FIC: A Mighty Dark Night - Chapter V
Title: A Mighty Dark Night
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word length: ~74,000
Warnings: violence, language and sex
Summary: Detective Dean Winchester meets Homeland Security Agent Castiel James over a corpse.
Chapter V
He sang about the blues in my body and soul
Rolling farm country slid past on either side of the road as Dean drove through Frederick County, Cas slumped into the passenger seat, eyes at half-mast. Bobby Singer's farm was one of the last before the Pennsylvania border and the battlefields of Gettysburg.
Going to Bobby's was like taking a trip down Memory Lane. Dean and Sam had spent many summers there when they were growing up, and each landmark had a story. Out the left window was the Blue Earth farm, where he'd taught Sam how to drive. Further up was an access road to the Shoemaker farm and a tree with a hollow, perfect for hiding a six-pack. Out the right were the swampy remains of Jorgeson Lake. Maryland had no natural lakes, only man-made ones, and this one had been a massive failure of design. Sam had lost a shoe in its squelching mud. And finally, in the field beyond that was where Dean used to play baseball and wrestle with his only friend, other than Sam, a scrawny kid named Jimmy who laughed at all Dean's jokes and thought he hung the moon. Dean's eyes were drawn to Cas as they passed the place where Jimmy had tried to kiss a fourteen-year-old Dean, and Dean had pushed him away and never seen him again, embarking on almost twenty years of failed non-relationships with women.
But that was a long time ago, and Jimmy had fallen off the map soon after. Doubtless Dr. Phil would have something to say about that, and about the dream Dean had had of the man sitting next to him, but this was why Dean didn't watch that shit.
Dean took a deep breath as they turned down the long lane leading to Bobby's. Was it just him, or did the air smell better here? He loved Bobby's farm, long-since converted into a salvage yard for his classic car refurbishment business. Bobby had given them both their first jobs - Dean with the cars and Sam with the account books. The farm was also conveniently located near the fireworks' store across the Pennsylvania border. The two boys and their surrogate father used to bring the fireworks back to Maryland and cut them open to see how they worked. Looking back, Dean wondered how none of them ever lost a limb, but at the time, the flash, burn and excitement was a sacred Singer-Winchester bonding ritual.
Bobby was sitting on his front porch when Dean pulled up, enjoying an ice cold glass of lemonade in the cooling dusk air. He hobbled over on his cane while Dean killed the ignition and crossed over to the passenger side door.
"Not your typical bunkmate, Dean," he remarked, bending to peer in at Cas.
"Yeah, well, not my typical reason for visiting," Dean said, elbowing him gently out of the way to get the door open.
Cas woke groggily, blinking his thick lashes before focusing on Dean's face. "Hey, man," Dean said softly. "We've made it to the Singer Palace."
Cas leaned heavily on his arm as they followed Bobby and the thumping of his cane up the porch steps and into the house. Dean watched Cas out of the corner of his eye. The other man's eyes flitted from place to place, cataloging exits and learning the layout of the place. He looked pale and exhausted, and was still in need of a shower.
"I'm putting you upstairs in my old room," Dean told him. "The stairs may be tricky, but the benefits outweigh the cons. You'll see." Cas just nodded his head.
Bobby left them at the foot of the stairs, and Dean shot him a grateful look over his shoulder. Cas relaxed slightly against him, now that there was no one else to see how weakly he navigated the stairs. Dean was practically carrying him by the time they were halfway up.
His old room was the first door on the right at the top of the stairs. Cas sank bonelessly into Dean's twin mattress, and Dean gave him a moment to rest. Bobby had made the upstairs bathroom into an ensuite connecting Dean's room to Sam's room after their first extended visit, about three years after Mary had died. Dean checked out the towel situation in the bathroom and poked his head into the shower: same shampoo and soap he'd left there during his last stay, plus the body wash Sam had brought. There were razors in the medicine cabinet and aftershave, the brand their father had used that neither of them ever did. The bathroom would just look wrong without it.
Dean walked back into his room. It was like a snapshot of him as a teenager: the lone sports poster (the Iron Man, Cal Ripken, Jr.), a few faded pictures of classic cars and buxom babes dotting the walls, an outdated stereo system against one wall, and a battered wardrobe (complete with dart holes in its side) and drafting desk against the other. Plus the bed, which had hosted several occupants other than himself. Or rather, along with himself, in spite of its narrow frame. And now it was playing host to Cas.
Dean scuffed his toes in the throw rug and cleared his throat. "So I need to show you why you had to stay in this room," he began.
"There's a compartment behind the wardrobe," Cas rasped out, his first words since they'd left the District.
Dean blinked. "How did you know that?"
"This room ends too soon. The staircase ends at least three feet farther over, and it's not consistent with the outside of the house." Cas struggled to pull himself into an upright position. "Underground Railroad?"
Dean nodded, a slight smile crossing his lips. "Clever, Cas. Yeah, you're right, 'cept it's a whole passage, not just a compartment. Underground railroad, moonshiners, and now, fugitive lawmen." He held out his hand. "Let me show you how it works."
Cas grasped his forearm and allowed himself to be helped over to the wardrobe. Dean opened the doors, reached behind a couple of old flannel shirts, and pressed the upper top righthand corner. The entire back of the wardrobe swung inward. Dean watched Cas' face light up.
"I feel very Lucy Pevensie right now," he murmured.
"This will take you to a salt room behind the barn," Dean said. "As far as I know, no streetlamps or lions have been spotted there." He cringed inwardly. Sam would tease him mercilessly if he knew Dean had caught Cas' reference, but Cas gave him a small smile.
"To close it from this side, you just hook your finger into this whorl here," Dean continued, sticking his finger into a tiny hole that just looked like a blemish in the wood, "and tug it."
"Very handy," Cas complimented him. "Should I even ask how many overnight guests you used to sneak in here this way?"
Dean grinned. "Yeah, probably not." Cas smiled at him again, and that was twice in less than five minutes, when he had never even smiled once before. Dean's heart lurched in his chest, probably the result of something he ate. He cleared his throat. "Anyhow, you could do with a shower, and then I'll change your dressings, maybe eat, and then it's bedtime for Bonzo."
Cas nodded, his smile fading, and Dean helped him into the bathroom before leaving him with a muttered excuse to find him something clean to wear. He heard the shower start up as he looked through drawers in the left side of the wardrobe, finding an old concert t-shirt and faded flannel pajama bottoms. He had to take a deep breath before knocking on the bathroom door.
"Cas? I'm bringing in some clothes, okay?" There was no response from the other side, and he shrugged his shoulders before opening the door anyway.
Cas was standing in front of the shower, his shoes, socks, dress shirt, pants, belt and gun neatly piled next to the toilet. His fingers played with the hem of his undershirt as he licked his lips. "I can't lift my arms," he said in a low voice. A red stain, whether from anger or embarrassment, Dean couldn't tell, spread across his cheeks.
"How attached are you to that shirt?" Dean asked, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact. "I can cut it off and get you a button-down to wear instead of this thing," he continued, gesturing with the clean clothes he still held in his hands. "And if you're cool with it, I can wash your hair for you. I had to do it for Sammy when he was a kid. Took him forever to learn how to take a shower. Almost as long for learning how to tie his shoelaces." And now he was babbling, and making Cas feel like a kid to boot. Awesome, Dean.
Cas blinked at him uncertainly. "Um. Okay."
"Great! I mean," and now a red stain was appearing across his own cheeks, he just knew it, and why did he have to dwell on his own shower from that morning at the prospect of washing Cas's hair - wet, naked and bruised Cas - oh, God. "I'll get the scissors."
Cas stepped under the hot spray of water still wearing his boxers after Dean cut him out of his shirt, for which Dean was absurdly grateful. He quickly shucked his shirt, shoes and socks, and climbed in behind Cas. It was by far the most awkward shower he'd ever taken. Cas's back was one big mottled bruise and Dean wasn't sure if he was helping at all. The worst, though, was the moan Cas let out when Dean first touched his hair. Dean went completely stiff, and Cas gritted out, "Relax, Dean, I'm not into tripsolagnia - you're pulling my hair."
"Sorry," Dean said, and gingerly began shampooing Cas' hair. "What's tripsolagnia?"
"Hair-washing kink," Cas muttered back, his face tilted up into the spray as Dean scrubbed gently at his hair. Water drops chased each other down his neck, and Dean swallowed hard. Thanks for the awkward moment, Cas.
Cas's hair was longer than his own, and silky in the water. He could easily imagine gripping it later, and wondered if it would be as silky soft when dry. He cleared his throat, banishing the thought.
"You're about done." He hurriedly ran his fingers through Cas's hair, making sure the suds were gone. He yanked the curtain back and reached for a towel with shaky fingers. "I'll leave you to finish up in here."
He ducked into his old room and shut the door, breathing heavily. He didn't think his erection had been noticeable. What the hell was happening here? This was too fucked up. He dried off quickly and pulled on some of his old clothes, the t-shirt too tight across his chest, the jeans a little snug, and adamantly refused to touch himself. The water stopped in the shower, and Dean's traitorous mind turned to what Cas would be doing right then. Oh, hell no.
"Cas, I'm running downstairs to help Bobby cobble some grub together. Yell if you need help getting down the stairs!" he called through the door. Cas grunted his assent, and Dean went barreling down into the kitchen.
Bobby looked up in surprise from the stovetop. "My house on fire and no one told me?"
"Just eager to help!" Dean said with a shit-eating grin.
Bobby gave him a skeptical look. "Well if you're not possessed, why don't you get down the bowls and find us some sporks. Yeah, and the crackers, and I've got some cheese…"
Dean sniffed at the pot on his way to the fridge. "Bobby's Bodacious Chili?"
"This batch is closer to Bobby's Chili, Full Stop." Bobby gave the contents of the pot a couple of half-hearted stirs as Dean pulled out the cheese and crackers. "So, Dean. Not that I'm complaining about your visit, mind you. But your friend upstairs. He in some kind of trouble? Sam was none too specific on the phone."
Dean sighed. "Yeah, Bobby. He's in a spot of trouble. Kind of my fault."
"He a cop like you? Holds himself like one." Bobby shot him a look from beneath his battered trucker hat. "And whatever you're blaming yourself for, don't. You pulled him out and got him here. That's something."
Dean turned to rummage in a cabinet for bowls, but he could still feel Bobby's eyes on him. There was a shuffling from the stairs and Dean gratefully headed to the distraction. Cas was descending the steps one at a time, the hem of Dean's old pajama bottoms brushing against the wood. The button-down only had a couple of buttons done up and Cas's hair was unbrushed and sticking up in wet clumps. Dean fought against a fierce wave of protectiveness. This was the same man who'd challenged Uriel and a roomful of his supporters, alone and injured; he didn't need coddling. But maybe he could use a hand. And a comb. Not that Dean was going to comb his hair. He had some lines.
"Just in time for a piss-poor excuse for chili, Cas," he said, putting a bit of warmth into it. He couldn't resist holding out a hand to help Cas down the last few steps. Cas gripped his shoulder instead and the touch burned. "Uh. Through here."
Bobby plopped the pot of chili on a potholder in the middle of the table as Cas sank into a chair with a quiet sigh. "My thanks, Mr. Singer, for your hospitality," he said.
"Mr. Singer's been dead for more'n two decades, son. It's Bobby," Bobby said, pulling out a chair and lowering himself carefully to the seat. "Sit, boy, and let's eat," he directed at Dean.
The chili was not the best Dean had ever eaten at Bobby's, but a liberal application of cheese made it quite palatable. They ate in silence for a few minutes except for the sound of utensils scraping bowls and Bobby breathing through his nose. Dean watched Cas pick at his food. He had a lot of questions, and now that the other man was showered and safe and partially fed, he'd probably be more forthcoming with answers.
"So, Cas," Dean began. "What happened at that pond? How'd you get away?"
Cas's eyes flicked to Bobby and back to Dean, the question clear.
"I'd trust Bobby with my brother's life," Dean declared. "You can speak freely here."
Cas looked down at his bowl. The silence stretched. Dean caught Bobby's eyes over the box of crackers. Bobby shrugged his shoulders. Dean grimaced back at him.
"Raphael sent some lesser agents to pick me up," Cas said finally. "They partially succeeded."
"How'd they know where you were?" Dean asked, mouth full. He swallowed loudly and looked expectantly at Cas.
"My phone. We all have trackers in our phones. I had removed mine, but Raphael and Uriel-" He stopped abruptly. Dean knew exactly what he was seeing in his mind's eye.
"Not your fault, Cas," he said gruffly.
"He was a good man once. A good agent."
The silence that descended was heavier that time. Bobby broke it by pushing his chair back from the table, scraping the floor. "I've got some work I wanted to do in the garage," he announced. "Dean, Marcie from down the road dropped off a ginger peach cobbler earlier if you want to check it out."
"Marcie, huh?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "Does Ellen know about this?"
"I fixed her wood chipper!" Bobby protested. "Just being neighborly. It's none of your aunt's business."
He stomped out of the kitchen, grumbling to himself.
"What will you get if you clean her pipes?" Dean called after him.
Bobby's response was lost in the slamming of the door. Dean turned back to Cas, chuckling under his breath, thankful for the brief moment of levity. The other man hadn't cracked a smile, but was instead frowning after Bobby's retreating back.
"Mr. Singer is in a relationship with your aunt?" he asked. "Yet he is also involved with his neighbor?"
"What? No, man, I was just teasing him," Dean assured him. "Look, Bobby's very honorable, it's okay. And don't try to change the subject."
Cas gave him a flat look and pushed his chili around in his bowl.
"Fuck, Cas, I don't want to talk about what happened in Chinatown, either. Just help me figure out how you got there. How much do you think this Raphael knows about what we've been doing? And stop feeling guilty about Uriel, man, I saw him following Rachel on metro's security camera. You know he was just going to set you up for that." Cas didn't meet his gaze. Dean threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! Fine, this investigation already has holes in it big enough to drive through, why try to plug any of them?"
His chair scraped loudly on the linoleum as he pushed back from the table and marched his empty bowl to the sink.
"I'm ashamed."
Cas's confession stopped him in his tracks. Dean turned slowly and leaned back against the sink. Cas met his eyes.
"We take an oath to protect this country. Its citizens. I expected better of my brothers." God, his eyes were so fucking blue. "I'm sorry, Dean."
Dean let his breath out slowly. "Hey. You're not them." Cas was still watching him with his liquid eyes. "Fuck them, Cas. You're better than all of them."
Cas huffed a bitter laugh.
"I'm serious. You had my back in there when I was way out of my league and-" Dean shut his mouth with a snap. "You know, you're right. We don't have to parse this tonight. Tomorrow's soon enough."
Cas sat back in his chair, the tension draining from his shoulders. "That is very kind of you, Dean."
"Yeah, well," Dean mumbled, flushing. He retrieved the cobbler from the counter and laid it between them at the table. "Mmm, would you look at this? That's craftsmanship." He busied himself cutting two large servings. Cas eyed the bowl Dean set in front of him with a bit of apprehension. He had eaten only a third of his chili.
"Come on, Cas, the sugar will help. When I was a kid, my mom used to add a spoonful of sugar, just like Mary Poppins, to get me to eat my vegetables…" his voice trailed off. Smooth, Dean, smooth. Because getting betrayed is exactly the same as a serving of broccoli. He glanced up to find Cas's eyes on him, his eyebrows knitted into an expression of sympathy.
"Anyhow, about Bobby and Ellen," Dean said, clearing his throat and fishing wildly for something other than the case or his dead mother to talk about. "Sam and I always tried to get them together when we were young. It's a running joke. They're both widowed, you know?" He took a large bite of the cobbler and unicorns gave birth to rainbows in his mouth. "Oh my God," he mumbled. He ate another spoonful, closing his eyes to better concentrate on the taste, slowly savoring each flavor. When he opened his eyes, Cas was honest-to-God smiling at him again.
Dean's mouth turned up at the sight, his lips parting. He was suddenly aware of how physically close they were, hunched together over Bobby's table. Which only made him recall how close they'd been earlier in the shower, and how had he ever thought that was casual, just like two soldiers in a war, brothers-in-arms helping each other out? They were that, sure, but Dean could admit, if only to himself and only in the faintest whisper, that there was something more there. Something in the curve of Cas's lips in his rare smile, in the careful way he brought a spoonful of cobbler up to his mouth, in the look of concentration on his face as he chewed - something in there was causing Dean's heart to ache and his breath to quicken. He shoved another bite of cobbler into his mouth.
They ate in silence. Cas sat as loosely as Dean had ever seen him sit anywhere, usually stiff as a board, but Dean's shoulders knotted together with tension. After awhile it began to affect Cas, too, and his air of partial relaxation eventually faded, to be replaced with a slight frown.
"So, bed time?" Dean asked, clearing his throat. Cas nodded and slowly stood up. "You want a hand getting up the stairs?"
"It is something I should manage on my own," Cas replied.
"Yeah, okay." Dean brought the empty cobbler bowls over to the sink and watched Cas's back as he shuffled out of the kitchen. "Get some rest. Tomorrow you can tell me about Chinatown."
He was looking for it, else he wouldn't have noticed Cas's flinch. A second later, he stood ramrod straight once more. "Of course, Dean."
Dean Winchester, you are one hell of an asshole.
***
There was a weird stain in the shape of the Incredible Hulk on the ceiling in Sam's old room. Dean squinted at it in the darkness. No, it was closer to Hopalong Cassidy. There was definitely a lasso or something smeared next to it. Whatever, Sam was weird and Dean was trying too hard to concentrate on his brother's childhood shenanigans - anything to distract him from the idea of Cas sleeping in his old bed, wearing his old clothes. Dean shifted, the mattress squeaking beneath him. He imagined he could hear an answering squeak from the room on the other side of the bathroom. Cas was probably tossing and turning, his face flushed, his hair mussed. Dean's fingers slipped down past the waistband of his boxers.
He could try picturing Anna, or Jamie, a cute blonde bartender with fantastic breasts, or that actress who'd been shooting a political thriller in DC last spring, or any of a number of other women, all of whom had been willing and eager to share his bed. But Jamie's hair kept turning dark, the actress's eyes changed to deep blue, Anna's slim figure became broader. There was no use fighting. It was Cas's mouth he was picturing as his hand closed around the head of his-
Thump.
"Shit!" Dean threw off his blanket, grabbed his gun from under his pillow and rushed through the bathroom into Cas's room.
Cas was on the floor by the bed, tangled in his blankets. He groaned when he spotted Dean in the doorway, gun drawn.
"I miscalculated the width of the bed, Dean. No one is attacking me."
"Looks like that blanket is winning, actually." Dean's heart was still beating furiously, though more from the flash of skin where Cas's shirt had ridden up now. "Here, let me help."
"No, I can do it," Cas protested, succeeding only in entangling himself further. Dean barked a laugh and strode forward. His gun joined Cas's on the nightstand and he leaned down to grip an elbow. Cas grumbled at him, but Dean ignored him, grabbing for Cas's other shoulder. Only Cas had a different idea about that, too, and Dean found himself falling forward, twisting at the last moment to land half-on the bed instead of on top of Cas.
Cas stood, the blanket hanging from his shoulders like a cape and a smirk plastered across his face.
"Hey, Superman, I just landed on my fucking tailbone," Dean growled at him.
"I told you-"
But whatever Cas was going to say was lost when he slipped on the edge of the blanket and pitched forward. Dean caught him, cursing as he got a mouthful of blanket, and wrestled him down to the bed, rolling awkwardly aside to avoid crushing him. Only there was no place to go in the single bed, and he wound up pinning Cas down despite his best efforts.
He immediately panicked. There was no way Cas couldn't feel that, his erection having lessened not at all in their brief scuffle. He scrambled back and almost fell out of the bed before managing to get out and stand up.
"You're good now, try not to fall out of bed, I'm just going to-"
He was already through the door, feet slapping quickly across tiles before he practically launched himself into Sam's old bed.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Cas probably thought he was some kind of pervert, trying to take advantage of him when he was injured and-
"Dean."
Dean's eyes flew open.
"You left your weapon in my room." Cas laid the gun carefully on the nightstand.
"Thanks," Dean managed. Cas was staring at him. Dean resolutely ignored him, eyes fixated on his gun like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen in his life. He looked back at Cas when the bed dipped, though, his mouth opening wide in surprise.
Cas forestalled any possible protests by thrusting his tongue into Dean's open mouth. The kiss was immediately aggressive, skipping such niceties as little licks and the press of lips and going straight for the sharing of oxygen, the clack of teeth, Cas sucking on Dean's tongue until Dean moaned and bucked up into his touch.
"Cas!" he gasped. His brain was short circuiting. It was definitely lack of oxygen, he decided. Cas was a breath hog. Dean forced himself into Cas's mouth, licking and biting and stroking with his tongue. Cas collapsed on top of him with a groan and Dean broke the kiss. Fuck. Oh, fuck my life.
Cas's erection was every bit as strong as his own. He ground down against Dean with his hips, his hands cradling and stroking Dean's neck as he began to kiss across his jawline and down his neck, slurping, sucking noises joining Dean's harsh breaths. Dean's hands flailed for a moment before coming to rest on the small of Cas's back.
Holy fuck, we're going to have sex. I'm going to have sex with another man and I'm going to really, really like it.
Dean gripped Cas's ass firmly in his hands and thrust up. Cas growled against his neck, running his tongue over one particularly large hickey before drawing back just enough to yank Dean's boxers down and slide them off his legs. He licked the head of Dean's cock almost perfunctorily, already focused on getting Dean's shirt off. He sat back on his heels and stared at Dean, naked before him. Dean pushed himself up on his elbows.
"Like what you see?" he asked. How many times had he asked the same cheesy question, not really paying attention to the answer? A kernel of doubt lodged in him as Cas remained silent. "Cas?"
Fuck, did he change his mind? Shit.
He shifted on the bed, his eyes going to the blanket that had wound up on the floor at some point. A flush started to creep across his cheeks and he could feel his erection lessening.
"You're beautiful," Cas said in his rumbly growl, his voice lower than normal, and Dean's cock responded with enthusiasm.
"Uh…" Dean responded, the ability to string two words together departing at the burning look in Cas's eyes. Cas moved back over him, still clothed. He batted Dean's hands away when Dean fumbled with a button on the borrowed shirt, and Dean just shrugged and went with it, sliding his hands up beneath the shirt and encountering the edge of the bandage around Cas's ribs. Fuck, Dean, be gentle with the damn ribs!
Cas's mouth was on his again, the kisses no less frantic, and Dean forgot for a moment that there was anything else to worry about or pay attention to, just Cas's mouth on his and Cas's hand sneaking down his body to grip his cock. Dean embarrassed himself by groaning loudly into the kiss, but it was nothing compared to the mewling moan he made when Cas's bare cock rubbed against his own. He could barely focus to see that Cas had shoved his pants, Dean's old pajamas, partway down his thighs. Dean made a half-hearted attempt to get them all the way off, but Cas just took them both in hand and Dean lost all semblance of control. He rutted against Cas, trying to keep the kiss going but more often than not licking stubble. The friction was intense, Cas's grip brutally strong and assured, and it didn't take long before Dean came with a cry, bucking up and gasping for breath. Cas milked him for all he was worth before leaning down for another kiss and coming all over his hand and Dean's stomach.
Dean lay on his back with the unfamiliar sensation of another man's semen dampening his skin. He could feel Cas's eyes on him, but he couldn't look at him yet. Cas kissed him, the first gentle kiss he'd given, and Dean had to close his eyes to protect himself.
"Dean?" Cas's voice was hoarse. Dean's own voice was rough and scratchy when he managed a mumbled, "Yeah?"
Cas didn't say anything back, but a moment later the bed dipped again and Dean felt him stand up. Dean gave him a moment to pull up his pants before opening his eyes. Cas was already turning away. Dean caught at his arm.
"Hey," he said. "Hey."
He was at a complete and utter loss for words and after a moment Cas gave him a small smile, squeezed his hand and left the room.
Dean fell back against the pillows. Well, shit. That wasn't supposed to happen.
Trying to beat the devil to the old crossroads
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word length: ~74,000
Warnings: violence, language and sex
Summary: Detective Dean Winchester meets Homeland Security Agent Castiel James over a corpse.
Chapter V
He sang about the blues in my body and soul
Rolling farm country slid past on either side of the road as Dean drove through Frederick County, Cas slumped into the passenger seat, eyes at half-mast. Bobby Singer's farm was one of the last before the Pennsylvania border and the battlefields of Gettysburg.
Going to Bobby's was like taking a trip down Memory Lane. Dean and Sam had spent many summers there when they were growing up, and each landmark had a story. Out the left window was the Blue Earth farm, where he'd taught Sam how to drive. Further up was an access road to the Shoemaker farm and a tree with a hollow, perfect for hiding a six-pack. Out the right were the swampy remains of Jorgeson Lake. Maryland had no natural lakes, only man-made ones, and this one had been a massive failure of design. Sam had lost a shoe in its squelching mud. And finally, in the field beyond that was where Dean used to play baseball and wrestle with his only friend, other than Sam, a scrawny kid named Jimmy who laughed at all Dean's jokes and thought he hung the moon. Dean's eyes were drawn to Cas as they passed the place where Jimmy had tried to kiss a fourteen-year-old Dean, and Dean had pushed him away and never seen him again, embarking on almost twenty years of failed non-relationships with women.
But that was a long time ago, and Jimmy had fallen off the map soon after. Doubtless Dr. Phil would have something to say about that, and about the dream Dean had had of the man sitting next to him, but this was why Dean didn't watch that shit.
Dean took a deep breath as they turned down the long lane leading to Bobby's. Was it just him, or did the air smell better here? He loved Bobby's farm, long-since converted into a salvage yard for his classic car refurbishment business. Bobby had given them both their first jobs - Dean with the cars and Sam with the account books. The farm was also conveniently located near the fireworks' store across the Pennsylvania border. The two boys and their surrogate father used to bring the fireworks back to Maryland and cut them open to see how they worked. Looking back, Dean wondered how none of them ever lost a limb, but at the time, the flash, burn and excitement was a sacred Singer-Winchester bonding ritual.
Bobby was sitting on his front porch when Dean pulled up, enjoying an ice cold glass of lemonade in the cooling dusk air. He hobbled over on his cane while Dean killed the ignition and crossed over to the passenger side door.
"Not your typical bunkmate, Dean," he remarked, bending to peer in at Cas.
"Yeah, well, not my typical reason for visiting," Dean said, elbowing him gently out of the way to get the door open.
Cas woke groggily, blinking his thick lashes before focusing on Dean's face. "Hey, man," Dean said softly. "We've made it to the Singer Palace."
Cas leaned heavily on his arm as they followed Bobby and the thumping of his cane up the porch steps and into the house. Dean watched Cas out of the corner of his eye. The other man's eyes flitted from place to place, cataloging exits and learning the layout of the place. He looked pale and exhausted, and was still in need of a shower.
"I'm putting you upstairs in my old room," Dean told him. "The stairs may be tricky, but the benefits outweigh the cons. You'll see." Cas just nodded his head.
Bobby left them at the foot of the stairs, and Dean shot him a grateful look over his shoulder. Cas relaxed slightly against him, now that there was no one else to see how weakly he navigated the stairs. Dean was practically carrying him by the time they were halfway up.
His old room was the first door on the right at the top of the stairs. Cas sank bonelessly into Dean's twin mattress, and Dean gave him a moment to rest. Bobby had made the upstairs bathroom into an ensuite connecting Dean's room to Sam's room after their first extended visit, about three years after Mary had died. Dean checked out the towel situation in the bathroom and poked his head into the shower: same shampoo and soap he'd left there during his last stay, plus the body wash Sam had brought. There were razors in the medicine cabinet and aftershave, the brand their father had used that neither of them ever did. The bathroom would just look wrong without it.
Dean walked back into his room. It was like a snapshot of him as a teenager: the lone sports poster (the Iron Man, Cal Ripken, Jr.), a few faded pictures of classic cars and buxom babes dotting the walls, an outdated stereo system against one wall, and a battered wardrobe (complete with dart holes in its side) and drafting desk against the other. Plus the bed, which had hosted several occupants other than himself. Or rather, along with himself, in spite of its narrow frame. And now it was playing host to Cas.
Dean scuffed his toes in the throw rug and cleared his throat. "So I need to show you why you had to stay in this room," he began.
"There's a compartment behind the wardrobe," Cas rasped out, his first words since they'd left the District.
Dean blinked. "How did you know that?"
"This room ends too soon. The staircase ends at least three feet farther over, and it's not consistent with the outside of the house." Cas struggled to pull himself into an upright position. "Underground Railroad?"
Dean nodded, a slight smile crossing his lips. "Clever, Cas. Yeah, you're right, 'cept it's a whole passage, not just a compartment. Underground railroad, moonshiners, and now, fugitive lawmen." He held out his hand. "Let me show you how it works."
Cas grasped his forearm and allowed himself to be helped over to the wardrobe. Dean opened the doors, reached behind a couple of old flannel shirts, and pressed the upper top righthand corner. The entire back of the wardrobe swung inward. Dean watched Cas' face light up.
"I feel very Lucy Pevensie right now," he murmured.
"This will take you to a salt room behind the barn," Dean said. "As far as I know, no streetlamps or lions have been spotted there." He cringed inwardly. Sam would tease him mercilessly if he knew Dean had caught Cas' reference, but Cas gave him a small smile.
"To close it from this side, you just hook your finger into this whorl here," Dean continued, sticking his finger into a tiny hole that just looked like a blemish in the wood, "and tug it."
"Very handy," Cas complimented him. "Should I even ask how many overnight guests you used to sneak in here this way?"
Dean grinned. "Yeah, probably not." Cas smiled at him again, and that was twice in less than five minutes, when he had never even smiled once before. Dean's heart lurched in his chest, probably the result of something he ate. He cleared his throat. "Anyhow, you could do with a shower, and then I'll change your dressings, maybe eat, and then it's bedtime for Bonzo."
Cas nodded, his smile fading, and Dean helped him into the bathroom before leaving him with a muttered excuse to find him something clean to wear. He heard the shower start up as he looked through drawers in the left side of the wardrobe, finding an old concert t-shirt and faded flannel pajama bottoms. He had to take a deep breath before knocking on the bathroom door.
"Cas? I'm bringing in some clothes, okay?" There was no response from the other side, and he shrugged his shoulders before opening the door anyway.
Cas was standing in front of the shower, his shoes, socks, dress shirt, pants, belt and gun neatly piled next to the toilet. His fingers played with the hem of his undershirt as he licked his lips. "I can't lift my arms," he said in a low voice. A red stain, whether from anger or embarrassment, Dean couldn't tell, spread across his cheeks.
"How attached are you to that shirt?" Dean asked, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact. "I can cut it off and get you a button-down to wear instead of this thing," he continued, gesturing with the clean clothes he still held in his hands. "And if you're cool with it, I can wash your hair for you. I had to do it for Sammy when he was a kid. Took him forever to learn how to take a shower. Almost as long for learning how to tie his shoelaces." And now he was babbling, and making Cas feel like a kid to boot. Awesome, Dean.
Cas blinked at him uncertainly. "Um. Okay."
"Great! I mean," and now a red stain was appearing across his own cheeks, he just knew it, and why did he have to dwell on his own shower from that morning at the prospect of washing Cas's hair - wet, naked and bruised Cas - oh, God. "I'll get the scissors."
Cas stepped under the hot spray of water still wearing his boxers after Dean cut him out of his shirt, for which Dean was absurdly grateful. He quickly shucked his shirt, shoes and socks, and climbed in behind Cas. It was by far the most awkward shower he'd ever taken. Cas's back was one big mottled bruise and Dean wasn't sure if he was helping at all. The worst, though, was the moan Cas let out when Dean first touched his hair. Dean went completely stiff, and Cas gritted out, "Relax, Dean, I'm not into tripsolagnia - you're pulling my hair."
"Sorry," Dean said, and gingerly began shampooing Cas' hair. "What's tripsolagnia?"
"Hair-washing kink," Cas muttered back, his face tilted up into the spray as Dean scrubbed gently at his hair. Water drops chased each other down his neck, and Dean swallowed hard. Thanks for the awkward moment, Cas.
Cas's hair was longer than his own, and silky in the water. He could easily imagine gripping it later, and wondered if it would be as silky soft when dry. He cleared his throat, banishing the thought.
"You're about done." He hurriedly ran his fingers through Cas's hair, making sure the suds were gone. He yanked the curtain back and reached for a towel with shaky fingers. "I'll leave you to finish up in here."
He ducked into his old room and shut the door, breathing heavily. He didn't think his erection had been noticeable. What the hell was happening here? This was too fucked up. He dried off quickly and pulled on some of his old clothes, the t-shirt too tight across his chest, the jeans a little snug, and adamantly refused to touch himself. The water stopped in the shower, and Dean's traitorous mind turned to what Cas would be doing right then. Oh, hell no.
"Cas, I'm running downstairs to help Bobby cobble some grub together. Yell if you need help getting down the stairs!" he called through the door. Cas grunted his assent, and Dean went barreling down into the kitchen.
Bobby looked up in surprise from the stovetop. "My house on fire and no one told me?"
"Just eager to help!" Dean said with a shit-eating grin.
Bobby gave him a skeptical look. "Well if you're not possessed, why don't you get down the bowls and find us some sporks. Yeah, and the crackers, and I've got some cheese…"
Dean sniffed at the pot on his way to the fridge. "Bobby's Bodacious Chili?"
"This batch is closer to Bobby's Chili, Full Stop." Bobby gave the contents of the pot a couple of half-hearted stirs as Dean pulled out the cheese and crackers. "So, Dean. Not that I'm complaining about your visit, mind you. But your friend upstairs. He in some kind of trouble? Sam was none too specific on the phone."
Dean sighed. "Yeah, Bobby. He's in a spot of trouble. Kind of my fault."
"He a cop like you? Holds himself like one." Bobby shot him a look from beneath his battered trucker hat. "And whatever you're blaming yourself for, don't. You pulled him out and got him here. That's something."
Dean turned to rummage in a cabinet for bowls, but he could still feel Bobby's eyes on him. There was a shuffling from the stairs and Dean gratefully headed to the distraction. Cas was descending the steps one at a time, the hem of Dean's old pajama bottoms brushing against the wood. The button-down only had a couple of buttons done up and Cas's hair was unbrushed and sticking up in wet clumps. Dean fought against a fierce wave of protectiveness. This was the same man who'd challenged Uriel and a roomful of his supporters, alone and injured; he didn't need coddling. But maybe he could use a hand. And a comb. Not that Dean was going to comb his hair. He had some lines.
"Just in time for a piss-poor excuse for chili, Cas," he said, putting a bit of warmth into it. He couldn't resist holding out a hand to help Cas down the last few steps. Cas gripped his shoulder instead and the touch burned. "Uh. Through here."
Bobby plopped the pot of chili on a potholder in the middle of the table as Cas sank into a chair with a quiet sigh. "My thanks, Mr. Singer, for your hospitality," he said.
"Mr. Singer's been dead for more'n two decades, son. It's Bobby," Bobby said, pulling out a chair and lowering himself carefully to the seat. "Sit, boy, and let's eat," he directed at Dean.
The chili was not the best Dean had ever eaten at Bobby's, but a liberal application of cheese made it quite palatable. They ate in silence for a few minutes except for the sound of utensils scraping bowls and Bobby breathing through his nose. Dean watched Cas pick at his food. He had a lot of questions, and now that the other man was showered and safe and partially fed, he'd probably be more forthcoming with answers.
"So, Cas," Dean began. "What happened at that pond? How'd you get away?"
Cas's eyes flicked to Bobby and back to Dean, the question clear.
"I'd trust Bobby with my brother's life," Dean declared. "You can speak freely here."
Cas looked down at his bowl. The silence stretched. Dean caught Bobby's eyes over the box of crackers. Bobby shrugged his shoulders. Dean grimaced back at him.
"Raphael sent some lesser agents to pick me up," Cas said finally. "They partially succeeded."
"How'd they know where you were?" Dean asked, mouth full. He swallowed loudly and looked expectantly at Cas.
"My phone. We all have trackers in our phones. I had removed mine, but Raphael and Uriel-" He stopped abruptly. Dean knew exactly what he was seeing in his mind's eye.
"Not your fault, Cas," he said gruffly.
"He was a good man once. A good agent."
The silence that descended was heavier that time. Bobby broke it by pushing his chair back from the table, scraping the floor. "I've got some work I wanted to do in the garage," he announced. "Dean, Marcie from down the road dropped off a ginger peach cobbler earlier if you want to check it out."
"Marcie, huh?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. "Does Ellen know about this?"
"I fixed her wood chipper!" Bobby protested. "Just being neighborly. It's none of your aunt's business."
He stomped out of the kitchen, grumbling to himself.
"What will you get if you clean her pipes?" Dean called after him.
Bobby's response was lost in the slamming of the door. Dean turned back to Cas, chuckling under his breath, thankful for the brief moment of levity. The other man hadn't cracked a smile, but was instead frowning after Bobby's retreating back.
"Mr. Singer is in a relationship with your aunt?" he asked. "Yet he is also involved with his neighbor?"
"What? No, man, I was just teasing him," Dean assured him. "Look, Bobby's very honorable, it's okay. And don't try to change the subject."
Cas gave him a flat look and pushed his chili around in his bowl.
"Fuck, Cas, I don't want to talk about what happened in Chinatown, either. Just help me figure out how you got there. How much do you think this Raphael knows about what we've been doing? And stop feeling guilty about Uriel, man, I saw him following Rachel on metro's security camera. You know he was just going to set you up for that." Cas didn't meet his gaze. Dean threw his hands up in the air. "Fine! Fine, this investigation already has holes in it big enough to drive through, why try to plug any of them?"
His chair scraped loudly on the linoleum as he pushed back from the table and marched his empty bowl to the sink.
"I'm ashamed."
Cas's confession stopped him in his tracks. Dean turned slowly and leaned back against the sink. Cas met his eyes.
"We take an oath to protect this country. Its citizens. I expected better of my brothers." God, his eyes were so fucking blue. "I'm sorry, Dean."
Dean let his breath out slowly. "Hey. You're not them." Cas was still watching him with his liquid eyes. "Fuck them, Cas. You're better than all of them."
Cas huffed a bitter laugh.
"I'm serious. You had my back in there when I was way out of my league and-" Dean shut his mouth with a snap. "You know, you're right. We don't have to parse this tonight. Tomorrow's soon enough."
Cas sat back in his chair, the tension draining from his shoulders. "That is very kind of you, Dean."
"Yeah, well," Dean mumbled, flushing. He retrieved the cobbler from the counter and laid it between them at the table. "Mmm, would you look at this? That's craftsmanship." He busied himself cutting two large servings. Cas eyed the bowl Dean set in front of him with a bit of apprehension. He had eaten only a third of his chili.
"Come on, Cas, the sugar will help. When I was a kid, my mom used to add a spoonful of sugar, just like Mary Poppins, to get me to eat my vegetables…" his voice trailed off. Smooth, Dean, smooth. Because getting betrayed is exactly the same as a serving of broccoli. He glanced up to find Cas's eyes on him, his eyebrows knitted into an expression of sympathy.
"Anyhow, about Bobby and Ellen," Dean said, clearing his throat and fishing wildly for something other than the case or his dead mother to talk about. "Sam and I always tried to get them together when we were young. It's a running joke. They're both widowed, you know?" He took a large bite of the cobbler and unicorns gave birth to rainbows in his mouth. "Oh my God," he mumbled. He ate another spoonful, closing his eyes to better concentrate on the taste, slowly savoring each flavor. When he opened his eyes, Cas was honest-to-God smiling at him again.
Dean's mouth turned up at the sight, his lips parting. He was suddenly aware of how physically close they were, hunched together over Bobby's table. Which only made him recall how close they'd been earlier in the shower, and how had he ever thought that was casual, just like two soldiers in a war, brothers-in-arms helping each other out? They were that, sure, but Dean could admit, if only to himself and only in the faintest whisper, that there was something more there. Something in the curve of Cas's lips in his rare smile, in the careful way he brought a spoonful of cobbler up to his mouth, in the look of concentration on his face as he chewed - something in there was causing Dean's heart to ache and his breath to quicken. He shoved another bite of cobbler into his mouth.
They ate in silence. Cas sat as loosely as Dean had ever seen him sit anywhere, usually stiff as a board, but Dean's shoulders knotted together with tension. After awhile it began to affect Cas, too, and his air of partial relaxation eventually faded, to be replaced with a slight frown.
"So, bed time?" Dean asked, clearing his throat. Cas nodded and slowly stood up. "You want a hand getting up the stairs?"
"It is something I should manage on my own," Cas replied.
"Yeah, okay." Dean brought the empty cobbler bowls over to the sink and watched Cas's back as he shuffled out of the kitchen. "Get some rest. Tomorrow you can tell me about Chinatown."
He was looking for it, else he wouldn't have noticed Cas's flinch. A second later, he stood ramrod straight once more. "Of course, Dean."
Dean Winchester, you are one hell of an asshole.
***
There was a weird stain in the shape of the Incredible Hulk on the ceiling in Sam's old room. Dean squinted at it in the darkness. No, it was closer to Hopalong Cassidy. There was definitely a lasso or something smeared next to it. Whatever, Sam was weird and Dean was trying too hard to concentrate on his brother's childhood shenanigans - anything to distract him from the idea of Cas sleeping in his old bed, wearing his old clothes. Dean shifted, the mattress squeaking beneath him. He imagined he could hear an answering squeak from the room on the other side of the bathroom. Cas was probably tossing and turning, his face flushed, his hair mussed. Dean's fingers slipped down past the waistband of his boxers.
He could try picturing Anna, or Jamie, a cute blonde bartender with fantastic breasts, or that actress who'd been shooting a political thriller in DC last spring, or any of a number of other women, all of whom had been willing and eager to share his bed. But Jamie's hair kept turning dark, the actress's eyes changed to deep blue, Anna's slim figure became broader. There was no use fighting. It was Cas's mouth he was picturing as his hand closed around the head of his-
Thump.
"Shit!" Dean threw off his blanket, grabbed his gun from under his pillow and rushed through the bathroom into Cas's room.
Cas was on the floor by the bed, tangled in his blankets. He groaned when he spotted Dean in the doorway, gun drawn.
"I miscalculated the width of the bed, Dean. No one is attacking me."
"Looks like that blanket is winning, actually." Dean's heart was still beating furiously, though more from the flash of skin where Cas's shirt had ridden up now. "Here, let me help."
"No, I can do it," Cas protested, succeeding only in entangling himself further. Dean barked a laugh and strode forward. His gun joined Cas's on the nightstand and he leaned down to grip an elbow. Cas grumbled at him, but Dean ignored him, grabbing for Cas's other shoulder. Only Cas had a different idea about that, too, and Dean found himself falling forward, twisting at the last moment to land half-on the bed instead of on top of Cas.
Cas stood, the blanket hanging from his shoulders like a cape and a smirk plastered across his face.
"Hey, Superman, I just landed on my fucking tailbone," Dean growled at him.
"I told you-"
But whatever Cas was going to say was lost when he slipped on the edge of the blanket and pitched forward. Dean caught him, cursing as he got a mouthful of blanket, and wrestled him down to the bed, rolling awkwardly aside to avoid crushing him. Only there was no place to go in the single bed, and he wound up pinning Cas down despite his best efforts.
He immediately panicked. There was no way Cas couldn't feel that, his erection having lessened not at all in their brief scuffle. He scrambled back and almost fell out of the bed before managing to get out and stand up.
"You're good now, try not to fall out of bed, I'm just going to-"
He was already through the door, feet slapping quickly across tiles before he practically launched himself into Sam's old bed.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Cas probably thought he was some kind of pervert, trying to take advantage of him when he was injured and-
"Dean."
Dean's eyes flew open.
"You left your weapon in my room." Cas laid the gun carefully on the nightstand.
"Thanks," Dean managed. Cas was staring at him. Dean resolutely ignored him, eyes fixated on his gun like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen in his life. He looked back at Cas when the bed dipped, though, his mouth opening wide in surprise.
Cas forestalled any possible protests by thrusting his tongue into Dean's open mouth. The kiss was immediately aggressive, skipping such niceties as little licks and the press of lips and going straight for the sharing of oxygen, the clack of teeth, Cas sucking on Dean's tongue until Dean moaned and bucked up into his touch.
"Cas!" he gasped. His brain was short circuiting. It was definitely lack of oxygen, he decided. Cas was a breath hog. Dean forced himself into Cas's mouth, licking and biting and stroking with his tongue. Cas collapsed on top of him with a groan and Dean broke the kiss. Fuck. Oh, fuck my life.
Cas's erection was every bit as strong as his own. He ground down against Dean with his hips, his hands cradling and stroking Dean's neck as he began to kiss across his jawline and down his neck, slurping, sucking noises joining Dean's harsh breaths. Dean's hands flailed for a moment before coming to rest on the small of Cas's back.
Holy fuck, we're going to have sex. I'm going to have sex with another man and I'm going to really, really like it.
Dean gripped Cas's ass firmly in his hands and thrust up. Cas growled against his neck, running his tongue over one particularly large hickey before drawing back just enough to yank Dean's boxers down and slide them off his legs. He licked the head of Dean's cock almost perfunctorily, already focused on getting Dean's shirt off. He sat back on his heels and stared at Dean, naked before him. Dean pushed himself up on his elbows.
"Like what you see?" he asked. How many times had he asked the same cheesy question, not really paying attention to the answer? A kernel of doubt lodged in him as Cas remained silent. "Cas?"
Fuck, did he change his mind? Shit.
He shifted on the bed, his eyes going to the blanket that had wound up on the floor at some point. A flush started to creep across his cheeks and he could feel his erection lessening.
"You're beautiful," Cas said in his rumbly growl, his voice lower than normal, and Dean's cock responded with enthusiasm.
"Uh…" Dean responded, the ability to string two words together departing at the burning look in Cas's eyes. Cas moved back over him, still clothed. He batted Dean's hands away when Dean fumbled with a button on the borrowed shirt, and Dean just shrugged and went with it, sliding his hands up beneath the shirt and encountering the edge of the bandage around Cas's ribs. Fuck, Dean, be gentle with the damn ribs!
Cas's mouth was on his again, the kisses no less frantic, and Dean forgot for a moment that there was anything else to worry about or pay attention to, just Cas's mouth on his and Cas's hand sneaking down his body to grip his cock. Dean embarrassed himself by groaning loudly into the kiss, but it was nothing compared to the mewling moan he made when Cas's bare cock rubbed against his own. He could barely focus to see that Cas had shoved his pants, Dean's old pajamas, partway down his thighs. Dean made a half-hearted attempt to get them all the way off, but Cas just took them both in hand and Dean lost all semblance of control. He rutted against Cas, trying to keep the kiss going but more often than not licking stubble. The friction was intense, Cas's grip brutally strong and assured, and it didn't take long before Dean came with a cry, bucking up and gasping for breath. Cas milked him for all he was worth before leaning down for another kiss and coming all over his hand and Dean's stomach.
Dean lay on his back with the unfamiliar sensation of another man's semen dampening his skin. He could feel Cas's eyes on him, but he couldn't look at him yet. Cas kissed him, the first gentle kiss he'd given, and Dean had to close his eyes to protect himself.
"Dean?" Cas's voice was hoarse. Dean's own voice was rough and scratchy when he managed a mumbled, "Yeah?"
Cas didn't say anything back, but a moment later the bed dipped again and Dean felt him stand up. Dean gave him a moment to pull up his pants before opening his eyes. Cas was already turning away. Dean caught at his arm.
"Hey," he said. "Hey."
He was at a complete and utter loss for words and after a moment Cas gave him a small smile, squeezed his hand and left the room.
Dean fell back against the pillows. Well, shit. That wasn't supposed to happen.
Trying to beat the devil to the old crossroads