[FIC] Never Kill A Boy on the First Date Part 2

Jan 26, 2010 23:56


Title: Never Kill A Boy on the First Date
Author: awesomepants87 
Rating: R
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: ~8450
Summary: Sam sends Dean and Castiel on their first solo hunt after the apocalypse.


________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean returned to the apartment three hours later. His meeting with Tara had only taken thirty minutes. Like they’d expected, Tara reported no strange occurrences in the apartment. In fact, she stressed that the apartment had had a warm, welcoming feeling that always made her feel relaxed and safe. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, had always felt uneasy in the place and had apparently refused to spend the night. The only reason she’d moved out was because he’d proposed and insisted they live at his place. Though Dean doubted she’d have anything crucial to add, he’d given her his number and asked her to call if she thought of anything new.

He’d driven around after that, trying to clear his head and prepare himself for the awkwardness that was likely to meet him back at the apartment. Him and Cas had never gotten that…physical before and while he wasn’t at all surprised that he was attracted to Castiel, the intensity of it caught him off guard. Dean had been rock hard the minute Castiel had pressed into his back and he could feel Castiel’s matching hardness press into him. He’d been overwhelmed by the urge to grab Castiel, flip him, and fuck him till he saw stars. But he needed to talk to Cas first. As out of character as it might seem coming from Dean Winchester, Notorious Sex Fiend and One Night Stand Guy, he really didn’t want his first time with Cas to be just a jumble of adrenaline. They were stuck with each other. For good. And Dean wanted this to work. He needed this to work. So if it meant waiting for sex, well… he could do that.

When Dean opened the door to the apartment, Castiel was sitting on the couch reading the latest book in his David Sedaris collection, “When You Are Engulfed in Flames.” Dean found that he had been wrong when it came to guessing what kind of books Castiel would like. He’d figured Cas would go for the encyclopedia kind of books, full of boring facts and philosophical treatises. As it turned out, Castiel loved to read witty satires and humorous self-deprecating stories, of which Sedaris’ were his favorite. Castiel looked up from his book, shut it, and stood before walking toward Dean.

Dean closed the door and rubbed the back of his neck. He figured now was as good a time as any to bring up what had happened earlier. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He began speaking as he turned to face Castiel.

“Look, Cas, about…”

“I found where Mrs. Scully is buried.” Castiel cut him off mid sentence. He had a tendency to do that.

Dean’s eyes shot up. “Where?”

“At the Arcadia Cemetery, plot SR 819. It is deep enough within the cemetery for security to not be an issue. The cemetery closes at 7. We should leave after then.”

“Ok, yeah. We’ll head out at 8.” Dean scratched his chin and looked down. “Look, Cas, about before…”

“How did your meeting with Tara go?”

Dean sighed. Sam might think that Dean was clueless, but he was wrong.  Dean could take a hint.  Castiel did not want to talk about what had happened between them, and Dean didn’t feel like pushing it. They had a hunt to finish and he didn’t need them acting weird around each other, especially when it could get one of them hurt. So he decided to drop it. For now.

“Fine. She didn’t have much to say. Said she never experienced anything weird here but that her boyfriend never wanted to stay over. Big surprise there. Gave her my number just in case, but I doubt it’ll go anywhere.” Dean paused.  “What’s that smell?”

Castiel walked past Dean into the kitchen and opened the oven. “I purchased a pizza.” He stated as he pulled the pizza box out of the oven, where he’d been storing it to keep it warm. He shut the oven door with his foot and placed the pizza on the dining room table.

Dean opened the box, his eyes widening, drool practically dripping from his mouth. On the table was a crispy Sicilian supreme pizza with extra pepperoni. It was a thing of beauty. Dean hadn’t had a pizza like this in ages, and just a few weeks ago he’d been telling Cas how much he wanted one…that son of a bitch.

Dean grinned and placed his left arm around Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him in close. He picked up a slice of pizza and handed it to Castiel. “Now this is the best pizza you will ever eat. The perfect combination of thick crust with a crispy edge, and just the right amount of toppings to form the perfect blend. You’ve got to try this, Cas.”

Castiel closed his eyes as he slowly brought the pizza up to his mouth. Dean licked his lips as he watched Castiel bite down on the pizza, the smallest piece of cheese hanging out of the corner of his mouth. And ok, so maybe waiting was going to be harder than he thought.

Dean swallowed, his voice coming out low, husky. “You like that?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Dean realized how dirty they sounded. He cleared his throat. “I mean, good huh?”

Castiel opened his eyes and looked contemplatively at the pizza. He nodded once. “It is very good.”

“Told you you’d like it.” Dean slapped Castiel on the shoulder and moved away, grabbing a slice for himself. He picked up the box and started walking toward the couch. “Come on, we got a couple hours before we have to head out. I know a channel that’s showing a Dr. Sexy MD marathon.”

___________________________________

Salting and burning the bones of Mrs. Scully went off without a hitch. No security guards, no overzealous civilians, and no restless spirits trying to kill them. By the time they’d returned to the apartment, Dean was feeling pretty good. He’d never had a hunt run so smoothly before.

Famous last words.

>

As soon as they stepped into the apartment, Dean found himself thrown halfway across the room by an extremely pissed off Mrs. Scully.

“Dean!” Castiel yelled. He bent down, ripping open the duffle bag to grab the shotgun inside. He yanked it out and swung it around to where Mrs. Scully stood only to find the spot empty. Castiel blinked, looked over at Dean who was slumped on the floor.  Before he could take a step forward, make sure Dean was unharmed, he abruptly found himself being thrown back. The pull made him drop the shotgun and it fell with a clang at his feet. Mrs. Scully appeared in front of him, pinning him to the wall and wrapping her hands tightly around Castiel’s neck.

“You did this to me.” She snarled at him. Her hands squeezed tighter.

Castiel gasped for air. One hand came to wrap around Mrs. Scully’s wrist while the other arm flailed at his side as he tried to grasp for something - anything - that would help fight her off. Castiel’s vision started to darken, tiny spurts of white light bursting in his eyes, when the bang from the shotgun jolted him out of it and suddenly the pressure around his neck disappeared. Mrs. Scully vanished and out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean holding a shotgun. Castiel slid to the ground, clutching his throat as he leaned forward and fought to control his breathing.

Dean rushed over to Castiel and knelt at his side, his hand coming up to rest on Castiel’s back. “You ok?”

Castiel coughed, nodded to Dean that he was all right, and reached for the shotgun he’d dropped. “She might come back.” He stood with Dean’s help and positioned the gun, ready to shoot.

“What the hell?” Dean whispered roughly as they slowly started to move from room to room, conducting a thorough search of the apartment for signs of the reappearing ghost.  “We burned the bones, Cas. It was supposed to be Bye Bye Birdie. What the hell is she still doing here?”

“Her spirit must be connected to something else.” Castiel voice was hoarse from the attack, but he otherwise seemed completely unaffected by his run-in with the ghost. After searching the apartment with no sight of Mrs. Scully, they moved back into the living room and lowered their shotguns. “We must have missed something, Dean.”

“Yea. Any ideas?”

“I don’t know. This apartment has been occupied several times since her death. Any piece of DNA should have been gone years ago. We should speak with the building manager. She might be able to help.”

Dean nodded. “Until then, what are we going to do about sleep? We might wake up with good ole Mrs. Scully’s hands around our necks.”

Castiel glanced toward the bedroom. “We could make a salt circle around the bed and sleep there tonight. At least then we would be together in case of an attack.” Castiel’s face was relaxed. He showed no sign of being affected by the implications of his suggestion. While all Dean could think about were the implications.

They worked together efficiently, spreading salt around the bed and doorways, gathering their various weapons to place within arms reach - shotguns, packets of salt, iron rods - anything they could use against Mrs. Scully’s spirit. When they were satisfied with their set up, Dean and Castiel settled into bed and sat with their backs against the headboard.

The bedside lamp was still on, and in the soft yellow glow Dean could see the bruises forming along Castiel’s neck. He turned his body so that he was facing Castiel and lifted his hand to run his thumb along the bruise.

Castiel spoke quietly. “I am used to being injured Dean.”

“I know,” Dean whispered, his thumb continuing its steady trace of the purple skin.

“I have been injured on hunts before. Hunts that we’ve all gone on together.” Castiel brought his hand up to stop Dean’s movement. “It is not your responsibility to keep me safe.”

And to some extent Dean knew that. He knew that Castiel was his own person and that there was no way he could protect him all the time. He’d had to learn that the hard way through Sam. But knowing it and accepting it were two different things.

Seeing Castiel get hurt had scared Dean, but seeing Castiel get up right after, shotgun steady in hand, had lifted an enormous weight off his shoulders. For months, Dean had been worried that Castiel wouldn’t be able to handle himself on a solo hunt. That he’d get hurt and it’d be all Dean’s fault. But the training today and their encounter with the ghost had proved that Castiel could handle himself, had proved that maybe Cas was just as built for the hunter’s life as Dean was. Dean was surprised at how relieved he felt. Relieved that Castiel wasn’t just another responsibility, another person he had to take care of and keep safe. Castiel could push just as hard as Dean could pull.

Dean looked up from Castiel’s neck to see Castiel staring at him, a pleading look in his eyes. His hand was still wrapped around Dean’s wrist, and there was something in the way his grip tightened when Dean met his eyes that made Dean moan.

The realization was quick, swift: Cas wanted Dean just as much as Dean wanted Cas.

Dean licked his lips. Fuck waiting. He leaned over and kissed Castiel’s bruised flesh, his lips dragging along the marks left by the spirit’s hands. He breathed into Castiel’s neck and sucked lightly. The pressure of Dean’s mouth against already sensitive skin made Castiel shiver. Castiel released Dean’s hand, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair as he leaned into Dean.

“Dean.” Castiel breathed out.

Dean’s right hand moved from where it rested against his leg to knead at the bulge in Castiel’s pants. Castiel sucked in a breath and whimpered, his left hand moving to cover Dean’s. And as Castiel squeezed, pressing Dean’s hand down harder, Dean wondered how he ever could have lived without this.

_________________________________

Dean woke up the next morning to an unfamiliar feeling. Usually, the morning after left him feeling anxious. Anxious for the woman to leave or for the other shoe to drop. This time he just felt at peace. It was a strange feeling, to say the least.

He stretched his arm over to the other side of the bed only to find it empty. Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up.

“Cas?” He called out to the empty bedroom, his voice still thick with sleep.

Castiel entered the room with a mug in hand. He was fully clothed in a gray button-down shirt and jeans, his hair the only indication of what they’d done the night before. Strands of hair stuck out at odd angles and it looked distinctly like a portion of it had been grabbed and pulled…oh yea, it had been a good night.

Castiel extended his arm, offering the cup to Dean. “I made coffee.”

“Thanks.” Dean took a sip and hummed out his approval. Hazelnut. His favorite. Cas seemed to be on a roll lately.

Castiel sat down on the side of the bed near Dean’s feet, facing the hunter.  “We should speak to the building manager. Ask her if she knows about any of Mrs. Scully’s belongings that might still be in the apartment.” Castiel’s eyes skimmed Dean’s legs, and after a moment he scooted further onto the bed, pulling his legs up onto the mattress. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands, mirroring Dean’s position at the opposite end of the bed, Dean’s feet near Castiel’s hips, and Castiel’s feet near Dean’s.

Dean bumped his foot absently against Castiel’s thigh. “We should do a thorough search ourselves. Turn the place inside and out. Maybe there’s a hair lying around here somewhere.”

Castiel nodded. “You can begin searching the apartment while I speak to Mrs. Cregg.”

Dean frowned, a pout forming on his lips. “Why do I get stuck with the boring physical job?”

“Because you are the one who is always suggesting I work on my social skills.” Castiel’s lips quirked into a small smile and Dean couldn’t help but smile back. He didn’t really want to talk to Mrs. Cregg anyway. That lady gave him the creeps. Anyone that happy and cheerful all the time had to be evil.

Dean placed his coffee down on the bedside table. “Nature calls,” he muttered as he climbed over Cas to get out of the bed. He stepped into the bathroom, yelling out as he closed the door, “Nice hair by the way.”

Castiel quickly brought his hand up to his hair, patting it lightly. And although Dean could no longer see the former angel, he knew he was blushing.

___________________________________

When Castiel returned two hours later, Dean was just finishing up his sweep of the apartment. He’d looked behind every piece of furniture, in every drawer, hell he’d even pulled up the floorboard where it squeaked in the bedroom, hoping to find something hidden inside, but came up with nothing. There were no old hairbrushes or gloves, no feminine looking object that could have belonged to the dearly departed Mrs. S. Dean was this close to just setting the whole damn place on fire.

“Where have you been?” Dean snapped at Castiel as he walked through the door.

“Mrs. Cregg likes to talk. A lot. She would frequently relay stories that had nothing to do with the question asked.”

Dean rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Why didn’t you just cut her off then, tell her to get to the point?”

“Because she seemed lonely, Dean.” Castiel tilted his head, his eyes softening. “I brought her comfort by sitting there and listening.” Castiel dropped his gaze to the floor. “It felt good.”

Dean sighed. Leave it to Cas to make him feel like a jerk. He took a step closer to Castiel. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve just been ripping this place apart looking for something and coming up empty-handed.” Dean bowed his head, trying to get Castiel to meet his eyes. Like always, he did. “It’s nice, that you sat with her.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid it didn’t do us much good. She said that everything that belonged to Mrs. Scully had been shipped to her family in New York. Nothing of hers was left in the apartment.”

“Great. So she could be attached to something in New York.” Dean laughed. “This is great, just fuckin’ great.” He kicked the sofa and cursed. “So much for an easy case.”

Castiel leaned against the dining room table, his head bent, no doubt in deep thought. He got like that when there was a problem that he hadn’t solved. Castiel could stand there for hours trying to work through what their next step should be. Dean plopped down on the couch and laid his head back. He stared up at the wallpaper, counting the leaves on every flower. This could take a while.

He was up to fifty-eight leaves when his phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered.

The voice on the other end was high pitched and female. “Hi, Dean? This is Tara. Tara Rosenberg.” Her voice rose as she said her last name, like she wasn’t quite sure she’d gotten it right.

Dean leaned forward at the mention of her name. “Yeah, hi. Uh, what can I do for you?”

“Well, umm… I thought about what you said, and there is something else about the apartment that I remember.” Dean held the phone closer to his ear. “There was this painting on the wall that had been there since the first tenant. Apparently the lady who owned the place painted it or something, and they left it up after her death. Anyways, I loved it. It was beautiful and had this deep gorgeous red in it, but my boyfriend hated it. He…” She paused, letting out a breath.

“He what, Tara?”

“You’re gonna think he’s crazy, but he used to say he felt like the painting was watching him. I told him that was ridiculous, that there weren’t even any people in the painting, but still… it scared him.”

Dean pulled out a pen and pad from his jacket, switching the phone to his left hand so that he could write. “Where’s the painting now?”

“Well, I assumed it was still in the apartment.”

“Apartment?” Dean’s eyes scanned the living room. There were no paintings on the walls. “No, there’s no painting here.”

“Oh. Well, I guess they must have painted over it.”

Dean dropped the pen and stood. “Painted over it? What do you mean painted over it?”  He glanced quickly at Castiel, saw Castiel’s eyes narrowed at him.

“The painting was drawn on the wall. I thought it was neat. You know, different to have a painting worked into the apartment like that.”

“Tara, where was the painting exactly?”

“On the wall in the living room, on the left side of the window.”

Dean thanked her and hung up. He looked over at the blank expanse of floral wallpaper behind the TV.

“Son of a Bitch,” he muttered before moving quickly across the room, where he started pushing furniture hastily out of the way.

“Dean?” Castiel walked over to Dean, his confusion evident on his face.

“It’s a painting, Cas, the thing she’s attached to. Scully painted a picture on the wall that they covered up.” Dean pulled out his switchblade from his jean pocket and cut into the wallpaper. The paper curled into itself and Dean yanked at it, stripping away the wallpaper piece by piece.

As he tore at it, an image became apparent on the wall.

“Dean. Look.”

Dean took a step back and looked at the painting. It was of a red house in a green field covered with flowers of every color. The painting was bright, lighter shades of green, yellow, and purple used to bring out the airiness of the landscape. It seemed like a happy picture. Until you looked at the house. The house was a deep brownish-red, rich and thick in its color. It stood out sharply from the calming shades that surrounded it. Dean found the painting unsettling, and by the look on Castiel’s face, so did he.

Dean leaned forward and ran his finger along the red house. “Ok, I just had a creepy thought. What if the thing that’s linking Mrs. Scully here is blood? Does that red look a little too dark and thick to be paint to you?”

Castiel didn’t respond. He left the room and returned quickly with gasoline, salt, and matches. He kneeled down to open the gasoline container and poured salt in, sealing the cap and shaking the container to mix it.

He stood but immediately froze when he saw Dean, eyes narrowed and hands clenched into fists at his side. Castiel breathed out, his breath a white smoke in front of his face. He spun around and saw what had Dean so transfixed. Mrs. Scully had returned.

Dean kept his eyes on Mrs. Scully, silently cursing himself for leaving the duffle bag with their weapons inside of the bedroom. He glanced at Castiel and spoke in a hushed voice, “You torch the painting and I’ll distract Picasso.” Dean quickly stepped in front of Castiel and yelled, “Hey Bitch, no wonder someone strangled your ass. Your painting’s shit.” That earned him a swift throw against the wall.

Dean slid down the wall and landed hard on his back against the floor. A sharp pain shot up his side. He strained to lift himself, but before he could push up onto his elbows Mrs. Scully was on top of him, straddling his waist. Not so hot of a position when it was an old, dead chick trying to kill you. She growled down at him, baring her brown-stained teeth, and wrapped her hands around his neck.

Castiel made quick use of the distraction Dean created and swiftly began pouring the gasoline on the painting.

Dean’s hands instinctively went to wrap around Mrs. Scully’s wrists, trying unsuccessfully to loosen her grasp. “Cas.” He croaked out.

Castiel chucked the empty gas container to the floor and pulled from his pocket the lighter Dean had given on the first hunt the three of them had been on together. He struck it and brought the flame to the wall.

Mrs. Scully turned her head toward the burning flames and screamed. She made no move to stand, no move to lunge towards Castiel, but simply threw her arms back and burst into flames, disappearing from the room.

Dean groaned and brought his hands to his neck, breathing heavily.  He lifted his head and looked at Castiel from where he lay on the ground. He pointed at Castiel and breathed out, “Next time, you’re bait.”

___________________________________

“So how was the hunt?”

Dean jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice, the key to Bobby’s house falling on the floor as he stepped through the doorway. “Dude, what’ve you been standing by the door?”

“Maybe.” Sam looked at Castiel, who walked in behind Dean, duffle bag in hand. “So how was the hunt?” Sam asked again, this time directing the question at Castiel.

Castiel looked up at Sam. “It was fine.” He glanced over at Dean, brought his hand up to Dean’s neck, and massaged the skin briefly before pulling away. “I’m going to put the bags away. Start researching for another hunt.”

He walked past Sam and headed up the stairs, Sam’s eyes following him the whole way up. Sam turned back to Dean, a stupid, self-satisfied grin on his face.

“I knew it.”

“What?” Dean barked.

Sam tried to suppress his smile and keep a straight face, but his lips kept twitching. “Nothing. Just…the hunt was fine?”

“Yeah, Sam. It was fine.”

“Good.”

>

“Great.” Dean said, his irritation obvious as he turned around to lock the door. He turned back around to pick up the key he’d dropped but paused when he saw Sam was still standing in the hallway staring at him, a serious expression replacing his previous smile.

Dean cocked his head to the side. “Did I miss something? What’s going on Sam?”

Sam stroked his chin. “I was just wondering, if you and Cas got married, would that make God your father-in-law?”

Sam didn’t even see the punch coming.

type: fic, 2009-2010

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