Fic: Equinox (Dean/Castiel, R, 2/2)

[bree_black]

Dean only lets himself freak out later that night, after the dishes are done and Sam has stopped tossing and turning in the adjacent bedroom.

“Shit,” he whispers into his darkened room. “Jesus fucking Christ.” It feels good to hear his own voice; it grounds him.

Three things had become crystal clear to him over the course of the day. First, Castiel was an angel. Second, angels were vicious, terrifying mercenaries with a special interest in him. And third - and for some fucking reason this feels like the most important part - making out with one of them had been pretty much the highlight of his life.

“I am so screwed,” he says into the night, before finally falling asleep.

Castiel is waiting beside his usual parking spot when they pull into school the next day.

“What the hell?” Sam mutters, and Dean pretends not to hear because he hasn’t exactly figured out how to have this conversation yet.

Castiel pulls open Dean’s door for him, and Dean scowls. “You try to carry my books for me and I will break your nose,” he says.

“We both know you can’t hurt me,” Castiel jokes, dropping his voice, but he steps back from the car, giving Dean space.

“Hello Sam,” Castiel says, more loudly.

“Hey,” Sam says casually, raising a questioning eyebrow at Dean.

Dean shakes his head. Not now. “See you after school, Sammy.”

Sam frowns, but throws his book bag over his shoulder and heads toward the school, throwing just one curious glance over his shoulder.

“I think he’s noticed something’s different, Cas,” Dean says, sarcastic.

“Maybe. Cas, am I?” Now it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow.

Dean shrugs. “What? Are angels not allowed to have nicknames?”

“I don’t know,” Cas answers. “But I’m breaking all the rules now anyway. I like it.”

“Live life on the edge,” Dean says, trying to ignore everyone - including Cas’ “siblings” - staring as they head up the front steps.

Castiel - Cas - puts one hand on the small of Dean’s back, warm fingertips brushing the skin just under the hem of Dean’s t-shirt. “Maybe I’ll end up in Hell.”

Dean skips last period, and he and Cas sit in a small clearing in the forest, where no one is likely to find them. Cas sits cross-legged, looking appropriately perched, but Dean sprawls out on the grass. He doesn’t feel claustrophobic surrounded by trees anymore, not with Cas here. Dude could probably explode anything that attacked them with a snap of his fingers. It’s nice to be able to let his guard down.

Dean stretches out one leg, rests the toe of his sneaker experimentally on Cas’ knee. Cas doesn’t react, so Dean leaves it there.

“So you’re a few thousand years old,” he says. “And you and your brothers and sisters are all angels. You don’t age, so you leave this town whenever people get suspicious, coming back a generation or two later when no one’s likely to recognize you, and killing a bunch of demons.”

Ca looks up, startled. “You know about the demons?”

Dean nods, plucking out a piece of long grass and chewing on the end. “Sam’s been tracking a bunch of suspicious deaths. Possession victims, right?”

“Yes,” Cas answers. “Unfortunately by the time we exorcise the demon it is often too late for the human host.”

“And one of them was as angel. I saw the wings.”

Cas frowns. “Yes. He was acquaintance of ours, though not a friend.” There’s pain in his voice, so Dean changes the subject.

“You know normally,” Dean says, “I would call my dad right about now. Demons are his favourite.”

“Are you not going to?” Cas asks.

Dean lets himself fall back into the grass, staring up at the tiny patches of blue sky he can see through the trees. “I figure you guys have it covered. I mean, my dad’s good, but you guys are the demon-killing experts.”

Dean can hear the affection in Cas’ voice. “I do have a significant amount of practice,” he agrees, but then his voice goes serious again, “But angels aren’t always the good guys. You, especially, need to remember that.”

Dean twists his fingers through the grass, pulling so hard the blades dig into skin and almost hurt. “So you mentioned before. What does this have to do with me?”

“There’s a reason my siblings and I always come back to Forks. There’s a reason the demons come here, too. We’ve been waiting for someone, looking for signs in the stars or in the voices of our prophets that he’s finally arrived. We were reasonably certain he would arrive here, but less sure when. We had a few false starts.”

“Hey, what’s a few centuries?” Dean jokes. “But again, what does this have to do with me?”

The pause is long and awkward, even for Cas. When he finally speaks he’s using the same tone Dean had when he’d broken it to Sam that monsters were real. “It’s you, Dean. You’re the one we’ve been waiting for.”

Dean nearly inhales the blade of grass he’d been chewing, and has to sit up to cough it out of his throat. Cas leans forward, concerned, and Dean struggles to stop coughing in case he tries to give him the super-powered Heimlich maneuver or something. “What?” he finally gasps.

“You’re our righteous man, the one Michael’s been searching for. The others aren’t sure, but I can feel it. I knew from the first moment I saw you.”

Dean digs his fingertips into the soil; it feels like he needs to tie himself into the earth. “Michael. As in the angel. Cas, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

Cas shakes his head, his expression grave. “Unfortunately, I’ve never been so certain about anything in all of my existence.”

“I take it Michael isn’t looking for someone to go bowling with?” Dean says.

Cas frowns. “No. I think he wants to use you, though none of us are sure how, exactly. We don’t rank high enough to know the entire mission, and we haven’t been the most obedient of soldiers.”

“Because you don’t want to kill people anymore?”

“In a way. Michael’s mission is his only concern, and he doesn’t care how many humans he tramples along the way. My siblings and I grew tired of so much collateral damage. We support Heaven, yes, but we are also concerned about humanity. Michael has found our compassion…irritating.”

“So you’re not going to turn me over to him?”

Cas shakes his head. He wraps one hand possessively around the ankle Dean left in his lap. “It’s the last thing I would ever do, Dean. I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want to be something you would hunt.”

“You’re not,” Dean says urgently. “I mean, even if I knew how to kill you I wouldn’t.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “Though I’m a little surprised you didn’t at least try.”

“Well I didn’t want to make a scene in the cafeteria,” Dean says, sarcastic. He reaches forward to put a hand over Castiel’s, still wrapped around his ankle. “But if I had to kill an angel... One of the bad ones...”

Cas shakes his head. “There are others out there, and we run into them from time to time. But you won’t need to fight them; I won’t let them get close enough to you for it to be necessary.”

“But it’s possible?” Dean says. “You can die?”

Castiel ignores the question, sliding his hand forward from Dean’s ankle to his knee. He sits up on his knees, taller than Dean, who’s still leaning back on his elbows in the grass. He’s so close Dean can smell his scent - like electricity.

“Enough talk,” Cas says, and then he’s kissing Dean, hot and urgent and like he’s been waiting a thousand years for it, which may actually be true. Dean falls back into the soft grass and Castiel follows, pressing his body against Dean’s, and Dean forgets all about killing angels, lost in kissing one.

“I’m gonna take you to my place tomorrow,” Castiel says the next day, while Dean is in the driveway hosing off his truck.

Dean jumps about two feet in the air. “Holy shit, Cas, could you act human. Stop popping out of thin air.”

“I apologize,” Cas says, and then casually reaches over and pops Dean’s dented driver’s side door back into place like it’s made of rubber.

Dean sighs. “Thanks. Uh, wait, like with your family? What if they don’t like me?”

Cas smiles. “So you’re worried not because you’ll be in a house full of angelic warriors, but because you think they won’t approve of you.”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t exactly do family well.”

Cas opens his mouth to speak, but then looks up at the house. Dean follows his gaze, and sees the curtains in Sam’s room twitch.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow night,” Cas says, and then he turns and walks - awkwardly, like it’s not his preferred form of transportation - down the road.

Sam’s anger is palpable when Dean walks through the front door.

“So when did we become best friends with the time-travelling probably-murderer?” he asks casually, slamming two plates down on the table. “Or are you gonna tell me you’re still doing research?”

“Sam,” Dean says, gritting his teeth. “It’s not what you think. I’m not stupid, okay?”

Sam throws a random handful of cutlery on top of the plates and they make an unpleasant clattering noise. “Oh yeah. Because hanging out with the monster we haven’t identified yet and don’t know how to kill when we’re surrounded by mysterious deaths sounds like a totally not stupid thing to do.”

“I know what I’m doing Sam,” Dean says, though he doesn’t.

“Give me the phone,” Sam says. “I’m gonna call Dad.”

“No,” Dean practically shouts, panic rising in his chest at the thought of what his father would do to Cas. Even without taking the whole making out with his son in meadows thing into consideration, his hunting philosophy is pretty clear-cut.

“What you’re doing isn’t safe!” Sam shouts back, voice cracking on the last word.

“And you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” Dean bellows. “You’re just a little kid.”

Something breaks in Sam’s expression, and he carefully sets the glasses he’d been holding down on the table before turning for the stairs.

“Hey, pizza’s almost ready,” Dean says to Sam’s retreating back.

“I lost my appetite,” Sam calls back, before slamming his bedroom door.

Sam has dinner at a friend’s the next night, so Dean doesn’t even see him before Cas pulls up in his silver sports car. Dean, preoccupied, can’t bring himself to make small-talk, but Cas seems happy enough to drive in silence.

“Are you alright?” He finally asks. “We don’t need to do this now, if you’d rather not.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Dean says quickly. “I just had a fight with Sam last night.”

“About me,” Cas says, and it’s not a question. “Was he very angry?”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“Is he angry a lot?” Cas asks, and Dean has accompanied Dad on enough hunts to recognize fishing when he hears it.

“I guess. I mean, he’s a teenager. Why?”

“No reason. I was merely curious,” Cas says. It’s not a very convincing lie.

Cas’ house is enormous, all dark wood broken by huge panes of glass, like the world’s fanciest log cabin. If Dean was anyone else he might have been impressed, but truth is he’d be perfectly content living in his car, as long as it was the Impala.

“Nice digs,” he says.

“What did you expect? Fluffy white clouds?”

Dean smiles, and follows Cas into the front hall. He hears strange, operatic music growing louder as they walk.

“I told them not to do this,” Cas warns.

But yeah, all of Cas’ siblings are in the kitchen, cooking a meal for Dean even though they don’t eat. Dean eats it even though he’s technically already had dinner, because hey, free food! But they stare at him while he eats, which is pretty awkward. At least Cas sits beside him, his knee pressed against Dean’s under the table.

“This must be pretty bizarre for you,” Cas’ brother - Balthazar - says, and Dean suspects that accent is totally fake, because according to Cas they’ve all been living in the States for centuries.

“I guess,” Dean says, and takes a huge bite of lasagna so he doesn’t have to talk for awhile.

“I mean, not just the angel thing. You know Castiel could probably track down a female vessel, if that would be more comfortable for you.” His eyes twinkle, and it takes Dean a second to get it, and then all of his focus not to spit lasagna across the table.

“Balthazar,” Cas says sternly, and Balthazar laughs and punches him in the shoulder.

“What?” he says. “Humans are strange about these things. The kind of equipment you’ve got down under really seems to matter to them. You wouldn’t know about the art of love, of course, but trust the voice of experience.”

From across the room, Cas’ blonde sister - Rachel - scoffs.

“Of course all of that was centuries ago. Now I’m strictly a one angel kind of guy,” Balthazar adds quickly, but he winks at Dean when he thinks his girlfriend’s not looking.

Dean swallows his food. “Uh, I think I’m okay with the vessel he’s got,” he says, nudging Cas’ knee with his, and really liking the tiny, secret smile that momentarily plays across his face.

“You’re not,” Rachel says, voice icy cold. “This isn’t okay at all.”

“Just ignore her,” Cas murmurs, apparently to Dean but loud enough so the whole room can hear. “I do.”

“Yeah,” Rachel snaps. “Let’s just keep pretending like this isn’t dangerous for all of us.”

“I would never tell anybody,” Dean breaks in, setting down his fork.

“She knows that,” a soft voice says from behind Dean. He turns to see the red-headed sister, Anna, walking into the room, hand-in-hand with Uriel. “Hi Dean. It’s not you, or your hunter father we’re worried about.”

“If Castiel is right and Michael wants him, we don’t have time to be indulging their little romance,” Rachel continues. “If he finds out we’ve been hiding the boy from him, the entire family will be implicated.”

“You want to turn him over then?” Cas says, voice soft but dangerous. “See how many innocent humans he slaughters as a side-effect of his war once he has his greatest weapon?”

“We could just kill him now,” Uriel says, matter of fact. “Scatter the pieces of his body across the globe. Would take Michael awhile to find all the parts and put him back together.”

An awkward silence descends on the room.

“Sorry,” Balthazar finally says. “Uriel is the newest member of our little team. This whole ‘valuing human life’ thing is still a little difficult for him.”

“It’s the most efficient solution,” Uriel says, without inflection.

“Right,” Cas says, standing up from the table. “Are you finished eating?” He continues without waiting for Dean’s answer. “I’ll give you a tour of the rest of the house.” He grabs Dean’s hand and pulls.

“I’ll see you soon,” Anna calls after him, like they’re best friends.

Castiel’s room is light and open, near the top of the house, and it’s full of really old looking books.

Dean is more interested in what’s missing. “No bed?” he asks.

“No,” Cas answers. “I don’t sleep.”

“Okay,” Dean says. It doesn’t even phase him, which says something about how weird the past week has been.

He wanders the room, letting his fingers trail across the sides of books. “You might want to try that closet,” Cas suggests, so Dean marches over and throws it open.

Weapons. All kind of weapons. Full of sharp points and leather straps and glimmering gems Dean doesn’t have names for. “Whoa,” he says. “This is so fucking cool.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Cas answers. “I’ve been collecting for quite awhile.”

“What’s your favourite?” Dean asks. He really hopes it isn’t something totally wimpy like a crossbow or something, because that would totally kill his buzz.

Cas steps up behind him and reaches across Dean’s body to pull a short silver knife off of one of the shelves. Though, actually, now that Dean sees it in the light it doesn’t look like ordinary silver at all.

“Is that all forged in one piece?” Dean asks, searching in vain for a seam or joint between the blade and the handle.

“Yes,” Cas answers. “It’s an angel sword - the only thing that can kill us. I’ve never used it.”

“It’s…kind of awesome,” Dean says, reaching out to touch it. Cas pulls it out of his reach and sets it back on the shelf.

“It’s very beautiful. I sincerely hope it remains just a decorative part of my collection.”

Dean hears the sadness in Cas’ voice, and abruptly closes the closet. “You know what?” he says. “Let’s both not think about killing things, for once in our lives.” He turns around so that he and Cas are face to face, practically mouth to mouth.

“What should we think about instead?” Cas whispers.

“Well, I was going to make a suggestion, but you don’t have a bed,” Dean whispers back, teasing.

“Wait right there,” Cas orders, and then he disappears, causing Dean to stumble forward a little. He hadn’t realized he’d been leaning against Cas.

He returns as abruptly as he’d disappeared, accompanied by a huge four-poster bed carved out of dark wood and piled high with blue and gold cushions.

Dean laughs out loud, and then can’t stop for a full minute.

“What?” Cas asks when Dean finally catches his breath. “What’s so funny?”

Dean thinks about the rickety mattress in the house they’ve been renting, about hundreds of shitty motel beds with scratchy sheets shared with his little brother, who kicks in his sleep.

“This isn’t real,” he says. “This kind of thing just doesn’t happen to me.”

“It does now,” Cas answers sincerely, and Dean reaches out and grabs him by his shirt, pulling him toward the bed.

The next morning, Dean picks Sam up at his friend’s place, and then takes them to the diner for Saturday morning pancakes. Sam doesn’t seem pissed, exactly, but just quiet, thoughtful. For some reason that makes Dean even more nervous.

While Sam pours syrup onto his short stack, Dean clears his throat. “Hey listen, about the other night…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam interrupts. “You don’t trust me with whatever you’re working on. I get it.”

Sam sounds so much like Dean’s internal monologue whenever Dad leaves him behind on a hunt that he’s momentarily taken aback. “No, that’s not it at all. It’s just that I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Sam asks, putting down the syrup. He leans forward across the table, all anger forgotten.

“Uh, okay,” Dean drops his voice to a whisper. “It’s about Cas. I don’t think he’s all that bad, really.”

“But he’s a monster,” Sam says. A week ago Dean’s worldview was equally black and white.

“But maybe not all monsters are bad, Sam. Like, remember, checks and balances? Cas and his family aren’t killing people, they’re just doing cleanup after demons. Cas saved me from a group of them the other night.”

“You were attacked by demons and you didn’t tell me?” Sam is visibly upset, straining to keep his voice at a whisper.

“Shh,” Dean says. “I’m okay. Cas showed up just in time. Patched me up, too. Not a scratch on me.”

“So what is he, then?” Sam asks, going back to cutting his pancakes. “Some kind of witch doctor or something?”

“He’s an angel,” Dean says, watching Sam’s jaw drop. And while Sam’s stunned silence leaves him an opening, he decides to get the rest of it out too. “And also we’re kind of going out or whatever.”

Sam never does finish his pancakes.

“We’ve got a solid lead on their lair now, so it shouldn’t be more than a week. Two at the most. I know you can’t wait to get out of there.” The line is full of static; wherever Dad is the reception must be bad.

“I’m actually really liking Forks,” Dean interrupts.

“What?” Dad says.

“Forks is growing on me,” Dean repeats.

“You got yourself a girl, then?” Dad says knowingly.

Dean hesitates, then forces out a chuckle. “Uh, yeah,” he says. It’s nearly the truth.

“Of course,” Dad says. “I’m sure she’s real pretty Dean, but you know we can’t afford to get attached -”

Dean loses track of his Dad’s sentence when Castiel appears on the edge of his bed.

“Dad, can I talk to you later?” he says quickly.

“Just make sure you’re being safe -” Dad says, but Dean is already pressing the button to end the call.

“I didn’t say you could come in here,” Dean says, breathless.

“You left the window open,” Cas replies, like open windows are a common angelic invitation.

“Do you do that a lot?” Dean asks, remembering his recent, recurring dream.

“Well only since you moved in,” Cas answers, smiling slightly. “I like watching you sleep...it’s kind of fascinating to me.”

Dean doesn’t think anyone’s ever found him fascinating before. He’s spent his entire life doing his best to fade into the background. And the thing about hunting is that even the people he helps save won’t want to remember him, will think of him as little as possible so they can forget about all the things that go bump in the night. Cas is the first person outside of his immediate family to ever really see him, to look at him on purpose and not wish he hadn’t afterward.

“I just want...could we try something?” Cas asks, brushing his thumb across Dean’s mouth.

Dean nods. He reaches out and catches Cas’ wrist, pulls his hand back to his mouth. He presses a kiss to Cas’ palm, remembering the way he had destroyed demons with this same bare hand. Cas could do the same to him in a second, but he won’t. The danger and safety of it sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. He bites down, gently, on the soft flesh between Cas’ thumb and index finger.

Cas laughs, a warm, low sound. “You bite?” he says. He sounds...fascinated, and Dean grins at him, basking in the glow of the attention.

“I guess I do,” he says. “Are you scared?”

“Terrified,” Cas answers, and it’s only mostly a joke. His hands shake slightly as he grips the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head. Cas tosses the shirt somewhere, but Dean doesn’t see where it lands because he’s too busy pushing Cas’ coat off his shoulders, clumsily unbuttoning his shirt.

When Castiel moves further onto the bed, Dean scrambles back against the headboard accommodatingly. Cas leans over him, licking at Dean’s collarbone, their bodies pressed flush together, and Dean’s face goes hot. This is different than the other times. Alone in his quiet bedroom in the middle of the night, Cas’ touch feels more intentional. When they’d kissed before it had been aimless exploration, but now suddenly they have trajectory.

Cas reaches down to unbutton Dean’s jeans, and yeah, that’s definitely new. He exhales sharply, and Cas looks up, concerned.

“Are you...I can stop.” He pulls away from Dean like he’s been burned, and Dean misses his touch immediately.

“No,” he says, and rushes on when he sees Cas wince, “I mean, I don’t want you to stop. It’s just that Sam is right next door.”

“Oh,” Cas says with obvious relief. He presses in close again, his hands at Dean’s hips, and Dean bites back a moan. “The room is soundproof.”

“It’s really not,” Dean says, but even as he objects he lets Cas pull off his jeans. “I can hear him talk in his sleep sometimes.”

“You misunderstand,” Cas says, tugging off Dean’s boxers and then his own pants with surprising efficiency. “The room is soundproof now.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Perk of dating an angel?”

Cas makes a small affirmative noise, but Dean barely hears it because by now they’re both naked and he’s pretty damn distracted.

Cas pushes firmly on Dean’s shoulders until he sinks down onto the bed, flat on his back and just a little bit stunned. Cas uses one hand to pin Dean’s wrist against the mattress, and slides the other down his chest and torso before wrapping it around his cock.

His strokes are slower than Dean usually uses when he’s alone, and it’s absolutely perfect. He loves being underneath Cas, his wrist encircled by an angel’s iron grip, his body pinned. Weeks ago the idea of being held down by something inhuman was the stuff of his nightmares, but now, with Cas, surrender feels like safety.

Dean groans and bucks up into his hand, relishing the way Cas pushes back, pushes down. His weight against Dean’s legs, his grip on Dean’s wrist feel like cover, like protection, like being anchored to one spot after a lifetime spent drifting. He closes his eyes, exhales hard, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, doesn’t worry about anything.

“Dean?” Cas says against his ear, without breaking his rhythm.

“Hm?” Dean says. He opens his eyes, but all there is to see is Cas’ pale throat, the line of his jaw.

“You said I could try something?” He tightens his grip slightly, and Dean makes a surprised, pleased sound.

“Yeah,” he manages to say, after a moment.

“Can I fuck you?” Cas whispers, right against his ear. The word sounds so dirty, so absolutely blasphemous from Cas’ mouth that Dean almost comes, biting his own cheek hard to hold off his orgasm.

“Jesus fucking Christ, yes,” Dean practically begs, loving the way he can see the vibrations in Cas’ throat when he laughs at Dean’s own blasphemy. “Wait, don’t we need something for -”

Cas releases Dean’s wrist, and then holds up a small plastic tube. “Perk of dating an angel,” he says with a small smile.

“Hey, so I’m hanging out with Cas tonight,” Dean says after school the next day. “Just going over to his place to hang out with his family.”

“That sounds totally and completely safe,” Sam snarks. “Not at all like walking into the lions’ den.”

“Sometimes danger is worth it, though,” Dean replies.

Sam considers this. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Dean nods. “Do you think I’d be going through this much trouble if I didn’t?”

“I’ve never seen you get, like, emotionally attached before,” Sam continues, looking at Dean like he’s a particularly interesting science experiment. “Does he make your knees go weak?” He shoots Dean a smarmy grin.

“Fuck you,” Dean responds, which isn’t his best comeback and probably gives away just how much truth there is in Sam’s accusation.

A honk from outside distracts Sam from his next comment, no doubt a joke at Dean’s expense.

“That’ll be him,” Dean says, grabbing his wallet off the table.

“Hold on just a second,” Sam say quickly. “I don’t think we’ve been officially introduced.”

“You’ve seen him at school a bunch of times!”

“Introduce me to your boyfriend, Dean Winchester. Since we’re not telling Dad about any of this I’m the one who needs to give approval.”

“So you’re definitely not telling Dad?” Dean says hopefully.

“Not as long as I get to meet him. Maybe I’ll regret it later, but I kind of want to see how this you being in love thing plays out.”

“I am not in love,” Dean insists.

“Sure,” Sam agrees, too quickly. “Whatever you say. Bring him in!”

“Okay, but Sam? Be nice. He’s important to me.”

“Clearly,” Sam says. “I’ll be a total angel. Haha, get it? ‘Cause your boyfriend’s an angel.”

Dean rolls his eyes, and goes to open the front door, where Cas is already waiting. “Come in and meet my pain in the ass brother,” he says.

Sam stands and holds out his hand, which Cas shakes after a moment’s hesitation. The room fills with strained silence.

“You don’t seem evil,” Sam finally says, eyes narrowed.

“Neither do you,” Cas replies, staring at Sam intently, like he’s searching for something.

“Okay, well this was awkward,” Dean says, interrupting their staring contest. “Let’s get going.” He grabs Cas by the corner of his coat and tugs.

“Don’t keep him out too late!” Sam calls after them. “Use a condom! Don’t get pregnant with like, fledglings or something!”

Dean slams the door as hard as he can behind him.

Somehow Dean had imagined angels doing something a little more badass than lawn bowling during their free time. Though he supposes the stakes are a bit higher when the game involves rolling massive boulders at your sister.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dean snaps, once he figures out what Balthazar’s target is.

“Relax,” Cas answers, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Anna’s the jack. The objective of the game is to roll the boulders as close to her as possible, without touching her. Whichever team gets the most rocks closest to her wins.”

“That is messed up,” Dean says, and Castiel just shrugs.

“It’s not like it would really hurt her anyway. Don’t spoil our fun. There’s a thunderstorm coming; it’s the only time we can play. You’ll see why.”

The game is loud and cringe-inducing. Balthazar declares Dean the umpire, but he’s not much help. The ground shakes as the huge stones roll across the huge open fields, and it’s all Dean can do to keep his balance.

“You did that on purpose!” Anna calls at Uriel, after she’s forced to leap over a particularly dead-on shot. Uriel’s answering smirk is the first time Dean’s ever seen him smile.

Rachel’s up next, and her stone hits a patch of brush and swerves violently left, toward the line of trees marking the field’s boundary.

“Out,” Dean calls, trying to make a contribution to the game.

Balthazar whoops with laughter, and Rachel glares at Dean like he’s personally responsible for growing the shrub that had gotten in her way.

“Babe, come on, it’s just a game,” Balthazar calls, but Rachel doesn’t seem to have much of a sense of sportsmanship.

“Stop!” Anna calls suddenly, the panic in her voice obvious. Dean thinks maybe she’s come to her senses and realized that playing the target in this game is fucking suicidal. “Angels are coming. They were leaving, but then they heard us.” Her eyes are glazed and strangely blank.

So it’s not about the game, then.

“Let’s go,” Castiel says, suddenly by Dean’s side. “Brace yourself.”

“It’s too late,” Balthazar says. “If you leave now they’ll feel it. They’ll follow you.”

“Maybe they won’t know it’s him,” Anna says, but she doesn’t sound convinced.

“Stay close to me,” Cas orders. “Act natural.”

“Like that’ll work. He doesn’t exactly blend in,” Rachel snaps. But she stands next to Balthazar and Anna, already forming a united front against the other angels.

“I should never have brought you here, I’m sorry,” Cas says.

“What’s going on?” Dean demands, but everyone ignores him.

The three angels approach them, moving just slightly more quickly and slightly more gracefully than humans ever could. Two men stand on either side of the tall, dark-skinned woman Dean takes for their leader.

“It seems like you are having quite the game,” she says. “I am Raphael. And this is Gabriel, and Zachariah.” She indicates each of the men in turn.

“I’m Anna,” Anna says, stepping forward slightly. “This is my family.”

“Hello,” Raphael answers. “We noticed an increase in demon activity in the area recently. Have you made any progress locating the weapon?”

“No,” Anna answers. “And it doesn’t seem like the demons have found anything either. We have the area under surveillance and maintain a permanent residence nearby, however. We’ve no need of assistance.”

“That’s fine,” the one who’d called himself Gabriel says, looking anxious. “We’ll just pass on through.”

“But since we’re here,” Raphael says, “could you use three more players? Just one game?”

“Sure,” Anna says reluctantly, her voice strained. “Why not? A few of us were leaving and you can take their place. We’ll throw first.”

Gabriel and Raphael both turn to walk over to the pitch, but the one who hasn’t spoken yet - Zachariah - stands there for a moment, staring at Cas with suspicion.

“Come on, let’s go,” Cas says, reaching for Dean’s hand. He turns to leave a little too quickly, yanking Dean along behind him. Dean, still stiff with tension, stumbles slightly before catching his balance and righting himself.

It’s just human enough to give him away, not quite graceful enough to be angelic, and Zachariah notices.

“You have a pet,” he says loudly, clearly amused, and his friends turn back to them, game forgotten.

“A human?” Raphael says. “Whatever do you need one of those for?” Castiel’s hand goes painfully tight around Dean’s wrist.

“Possessive,” Zachariah comments. “Is there perhaps something special about this boy?” He narrows his eyes, calculating. “Yes, I believe I feel something. Have you found the one?”

Castiel’s family move too quickly for Dean’s eyes to register, forming a protective circle around them.

“The boy is with us,” Balthazar says. “I think it best if you leave.”

Raphael must recognize that five to three on the Nevaehs’ home turf doesn’t leave them with very good odds. “I can see the game is over,” she says, “We’ll go now. Zachariah,” she adds sharply, when the other angel hesitates.

Reluctantly, Zachariah turns his back on them. “This isn’t over,” he hisses over his shoulder, before following Raphael out of the field.

“Get Dean out of here,” Anna orders, shoving a petrified-looking Castiel in the shoulder. “Now.”

Castiel obeys his superior officer, catching Dean by the arm and practically dragging him back to his car. He opens the passenger’s side door, and tries to fasten Dean’s seatbelt for him once he climbs inside.

“Okay I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’m alright!” Dean yells, pushing Castiel’s hands away. “Fuck!”

Castiel climbs into the driver’s seat. “What, now he’s coming after me?” Dean asks, forcing down his rising sense of panic. He takes three deep breaths to steady his nerves, feeling his adrenaline activate his hunter’s instincts.

Cas merely steps on the accelerator.

“Listen to me, I should have told you this before,” he says quickly, keeping his eyes on the road. “Zachariah is a tracker. Looking for you has been his obsession. This is what he’s been waiting for for thousands of years. He’s never going to stop.”

“Okay, so we have to kill him.” Dean says. He feels strangely calm; there’s a comforting sort of familiarity in being chased by something big, bad and terrifying. “Use your fancy knife.”

“No. Balthazar, Rachel, Uriel and Anna have to kill him. We have to run,” Cas says, making a particularly dangerous hairpin turn back onto the main road, speeding in the wrong direction.

“Where are we going?” Dean asks.

“Away from Forks. We’ll get a ferry to Vancouver -“

“I have to go home,” Dean interrupts. “Now. You have to take me home.”

“You can’t go home,” Cas retorts. “He’s just going to track you there. It’s the first place he’ll look.”

“My brother’s there!” Dean practically screams over the roaring of the car’s motor.

“It doesn’t matter!” Cas yells back, voice so low Dean can feel vibrations in the air.

“Yes, it does,” he argues back, undeterred. “He could get killed because of us!”

Cas slams one fist against the steering wheel, exasperated. “That’s probably inevitable. Just let me get you out of here first,” he says.

“He’s my brother. We have to go back.” Dean’s mind races. “We’ll figure out a way to lead Zachariah away or something, I don’t know, but we have to do something. I’d rather die than leave Sam behind.”

Five minutes later, Dean bursts through the front door of the tumble-down house he’d almost - naively - started to think of as home.

“Sam! Sammy!” he screams, and his heart practically bursts with relief when Sam walks into the kitchen, barefoot, with a toothbrush in his mouth. He pulls out the toothbrush.

“What?” he says, spitting flecks of toothpaste foam.

“Grab your duffel. Pack your shit. We’re leaving. Now!” Dean orders. He sounds exactly like his father, he knows, but Sam seems to respond to that. The toothbrush clatters to the ground, and Sam tears up the stairs, throwing open the door to his room.

By the time Dean makes it to his own room Cas is already there, shoving his few belongings into the duffel bag he’d kept under the bed. It takes less than two minutes to round up all of Dean’s worldly possessions, and by the time he’s done Sam is waiting in the front hall, his own duffel bag over one shoulder and bookbag on the other. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see Cas.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you guys are just having a messy breakup or something?” Sam asks, without much hope.

Dean shakes his head. “The bad angels showed up. They’re after me. We’re running.” He heads out the front door, Sam on his heels and Cas bringing up the rear. They don’t even lock the door behind them.

“Do we call Dad?” Sam asks, climbing into the backseat of the truck, with their bags.

Dean, already in the driver’s seat and starting the engine, hesitates briefly. “Once we’ve put some distance between us and Forks, yeah. But I need to figure some stuff out first.” He pulls out of the driveway and turns toward the highway.

“We,” Sam interjects, “we need to figure some stuff out first. We’re in this together, Dean.”

Castiel appears in the passenger’s seat of the car. “That may be more than symbolic,” he announces.

Dean’s gotten used to Cas’ unexpected entrances, but Sam hasn’t. “Holy shit,” he says, then after a beat, “wait, what do you mean?”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and Dean’s stomach twists. “Spit it out,” he commands.

“There’s a reason Forks was swarming with demons,” Cas begins. “A reason they keep an eye on it too.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I figured. They want to kill me before Michael can get his hands on me, his greatest weapon or whatever.”

“It’s not just that,” Castiel says, swallowing hard. “The prophecies that told us you were coming...they speak of two men. Two brothers, one light and one dark.”

Dean feels all the air evaporate out of his lungs.

“One of them is to be Michael’s greatest weapon,” Cas continues, “and the other Lucifer’s. And once they’ve each found their chosen one, the great war will begin.” He recites the information like a well-worn nursery rhyme.

Dean glances in the rear-view mirror. Sam’s expression is unreadable.

“How could you not tell me this?” he snaps at Cas.

“I was hoping it wasn’t true,” Cas snaps back. “He doesn’t exactly seem like Satan’s secret weapon.”

Dean huffs, returning his attention to the road. He recognizes Cas’ silver sports car behind them. That must be Anna and Uriel. Balthazar and Rachel are supposed to be distracting Zachariah.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says. “I was going to tell you once I was sure.”

“I’m not a fucking child, Cas,” Dean says, gritting his teeth. “You don’t need to protect me from everything.”

“Hey guys,” Sam says, “if you’re done with your lover’s quarrel, can you tell me what’s supposed to happen next? Like, if the bad angels get us, what comes after that?”

Castiel sighs. “The great war will last one hundred years, and will engulf the whole of the world in flame and flood. Your bible has a word for it - Apocalypse.”

“Right,” Sam says matter-of-factly, “so stay away from the devil, then.”

Dean leaves the truck’s engine running when they get to Cas’ house, but Cas makes them come inside with him, refusing to leave Dean alone for ten seconds. It’s starting to get on Dean’s nerves.

He wishes they’d stayed in the truck though, when he notices one of the outsider angels waiting for them in the entrance-way.

“Wait,” Gabriel says, before Cas can attack, “I came to warn you, about Zachariah. I’ve grown tired of being under his command, and don’t look forward to the great war. I hope you are able to prevent - or at least delay - it. But you should know I’ve never seen anything like him in my three thousand years. Don’t underestimate him.”

Castiel nods.

“Is this the other vessel?” Gabriel asks.

The realization feels like being punched in the gut, but once it sinks in it makes so much sense Dean can’t believe he hadn’t put it together before.

“I’m Michael’s vessel,” Dean says. “And Sam is Lucifer’s.”

Gabriel nods. “They’re wearing you two to the prom.”

“Not if I can help it,” Cas growls. Gabriel shrugs, and then disappears.

Cas disappears for a moment, too, then reappears carrying the shining silver sword Dean had seen in his closet. He tucks it into a pocket of his coat.

The rest of his family are waiting in the garage, collecting weapons of their own.

“I’ve fought our kind before,” Uriel says, “Not easy to kill, but not impossible. We’ll tear them apart.”

Anna looks troubled. “I don’t relish the thought of killing one of our own, even a war-mongerer like Zachariah.”

“What if he kills one of us first?” Rachel says, her voice dripping with bitterness.

“I’m going to run Sam and Dean south,” Castiel interrupts, “can you lead them away from here?”

“No Castiel,” Anna says. “He knows you won’t leave Dean. I’ll go with them. Uriel and I will take them south. I’ll keep him safe.”

Dean hadn’t even realized Cas was gripping his hand so tight it was cutting off his circulation, but when he lets go all the blood rushes back and his fingers tingle painfully. Anna puts an arm around Sam, who lets her lead him to one of the cars. Dean follows, shooting a nervous glance over his shoulder at Cas.

“Rachel, Balthazar, can you try to summon Zachariah and Raphael? Slow them down so Dean has a chance to get away.”

“Why?” Rachel asks, leaning casually against a workbench. “What is he to me?”

“Rachel,” Anna says from the driver’s seat of the car. “Dean is with Castiel. He is part of this family now.” Her tone indicates complete unwillingness to put up with anyone’s bullshit. “And we protect our family.”

Dean’s seen enough families - including his own - torn up by monsters.

“If anything happens, I swear to god - “ he starts, as Cas leans into his open window.

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Cas answers. “There are five of us and two of them. When everything is done I’m going to come and get you.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, suddenly sick at the thought of explaining any of this to his father.

“Dean,” Cas says, cupping Dean’s cheek in one cool hand. “You are my life now.”

Dean can’t find a way to answer, so he leans up and kisses Cas on the mouth instead, hot and desperate like it could mean goodbye.

“Ew,” Sam says, as Anna steps on the accelerator and speeds off into the night.

“Hey Dad, it’s me again. Um. You must have let your phone die or something. We had to leave Forks, but everything’s okay. I’ll explain it later. Call me.” He hangs up after a moment of uncertain silence, and then lets his head fall back against the leather seat.

The sun is beginning to come up over the horizon. Beside him Sam is asleep, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. This is really just more of the same for him. If it didn’t feel so much like every single thing in Dean’s life had changed in the past two weeks, even he might be able to take some comfort in the familiar rumble of the highway beneath him.

In the front of the car, Anna and Uriel whisper quietly to one another, their fingers twisted together between the seats. It must be so easy for them to be together, Dean thinks bitterly, seeing as they’re the same species and everything. Now that there’s less adrenaline surging through his veins and he’s had nothing to do but stare out the window for twelve hours, Dean has had altogether too much time to think.

And what he’s concluded is that even if they make it through this mess - kill Zachariah and throw the angels off their tails - he and Sam are totally screwed. On top of that, it seems pretty damn unlikely he and Cas have any real future together. Between Cas’ overprotective family, the species difference, the looming Apocalypse, and John Winchester, Dean’s love life is pretty much dead in the water.

Anna pulls the car into a roadside motel - cheap, neon lights half burnt out - and Dean groans. He was an idiot to think his life would ever change.

Anna and Uriel slice open their palms and use their blood to paint bright red symbols on the door and windows of one of their two motel rooms, in some language Dean has never seen.

“What do they say?” Sam asks, carefully tracking their movements. Dean suspects he’s already memorizing the intricate lines of the symbols.

“It’s what they do that matters, not what they say,” Uriel says brusquely. Dean gets the feeling he’s still thinking about how much easier it would be to obliterate Sam and Dean than to protect them.

Anna smiles at Sam kindly, but with pity. “They repel all angels, including us. Use them as a last resort. You just cut open your palm and press the blood into the center of the symbol. It will banish any nearby angel and buy you some time.”

Sam nods, walks over to the desk at one end of the room to grab the tiny pad of paper they always find inside. He begins to carefully sketch his own copy of the symbol.

Anna adds a finishing touch to the symbol on the bathroom’s window. “We’re in the room next door,” she says. “Yell if you need anything.”

Dean nods. He doesn’t blame Anna and Uriel for wanting some time alone, because that’s what he wants too. He sighs with relief when Uriel closes the door behind them. Just he and Sam alone in a shitty motel room. It would feel like safety if there weren’t blood dripping slowly down the walls.

Dean jumps when his phone vibrates in his back pocket. He checks the call display and then snaps it open, silently mouthing “Dad” in Sam’s direction.

“Hey Dad,” he says, keeping his voice as casual as he can manage. “I’m glad you got my message.”

“Dean, where are you?” Dad snaps, using his best drill sergeant voice.

“Calm down,” Dean says.

“Dean!” The anger in his voice makes Dean wince.

“Everything’s fine. I’ll explain everything later.” The line crackles with static for a moment. “Dad, are you there?” Dean says, pressing the phone closer to his ear.

“It’s a nice car you have here,” croons a higher-pitched voice. “Though you should take care of it better. Did you know there are toys stuck in the ashtray? And chalk pentragrams under the hood, though those couldn’t protect your father from me, of course.” Zachariah sounds positively gleeful.

“Don’t touch him!” Dean yells. “Don’t you dare -” On the bed, Sam’s eyes widen in alarm.

“You can still save him,” Zachariah interrupts calmly. “But you’re going to have to get away from your angel friends. You handle that.”

“Where should I meet you?” Dean says, without hesitation.

“How about you old hometown? Shall we say...Stull Cemetery, in Lawrence? And I’ll know if you bring anyone along. Dear old dad will pay the price for that mistake.”

Dean has given a lot of thought to how he would die, over the years, and dying in the place of someone he loves seems like a good way to go. He calculates quickly. Less than an hour’s drive. “Fine,” he says, and snaps the phone closed.

Sam’s hands are curled into tight fists, and he holds his pen like he might hold a knife. “They’ve got Dad,” he says. His voice is strangely flat.

Dean nods. “I’m going to go get him, Sammy. But I can’t bring the angels.” He can already hear them moving next door.

“I’ll handle it,” Sam says quickly. He can hear them too.

“I’ll come back for you,” Dean says.

“I know,” Sam answers.

Anna throws the door to their motel room open. “Are you alright?’ she says breathlessly. “We heard yelling.”

“We’re fine,” Dean answers, tucking his probably useless gun into his belt. “There’s just something I need to do. Alone.”

Anna shakes her head, and reaches for Dean’s arm. He has the feeling if she catches him she’ll never let him out of her sight again, and Uriel is right behind her.

“Hey,” Sam says suddenly, from beside the window. Dean looks over to see his brother’s hand dripping with blood, slashed open with the pen he’d been holding. Then he slams his palm against window, dead in the centre of the elaborate symbol painted there.

The room fills with bright white light. Dean squeezes his eyes closed involuntarily, and when he opens them again both angels are gone.

“Wow,” Sam says, eyes wide. He presses his bleeding palm to his mouth.

“Thanks,” Dean says, still blinking away bright shapes floating in front of his eyelids. He has no idea how much time they have before the angels come back. “I’m gonna go get Dad.”

“Yep,” Sam says. “Go quick. I’ll try that again if they come back looking for you.”

Dean takes one last look around the room before he leaves. “And Sam - ,” he says over his shoulder.

“I know,” Sam says. “I’ll stay away from the devil.”

Stull Cemetery looks deserted to Dean, like no one has even visited in months. The only flowers on the graves are dried up husks of their former selves. The grass is yellow and brown with only the occasional spot of green, and Dean longs suddenly for the lush green forests of Forks.

“Dad!” Dean shouts, hand on his pistol. “Dad?”

“Dean!” Dad calls back, but when Dean looks it’s not his father standing there but Zachariah, wearing a perfectly pressed suit and speaking in his father’s voice. “I’m very disappointed in you, son,” he says, still in John Winchester’s voice, “for falling into a trap so easily.”

“Stop it, you son of a bitch!” Dean screams. He pulls the pistol out of his belt and fires, hitting Zachariah square in the chest.

He didn’t really expect it to work.

“Ow,” Zachariah says, in his own voice at least. “That smarts.”

“My dad’s not even here,” Dean says.

“Sorry,” Zachariah chants in a sing-song voice. “You really did make it too easy. Your father’s still off hunting werewolves somewhere, I imagine.”

“What do you want from me?” Dean asks, stalling for time. He looks over his shoulder, but he’s got nowhere to run.

“All I want is for you to say one little word. Just give my dear brother Michael your consent to be his vessel, and you can be on your way.”

“Yeah, until he decides to use me to blow up the planet,” Dean replies. “My answer is no.”

“What a pity,” Zachariah says with an exaggerated pout. “I guess I’ll have to make you say it, and that will break poor Castiel’s little heart.”

“Cas has nothing to do with this!” Dean screams. The last thing he wants to do is bring down the wrath of Heaven on Cas and his family, just because they tried to help him.

Zachariah shrugs. “He makes this a lot more…fun.” His mouth twists into a sadistic smile.

Dean takes three quick steps back, ducking behind a marble statue, a stone angel with her wings spread wide. Zachariah snaps his fingers and the head explodes. Dean tries to use the distraction as cover, sprinting toward the car he’d hotwired to get here, but he doesn’t even make it halfway there.

An invisible force slams into Dean’s body, knocking the air out of his lungs and sweeping him off his feet. He hits the ground hard, skidding along the grass until he slams into a gravestone, bashing his head against the stone. Pain radiates through his skull and for a moment the world goes black.

When his vision returns, Zachariah is standing over him. “Just say yes, Dean. It’s that easy.”

“No,” Dean says through gritted teeth. Zachariah reaches into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a short silver sword, familiar to Dean because it’s identical to the one he’d seen in Cas’ closet.

“This is meant to be used on angels,” Zachariah muses, “but it does just as well with humans.”

Dean barely even feels the sword digging into the skin of his wrist, but he feels it being pulled out, white hot and burning. He bites through his lip trying not to scream, and tastes blood. Blood on his wrists, blood dripping down his temple, blood in his mouth. Blood everywhere.

“Just say yes, Dean. All you have to say is that one tiny word and all this will be over.”

Dean opens his mouth. His tongue feels thick and his lip is swollen, but he manages to spit out the words with a mouthful of even more blood. “Fuck you.”

Something more than annoyance - defeat? - flashes across Zachariah’s face, but then he strikes, slamming a fist down so hard on Dean’s knee that he hears a crunching noise before he feels the break, pain ripping through his entire leg and up his spine.

And then Cas is there, appearing out of nowhere and slamming against Zachariah, sending them both flying through the air. They land on their feet, perched like cats ready to pounce. Castiel pulls his angel blade out of his trench coat. It is the exact twin of Zachariah’s, except Zachariah’s is dripping with Dean’s blood.

They fight. It’s too fast for Dean to really see, especially with a head injury. The world blurs alarmingly before his eyes, and he can’t watch the angels fight anymore, can’t bear to see if Cas loses. His head is very heavy, and he lets it drop. The yellow grass is stained red with blood from his wrists, a pool of blood rapidly growing larger.

The sky suddenly fills with white light. Dean closes his bloodshot eyes against it, and it feels good. If he keeps his eyes closed he won’t have to see who the victor was, see which angel is left standing. If he keeps his eyes closed he won’t have to see Castiel dead. Maybe if he just goes to sleep…

“Dean,” says a low, concerned, wonderfully familiar voice, but Dean can’t open his eyes and then he can’t hear anymore, either.

When Dean wakes up everything is white, from the walls to the sheets to the beeping machines next to his bed. Hospital.

He turns his head carefully, expecting one mother of a headache, but all he feels is mild stiffness. He slowly lifts his hand to his face, and aside from the IV the skin on his wrist is completely unbroken, not even the ghost of a scar.

“All your fingers and toes are present,” says a deep voice from his left, and Dean has never been happier to hear his father, “I checked.”

“Dad?” Dean asks. His mouth feels very dry. “Where’s Cas? Did he -“

“He’s asleep,” Dad answers, and gestures to the far side of the room. “He never leaves. Nice guy, though a little young to be hunting on his own.”

He sits up slightly to look at Castiel, who is slumped in an armchair next to the hospital bed, his chest rising and falling in what Dean can only assume is feigned sleep.

“And Sam’s down in the cafeteria,” Dad adds, anticipating Dean’s next question.

“What happened?” Dean asks.

“Well those demons that nabbed you, they broke your leg. Could have been much worse though. What were you thinking, joining a hunt? You’re lucky Cas here was with you, though, or things could have been much worse. He brought you to the hospital after the exorcism, called Sam who called me. Good hunter.”

“Nice of him,” Dean says, still hoarse.

“But the doctors say it’s a clean break, should heal up real quick. We’ll be on the road again before you know it.”

Dean’s heart jumps in his throat. “You mean you caught the werewolves. We’re not going back to Forks?”

“Billy can handle it on his own from here,” Dad says. “There’s no sense us going all the way back up there. Might as well move on to the next case.”

Dean tries to calm his racing heart. “Uh, Dad, could you go get Sam? I need to talk to him.”

“Sure thing,” Dad says, patting Dean’s good leg in a way he probably means as reassuring as he goes. Dean does not feel reassured.

Cas opens his eyes the moment Dad closes the door behind him, rushing to Dean’s bedside. He takes Dean’s IV-less hand in his.

“What happened to Zachariah? Did you -“

“I took care of it,” Cas answers. “But Raphael escaped, and he’ll go to Michael.”

“I’m alive because of you,” Dean says.

“You’re in here because of me. I was supposed to protect you.”

Dean doesn’t have time for this argument. “My dad wants to hit the road again, did you hear that? No one will be able to protect us then - me and Sam.”

“I’m here,” Cas says. “Where else am I gonna go?” He kisses Dean’s forehead, then touches it with two fingers, and Dean falls asleep.

Cas isn’t there when Dean next wakes up - he can only keep up the concerned fellow hunter disguise for so long - but comes back the moment the nurse finishes her evening visit.

“I hate hospitals,” Dean mutters.

“Where would you rather be?” Cas asks, and the answer is easy.

They sit together under the stars, on the hood of the Impala in a nearly empty motel parking lot near the hospital.

“I think you might be underestimating my abilities,” Cas says, frowning.

“This is exactly where I want to be,” Dean answers. He lets his head fall back against Castiel’s chest, lets Cas support his entire weight.

“You know Forks High is having their prom right now. You don’t want to be there?” Cas huffs with laughter at the idea, and his breath is warm against Dean’s skin.

“I do look damn good in a tux,” Dean admits. “Though I couldn’t do much dancing with a bum leg. What’s with that, by the way?”

“Hm?” Castiel says, his lips brushing against Dean’s earlobe.

Dean frowns at the cast on his left leg. “I assume you fixed my head. And my slit wrist. But you couldn’t manage a broken leg?”

“I could have, but I wanted to keep you in one place for at least a couple of days. So I could be sure I’d see you again.”

“That’s kind of desperate, you know,” Dean teases.

“You make me kind of desperate,” Cas agrees. He kisses the side of Dean’s throat, and Dean shivers.

“We are totally fucking screwed, you know,” Dean says.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, kissing his throat again.

“There are sadistic, obsessive angels hunting down my kid brother and I so they can use our bodies to fight a war that may wipe out the entire human race.”

“Also correct,” Cas agrees. He bites down gently on Dean’s collarbone.

“And I also have to deal with my dad.”

“That is the most terrifying thing of all,” Cas says. He licks across Dean’s jaw.

“All very serious problems.”

“Very.”

“So maybe making out shouldn’t be our first priority?”

“Silly mortal,” Cas says, kissing a careful line up Dean’s throat until he’s hovering above Dean’s mouth. “You’re dying already. Every second, you get closer. Older. We don’t have a moment to waste.”

He kisses Dean, and Dean kisses him back.

Everything else can wait, for now.

***

Part One

Credit where credit's due: I'd estimate about half the dialogue in this story is from the Twilight film, slightly altered, re-contextualized or radically re-purposed. The summary is an altered version of the Twilight book jacket. For this reason I consider this as much a piece of Twilight fan fic as Supernatural.

Thanks: A million thanks to lookturtles for the beta, and for encouragement pancakes. I’m sorry I didn’t make Cas smell like “DEWY FUCKING FEATHERS.” Thanks also to gwendolynd for casting a deciding vote.

Note: I know I promised meta on the writing process for this one. It's coming, I'm just on the verge of getting sick right now!