House Grimalkin: Chapter 4
Rating: Mature
Fandom: Supernatural
Category: M/M
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Bobby Singer, Additional
Summary: Dean is the child of two Courts, Seelie and UnSeelie, and was hidden at birth because he would have been killed if found. Now the Prince of Cats is sent to find him, defend him against all enemies, and bring him back to the Never Never to end a brutal war that has taken the lives of a great many. Trouble is, Dean is an auto mechanic from a tiny town in South Dakota, has suffered from hallucinations his entire life, and the birthmark talisman that proves his identity was burned off in a house fire that took the lives of his parents. Now the only way to prove that Dean is who Castiel claims him to be is to wake up Dean’s latent magic. That is, if he can convince Dean not to kill him, that Dean is actually sane, and that everything he knows is a little less than half the truth.
“--getting more frequent. I’m trying to keep up, Robert Kitsune-sama, but I need assistance. Bringing in my Captain makes strategic sense.”
“Prince, I have been protecting him since he was a kit. That Captain Balthazar of yours is a pretentious ass. I don’t like him.”
Dean stirs to the sound of angry whispers close by. He squints at the pain behind his eyes and breathes out quietly. The voices sound familiar, and though he has only heard one of the voices for the first time this morning, he is sure the gargling-with-razorblades voice belongs to Castiel. And Bobby? Why is his uncle arguing with the cat dude?
“You don’t like him because he used to yank your tails during ceremonies…”
“That’s only part of it! He’s a pooka, Castiel. Unreliable, tricky--”
“Bobby, don’t be a racist.”
“Bobby? What happened to Robert Kitsune-sama?”
“I don’t know-- he must have stepped out for the moment because all I can see now is a blustering old seven-tail--!”
“Listen, you milk-sipping kitten. Calling this Captain of yours will only draw attention to this fucktastic trainwreck, and that’s the last thing we need. We’ve survived this long!”
“This is different, and you know it! They have found him now-- they will only become more determined. With all due respect, the two of us aren’t going to be enough.”
Dean hears a sigh that sounds so familiar it could only be Bobby. But clearly it couldn’t be Bobby, because what the hell was he talking about? He shifts, and pain thumps dreadfully behind his temple. The voices pause, dual intakes of breath, and he sees a shadow darken the door of his bedroom.
Huh. How did he get home?
Bobby appears in the doorway, looking worried, his hat in his hands. “You okay, kid?” he asks gruffly.
Dean presses a hand to his forehead. “Bobby, what the hell is going on?”
Bobby shuffles oddly, self-consciously. “You got beat up in an alley. We, um, we brought you home.”
Dean grimaces and sits up, ignoring the room wheeling around him in a sickening carousel. “Bobby, what the hell is going on, really?”
Bobby gives him a wide-eyed look that fools exactly no one. “What do you mean?”
Dean stares at him in disbelief. “Oh, I dunno. I was attacked by a pig and a dog in an alleyway; I’ve been talking to a cat-who-is-also-a-naked-dude all morning, who apparently you are having an argument with, and I’m just a little fucking confused as to who you are, exactly.”
Bobby sighs, deflating. “This wasn’t how I’d planned this to go.”
“You know, you are the second person… whatever… who has said that to me today.” Dean grunts painfully as he shoves himself out of bed, only belatedly realizing he has no pants on. He casts around feebly for his jeans until Bobby shoves them into his hands and frowns a grimace at the floor.
“We’re gonna need coffee for this.”
“Oh, we’ll need more than coffee,” grumbles the voice out in the hallway. Dean tugs on his jeans with one hand on the wall for balance, and stumbles out into the hall. In the kitchen, puttering around by the coffeemaker with a frown of concentration, is Castiel-- man-shaped. Dean registers with some surprise that he bears some heavy bruising on his back and flanks, and that he is moving as gingerly as Dean is. Dean lifts his chin to indicate the injuries.
“Hate to see the other guy.”
“You won’t see them again, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is calm, matter-of-fact. A shivery little chill runs down Dean’s spine, and his eyes widen, but Castiel offers no further explanation. He only frowns harder at the coffeemaker, and then lets Bobby nudge him gently out of the way. Lacking anything else to do, he stands and gazes at Dean for a moment, his eyes tracking down Dean’s torso in a way that makes Dean feel uncomfortably exposed. Castiel’s eyes are a luminous blue, overlarge in a handsome face, with a firm jaw and a dimple at the base of his chin. Dean catalogs him almost absently, his eyes drifting downwards over his sleek well-muscled abdomen to the dramatic cut of his hipbones disappearing beneath the waist of the borrowed sweats. The bruising mottles his golden skin in patterns of teeth and hands, with the worst on his spine and hips, like his back had been turned to his assailants. It only takes a moment to click for Dean.
“You were protecting me.” Dean is so certain he doesn’t even need to watch Castiel’s lips thin in confirmation.
“I wouldn’t have had to, had you heeded me.”
Dean can hear the censure, and his cheeks flush. “Yeah, well, in my defense, you’re a fucking cat, man.”
Castiel grimaces at him, ivory teeth flashing from behind parted lips, and for a heartbeat Dean thinks Castiel is going to lunge at him, fasten those gleaming incisors to his throat. He braces, eyes wide.
A loud throat-clearing startles them both, Castiel actually jumping back a little. Bobby is holding the steaming carafe and three mugs with an incredulous look on his face. Dean blinks a few times, realizes that Castiel is not, in fact, going to attack him, and sits down heavily at the kitchen table. Bobby pours him a cup of coffee and adds a generous slug of whiskey. He does the same for Castiel and then himself, before sitting down at the table with them and proceeding to look deeply uncomfortable.
Castiel breaks the silence with a loud slurp at his coffee. His mug thunks back down on the table. He fixes Dean with a look that seems half-concern, half-exasperation. “I honestly don’t know where to begin, Dean Winchester.”
“How about with what the fuck is going on?” Dean counters pleasantly, taking a sip of his own coffee.
Bobby grimaces. “It’s better to go back to the beginning. But you aren’t going to like it, Dean.” Dean nods.
“If it makes you feel any better, I already don’t like it.”
“Well, then.” Bobby takes a deep drink, and Dean suspects his cup is more whiskey than coffee. “That’s as good a place to start as any.”
(=^..^=)(=^..^=)(=^..^=)
Fandom: Supernatural
Category: M/M
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Castiel
Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Bobby Singer, Additional
Summary: Dean is the child of two Courts, Seelie and UnSeelie, and was hidden at birth because he would have been killed if found. Now the Prince of Cats is sent to find him, defend him against all enemies, and bring him back to the Never Never to end a brutal war that has taken the lives of a great many. Trouble is, Dean is an auto mechanic from a tiny town in South Dakota, has suffered from hallucinations his entire life, and the birthmark talisman that proves his identity was burned off in a house fire that took the lives of his parents. Now the only way to prove that Dean is who Castiel claims him to be is to wake up Dean’s latent magic. That is, if he can convince Dean not to kill him, that Dean is actually sane, and that everything he knows is a little less than half the truth.
“--getting more frequent. I’m trying to keep up, Robert Kitsune-sama, but I need assistance. Bringing in my Captain makes strategic sense.”
“Prince, I have been protecting him since he was a kit. That Captain Balthazar of yours is a pretentious ass. I don’t like him.”
Dean stirs to the sound of angry whispers close by. He squints at the pain behind his eyes and breathes out quietly. The voices sound familiar, and though he has only heard one of the voices for the first time this morning, he is sure the gargling-with-razorblades voice belongs to Castiel. And Bobby? Why is his uncle arguing with the cat dude?
“You don’t like him because he used to yank your tails during ceremonies…”
“That’s only part of it! He’s a pooka, Castiel. Unreliable, tricky--”
“Bobby, don’t be a racist.”
“Bobby? What happened to Robert Kitsune-sama?”
“I don’t know-- he must have stepped out for the moment because all I can see now is a blustering old seven-tail--!”
“Listen, you milk-sipping kitten. Calling this Captain of yours will only draw attention to this fucktastic trainwreck, and that’s the last thing we need. We’ve survived this long!”
“This is different, and you know it! They have found him now-- they will only become more determined. With all due respect, the two of us aren’t going to be enough.”
Dean hears a sigh that sounds so familiar it could only be Bobby. But clearly it couldn’t be Bobby, because what the hell was he talking about? He shifts, and pain thumps dreadfully behind his temple. The voices pause, dual intakes of breath, and he sees a shadow darken the door of his bedroom.
Huh. How did he get home?
Bobby appears in the doorway, looking worried, his hat in his hands. “You okay, kid?” he asks gruffly.
Dean presses a hand to his forehead. “Bobby, what the hell is going on?”
Bobby shuffles oddly, self-consciously. “You got beat up in an alley. We, um, we brought you home.”
Dean grimaces and sits up, ignoring the room wheeling around him in a sickening carousel. “Bobby, what the hell is going on, really?”
Bobby gives him a wide-eyed look that fools exactly no one. “What do you mean?”
Dean stares at him in disbelief. “Oh, I dunno. I was attacked by a pig and a dog in an alleyway; I’ve been talking to a cat-who-is-also-a-naked-dude all morning, who apparently you are having an argument with, and I’m just a little fucking confused as to who you are, exactly.”
Bobby sighs, deflating. “This wasn’t how I’d planned this to go.”
“You know, you are the second person… whatever… who has said that to me today.” Dean grunts painfully as he shoves himself out of bed, only belatedly realizing he has no pants on. He casts around feebly for his jeans until Bobby shoves them into his hands and frowns a grimace at the floor.
“We’re gonna need coffee for this.”
“Oh, we’ll need more than coffee,” grumbles the voice out in the hallway. Dean tugs on his jeans with one hand on the wall for balance, and stumbles out into the hall. In the kitchen, puttering around by the coffeemaker with a frown of concentration, is Castiel-- man-shaped. Dean registers with some surprise that he bears some heavy bruising on his back and flanks, and that he is moving as gingerly as Dean is. Dean lifts his chin to indicate the injuries.
“Hate to see the other guy.”
“You won’t see them again, Dean.” Castiel’s voice is calm, matter-of-fact. A shivery little chill runs down Dean’s spine, and his eyes widen, but Castiel offers no further explanation. He only frowns harder at the coffeemaker, and then lets Bobby nudge him gently out of the way. Lacking anything else to do, he stands and gazes at Dean for a moment, his eyes tracking down Dean’s torso in a way that makes Dean feel uncomfortably exposed. Castiel’s eyes are a luminous blue, overlarge in a handsome face, with a firm jaw and a dimple at the base of his chin. Dean catalogs him almost absently, his eyes drifting downwards over his sleek well-muscled abdomen to the dramatic cut of his hipbones disappearing beneath the waist of the borrowed sweats. The bruising mottles his golden skin in patterns of teeth and hands, with the worst on his spine and hips, like his back had been turned to his assailants. It only takes a moment to click for Dean.
“You were protecting me.” Dean is so certain he doesn’t even need to watch Castiel’s lips thin in confirmation.
“I wouldn’t have had to, had you heeded me.”
Dean can hear the censure, and his cheeks flush. “Yeah, well, in my defense, you’re a fucking cat, man.”
Castiel grimaces at him, ivory teeth flashing from behind parted lips, and for a heartbeat Dean thinks Castiel is going to lunge at him, fasten those gleaming incisors to his throat. He braces, eyes wide.
A loud throat-clearing startles them both, Castiel actually jumping back a little. Bobby is holding the steaming carafe and three mugs with an incredulous look on his face. Dean blinks a few times, realizes that Castiel is not, in fact, going to attack him, and sits down heavily at the kitchen table. Bobby pours him a cup of coffee and adds a generous slug of whiskey. He does the same for Castiel and then himself, before sitting down at the table with them and proceeding to look deeply uncomfortable.
Castiel breaks the silence with a loud slurp at his coffee. His mug thunks back down on the table. He fixes Dean with a look that seems half-concern, half-exasperation. “I honestly don’t know where to begin, Dean Winchester.”
“How about with what the fuck is going on?” Dean counters pleasantly, taking a sip of his own coffee.
Bobby grimaces. “It’s better to go back to the beginning. But you aren’t going to like it, Dean.” Dean nods.
“If it makes you feel any better, I already don’t like it.”
“Well, then.” Bobby takes a deep drink, and Dean suspects his cup is more whiskey than coffee. “That’s as good a place to start as any.”
(=^..^=)(=^..^=)(=^..^=)