Thy Fearful Symmetry - pt. 3
Title: Thy Fearful Symmetry
Word Count: ~7900
Warnings: a tentacle that penetrates a chest cavity in a vaguely orgasmic - but consensual! - way. It takes place in a dream, and Cas is reaching for the piece of his grace inside Dean while in a form that has many tentacles. It's not meant explicitly to bring Dean to climax, but that is what happens. Despite that, Dean expects what occurs and gives his permission for Cas to do it anyway.
masterpost | part 1 | part 2
THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY
part 3
Dean holds out two postcards for Sam to inspect. “Which of these is better?” he asks. “I mean, which do you think a kid would like?”
“I don’t know,” Sam says, shrugging. “They both look pretty much the same to me. And instead of sending Ben a postcard, anyway, why don’t you just call him? You haven’t talked to him in two weeks.”
Dean shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I told him I’d send him postcards, okay? I’ve been doing it since we left anyway.” Sam looks at him dubiously, but Dean ignores him, saved by Cas timely walking by. “Cas!” he says, grabbing him by the back of the coat. “Which of these is better?” He holds up the postcards again. “For Ben.”
Cas looks at them seriously for a moment, then plucks the left one out of Dean’s hand. “This one,” he says.
“Awesome,” Dean says, sticking the other one back in its wire rack. “You guys ready to go then?” They make their purchases - the postcard for Dean, and a couple of bottles of water, plus a Red Bull for Cas - and then head back to the Impala. It’s been slow going for awhile, the last two leads they found turning out to be nothing. Cas can still sense his grace, but the longer he goes without finding another piece, the harder it is for him to feel them. He gets weaker, too, both Winchesters notice; he doesn’t complain, but he’s nearly always exhausted. They need to get lucky, and soon, or who knows what’s going to happen to Cas.
They’re on their way to California to investigate some recently discovered cave. Apparently - or at least according to the swirl of rumors surrounding it - any couple who goes in there is destined to stay together forever. It sounds like horse shit, as far as Dean’s concerned, but it does seem there could be something going on, and Cas seems more sure about this than any other leads they’d found.
“So,” Sam says, plucking at the knee of his jeans. Dean shoots him a look from the corner of his eye; Sam just smirks. “Who’s going to be the couple once we get there?”
Dean’s ears heat up, but before he can say anything, Cas speaks up. “Dean and I will,” he says, way too matter-of-factly for Dean’s comfort. “It will have to be me,” he explains, leaning up from where he’s been lounging on the back seat. “Because I’m the only one able to recognize my grace. And if we have to deceive them into thinking we’re a couple, I think Dean and I would be more convincing.” He gives Sam a look. “No offense meant, Sam.”
Sam waves Cas’s words away. “None taken,” he says, grinning at Dean.
It sets Dean’s teeth on edge. “Hey, no one is going to be a couple with anyone. Cas’ll go in, get the grace, get out. Easy.”
Things are never easy when you’re a Winchester.
An attractive woman in a pink suit surveys the three men, tapping her ballpoint pen against the clipboard she carries. “And... which of you will be going in?”
“I will,” Castiel says, looking much more like he’s going into battle than on a vacation - which is supposed to be their cover. He steps forward and peers at the clipboard. “My name is Castiel. C... A...”
“Right, right, got it,” the woman says with a nod, scribbling something down on her form. “And which of these handsome young men is your partner?”
Cas frowns and gives Dean a look that very clearly says I-told-you-so. “I would like to go in by myself,” he says deliberately.
The woman shakes her head. “Oh, I’m sorry, couples only.”
“It’s, uh... Me,” Dean says. He raises one hand, knowing he looks sheepish. “I think it’s pretty dumb but he wants to go so.” He shrugs and glances at Cas.
The woman - her name tag says Betsy Cramer - perks back up immediately. “Wonderful!” she says. She beams and pats Cas gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she tells him, leaning in like it’s a secret, “one visit here will be enough to convince him.” She winks and Dean can’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. If anyone is the difficult boyfriend here, damnit, it sure as hell isn’t Dean.
It costs fifty bucks per couple to get in, so after shelling out the last of their cash to Betsy, Dean and Cas get in line to go in. There are two couples ahead of them: one’s a pair in their sixties or seventies, and the other is a simpering couple so clingy and affectionate Dean instantly pegs them as newlyweds. They’re also wearing, to his complete disgust, matching outfits.
The elderly couple goes in first, stays and does whatever the hell it is one does in a secret love cave, and then comes out. They look as sedate as they did when they went in, though their hands are now clasped together. The second couple goes in and stays much longer, coming out nearly holding each other up, their arms wrapped around each other.
“Ahh love,” Betsy says, looking starry-eyed at the two as they climb into their car. Dean makes a gagging motion behind her back; Sam elbows him. “Okay, you two up next,” she says, motioning them forward. Dean and Cas walk down the path and then the dark opening. It’s on the side of a rocky hill, the little set-up built around it to con tourists out of their money obviously pretty recent.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispers, nudging him. “This is all a scam, right? Your mojo can’t really do the whole together forever thing can it?”
“One fragment is much weaker than the whole,” Cas answers evasively, which isn’t really an answer at all.
“Hey,” Dean says, “We’re not going to end up like those two assholes who came in before us are we?”
“Dean,” he says, and damn does he sound snippy, “do you really believe my grace could affect me? In any way I don’t intend?”
Dean shrugs, shoulders stiff, “I don’t know,” he says, sounding petulant.
“It can’t.” They walk a little further in. “And don’t worry about yourself; the rumors surrounding this formation say it only strengthens love already there.” He side-eyes Dean. “If you are not in love with me, then you have nothing to worry about.”
That, Dean decides, doesn’t even deserve a response.
The cave is pretty narrow starting out, but the further they go, the wider it gets, until finally it opens up into a large, circular room carved out of a gray, craggy rock. In the middle of the room there’s a pedestal with a protrusion at the top that looks like a bowl. And resting in the bowl, lit by a bulb giving off a faint red light, is a rock.
Dean gawks. “Dude. Is that shaped like a heart? Un-fucking-believable.”
Castiel sighs. “My grace. That’s where it’s contained.”
“Okay, so just.” Dean makes grabbing motions. “Break that bad boy open so we can go.”
Though he looks unhappy about it, Cas does obey. But as soon as he touches the stone, he draws his hand back like he’s been burned.
“What the hell’s the matter?” Dean asks, stepping forward. He leans in, inspecting the stone a little closer. “It hot or something?”
Cas rubs his hand. “No,” he says, his brows furrowed. “It didn’t burn. It was a feeling I find... difficult to describe.” He goes to touch it again and this time his fingers stay on it for a few seconds longer. His breathing grows labored, his face flushed, and then he jerks away again. “This should not.” He licks his lips, staring at the rock. “This shouldn’t be affecting me like this.” But even as he says that he’s reaching out again.
It’s probably not one of his brightest ideas, but Cas obviously thinks it’s safe - even if the sensations it produces are strange - so as soon as Cas touches it again, Dean reaches out to do the same.
The moment his fingers hit the stone it’s like his whole world shifts. His mind feels blown wide open. Hot, fierce arousal churns up his stomach, and he can feel his body building to climax even without anything helping it along.
“Holy shit,” Dean says, pulling away. He grins at Cas. “Orgasm rock.” His first instinct is to touch it again - and keep touching it this time, hell yeah - except Castiel’s expression stops him. The angel looks almost mystified, staring at the rock in a mix of fascination and bewilderment. “You okay, man?”
“I’m fine,” Cas answers sharply. He’s annoyed by Dean’s chatter - and yeah, some of that’s apparent just by looking at his face, but Dean feels that annoyance. And Cas really, really wants to touch that rock; Dean’s not sure how he knows that, but he does, like he’s in Castiel’s head, feeling the warm pulse of desire flaring through the angel’s body.
“I only want to get my grace out of it, Dean, nothing else,” Cas says suddenly, sounding even more pissy than he did a second ago. And that’s pretty fucking bizarre, because it’s a response to what he was thinking. Not what he said - what he thought.
"Dude, what the fuck?" Dean says, glaring at Cas. "You reading my mind?"
The confused expression on Cas's face gets dark, and he looks away from Dean. "Not by choice, I assure you." He purses his lips. "It's like... Something is pushing it into my head. I can't not see it." He shifts, looking uncomfortable. "It is... I don't like it. I’m not sure what’s happening."
Dean relaxes, glad to find Cas's little mind-reading stunt hadn't been intentional. Actually, he might have been reading Cas’s mind, too; it explains how he knew what he was feeling. "Not a big deal,” Dean explains. "You’re just... getting a little worked up."
Cas frowns. "What do you mean?"
"You know," he says. "Turned on. Getting hot from whatever whammy that grace-rock put on you.” Dean shrugs. “When I touched it, I felt the same thing.”
"Oh." Cas looked down on the floor, apparently lost in thought. "I don't... I don't think so," he says, "though I suppose that could be the cause for my discomfort. It's..." He pauses, taking a breath to try to work out precisely what he was feeling. He shifts his shoulders, and Dean was uncomfortably aware of how human the gesture was - how physical.
He’s been noticing that more and more lately. He’d been noticing Cas more in general, actually, though only recently had that notice started taking on a keener, physical edge. Castiel is pretty - Dean knows. He is, in fact, uncomfortably aware of that. Cas had those same fucking dreams he did, the crazy ones with the tiger and a whole hell of a lot of Dean’s jizz. Maybe Cas can’t recognize normal arousal because all he ever feels is a freakish desire to get Dean off while he is a fucking tiger. And that makes Dean wonder - had Cas ever gotten off at all? He was practically terrified in that whorehouse, and it seemed pretty damn unlikely he’d ever taken the time to sort his virginity out on his own.
“Dean,” Cas says, and his eyes are dark and he’s staring at Dean in a way that makes Dean feel nothing more than a piece of meat. “You...” He looks away for a moment before clearing his throat and turning back again, his gaze even sharper. “You remember that. The dreams?” He licks his lips and Dean feels his heart skip, thumping against his chest. Jesus, just what the hell is Cas up to, bringing shit like this up?
“I...” Dean coughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I remember. Fuck, Cas, who wouldn’t remember a dream that fucked up? Especially if they’d dreamed that shit more than fucking once. You... You practically molested me, dude,” he all but spits out.
“I did nothing like that,” Cas says, eyes going dark with anger. “I remade you. I... did not anticipate the...” He looks away, his gaze suddenly shifty. “I did not anticipate your reaction.”
“You mean the fact that you gave me a fucking orgasm?”
Cas presses his lips together and looks positively pissy. “Yes. That.”
Dean rolls his eyes. Things between them have suddenly gotten tense, and he’s uncomfortably aware of how small the room they’re in is. “Look,” he says, keeping his gaze off Cas, “let’s just break this thing open, get the grace, and get back to Sam. Agreed?”
Cas nods and together they grab the stone. This time, though, the feeling is ten times more intense than it was before. Whether it’s because with each touch the stone’s power is magnified, or because they’re touching it together, emotions heightened, Dean isn’t sure. But the feeling is so intense it takes his breath away. He lets go of the stone - half reluctantly, he can admit to himself - and even though he’s no longer touching it there’s a tingling up and down his body, centered in his groin. Cas doesn’t seem to have the same strength of will.
His hand is gripping the stone so tightly his knuckles have turned white, and his head is thrown back, the long, pale column of his throat lit up by the rosy light from the pedestal. His shoulders hunch up and then cables of smoke spring from his back in a shapeless, gray haze. He gasps, his breathing hitching as the smoke starts to solidify, taking shaping into oily, black wings. Shadow drips from half-formed feathers as the great, billowy forms Dean once saw in an old barn become powerful - tangible - black wings. And if Cas thought the adolescent growths Dean had were exceptional... then he had never seen his own. There was no comparison between them; Cas’s wings are exceptional, they are magnificent, they made the wings given to Dean look no greater than the wings of a dirty pigeon.
“Dean,” Cas says, his voice gone breathy, pitched higher from the physical sensations the stone is causing. “Dean,” he says again, louder. The wings pump up and down once, causing a burst of cool wind to flood the room. Castiel’s whole body starts to shake and he swallows once, then again, then - still clutching the stone - a swirl of light explodes outward, lighting up the room. Dean’s eyes burn, scorched by the violent brightness, and he looks away from Cas, squeezing his eyes shut and covering them with his forearm.
Cas screams - not in his angelic voice, not with any supernatural force; he just screams, a warm, human sound of pleasure.
Jesus, Dean thinks, maybe he shouldn’t have let go of that stone.
The scream gains volume and Cas’s wings start flapping harder; the whole cave starts to tremble.
“Shit,” Dean says aloud, kiting towards Cas. “You’re going to bring the whole thing down!” he yells. “Just stop. Let go, you jackass!”
But either Cas doesn’t hear him or he’s too far gone to make sense of what’s said, because he doesn’t do anything but stand there and scream. And then, in one final push that makes the whole earth around them start to move, his wings beat harder and his voice moves into a high, painful melody - and it hurts Dean to listen to it, it does, but it’s one of the most beautiful damn things he’s ever heart. His arm moves from in front of his eyes and he covers his ears. HIs hands feel wet - probably blood, he realizes - and he falls to his knees as the cave starts to collapse around them.
The cave-in only lasts for a few seconds, Dean thinks - maybe a minute, he’s not sure. But he wasn’t hurt and when he stands up he sees Cas wasn’t either.
“Hey,” he says, brushing himself off. “You back with us now?”
Cas doesn’t answer. He takes the stone in both hands and throws it to the ground, hard. It splits clean down the middle, and just as Cas had predicted there was a glowing feather laying on the ground between the halves. Cas sticks out a hand, palm towards the feather. It floats up to him, propelled by its own power, the golden light flickering out like a trail behind it. Cas doesn’t eat this one, like Dean expects; instead, he just absorbs it into his hand. His fingers clench spasmodically for a moment or two, and then his arm falls back down to his side.
“We got what we came for,” he says, suddenly all-business, and not at all like some asshole who just came so hard he brought the whole room down with him. “We can go.”
Dean has to remind himself more than once that punching Cas in his stupid face would probably cause more harm than good. “Okay,” he says instead, licking his lips and looking around. “And just how do you suggest we do that?”
Cas points to where they’d come in; it’s covered by rubble. “We dig.”
At first it seems like a daunting task, but after a closer inspection it looks like things weren’t nearly as bad as Dean thought. Cas, apparently, was a lot more flash than substance in the earthquakes and orgasms department.
There’s a little room to move around and together they kneel in front of the exit. Cas pulls out a large rock near the top, sending a mini landslide tumbling down. He coughs and sets the rock aside.
“Careful,” Dean barks. “Trying to bury us alive once was more than enough for me.” He thinks around how lucky he is that they have any room to maneuver at all, because being buried alive once ever was more than enough for him.
Cas coughs again and wipes sweat from his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. He looks exhausted, too, his face pale. “But it wasn’t luck. Once I realized what was happening I tried to stop it; before my wings dematerialized I used them to protect us.”
“Oh.” Dean shrugs, not looking at him as he continues to dig. “Thanks, I guess.”
“We don’t have to dig far,” Cas says. “And I’m sure Sam is on the other side digging as well.”
“Good,” Dean grunts. And he continues to dig.
Cas was right - he’s not much help after getting his grace back and it takes them the better part of just past an hour, but they do get it. Sam grabs Dean as soon as he can, pulling him into a tight hug.
“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says, patting his brother’s back. “I’m fine. Cas is fine.” To which Cas responds by losing consciousness.
Betsy apologizes profusely, but they just wave her worries away as the Winchesters haul Cas to the car. She refunds their money, and they sign something saying they won’t sue, and then they’re on their way.
Cas wakes up just before they pull into a hotel, looking a little better than he did before. He and Sam check in and Dean goes to grab some food. After a quick supper and a rock-paper-scissors for the beds - turns out Cas is even worse than Dean, and gets stuck with the floor - they all try to get some sleep.
And that night, Dean dreams.
“Cas, what the hell are you doing?” Dean scuttles backwards on his ass, half-afraid of the bulbous, writhing mass in front of him. Scratch that, he thinks, absolutely fully fucking afraid. Or at least he should be. He should be screaming, trying to gank it, trying to get away, not just shuffling away like he’s nothing but nervous. It’s gotta be more than nerves, right?
The Cas-thing doesn’t answer. Not in words, anyway, and not even - like before - in Dean’s head. Instead the whole world around them starts to rumble, and Dean feels... He feels, like the thing’s warped emotions are being projected into him.
“Oh shit,” he breathes, something like fear burbling up through his nervous system. It starts at his feet and he can feel it rise, can feel the fear like a crawling, visceral thing moving upwards. He claws at his chest but the feeling doesn’t stop and the Cas-thing starts to project remorse, pain at having hurt him. “Fuck,” Dean says, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. There’s a deeper rumble and then something else pulses - it’s a weird feeling, claustrophobic and warm. It makes the hair on his arms stand up and an itchy feeling courses up him, making his skin crawl.
Castiel moves forward, propelling himself with the tentacles closer to Dean. Even though the movements are slow, there’s an urgency there that Dean can feel. An urgency, and again, that thing close to fear. When it reaches him, it stretches one tentacle forward. Dean tries to draw back, but the tentacle surges with him and reaches out, touching his chest.
That makes something light up inside him and he realizes finally what the bulbous, pulsating mass of Cas-jelly wants. “The piece of grace inside me?” he asks. “You’re trying to get that, right?”
The tentacles all start to twitch, writhing and stretching. Dean gulps as he feels a tremor and a wave of foreign relief wash over him. That’s agreement, he knows. It’s just... He’s seen enough porn to imagine already how agreeing to let a tentacle go inside him is going to end. “Uh.” He looks down at the tentacle moving up towards his neck. “How exactly is this going to work? I can just get it for you, right? Like pull it out on my own?”
The tentacles don’t really give him much of an answer; the wave of emotion he feels is mostly confusion. Another tentacle wraps around his waist and two more twine up his arms. The mass vibrates, and it emits a noise that Dean almost wants to describe as a purr. The tip of one tentacle traces the shell of his ear and he gets the disquieting feeling that all the weird touching is supposed to be comforting.
“So then, uh. There’s not going to be any insert tab a into slot b going on.”
The tentacles make some sinuous, wriggling movements, almost like they’re caressing him. The excruciatingly clear message is that there won’t be - if he doesn’t want there to be. That opens up a whole kinky can of worms regarding himself that Dean doesn’t even want to begin to examine, and he’s quick to shake his head without even considering it. “No,” he says, “no. Definitely don’t want that.”
There’s no head so it can’t nod, but the tentacles do make a shaky movement Dean takes to mean assent. One pushes up his shirt and then dips into his navel. Dean doesn’t have time to push it away or really react at all, before he feels a pointed heat pushing into his belly.
“What the fuck,” Dean spits out, trying to wriggle away from the invasive feeling, but the tentacle just surges in further, and the others wrap tighter around his body. Then they still and Dean holds his breath, wondering what’s going to happen. A moment passes as he gets used to the feeling; it doesn’t hurt - at least it’s not pain like he’s used to describing it. The area around the tentacle burns, but inside, where he knows it is, in the broad cavity of his chest, feels lit up. When he doesn’t protest further, when his body goes loose and he gives a short nod, the tentacle starts moving. It probes around, looking for the piece of grace lodged inside him. There’s a dark pulse of radiant pleasure, a burning that sets his whole body searing like a bottle rocket. It’s good, holy fuck it’s good, and Dean groans, wondering if maybe Cas has just never seen tentacle porn before, and this is his best approximation.
Because every swipe the tentacle makes in his gut sends another wave of sizzling hot pleasure lancing through him. If he comes from this, he thinks, if he gets another fucking orgasm from some weird ass dream of Cas’s, then he’s going to go absolutely bugshit insane.
It’s too late, though, because the tentacle suddenly reaches its destination, the whatever-it-is bit of grace that it’s been looking for. And it stops, pauses, just for half a second and Dean barely notices that half a fucking second except for the momentous precipice it puts him on, before it’s pushing him over the edge and plunging deeper deeper deeper until it’s buried in so far he thinks it might actually be a part of him. And then it moves, curving upward, and the feeling intensifies so much it feels like he’s exploding, like all the inside parts of him are moving inexorably to the outside. What’s worse is that the movement is like a caress, like the tentacle is stroking him, like while on its journey to The Center of Dean it found some nice organs it liked and decided to give them a few pets.
Oh fuck, Dean thinks, oh no, because it’s his heart, isn’t it? It’s probably his heart. There’s really nothing else it can be, is there, because he has the tentacle of his awkward best friend-angel inside his body in one of his dreams and he’s about to come so hard that it might actually blow his dick off. And, god, no, no not that, because the last thing Dean thinks about the rom-com hentai survival horror story that is his life is that maybe maybe next time he’d like to try one of those tentacles wrapped around his dick.
It’s that thought - and an embarrassing situation in his boxers - to which he has the pleasure of waking up. He groans, pulling the pillow out from under his head and putting it over his face. Maybe he can pretend that never happened. Maybe. He throws the pillow onto the floor and sits up, scrubbing at his eyes. Sam’s still asleep in the other bed, snoring faintly, one foot hanging half off the mattress. His toes twitch and Dean grunts disdainfully; whatever he’s dreaming about, it probably isn’t getting his organs molested by a fucking tentacle monster of the Lord.
He feels grimy, and he has to piss, so he gets out of bed. There’s no Cas on the floor, though, and there’s a thin line of yellow light coming from under the bathroom door. Dean knocks gently once and says “Cas? Are you almost done? And what the hell are you doing in there, anyway?”
“Nothing,” is the muffled reply, and Dean decides to risk it, turning the knob and stepping inside. He closes the door behind him. Cas is standing there, in front of the toilet. He’s still wearing the same suit he always wears, though Dean notices there’s a distinct odor coming off him now. He takes a seat on the lip of the bathtub.
“Dude,” he says, “you reek.”
Castiel doesn’t look at him. “This isn’t working,” he says. His voice is hoarse; he sounds weary, and Dean can’t help but notice the slump of his shoulders and the dark smudges under heavy eyes.
“What’s not?”
Cas lifts one hand to his face. He stares at his fingers as he flexes them. He makes a tight fist and then releases it. “My grace,” he says, turning his hand to look at the back of it. “Without that I am... nothing. Just this shell.” He finally looks over at Dean. There’s something frightening in his expression, something that makes Dean take note, even if he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. “It appears that with each piece of grace I find I become more human.” He lowers his hand and stares at the fucking toilet like he learned all this from it. “Not less.”
Dean’s not sure what to say. Congratulations? Sorry? He licks his lips and waits.
“You should leave,” Cas says, after at least ten full seconds of silence. “I have to use the facilities.”
“Uh.” Dean clears his throat and makes a vague gesture somewhere near the region of Castiel’s groin.
Castiel looks at him. “I have to take a piss,” he clarifies.
“And shower,” Dean says, standing up and wrinkling his nose. “I guess, uh, sweating is something you do now, too. Kind of thought the sleeping thing was just a fluke.”
“So did I.”
Dean knows he should leave, knows he should let Cas do his business so that he can do his own, but. Something about his voice - so dejected, so worn-out and dog tired, makes Dean want to stay. It almost makes him want to help, though he sure as hell doesn’t know what he could do.
The moment stretches on, and Dean’s growing more and more fidgety, until he can’t stand it and says “You could at least lose that suit you’re wearing. Gotta be uncomfortable. Me and Sam’ll give you something to wear.”
Cas looks at Dean, and then down at himself. Movements stiff. He slides the coat off his shoulders, then hands it to Dean. Dean doesn’t know if that means Cas wants to keep it or wants it laundered or thrown out or what, but he senses that he should wait to ask. Then Cas undoes his tie and pulls it over his head. That, he throws on the floor. The shirt follows. There are sweat stains at his pits, and what probably used to be a crisp, clean white has dulled to a soft, dirty sort of gray. His body is pale and lean, the skin of his torso smooth except for the pink, puckered scar of the old angel banishing sigil he carved into his body. Dean stares a little; he can’t help it. He’s seen Cas partially undressed before, but it’s still weird. Even weirder, now that it’s his skin, now that it’s a body he fully owns. And Cas has nipples. Real, normal man nipples. Dean shifts his eyes away.
When Cas shoves his pants down his legs and steps out of them, all he’s left in are his black dress socks and white cotton briefs.
“Um.” Dean’s voice comes out higher than he expected, and he clears his throat. He looks at the towels; it’s safe to look at towels. “You should probably keep those on.” Cas looks at his feet. “You look like a giant baby,” Dean says, too loud and too fast. “I mean... Tightie-whities? Really? You’re a grown man; we’re going to get you some grown ass underwear.”
Castiel’s brow wrinkles, and he looks up at Dean, his head tilted. Like he has no fucking clue what Dean is talking about.
Of course he doesn’t, Dean thinks. He blinks as Cas stares at him and tries to remember why he was even in that bathroom in the first place.
“Dean,” Cas says, and his voice is obviously deliberate. “I need to take a shower now.”
“I thought you had to pee,” Dean says. He feels trapped, like Cas has cornered him somehow, and the whole experience has shifted into something surreal. And Jesus, he’d had that weird as fuck tentacle dream and if Cas remembered their other dreams, then he must remember that one, too. “I dreamed about you,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to do - except leave, he knows he should leave, Cas is going to be very naked very soon and Dean kind of wants to gouge out his eyes just thinking about that because there’s already enough skin showing as it is and Dean’s brain goes fuzzy just thinking about Cas stripping out of his briefs. Not good, he thinks. This is not good. “I must have woken up about a minute after you did,” he continues. “I didn’t see you come in here.”
“I remember,” Cas says. He looks down and for a second Dean wonders if that’s all he’s going to say about it. It’s all he says, yeah, because a second later he’s reaching up, his fingertips resting against Dean’s chest, in a possessive circle right at his heart. Dean can feel warmth even through the t-shirt he’s wearing. He swallows. “There is a piece of me still inside you,” Cas says, staring at Dean’s chest like he can see through it. “In a... less conscious state, I must have reached out for it.”
His eyes dart up to Dean’s, quick, and the little bastard looks shifty. He licks his lips and draws his hand away. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Uh.”
Cas steps around him and turns the water on. Dean moves backwards until his back’s against the door. He thinks absently maybe he needs a shower, too. Cas almost-looks at him before he leans down and tugs his socks off, left foot then right. And then he slides his briefs off - down his pale legs with sparse hair and strong calves. Dean stands there, still, and Cas steps under the water. He shivers and Dean wonders if he knows that showers are better when they’re warm. Poor guy probably couldn’t figure out how to work the hot and cold knobs.
Dean wants a shower. Dean wants a very cold shower. He wants a lot of things, he thinks, and he’s not sure why, not sure where that thought came from, but he knows that he needs to go. Now.
When he tries to speak, his throat feels like there’s something lodged in it. “I’m gonna...”
“Go. Yes,” Cas says. His arms are wrapped around his body; he looks up then, and seems to notice the shower curtain he never bothered pulling closed. Whether he only now realized what it was for or just remembered to close it, Dean doesn’t know. But Cas yanks it, the hooks pulling across the metal rod as it closes the shower off.
Dean throws the door open and throws himself out of the room, closing the door as quick as he can behind him. His breathing his fast and he feels guilty, checking again to make sure Sam is there, and asleep. He grabs his pillow from the floor and crawls back into bed.
Whatever he got up for, he decides, can wait until morning.
The next morning Dean can’t help how twitchy he is, and he knows Sam notices. But whatever the fuck happened last night with Cas still has him on edge and if he’s snappy it’s really not his fault.
They get through breakfast normally; Cas, for his part, doesn’t seem any different. A little morose, maybe, but that’s sort of become par for the course. He doesn’t say anything to Sam about his sudden human-ness, though he does ask the brothers if he can borrow something different to wear. Sam just looks at Dean until Dean rolls his eyes and digs through his stuff for an extra shirt and pair of jeans. He throws them at Cas and Cas thanks him, voice placid as ever, and goes to the bathroom to change.
Their next destination, Cas tells them as they pile into the car, is somewhere south of where they are now.
“The pulse of grace is stronger,” he says, poring over a US atlas in the Impala’s backseat. “I’m not sure why, but I think I can pinpoint where we need to go more easily than I’ve been able to before.” His fingers dance over the pages and he stares like the maps are staring back. He lands somewhere in the Mississippi delta when he finally looks up. “Here,” he says, tapping the spot with the knuckle of his index finger. Sam turns from the passenger seat to look, and Cas hands him the book. “That’s where we need to go.”
They drive. It’s comfortable, maybe even nice, Dean thinks to himself. He hums along with the song playing as Cas stares out the window and Sam snores in the front seat. He knows Lisa is waiting for him; he misses her, misses Ben, sometimes so much it hurts. But. He looks in the rearview mirror. Now he has Sam and Cas. Cas catches his eye in the mirror and offers a thin smile. Dean grins back and lets himself wonder if maybe when this is over they can do this again. Just a quick break from whatever’s going to become of their lives. And maybe Lisa and Ben can come, too. Maybe. Or maybe it’ll just be him and Sam and Cas again. They can go see the Grand Canyon. Mount Rushmore. Some of that dumb touristy shit like giant balls of yarn or celebrity wax museums. Maybe they can drive for as long as they have road to drive on.
Sam grunts and wakes up suddenly, looking around the car like he can’t remember where he is. Dean laughs and ruffles his shaggy hair as hard as he can, suddenly buoyant.
“God, Dean, stop it,” Sam says, pushing him away with his elbow and smoothing down his hair. He rakes his fingers through those luscious locks of his and slumps down in his seat. “Watch the goddamn road. Jerk.”
Dean sits up straighter, the grin on his face so big he thinks it might be plastered on. “Bitch,” he answers. Cas just sits in the back and smiles.
It’s hot. Sweet Jesus it’s so hot Dean thinks his face might melt off and wouldn’t that just be the best fucking thing to happen this week. He hopes that he’s in front of Cas and Sammy when it melts so they have to walk through a sticky, bloody pile of goo and get his fucking face all over their feet. They deserve it; they’’re the ones who dragged him out here.
Dean sighs. “All right, we checked - but whoops, no grace. Can we go now?”
Sam shoots him a pissy glare. “No,” he says, striding in front of his brother. “We don’t know yet whether there’s a piece of his grace here or not.”
“There is.” Dean looks back at Cas, who’s staring intently at the dusty ground. “I can feel it now; I’m sure.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Great,” he mutters. “Just great.”
They walk up the well-trodden path to the house. It’s enormous, two stories with a big wraparound porch, the sides painted in a crisp white.
“Nice digs,” Sam says with a whistle, looking around the place. They walk up the three steps leading to the porch.
“Yeah,” Dean grunts. “Nice.”
“Dean,” Cas says suddenly, a note of caution in his voice. He grabs Dean’s arm.
Sam doesn’t seem to notice, already ringing the doorbell. “What is it?” Dean asks, looking back at Cas.
Cas releases his arm. “I don’t...” His eyes narrow as he looks around. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. “But something isn’t right here. I can sense... something. But I don’t know what. We should be careful.”
Dean nods and they step closer to Sam. After another second or two of waiting, the big wooden door swings inward.
A short, curvy woman dressed in dirty clothes obviously meant for gardening looks up at them. “Can I help you?” she asks, smiling, through the screen door. “Are you here to see the gardens?”
“Um, yes ma’am,” Sam says, ducking his head a little. “We’re here to see the gardens.”
“Oh wonderful,” she says. They step back a little as she opens the screen. “Come inside, boys. I’ll be happy to give you a tour.”
The three of them follow her inside. It’s a little incongruous seeing her, dirty and wearing work clothes, against the backdrop of the house’s interior. It’s beautiful, obviously old and well cared for, with nice furnishings and a thick, expensive looking rug on the floor in front of big staircase.
“This way,” she says, beckoning them to follow her with a wave of her hand. They all troop through the front room into the kitchen. She grabs a big, floppy brown sun hat from a peg by the back door. “Right out here,” she says, holding the door open. Sam goes out, followed by Dean, Cas, and then the woman. “Got five greenhouses,” she says, shutting the door. She steps around the men and points to the one closest to the house. “We’ll start there.”
“Thanks,” Sam says. “Miss, uh...”
“Oh!” She looks back at them and smiles. “Sorry,” she says. “Never introduced myself. It’s Ms. Gardener.”
“Gardener,” Cas repeats. “That is apt.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Well. Yeah, it is a bit on the nose, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Dean can feel Cas stiffen beside him and looks over, confused. Cas is staring at the woman, a dark expression on his face. “If that is your name.”
Sam and Dean both stare at Cas, but he doesn’t give any more explanation. Gardener crosses her arms and gives Cas a thorough once over. “You know what?” she asks finally, her voice conspicuously light, “I think you boys can handle yourselves just fine. Look through any greenhouse you like; just don’t hurt the plants. I’ll be in the house if you need me.”
“What’s up with her?” Dean asks as they watch her walk away. His shirt is sticking to him and it’s still hot as fuck and he really doesn’t want to add another thing to his list of why today sucks.
“I’m not sure,” Cas says, softly. “There is... something about her. Something that troubles me. But I don’t think she means us any harm.”
“Well good. Now let’s find that grace so we can get the hell out of here.” Dean heads toward the greenhouse but stops after a few steps when no one follows him. “What,” he says, raising his arms up in exasperation. “I thought we were here to see the damn plants.”
“There’s nothing out there,” Cas says dismissively. “Except for several plants that shouldn’t be able to grow in his climate. What we want is in the house.”
“Okay,” Dean says, looking at Cas. God, the guy is being obtuse. Dean is starting to get more than irritated. “Well then let’s go back inside.”
Sam gives him a look that says ‘how do I deal with you.’ Dean returns one that says fuck you.
“I think we should tread cautiously,” Cas instructs them. “Dean. Don’t do anything rash.”
Dean rolls his eyes as Cas herds them back inside. Rash. Jesus.
Ms. Gardener - or whoever she is - isn’t in the kitchen when they get inside. Cas takes a look around. He picks up a knife from the counter and examines it for a second. Dean clears his throat. “She’s upstairs,” Cas says. “I think it’s safe to look around.”
Sam and Dean can’t sense the grace, so despite the risk of getting caught being greater, they stick together. As soon as they enter a room that looks like some kind of parlor off to the side of the foyer, though, Cas stiffens.
“It’s here,” he says. The room’s decorated richly, with paintings on the wall, and vases and sculptures set on little pedestals all over. Cas nods toward one vase. “There.”
Dean walks toward it. There doesn’t look like it’s protected at all; it doesn’t even look that valuable, really, so Dean’s not sure why the grace found that, but. As long as they found it, that’s all that matters.
He looks in. There’s no feather. “Uh, Cas,” he says, “is it... in the vase? Because I’m not seeing anything here.” He picks it up and peers inside again, then turns it to look at the bottom.
“It’s not in the vase,” Cas says. “It’s seeped into it. Literally inside it - inside the material of it.”
“Oh.” Dean nods, examining it again. “Okay.” And then he drops it on the floor, where it shatters.
It’s louder than he expected it to be - it’s louder than it should be - and there’s no way Ms. Gardener isn’t going to notice the sound.
“Dean,” Cas says suddenly, sounding pained. He reaches out towards the vase, an expression of fear on his face, his hand contorted like a claw. “Dean what have you done. It’s... getting away.”
“And just what the hell do the three of you think you’re doing?” They all turn as one to see Gardener staring at them from the doorway, her fists planted on her hips. Her eyes are dark with anger, her mouth turned down.
Cas takes a step toward her, waves of something dark practically radiating off him. “I came to reclaim something that belongs to me.” His eyes narrow further. “And I know who you are now.”
She and Cas have a staredown - ignoring both Winchesters, who are still standing there, struck a bit dumb.
“Um.” Sam clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Could you tell us who she is? Uh, please?”
“Demeter,” Cas spits out.
Sam’s eyes go wide and he takes an involuntary step back. “Who?” Dean asks. “Greek, right? She gave her kid up to Hades or something?”
“Hades kidnapped Persephone,” Sam hisses at him. “It’s the story of why we have the seasons.”
“You’re right,” she says, with a graceful nod. It makes her look elegant, despite the dirt on her clothes. “I am Demeter. But who are you?”
“We’re the - “
“I wasn’t asking you,” she says sharply to Dean. But she doesn’t spare him a glance, her attention still focused on Cas. “I was talking to him. Feels like an angel.” She shrugs. “But not much of one.”
“That’s right,” Cas says. He’s still in battle mood and Dean looks back and forth between Demeter and Cas, forming a plan in case anything goes down. “I was looking for - “
“Your power? Whatever was in that vase?” She nods and suddenly the tension in the room starts to ease up some. “Sure as shit was a surprise to me when it crashed here.” She side-eyes Dean, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I would have returned it. Had you asked.”
Dean rolls his eyes dramatically, feeling all three of them - even Sam, the damn traitor - staring at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Okay? Christ.”
“I can fix the vase,” Demeter says, ignoring him. She walks into the room, laying a comforting hand on Cas’s shoulder as she passes by. She kneels down on the floor in front of all the pieces. “But I think you’re out of luck. Whatever you’re looking for isn’t here.” She stands up and wipes her palms on her pants. The vase is sitting, whole, back on it’s stand. “And it’s fractured even further.”
“There’s not...” Sam looks away and then back at her. “There’s not anything you can do, is there?”
“Well.” Her mouth twists up as she contemplates his question. “No. Not really. I can’t fix him - that’s way out of my pantheon. But as for this one piece? I can’t restore it; but I can make it a little easier to find.” She runs her finger around the lip of the vase. Cracks appear suddenly, separating it into big, neat pieces. “Ever hear of the labors of Hercules?”
~~~
part 4
Word Count: ~7900
Warnings: a tentacle that penetrates a chest cavity in a vaguely orgasmic - but consensual! - way. It takes place in a dream, and Cas is reaching for the piece of his grace inside Dean while in a form that has many tentacles. It's not meant explicitly to bring Dean to climax, but that is what happens. Despite that, Dean expects what occurs and gives his permission for Cas to do it anyway.
masterpost | part 1 | part 2
THY FEARFUL SYMMETRY
part 3
Dean holds out two postcards for Sam to inspect. “Which of these is better?” he asks. “I mean, which do you think a kid would like?”
“I don’t know,” Sam says, shrugging. “They both look pretty much the same to me. And instead of sending Ben a postcard, anyway, why don’t you just call him? You haven’t talked to him in two weeks.”
Dean shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I told him I’d send him postcards, okay? I’ve been doing it since we left anyway.” Sam looks at him dubiously, but Dean ignores him, saved by Cas timely walking by. “Cas!” he says, grabbing him by the back of the coat. “Which of these is better?” He holds up the postcards again. “For Ben.”
Cas looks at them seriously for a moment, then plucks the left one out of Dean’s hand. “This one,” he says.
“Awesome,” Dean says, sticking the other one back in its wire rack. “You guys ready to go then?” They make their purchases - the postcard for Dean, and a couple of bottles of water, plus a Red Bull for Cas - and then head back to the Impala. It’s been slow going for awhile, the last two leads they found turning out to be nothing. Cas can still sense his grace, but the longer he goes without finding another piece, the harder it is for him to feel them. He gets weaker, too, both Winchesters notice; he doesn’t complain, but he’s nearly always exhausted. They need to get lucky, and soon, or who knows what’s going to happen to Cas.
They’re on their way to California to investigate some recently discovered cave. Apparently - or at least according to the swirl of rumors surrounding it - any couple who goes in there is destined to stay together forever. It sounds like horse shit, as far as Dean’s concerned, but it does seem there could be something going on, and Cas seems more sure about this than any other leads they’d found.
“So,” Sam says, plucking at the knee of his jeans. Dean shoots him a look from the corner of his eye; Sam just smirks. “Who’s going to be the couple once we get there?”
Dean’s ears heat up, but before he can say anything, Cas speaks up. “Dean and I will,” he says, way too matter-of-factly for Dean’s comfort. “It will have to be me,” he explains, leaning up from where he’s been lounging on the back seat. “Because I’m the only one able to recognize my grace. And if we have to deceive them into thinking we’re a couple, I think Dean and I would be more convincing.” He gives Sam a look. “No offense meant, Sam.”
Sam waves Cas’s words away. “None taken,” he says, grinning at Dean.
It sets Dean’s teeth on edge. “Hey, no one is going to be a couple with anyone. Cas’ll go in, get the grace, get out. Easy.”
Things are never easy when you’re a Winchester.
An attractive woman in a pink suit surveys the three men, tapping her ballpoint pen against the clipboard she carries. “And... which of you will be going in?”
“I will,” Castiel says, looking much more like he’s going into battle than on a vacation - which is supposed to be their cover. He steps forward and peers at the clipboard. “My name is Castiel. C... A...”
“Right, right, got it,” the woman says with a nod, scribbling something down on her form. “And which of these handsome young men is your partner?”
Cas frowns and gives Dean a look that very clearly says I-told-you-so. “I would like to go in by myself,” he says deliberately.
The woman shakes her head. “Oh, I’m sorry, couples only.”
“It’s, uh... Me,” Dean says. He raises one hand, knowing he looks sheepish. “I think it’s pretty dumb but he wants to go so.” He shrugs and glances at Cas.
The woman - her name tag says Betsy Cramer - perks back up immediately. “Wonderful!” she says. She beams and pats Cas gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she tells him, leaning in like it’s a secret, “one visit here will be enough to convince him.” She winks and Dean can’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. If anyone is the difficult boyfriend here, damnit, it sure as hell isn’t Dean.
It costs fifty bucks per couple to get in, so after shelling out the last of their cash to Betsy, Dean and Cas get in line to go in. There are two couples ahead of them: one’s a pair in their sixties or seventies, and the other is a simpering couple so clingy and affectionate Dean instantly pegs them as newlyweds. They’re also wearing, to his complete disgust, matching outfits.
The elderly couple goes in first, stays and does whatever the hell it is one does in a secret love cave, and then comes out. They look as sedate as they did when they went in, though their hands are now clasped together. The second couple goes in and stays much longer, coming out nearly holding each other up, their arms wrapped around each other.
“Ahh love,” Betsy says, looking starry-eyed at the two as they climb into their car. Dean makes a gagging motion behind her back; Sam elbows him. “Okay, you two up next,” she says, motioning them forward. Dean and Cas walk down the path and then the dark opening. It’s on the side of a rocky hill, the little set-up built around it to con tourists out of their money obviously pretty recent.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispers, nudging him. “This is all a scam, right? Your mojo can’t really do the whole together forever thing can it?”
“One fragment is much weaker than the whole,” Cas answers evasively, which isn’t really an answer at all.
“Hey,” Dean says, “We’re not going to end up like those two assholes who came in before us are we?”
“Dean,” he says, and damn does he sound snippy, “do you really believe my grace could affect me? In any way I don’t intend?”
Dean shrugs, shoulders stiff, “I don’t know,” he says, sounding petulant.
“It can’t.” They walk a little further in. “And don’t worry about yourself; the rumors surrounding this formation say it only strengthens love already there.” He side-eyes Dean. “If you are not in love with me, then you have nothing to worry about.”
That, Dean decides, doesn’t even deserve a response.
The cave is pretty narrow starting out, but the further they go, the wider it gets, until finally it opens up into a large, circular room carved out of a gray, craggy rock. In the middle of the room there’s a pedestal with a protrusion at the top that looks like a bowl. And resting in the bowl, lit by a bulb giving off a faint red light, is a rock.
Dean gawks. “Dude. Is that shaped like a heart? Un-fucking-believable.”
Castiel sighs. “My grace. That’s where it’s contained.”
“Okay, so just.” Dean makes grabbing motions. “Break that bad boy open so we can go.”
Though he looks unhappy about it, Cas does obey. But as soon as he touches the stone, he draws his hand back like he’s been burned.
“What the hell’s the matter?” Dean asks, stepping forward. He leans in, inspecting the stone a little closer. “It hot or something?”
Cas rubs his hand. “No,” he says, his brows furrowed. “It didn’t burn. It was a feeling I find... difficult to describe.” He goes to touch it again and this time his fingers stay on it for a few seconds longer. His breathing grows labored, his face flushed, and then he jerks away again. “This should not.” He licks his lips, staring at the rock. “This shouldn’t be affecting me like this.” But even as he says that he’s reaching out again.
It’s probably not one of his brightest ideas, but Cas obviously thinks it’s safe - even if the sensations it produces are strange - so as soon as Cas touches it again, Dean reaches out to do the same.
The moment his fingers hit the stone it’s like his whole world shifts. His mind feels blown wide open. Hot, fierce arousal churns up his stomach, and he can feel his body building to climax even without anything helping it along.
“Holy shit,” Dean says, pulling away. He grins at Cas. “Orgasm rock.” His first instinct is to touch it again - and keep touching it this time, hell yeah - except Castiel’s expression stops him. The angel looks almost mystified, staring at the rock in a mix of fascination and bewilderment. “You okay, man?”
“I’m fine,” Cas answers sharply. He’s annoyed by Dean’s chatter - and yeah, some of that’s apparent just by looking at his face, but Dean feels that annoyance. And Cas really, really wants to touch that rock; Dean’s not sure how he knows that, but he does, like he’s in Castiel’s head, feeling the warm pulse of desire flaring through the angel’s body.
“I only want to get my grace out of it, Dean, nothing else,” Cas says suddenly, sounding even more pissy than he did a second ago. And that’s pretty fucking bizarre, because it’s a response to what he was thinking. Not what he said - what he thought.
"Dude, what the fuck?" Dean says, glaring at Cas. "You reading my mind?"
The confused expression on Cas's face gets dark, and he looks away from Dean. "Not by choice, I assure you." He purses his lips. "It's like... Something is pushing it into my head. I can't not see it." He shifts, looking uncomfortable. "It is... I don't like it. I’m not sure what’s happening."
Dean relaxes, glad to find Cas's little mind-reading stunt hadn't been intentional. Actually, he might have been reading Cas’s mind, too; it explains how he knew what he was feeling. "Not a big deal,” Dean explains. "You’re just... getting a little worked up."
Cas frowns. "What do you mean?"
"You know," he says. "Turned on. Getting hot from whatever whammy that grace-rock put on you.” Dean shrugs. “When I touched it, I felt the same thing.”
"Oh." Cas looked down on the floor, apparently lost in thought. "I don't... I don't think so," he says, "though I suppose that could be the cause for my discomfort. It's..." He pauses, taking a breath to try to work out precisely what he was feeling. He shifts his shoulders, and Dean was uncomfortably aware of how human the gesture was - how physical.
He’s been noticing that more and more lately. He’d been noticing Cas more in general, actually, though only recently had that notice started taking on a keener, physical edge. Castiel is pretty - Dean knows. He is, in fact, uncomfortably aware of that. Cas had those same fucking dreams he did, the crazy ones with the tiger and a whole hell of a lot of Dean’s jizz. Maybe Cas can’t recognize normal arousal because all he ever feels is a freakish desire to get Dean off while he is a fucking tiger. And that makes Dean wonder - had Cas ever gotten off at all? He was practically terrified in that whorehouse, and it seemed pretty damn unlikely he’d ever taken the time to sort his virginity out on his own.
“Dean,” Cas says, and his eyes are dark and he’s staring at Dean in a way that makes Dean feel nothing more than a piece of meat. “You...” He looks away for a moment before clearing his throat and turning back again, his gaze even sharper. “You remember that. The dreams?” He licks his lips and Dean feels his heart skip, thumping against his chest. Jesus, just what the hell is Cas up to, bringing shit like this up?
“I...” Dean coughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I remember. Fuck, Cas, who wouldn’t remember a dream that fucked up? Especially if they’d dreamed that shit more than fucking once. You... You practically molested me, dude,” he all but spits out.
“I did nothing like that,” Cas says, eyes going dark with anger. “I remade you. I... did not anticipate the...” He looks away, his gaze suddenly shifty. “I did not anticipate your reaction.”
“You mean the fact that you gave me a fucking orgasm?”
Cas presses his lips together and looks positively pissy. “Yes. That.”
Dean rolls his eyes. Things between them have suddenly gotten tense, and he’s uncomfortably aware of how small the room they’re in is. “Look,” he says, keeping his gaze off Cas, “let’s just break this thing open, get the grace, and get back to Sam. Agreed?”
Cas nods and together they grab the stone. This time, though, the feeling is ten times more intense than it was before. Whether it’s because with each touch the stone’s power is magnified, or because they’re touching it together, emotions heightened, Dean isn’t sure. But the feeling is so intense it takes his breath away. He lets go of the stone - half reluctantly, he can admit to himself - and even though he’s no longer touching it there’s a tingling up and down his body, centered in his groin. Cas doesn’t seem to have the same strength of will.
His hand is gripping the stone so tightly his knuckles have turned white, and his head is thrown back, the long, pale column of his throat lit up by the rosy light from the pedestal. His shoulders hunch up and then cables of smoke spring from his back in a shapeless, gray haze. He gasps, his breathing hitching as the smoke starts to solidify, taking shaping into oily, black wings. Shadow drips from half-formed feathers as the great, billowy forms Dean once saw in an old barn become powerful - tangible - black wings. And if Cas thought the adolescent growths Dean had were exceptional... then he had never seen his own. There was no comparison between them; Cas’s wings are exceptional, they are magnificent, they made the wings given to Dean look no greater than the wings of a dirty pigeon.
“Dean,” Cas says, his voice gone breathy, pitched higher from the physical sensations the stone is causing. “Dean,” he says again, louder. The wings pump up and down once, causing a burst of cool wind to flood the room. Castiel’s whole body starts to shake and he swallows once, then again, then - still clutching the stone - a swirl of light explodes outward, lighting up the room. Dean’s eyes burn, scorched by the violent brightness, and he looks away from Cas, squeezing his eyes shut and covering them with his forearm.
Cas screams - not in his angelic voice, not with any supernatural force; he just screams, a warm, human sound of pleasure.
Jesus, Dean thinks, maybe he shouldn’t have let go of that stone.
The scream gains volume and Cas’s wings start flapping harder; the whole cave starts to tremble.
“Shit,” Dean says aloud, kiting towards Cas. “You’re going to bring the whole thing down!” he yells. “Just stop. Let go, you jackass!”
But either Cas doesn’t hear him or he’s too far gone to make sense of what’s said, because he doesn’t do anything but stand there and scream. And then, in one final push that makes the whole earth around them start to move, his wings beat harder and his voice moves into a high, painful melody - and it hurts Dean to listen to it, it does, but it’s one of the most beautiful damn things he’s ever heart. His arm moves from in front of his eyes and he covers his ears. HIs hands feel wet - probably blood, he realizes - and he falls to his knees as the cave starts to collapse around them.
The cave-in only lasts for a few seconds, Dean thinks - maybe a minute, he’s not sure. But he wasn’t hurt and when he stands up he sees Cas wasn’t either.
“Hey,” he says, brushing himself off. “You back with us now?”
Cas doesn’t answer. He takes the stone in both hands and throws it to the ground, hard. It splits clean down the middle, and just as Cas had predicted there was a glowing feather laying on the ground between the halves. Cas sticks out a hand, palm towards the feather. It floats up to him, propelled by its own power, the golden light flickering out like a trail behind it. Cas doesn’t eat this one, like Dean expects; instead, he just absorbs it into his hand. His fingers clench spasmodically for a moment or two, and then his arm falls back down to his side.
“We got what we came for,” he says, suddenly all-business, and not at all like some asshole who just came so hard he brought the whole room down with him. “We can go.”
Dean has to remind himself more than once that punching Cas in his stupid face would probably cause more harm than good. “Okay,” he says instead, licking his lips and looking around. “And just how do you suggest we do that?”
Cas points to where they’d come in; it’s covered by rubble. “We dig.”
At first it seems like a daunting task, but after a closer inspection it looks like things weren’t nearly as bad as Dean thought. Cas, apparently, was a lot more flash than substance in the earthquakes and orgasms department.
There’s a little room to move around and together they kneel in front of the exit. Cas pulls out a large rock near the top, sending a mini landslide tumbling down. He coughs and sets the rock aside.
“Careful,” Dean barks. “Trying to bury us alive once was more than enough for me.” He thinks around how lucky he is that they have any room to maneuver at all, because being buried alive once ever was more than enough for him.
Cas coughs again and wipes sweat from his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. He looks exhausted, too, his face pale. “But it wasn’t luck. Once I realized what was happening I tried to stop it; before my wings dematerialized I used them to protect us.”
“Oh.” Dean shrugs, not looking at him as he continues to dig. “Thanks, I guess.”
“We don’t have to dig far,” Cas says. “And I’m sure Sam is on the other side digging as well.”
“Good,” Dean grunts. And he continues to dig.
Cas was right - he’s not much help after getting his grace back and it takes them the better part of just past an hour, but they do get it. Sam grabs Dean as soon as he can, pulling him into a tight hug.
“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says, patting his brother’s back. “I’m fine. Cas is fine.” To which Cas responds by losing consciousness.
Betsy apologizes profusely, but they just wave her worries away as the Winchesters haul Cas to the car. She refunds their money, and they sign something saying they won’t sue, and then they’re on their way.
Cas wakes up just before they pull into a hotel, looking a little better than he did before. He and Sam check in and Dean goes to grab some food. After a quick supper and a rock-paper-scissors for the beds - turns out Cas is even worse than Dean, and gets stuck with the floor - they all try to get some sleep.
And that night, Dean dreams.
“Cas, what the hell are you doing?” Dean scuttles backwards on his ass, half-afraid of the bulbous, writhing mass in front of him. Scratch that, he thinks, absolutely fully fucking afraid. Or at least he should be. He should be screaming, trying to gank it, trying to get away, not just shuffling away like he’s nothing but nervous. It’s gotta be more than nerves, right?
The Cas-thing doesn’t answer. Not in words, anyway, and not even - like before - in Dean’s head. Instead the whole world around them starts to rumble, and Dean feels... He feels, like the thing’s warped emotions are being projected into him.
“Oh shit,” he breathes, something like fear burbling up through his nervous system. It starts at his feet and he can feel it rise, can feel the fear like a crawling, visceral thing moving upwards. He claws at his chest but the feeling doesn’t stop and the Cas-thing starts to project remorse, pain at having hurt him. “Fuck,” Dean says, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. There’s a deeper rumble and then something else pulses - it’s a weird feeling, claustrophobic and warm. It makes the hair on his arms stand up and an itchy feeling courses up him, making his skin crawl.
Castiel moves forward, propelling himself with the tentacles closer to Dean. Even though the movements are slow, there’s an urgency there that Dean can feel. An urgency, and again, that thing close to fear. When it reaches him, it stretches one tentacle forward. Dean tries to draw back, but the tentacle surges with him and reaches out, touching his chest.
That makes something light up inside him and he realizes finally what the bulbous, pulsating mass of Cas-jelly wants. “The piece of grace inside me?” he asks. “You’re trying to get that, right?”
The tentacles all start to twitch, writhing and stretching. Dean gulps as he feels a tremor and a wave of foreign relief wash over him. That’s agreement, he knows. It’s just... He’s seen enough porn to imagine already how agreeing to let a tentacle go inside him is going to end. “Uh.” He looks down at the tentacle moving up towards his neck. “How exactly is this going to work? I can just get it for you, right? Like pull it out on my own?”
The tentacles don’t really give him much of an answer; the wave of emotion he feels is mostly confusion. Another tentacle wraps around his waist and two more twine up his arms. The mass vibrates, and it emits a noise that Dean almost wants to describe as a purr. The tip of one tentacle traces the shell of his ear and he gets the disquieting feeling that all the weird touching is supposed to be comforting.
“So then, uh. There’s not going to be any insert tab a into slot b going on.”
The tentacles make some sinuous, wriggling movements, almost like they’re caressing him. The excruciatingly clear message is that there won’t be - if he doesn’t want there to be. That opens up a whole kinky can of worms regarding himself that Dean doesn’t even want to begin to examine, and he’s quick to shake his head without even considering it. “No,” he says, “no. Definitely don’t want that.”
There’s no head so it can’t nod, but the tentacles do make a shaky movement Dean takes to mean assent. One pushes up his shirt and then dips into his navel. Dean doesn’t have time to push it away or really react at all, before he feels a pointed heat pushing into his belly.
“What the fuck,” Dean spits out, trying to wriggle away from the invasive feeling, but the tentacle just surges in further, and the others wrap tighter around his body. Then they still and Dean holds his breath, wondering what’s going to happen. A moment passes as he gets used to the feeling; it doesn’t hurt - at least it’s not pain like he’s used to describing it. The area around the tentacle burns, but inside, where he knows it is, in the broad cavity of his chest, feels lit up. When he doesn’t protest further, when his body goes loose and he gives a short nod, the tentacle starts moving. It probes around, looking for the piece of grace lodged inside him. There’s a dark pulse of radiant pleasure, a burning that sets his whole body searing like a bottle rocket. It’s good, holy fuck it’s good, and Dean groans, wondering if maybe Cas has just never seen tentacle porn before, and this is his best approximation.
Because every swipe the tentacle makes in his gut sends another wave of sizzling hot pleasure lancing through him. If he comes from this, he thinks, if he gets another fucking orgasm from some weird ass dream of Cas’s, then he’s going to go absolutely bugshit insane.
It’s too late, though, because the tentacle suddenly reaches its destination, the whatever-it-is bit of grace that it’s been looking for. And it stops, pauses, just for half a second and Dean barely notices that half a fucking second except for the momentous precipice it puts him on, before it’s pushing him over the edge and plunging deeper deeper deeper until it’s buried in so far he thinks it might actually be a part of him. And then it moves, curving upward, and the feeling intensifies so much it feels like he’s exploding, like all the inside parts of him are moving inexorably to the outside. What’s worse is that the movement is like a caress, like the tentacle is stroking him, like while on its journey to The Center of Dean it found some nice organs it liked and decided to give them a few pets.
Oh fuck, Dean thinks, oh no, because it’s his heart, isn’t it? It’s probably his heart. There’s really nothing else it can be, is there, because he has the tentacle of his awkward best friend-angel inside his body in one of his dreams and he’s about to come so hard that it might actually blow his dick off. And, god, no, no not that, because the last thing Dean thinks about the rom-com hentai survival horror story that is his life is that maybe maybe next time he’d like to try one of those tentacles wrapped around his dick.
It’s that thought - and an embarrassing situation in his boxers - to which he has the pleasure of waking up. He groans, pulling the pillow out from under his head and putting it over his face. Maybe he can pretend that never happened. Maybe. He throws the pillow onto the floor and sits up, scrubbing at his eyes. Sam’s still asleep in the other bed, snoring faintly, one foot hanging half off the mattress. His toes twitch and Dean grunts disdainfully; whatever he’s dreaming about, it probably isn’t getting his organs molested by a fucking tentacle monster of the Lord.
He feels grimy, and he has to piss, so he gets out of bed. There’s no Cas on the floor, though, and there’s a thin line of yellow light coming from under the bathroom door. Dean knocks gently once and says “Cas? Are you almost done? And what the hell are you doing in there, anyway?”
“Nothing,” is the muffled reply, and Dean decides to risk it, turning the knob and stepping inside. He closes the door behind him. Cas is standing there, in front of the toilet. He’s still wearing the same suit he always wears, though Dean notices there’s a distinct odor coming off him now. He takes a seat on the lip of the bathtub.
“Dude,” he says, “you reek.”
Castiel doesn’t look at him. “This isn’t working,” he says. His voice is hoarse; he sounds weary, and Dean can’t help but notice the slump of his shoulders and the dark smudges under heavy eyes.
“What’s not?”
Cas lifts one hand to his face. He stares at his fingers as he flexes them. He makes a tight fist and then releases it. “My grace,” he says, turning his hand to look at the back of it. “Without that I am... nothing. Just this shell.” He finally looks over at Dean. There’s something frightening in his expression, something that makes Dean take note, even if he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. “It appears that with each piece of grace I find I become more human.” He lowers his hand and stares at the fucking toilet like he learned all this from it. “Not less.”
Dean’s not sure what to say. Congratulations? Sorry? He licks his lips and waits.
“You should leave,” Cas says, after at least ten full seconds of silence. “I have to use the facilities.”
“Uh.” Dean clears his throat and makes a vague gesture somewhere near the region of Castiel’s groin.
Castiel looks at him. “I have to take a piss,” he clarifies.
“And shower,” Dean says, standing up and wrinkling his nose. “I guess, uh, sweating is something you do now, too. Kind of thought the sleeping thing was just a fluke.”
“So did I.”
Dean knows he should leave, knows he should let Cas do his business so that he can do his own, but. Something about his voice - so dejected, so worn-out and dog tired, makes Dean want to stay. It almost makes him want to help, though he sure as hell doesn’t know what he could do.
The moment stretches on, and Dean’s growing more and more fidgety, until he can’t stand it and says “You could at least lose that suit you’re wearing. Gotta be uncomfortable. Me and Sam’ll give you something to wear.”
Cas looks at Dean, and then down at himself. Movements stiff. He slides the coat off his shoulders, then hands it to Dean. Dean doesn’t know if that means Cas wants to keep it or wants it laundered or thrown out or what, but he senses that he should wait to ask. Then Cas undoes his tie and pulls it over his head. That, he throws on the floor. The shirt follows. There are sweat stains at his pits, and what probably used to be a crisp, clean white has dulled to a soft, dirty sort of gray. His body is pale and lean, the skin of his torso smooth except for the pink, puckered scar of the old angel banishing sigil he carved into his body. Dean stares a little; he can’t help it. He’s seen Cas partially undressed before, but it’s still weird. Even weirder, now that it’s his skin, now that it’s a body he fully owns. And Cas has nipples. Real, normal man nipples. Dean shifts his eyes away.
When Cas shoves his pants down his legs and steps out of them, all he’s left in are his black dress socks and white cotton briefs.
“Um.” Dean’s voice comes out higher than he expected, and he clears his throat. He looks at the towels; it’s safe to look at towels. “You should probably keep those on.” Cas looks at his feet. “You look like a giant baby,” Dean says, too loud and too fast. “I mean... Tightie-whities? Really? You’re a grown man; we’re going to get you some grown ass underwear.”
Castiel’s brow wrinkles, and he looks up at Dean, his head tilted. Like he has no fucking clue what Dean is talking about.
Of course he doesn’t, Dean thinks. He blinks as Cas stares at him and tries to remember why he was even in that bathroom in the first place.
“Dean,” Cas says, and his voice is obviously deliberate. “I need to take a shower now.”
“I thought you had to pee,” Dean says. He feels trapped, like Cas has cornered him somehow, and the whole experience has shifted into something surreal. And Jesus, he’d had that weird as fuck tentacle dream and if Cas remembered their other dreams, then he must remember that one, too. “I dreamed about you,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to do - except leave, he knows he should leave, Cas is going to be very naked very soon and Dean kind of wants to gouge out his eyes just thinking about that because there’s already enough skin showing as it is and Dean’s brain goes fuzzy just thinking about Cas stripping out of his briefs. Not good, he thinks. This is not good. “I must have woken up about a minute after you did,” he continues. “I didn’t see you come in here.”
“I remember,” Cas says. He looks down and for a second Dean wonders if that’s all he’s going to say about it. It’s all he says, yeah, because a second later he’s reaching up, his fingertips resting against Dean’s chest, in a possessive circle right at his heart. Dean can feel warmth even through the t-shirt he’s wearing. He swallows. “There is a piece of me still inside you,” Cas says, staring at Dean’s chest like he can see through it. “In a... less conscious state, I must have reached out for it.”
His eyes dart up to Dean’s, quick, and the little bastard looks shifty. He licks his lips and draws his hand away. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Uh.”
Cas steps around him and turns the water on. Dean moves backwards until his back’s against the door. He thinks absently maybe he needs a shower, too. Cas almost-looks at him before he leans down and tugs his socks off, left foot then right. And then he slides his briefs off - down his pale legs with sparse hair and strong calves. Dean stands there, still, and Cas steps under the water. He shivers and Dean wonders if he knows that showers are better when they’re warm. Poor guy probably couldn’t figure out how to work the hot and cold knobs.
Dean wants a shower. Dean wants a very cold shower. He wants a lot of things, he thinks, and he’s not sure why, not sure where that thought came from, but he knows that he needs to go. Now.
When he tries to speak, his throat feels like there’s something lodged in it. “I’m gonna...”
“Go. Yes,” Cas says. His arms are wrapped around his body; he looks up then, and seems to notice the shower curtain he never bothered pulling closed. Whether he only now realized what it was for or just remembered to close it, Dean doesn’t know. But Cas yanks it, the hooks pulling across the metal rod as it closes the shower off.
Dean throws the door open and throws himself out of the room, closing the door as quick as he can behind him. His breathing his fast and he feels guilty, checking again to make sure Sam is there, and asleep. He grabs his pillow from the floor and crawls back into bed.
Whatever he got up for, he decides, can wait until morning.
The next morning Dean can’t help how twitchy he is, and he knows Sam notices. But whatever the fuck happened last night with Cas still has him on edge and if he’s snappy it’s really not his fault.
They get through breakfast normally; Cas, for his part, doesn’t seem any different. A little morose, maybe, but that’s sort of become par for the course. He doesn’t say anything to Sam about his sudden human-ness, though he does ask the brothers if he can borrow something different to wear. Sam just looks at Dean until Dean rolls his eyes and digs through his stuff for an extra shirt and pair of jeans. He throws them at Cas and Cas thanks him, voice placid as ever, and goes to the bathroom to change.
Their next destination, Cas tells them as they pile into the car, is somewhere south of where they are now.
“The pulse of grace is stronger,” he says, poring over a US atlas in the Impala’s backseat. “I’m not sure why, but I think I can pinpoint where we need to go more easily than I’ve been able to before.” His fingers dance over the pages and he stares like the maps are staring back. He lands somewhere in the Mississippi delta when he finally looks up. “Here,” he says, tapping the spot with the knuckle of his index finger. Sam turns from the passenger seat to look, and Cas hands him the book. “That’s where we need to go.”
They drive. It’s comfortable, maybe even nice, Dean thinks to himself. He hums along with the song playing as Cas stares out the window and Sam snores in the front seat. He knows Lisa is waiting for him; he misses her, misses Ben, sometimes so much it hurts. But. He looks in the rearview mirror. Now he has Sam and Cas. Cas catches his eye in the mirror and offers a thin smile. Dean grins back and lets himself wonder if maybe when this is over they can do this again. Just a quick break from whatever’s going to become of their lives. And maybe Lisa and Ben can come, too. Maybe. Or maybe it’ll just be him and Sam and Cas again. They can go see the Grand Canyon. Mount Rushmore. Some of that dumb touristy shit like giant balls of yarn or celebrity wax museums. Maybe they can drive for as long as they have road to drive on.
Sam grunts and wakes up suddenly, looking around the car like he can’t remember where he is. Dean laughs and ruffles his shaggy hair as hard as he can, suddenly buoyant.
“God, Dean, stop it,” Sam says, pushing him away with his elbow and smoothing down his hair. He rakes his fingers through those luscious locks of his and slumps down in his seat. “Watch the goddamn road. Jerk.”
Dean sits up straighter, the grin on his face so big he thinks it might be plastered on. “Bitch,” he answers. Cas just sits in the back and smiles.
It’s hot. Sweet Jesus it’s so hot Dean thinks his face might melt off and wouldn’t that just be the best fucking thing to happen this week. He hopes that he’s in front of Cas and Sammy when it melts so they have to walk through a sticky, bloody pile of goo and get his fucking face all over their feet. They deserve it; they’’re the ones who dragged him out here.
Dean sighs. “All right, we checked - but whoops, no grace. Can we go now?”
Sam shoots him a pissy glare. “No,” he says, striding in front of his brother. “We don’t know yet whether there’s a piece of his grace here or not.”
“There is.” Dean looks back at Cas, who’s staring intently at the dusty ground. “I can feel it now; I’m sure.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Great,” he mutters. “Just great.”
They walk up the well-trodden path to the house. It’s enormous, two stories with a big wraparound porch, the sides painted in a crisp white.
“Nice digs,” Sam says with a whistle, looking around the place. They walk up the three steps leading to the porch.
“Yeah,” Dean grunts. “Nice.”
“Dean,” Cas says suddenly, a note of caution in his voice. He grabs Dean’s arm.
Sam doesn’t seem to notice, already ringing the doorbell. “What is it?” Dean asks, looking back at Cas.
Cas releases his arm. “I don’t...” His eyes narrow as he looks around. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. “But something isn’t right here. I can sense... something. But I don’t know what. We should be careful.”
Dean nods and they step closer to Sam. After another second or two of waiting, the big wooden door swings inward.
A short, curvy woman dressed in dirty clothes obviously meant for gardening looks up at them. “Can I help you?” she asks, smiling, through the screen door. “Are you here to see the gardens?”
“Um, yes ma’am,” Sam says, ducking his head a little. “We’re here to see the gardens.”
“Oh wonderful,” she says. They step back a little as she opens the screen. “Come inside, boys. I’ll be happy to give you a tour.”
The three of them follow her inside. It’s a little incongruous seeing her, dirty and wearing work clothes, against the backdrop of the house’s interior. It’s beautiful, obviously old and well cared for, with nice furnishings and a thick, expensive looking rug on the floor in front of big staircase.
“This way,” she says, beckoning them to follow her with a wave of her hand. They all troop through the front room into the kitchen. She grabs a big, floppy brown sun hat from a peg by the back door. “Right out here,” she says, holding the door open. Sam goes out, followed by Dean, Cas, and then the woman. “Got five greenhouses,” she says, shutting the door. She steps around the men and points to the one closest to the house. “We’ll start there.”
“Thanks,” Sam says. “Miss, uh...”
“Oh!” She looks back at them and smiles. “Sorry,” she says. “Never introduced myself. It’s Ms. Gardener.”
“Gardener,” Cas repeats. “That is apt.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Well. Yeah, it is a bit on the nose, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Dean can feel Cas stiffen beside him and looks over, confused. Cas is staring at the woman, a dark expression on his face. “If that is your name.”
Sam and Dean both stare at Cas, but he doesn’t give any more explanation. Gardener crosses her arms and gives Cas a thorough once over. “You know what?” she asks finally, her voice conspicuously light, “I think you boys can handle yourselves just fine. Look through any greenhouse you like; just don’t hurt the plants. I’ll be in the house if you need me.”
“What’s up with her?” Dean asks as they watch her walk away. His shirt is sticking to him and it’s still hot as fuck and he really doesn’t want to add another thing to his list of why today sucks.
“I’m not sure,” Cas says, softly. “There is... something about her. Something that troubles me. But I don’t think she means us any harm.”
“Well good. Now let’s find that grace so we can get the hell out of here.” Dean heads toward the greenhouse but stops after a few steps when no one follows him. “What,” he says, raising his arms up in exasperation. “I thought we were here to see the damn plants.”
“There’s nothing out there,” Cas says dismissively. “Except for several plants that shouldn’t be able to grow in his climate. What we want is in the house.”
“Okay,” Dean says, looking at Cas. God, the guy is being obtuse. Dean is starting to get more than irritated. “Well then let’s go back inside.”
Sam gives him a look that says ‘how do I deal with you.’ Dean returns one that says fuck you.
“I think we should tread cautiously,” Cas instructs them. “Dean. Don’t do anything rash.”
Dean rolls his eyes as Cas herds them back inside. Rash. Jesus.
Ms. Gardener - or whoever she is - isn’t in the kitchen when they get inside. Cas takes a look around. He picks up a knife from the counter and examines it for a second. Dean clears his throat. “She’s upstairs,” Cas says. “I think it’s safe to look around.”
Sam and Dean can’t sense the grace, so despite the risk of getting caught being greater, they stick together. As soon as they enter a room that looks like some kind of parlor off to the side of the foyer, though, Cas stiffens.
“It’s here,” he says. The room’s decorated richly, with paintings on the wall, and vases and sculptures set on little pedestals all over. Cas nods toward one vase. “There.”
Dean walks toward it. There doesn’t look like it’s protected at all; it doesn’t even look that valuable, really, so Dean’s not sure why the grace found that, but. As long as they found it, that’s all that matters.
He looks in. There’s no feather. “Uh, Cas,” he says, “is it... in the vase? Because I’m not seeing anything here.” He picks it up and peers inside again, then turns it to look at the bottom.
“It’s not in the vase,” Cas says. “It’s seeped into it. Literally inside it - inside the material of it.”
“Oh.” Dean nods, examining it again. “Okay.” And then he drops it on the floor, where it shatters.
It’s louder than he expected it to be - it’s louder than it should be - and there’s no way Ms. Gardener isn’t going to notice the sound.
“Dean,” Cas says suddenly, sounding pained. He reaches out towards the vase, an expression of fear on his face, his hand contorted like a claw. “Dean what have you done. It’s... getting away.”
“And just what the hell do the three of you think you’re doing?” They all turn as one to see Gardener staring at them from the doorway, her fists planted on her hips. Her eyes are dark with anger, her mouth turned down.
Cas takes a step toward her, waves of something dark practically radiating off him. “I came to reclaim something that belongs to me.” His eyes narrow further. “And I know who you are now.”
She and Cas have a staredown - ignoring both Winchesters, who are still standing there, struck a bit dumb.
“Um.” Sam clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Could you tell us who she is? Uh, please?”
“Demeter,” Cas spits out.
Sam’s eyes go wide and he takes an involuntary step back. “Who?” Dean asks. “Greek, right? She gave her kid up to Hades or something?”
“Hades kidnapped Persephone,” Sam hisses at him. “It’s the story of why we have the seasons.”
“You’re right,” she says, with a graceful nod. It makes her look elegant, despite the dirt on her clothes. “I am Demeter. But who are you?”
“We’re the - “
“I wasn’t asking you,” she says sharply to Dean. But she doesn’t spare him a glance, her attention still focused on Cas. “I was talking to him. Feels like an angel.” She shrugs. “But not much of one.”
“That’s right,” Cas says. He’s still in battle mood and Dean looks back and forth between Demeter and Cas, forming a plan in case anything goes down. “I was looking for - “
“Your power? Whatever was in that vase?” She nods and suddenly the tension in the room starts to ease up some. “Sure as shit was a surprise to me when it crashed here.” She side-eyes Dean, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I would have returned it. Had you asked.”
Dean rolls his eyes dramatically, feeling all three of them - even Sam, the damn traitor - staring at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Okay? Christ.”
“I can fix the vase,” Demeter says, ignoring him. She walks into the room, laying a comforting hand on Cas’s shoulder as she passes by. She kneels down on the floor in front of all the pieces. “But I think you’re out of luck. Whatever you’re looking for isn’t here.” She stands up and wipes her palms on her pants. The vase is sitting, whole, back on it’s stand. “And it’s fractured even further.”
“There’s not...” Sam looks away and then back at her. “There’s not anything you can do, is there?”
“Well.” Her mouth twists up as she contemplates his question. “No. Not really. I can’t fix him - that’s way out of my pantheon. But as for this one piece? I can’t restore it; but I can make it a little easier to find.” She runs her finger around the lip of the vase. Cracks appear suddenly, separating it into big, neat pieces. “Ever hear of the labors of Hercules?”
~~~
part 4