usually provided. Deeper. Like he'd just been stabbed right in the centre. The knife twisting, chipping away tiny pieces of his heart.
'And soon enough, you'll mean nothing to them either. They're only interested in you because of who they think you are... What happens when they realise that person's not coming back? '
He looked down, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry.
"We should hurry. We don't have much time."
He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying 'yes,'. From showing the Winchesters just how eager he was to get the binds off his wrists and get the hell out of this building.
Hell was real too.
Why hadn't he thought of that before?
Even if he left, there was no reason to think they couldn't still track him down. Tear his flesh off one piece at a time. Carve even more words into his skin.
His breathing hitched and his sweat covered hands clenched into fists. He was somewhat relieved Sam had already unplugged that cursed machine. It already felt like a certain something was preparing to beat itself out of his chest. Do the demons' job for them. The last thing he needed was the brothers hearing just how panicked he really was.
He glanced down to where the newly dressed bandages lay, bile rising up his throat.
Did Cas, or Jimmy, already know all about this?
Was that why he'd been used as a human cutting board?
He inhaled sharply, his shoulders tensing. The hot liquid pooling at the back of his mouth. Threatening to spew.
Was he some pawn in the devil's game?
Or worse one of them?
His eyes dashed around the room. Desperately trying to make sense of everything he had learnt. Pins trailed their way across his forehead, making everything feel that much heavier.
What did all this mean for him?
Was he working for the demons? Had he killed people? Tortured them?
Were these men even really his friends?
"Yeah yeah, get your boyfriend, I've got the corridor."
Oh god, Oh god, oh… Wait . What?
What did he just say?
His eyes shot from one brother to the other, narrowed and questioning.
That couldn't be right?
He must have misheard… because he could have sworn he just said…
Sam slammed his hand down on the bedside cabinet, the sound ringing out through the room, his eyes almost aflame as he mouthed what looked suspiciously like 'I'll kill you.' to his brother.
Perhaps he had heard right...
The younger man completely avoided his gaze, reaching gingerly towards the cuffs as Dean slipped out of the room, mentally giving himself a pat on the back for that one. He was not going through that damn dance with them again.
He barely registered the door closing however, his attention never leaving Sam's ever pinking face, even when the material on one arm went slack and the boy maneuvered himself around to start undoing the other.
'You're nothing but a pet to them. Something to occupy their time.'
'That's, that's not true.' He didn't want it to be true.
'Isn't it?… Don't tell me you haven't been wondering what they're hiding from you…'
He thought back to the look of devastation on Sam's face when he realised he didn't know him. Thought back to the stories he had told him and imagined themselves as a couple instead. And-
That actually made a lot of sense.
You didn't go and see the northern lights alone with your buddy.
Perhaps it too, explained why he felt so drawn to the oversized stranger. He wondered how long he and Cas' had been dating for? How deep into this he was?
Did he love him?
Or was he already betraying him?
He swallowed a few times. Trying to fight off the urge to be physically sick. He moved his free arm into his lap and briefly twisted the covers between his fingers. That action alone made him wince, the wound on his chest unforgiving of his previous stunts. He turned his attention towards it, fighting against the desire to rip the dressings off and dig his nails into the already damaged skin. To scratch and scrape at it. To turn it into something else, anything else. So he wouldn't have to live with the sigil as a scar.
He couldn't go through with it though.
Sam for one, would more than likely stop him.
Realising it was taking the man longer to undo the second buckle, he glanced back towards him. His chest tightening when he noticed his hands were visibly shaking.
The bags under his eyes looked bigger from this angle as well. Deeper. Harsher and so very out of place.
'You don't even have to hurt him.'
He shifted uncomfortably and shook his head.
This really wasn't fair on him.
On any of them.
"Have you not been sleeping?" He wasn't sure why he asked that. But the desire to know was almost overpowering. He reached for his chest, scratching at the bandage to prevent himself from reaching out to Sam instead. He probably wouldn't have welcomed the touch. It was cruel to give him false hope when he might not have been the man he loved.
"Not really." Sam admitted with a shrug, his hands stilling enough to enable him to remove the final clasp. As if his voice alone calmed him. "But that's not important right now. I'm dealing with it."
He wasn't sure if the smile he received was meant to look that fake. Or if he was just expecting it too. But he instantly felt something erupting inside of him at the sight of it. A growing fire that appeared from deep within him and crawled up his very being. Consuming him. Suffocating him.
He shouldn't have to deal with it!
He shouldn't have to deal with any of it!
"It's just nightmares and stuff you know." Sam continued, seemingly oblivious as he made his way to the straps on the man's feet. "Stress is making them worse. I guess. Or maybe I'm just not as strong as we all thought."
He wasn't sure why he was that honest.
But he could never lie to Cas' face.
And whoever this was, was wearing it.
"Don't you ever say that!"
Sam jumped, his hands stilling, his eyes shooting across to look at the other man. He'd sat up straight, quicker than a speeding bullet and was now staring at him. His eyebrows drawn together, his lips tight, a fierce determination lighting up his eyes. His fists were clenched tightly either side of him. His nails quite possibly digging deeply into his skin. "Don't you ever even think that again."
He could do nothing but nod; frozen, stunned. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find words, but none coming.
Where had that come from?
"Cas?" He nearly whispered, the sound of his own heartbeat pulsing through his eardrums. A warmth pooling around his stomach, rising, filling his mind with endless possibilities. Because that was him, that was the angel he knew. Right there, right in front of him. He wasn't lost, he was in there all along. Why hadn't he realised it before now?
As quickly as the look appeared, it went again, and the man almost seemed to withdraw. His shoulders slumping forward slightly.
His hand reached for his chest again and he rubbed at it. The skin pinching.
He had never felt anger like that before.
It was raw, powerful and filled with need, rather than aggression.
He had to change Sam's mind. He had to get him to understand. To see himself as he did.
Needed the boy to not just hear his words, but believe in them. Believe in the strength he possessed. The brightness to his very soul.
He blinked, straightening up once again and stared right into Sam's ever changing eyes. A voice in his mind, a whisper in the wind, a scream louder than any sound a man could produce, all saying the same thing. That he had to get to through to him. That he couldn't let his beautiful spirit be taken away.
"You are strength Sam."
He was colour in the dark. Warmth in the cold. A light in this crumbling world.
"You may not feel like it, but if you've made it this far, then... you... can make it further."
He looked away. Wincing, a ringing in his ears turning into a high pitched whistle. Irritating his every sense. Again, it was trying to speak to him, trying to tell something. It got stronger, pounding away, filling every space, every tiny gap inside his skull. His head started to spin, his mind vibrating, the noise echoing, trying to reach so far inside of him he thought he may just combust.
Without warning he cried out, his hands coming up to clutch at either side of his head. His fingers gripping the back of his hair. Desperately trying to do something to pull the sounds away.
It was too much, too much pressure.
And it hurt.
"CAS!" Sam was by his side in an instant. Gripping hold of his shoulders. Whether it was in a show of support or fear, he wasn't sure.
His skin tingled as hands traveled to his wrists, a firm amount of pressure holding them still.
He thought of taking hold of them, of squeezing them back. Of taking what was being offered.
The perfect way to ground himself. A reassurance that he was still in that room. Where a trench coat hung from a hook on his right. A glass window hidden by vertical blinds on his left. A bed under his butt, a dim light above his head. The most important person, stood firmly by his side.
The screeching however, seemed to have other ideas.
It wouldn't let him move a muscle. It would barely let him breathe.
His chest throbbed in a way he had never experienced before.
And oh God .
Who the hell had set it alight?
"Make it stop."
Sam's hold on him tightened. His eyes shooting to the door, willing Dean to notice, to come back in and help.
"I don't know how. What's happening?"
He stood up, his touch slipping away as he contemplated reaching for the nurses call button. Screw the plan, the guy still needed medical help.
No, he couldn't leave, he didn't want him to leave. He was the one thing that made everything bearable.
He reached out, grasping hold of Sam's retreating palm. As if a firm handshake would solve everything. The edges of his vision blurred as Sam turned his attention back to him in a panic.
He blinked again and the clothes his friend was wearing shifted. A stone coloured jacket morphing into the place of his red shirt. His hair shortening by an inch or too. His face losing its fear and being replaced with awe.
Its an honor, really, I've heard alot about you.
He reached up with his other hand, suddenly having the desire to use both of his to cover Sam's completely.
And I you, Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood.
He dropped his hold as if he had been stung. The pain in his chest vanishing as the walls slammed up. Cutting the memory clean off.
"Hey, hey, hey, Are you alright? Cas, talk to me"
He wanted to shake his head, to reassure him, to move away, to jump out of a window. He wasn't sure. All four sounded like equally good options. Instead of reacting however, he just stared at him, his mouth slightly parted, his expression blank.
Sam reached out to him again but this time he flinched away, leaning back, needing to put some distance between them.
Just like the one who had threatened him.
Hurt flashed across Sam's face. His hand paused in mid air. He immediately wanted to apologize, but couldn't bring himself to actually do it.
What did this mean?
Was it all just some sort of sick twisted game?
He saw him move, backing away, his hands held up placatingly. Like he was trying to show him that he meant no harm.
How could he ever believe that now? Knowing what he had running through his veins?
'All you've got to do is get him to do one little thing...'
He looked up and for the second time in 24 hours, wished he hadn't. Sam was focusing on freeing his legs, but his adam's apple was moving and his jaw was clenched. His cheeks had bunched up, making his eyes appear smaller, harder to read. But he couldn't miss the obvious throbbing that was happening behind them.
He'd hurt him?
Since when did monsters have feelings?
He moved his leg as it became free, wanting to rub away the ache which settled there. The blinds had apparently been too tight and blood was now rushing to where it had previously been denied. It was a welcome distraction.
"If you don't want me to touch you, I won't. I'm -I'm sorry if I overstepped."
He sounded tired. Resigned. Like the weight of the world was crashing down on his shoulders and he was drowning in it. Touch was apparently something they did a lot. But how could he accept it now, knowing what he knew.
Knowing what he really was?
His feelings towards him had come grinding to a halt, with words that had left his own lips. Words he barely remembered saying.
He thought back to his face when he had shouted. Briefly lit, filled with a newfound hope. Only with one single involuntary movement, he had taken that away again. Crushed him as badly as when they had first met.
How could he bare to say his name?
How could he still want to reassure someone who should repulse him?
"No, it's okay. Really. Lets just focus on getting out of here."
He wanted to nod. Wanted to put it all on the backburner, concentrate on gaining his freedom and worry about who, or what , he was later. Except he couldn't do it. His body almost paralysed with thoughts. Doubts. Fears.
What would happen to him if he walked out that door with this man?
Was he better off taking up the demon's offer and running for the hills?
Better off as far away from the Winchesters as possible?
His breathing became heavier, the desire to run almost consuming him.
How did you even get someone to say yes to something you didn't understand?
Because he didn't, he didn't understand any of it. This man was infinitely gentle, he had believed in the light he brought, the strength he carried, the kindness he was made out of. But was it all just a manipulation? A lie meant to trick him in someway. To steal his soul? To make him a slave to the devil?
He tried to gasp in air, his eyes bulging. Little air pockets floating around inside his skull, making him dizzy.
It was too much, all of this was too much!
All of a sudden Sam was there. Crouching on the floor in front of him. His hands resting on the bed, near him, but not on him.
"Woah, easy. It's okay."
How could he say that? He was trapped, with no memory, in a hospital. An actual living demon threatening to make him wish for death, and potentially another one trying to lure him in with compassion.
"You're hyperventilating. Slow down.'
He wanted out, he wanted answers, he wanted none of his to ever have happened.
"Breathe with me, in and out."
He didn't want to, he didn't want to do anything with him. He wanted to be safe.
But he wasn't safe.
He may never be safe again.
"You're going to be fine."
Would he? He didn't feel like he would be. He felt out of his depth. Like he was stood in an empty desert surrounded by an army of hungry lions.
"Hey! Come on man. Look at me."
His tone was hard, authoritative and for some reason, he found himself obeying it. He was built to obey. His father expected him to obey.
He looked into his eyes and frowned.
They didn't match the voice?
They were soft, understanding, almost begging him to be alright?
"You can trust me."
There was no blackness there, no emptiness, no parasitic intent. Just what he'd always seen. Affection, gentleness, raw pain. He felt for him.
This man, with evil running through him, wanted to help him?
How could that even be possible?
How was any of this possible?
He wasn't asking him to follow an order. He wasn't pushing him to accept something he didn't want. He was just there. Wanting to be whatever he needed him to be.
No agender, no game.
"...You've got this."
He exhaled slowly, copying the in and out motions Sam was exaggerating. Watching his hand rise up between them and fall again, in a delicate, calming rhythm. His fingers almost dancing in the air.
"We'll fix this. Together."
Their eyes were locked. They're breathing in perfect sync and despite everything, he found himself nodding. Everything else in the room fading away until it was just him and Sam.
"I promise. You're going to be okay."
He closed his eyes.
And just like that, he felt the tension leaving him. The words ringing in his ears, pouring through his pores, soothing the panic in the way only a loved one could.
Before he could second guess himself, he reached out, threading his fingers over Sam's. Word failing him, but wanting to show him exactly how he felt. The smile he received in return was enough to melt even the hardest of hearts and he couldn't believe he ever had the audacity to doubt him.
"Okay." He rasped, tightening his hold on the man's hand. A small smile tugging at his lips in response to Sam's growing one.
Whatever that memory meant, he had interpreted it wrong, this man wasn't a monster.
He could never be a monster.
He was a lion tamer.
'We don't care how you do it, just get it done.'
'Just get him to say yes.'
And he, was totally screwed.