The Lonely Souls - Part 3
Part 2 | Master Post | Art Post
Lester Ward’s lawn was nothing more than a rotting dirt pile, the grass having completely died out. Dale Sutter was standing at his fence line, pensively staring across the road at Ward’s house. He hadn’t apparently bothered to get dressed all day, wearing an old bathrobe and pajama pants. “Mr. Sutter?” Sam called as they approached the gate. Sutter whirled, his eyes darting to either side before focusing on Sam. “Could we have a-”
“I didn’t do it,” Sutter gushed.
Sam glanced at Dean. “Sorry?”
Dropping his eyes, Sutter gripped the ends of his bathrobe tie. “I mean… How can I help you?”
“Well…” Dean drawled, “how about you tell us what you didn’t do and we’ll start from there.”
Sutter flushed. “That’s what you came to ask about, right? Lester’s yard? I mean, I know me and Lester didn’t get along but I wouldn’t do that.”
Sam nodded in sympathetic understanding while Dean plastered on a fake smile. “You wouldn’t have happened to have come across any laundry, would you?”
Fidgeting with his bathrobe, Sutter stared at the ground. “Laundry?”
“Yeah. Little lacey things?”
Sutter paled and then flushed again. “I don’t do anything like that.”
“Find stuff?” Dean asked dryly. “When we were over here the other day, you looked like you found something. Or was that yours?”
“Okay!” Sutter said, waving his hands as he broke. “Not so loud. Look, I didn’t take it and I made sure that I returned it. I don’t know how it got in my yard, I don’t! Just like the-”
“The?” Dean prompted.
“If this has happened before, Mr. Sutter,” Sam added, “it would be better if you told us.”
Sutter sighed and hung his head. “Ever since the night that Granddad disappeared. I don’t know. There’ll just be things sometimes.”
“Things?” Dean asked. “Like…little crystal unicorns? Clocks? Pennies?”
“Not the unicorns but…yeah.”
Sam furled his brow. “Do you remember when you told us that there was somebody laughing in your kitchen the night that your grandfather disappeared? Have you heard anything like that since then?”
Sutter closed his eyes. “I don’t sleep,” he said quietly. “Whenever I sleep, they’re there. Waiting for me.”
“Who?” Sam asked.
“The little men. The little men with the long black fingers that want me to come with them. I know I’m crazy. I’ve just been hoping that…”
Sam nodded in understanding again. It was something that he did so well. Sam had always been the best in the family at projecting sincerity and concern. “What if I-we,” Sam pointed to Dean and himself, “told you that you weren’t crazy?”
“But I know I’m crazy,” Sutter said, squinting at Sam.
“I don’t think you are,” Sam told him.
“You see,” Dean cut in, “those little things you’re seeing in your dreams? We think that they’re an infestation. Like roaches.” Sutter stared in disbelief.
“And,” Sam added, “we think we know how to get rid of them and find your grandfather.”
“You know where Granddad is?”
“Not exactly,” Sam said. “But we have a pretty good hunch.”
“We just need to borrow something from you,” Dean said, trying out his most winning smile. Sutter eyed him suspiciously.
For a family heirloom that seemed to have a lot of sentimental value, Sutter had handed over the jar quick. “Here,” he’d said, shoving it at them. “Just get them out of my head.”
The Impala rumbled to a stop on the side of the dirt road, her tires flattening the tall grass. Dean put her in park and killed the headlights while Sam skimmed through a spell book. The jar was sitting between his legs. “So, what’s it say? We just point that at the imps like Ghostbusters and save the day before the Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man shows up?”
Sam hummed and flipped a page, his flashlight moving across the text. “I guess,” he said.
“You guess?”
“It talks a lot about how to make a jar, but not how to use it,” Sam said, tossing Dean a look. “Apparently, it was self-explanatory.”
“Awesome.” Dean pulled the keys from the ignition. “Well, according to Lacey, this is the last place that Cas was seen, so I guess we give it a try.” Behind them, a few lights from town scattered through the darkness, little beacons warning of civilization. A darkened barn, tin roof dull in the moonlight, stood about a half mile from them, marking the edge of Lacey Thompson’s yard. The Impala’s door squealed as he opened it.
Sam snapped the book closed and dumped it onto the floorboard as Dean popped the trunk, rummaging through the back for anything that might possibly be of use. Lead was supposedly a weakness so he packed a few extra mags and he figured that Ruby’s knife would kill damn near anything so it was worth bringing. Next to him, Sam leaned over the open trunk and Dean handed him the knife. The Look as Dean was taking to calling it was on Sam’s face again but Dean ignored it. They had a job to do.
The forest started out slowly, a few brush piles and saplings scattered among the grass for the first few hundred yards before breaking into the tall trees. Dean cocked his gun and kept his flashlight off but at the ready as he pushed into the woods, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Leaves whispered above them.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam’s head tilt in puzzlement. Sam pointed a few feet away and Dean cocked his head like a dog, too. A ceramic gnome stood in front of a giant oak tree, its little shovel perched on its shoulder and its pointed red hat standing out against the bark. Something white fluttered in the wind and Dean whipped his gun upwards. A bra, caught on a tree limb, waved back. “Think we found it,” Dean said quietly.
The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood on end. On the wind, he could hear the faint sound of laughter. “Come and play with us,” the breeze whispered and something brushed against Dean’s mind.
Dean smiled tightly, shrugging off the odd sensation. “I don’t think so.” The laughing grew stronger, echoing through the trees and surrounding them. Dean edged closer to Sam, putting his back against Sam’s and scanned the trees, looking for a sign of the creatures from his dream.
A shadow stirred, drawing Dean’s attention, as a leaf brushed against the ground. When he looked back up again, a set of eyes stared at him from the darkness, narrow and amused. Dean nudged Sam and more eyes blinked into existence around them, like hundreds of small, pale flashlights. They filled the spaces between the trees, smoke curling out of the darkness to wrap around them, forming vague shapes, outlining small bodies. Dean tightened his grip on his gun as the imps separated themselves from the shadows. Their teeth formed next-rows of sharp, pointed teeth in Cheshire grins underneath their staring eyes-and lastly their bodies like Sam and Dean were lost in Wonderland looking for a damn white rabbit. The air seemed to shiver around them and Dean found it hard to breath, having to force himself to inhale.
There was a smell hanging in the air that hadn’t been in his dreams, a stench of brimstone and musk that grew stronger the closer that the imps came. Some walked upright on two legs, with creepy smiles and their hands held out greedily, while others crawled, pulling themselves along on all fours. “So lonely…”
“Come and stay with us.”
“Play with us.”
“Stay.”
Dean turned his head, taking in a wide angle, cursing softly when he saw that the imps had them surrounded. “Creepy fuckers,” he said and the imps closest to him grinned bigger. “Now would be a good time to do whatever you’re going to do, Sam.”
Sam held up the jar and the creatures leaned backward, folding like a cheap deck of cards. “Where did you get that?” one hissed.
“It calls…” A few crept closer, pulled by an invisible force. “It calls…”
Sam stepped forward, holding the jar closer to some of the imps. They exploded, bursting into black smoke, and the jar sucked it up like a super-charged vacuum. Sam swung around, pointing the jar at more of the creatures. The imps broke and ran, screaming as they degenerated into chaos. A few more smoked out and were sucked into the jar like Sam’s own personal smog buster while others ran for an oak tree, disappearing into the grass right before they reached it. Still others leapt right at Sam, snarling as they attacked from the back.
“Sam!” Dean aimed his gun before realizing that he’d shoot Sam before he’d likely hit one of the imps. “Fuck!” He charged forward and swung his gun outward, braining the nearest creature with the handle. It tumbled to the ground, senseless, as others took its place, turning their sharp fangs onto Dean. Dean howled as the creature latched onto his forearm, its teeth breaking his skin. He banged his arm against a tree, trying to scrape the imp off. It dug in deeper, blood streaming out from around its fangs and then evaporated, leaving a scream hanging in the air.
“Dean!” Sam’s big hand came down on Dean’s shoulder and Dean didn’t bother to fight as he was spun around. “Dean, are you alright?” Sam’s hand fluttered down Dean’s arm, stopping at the cuff of his overshirt, just above the dripping wound. “You’re bleeding-”
“I’m fine!” Dean snapped, pushing Sam towards where the creatures were still disappearing. “Go get them!” He peeled off his flannel shirt and wrapped it around his arm. It wasn’t perfect but it would do for the short-term. He followed after Sam to cover his six.
Sam stood dead still in front of the oak, the only visible imps smoking into the jar hanging by his leg as he stared down at the ground. “Sam?” Dean hissed as he put more pressure on the bite to slow the bleeding. It was starting to soak through the shirt. Sam glanced up, concern crossing his face before he smothered it and pointed his flashlight down at the grass.
“They went in there,” he said. Just beyond Sam’s feet, at the base of the tree, the grass broke and a hole barely big enough for a human descended straight down into darkness. There were fresh scratches in the dirt, mostly likely from something that had been dragged through the opening.
Dean’s eye caught on a copper glint embedded in the grass and he stooped to pick it up, holding the penny out to Sam. “Well, fuck.” Who knew just how many more of the little fuckers were hiding in there, waiting for someone stupid enough to stick a toe in. Dean glanced down the hole, watching a few blades of grass float into the darkness. He couldn’t even tell how deep the damn thing was but it wasn’t like he and Sam had a choice. They had to follow. “I’ll flip ya for it,” he offered, nodding at the hole.
Sam’s lips thinned and he glanced pointedly at Dean’s arm. “You’re bleeding,” he said. “I’ll go.”
Like Hell was Dean letting Sam crawl down the black hole of death by himself. “I’m fine. We’ll both go.” He flipped the safety on his gun and tucked it into the back of his pants while Sam glared at him.
“Dean-”
“I said we’ll both go, Sam,” Dean snapped.
Sam huffed but let the matter drop. “Fine. Here, take this.” He thrust the jar into Dean’s hands. Dean handled it gingerly, expecting it to feel warm or creepy, long-fingered hands to climb out of it or some such junk, and glanced up at Sam who was already turning away.
“Where are you going?”
“To get some rope,” Sam grumbled, still not happy with Dean’s decision but knowing there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. “And the first aid kit.”
“It’s just a flesh wound!” Dean yelled but it bounced off Sam’s back as he disappeared behind the trees. "Fuck." Alone, Dean flexed his arm and hissed as he could feel the torn edges of his skin move. He repeated the motion.
Cut-off and adrift, Castiel floated in the nothingness. He felt the creatures probing the outskirts of his mind, searching for cracks, for weaknesses in his defenses. They were rabid dogs, their desperation hanging off them like a stench. Ugliness and sin roiled inside them. They would be burned to ash in the light of God.
He was a mystery to him, a puzzle that they couldn’t solve. They’d offered him glittering jewels, power, and offers of companionship, all in return for his submission, confused and frustrated when none appealed to him. Castiel had no use for riches. He had no use for power. He had all the companionship he needed in his faith.
The shunned ones were searching for a way into his mind, a way to gain control of him. They held him captive in the hopes of gaining entrance. He’d smote them one by one, burning them with the inner light that they craved, and probed for cracks in the walls just as they. Their preoccupation was his distraction.
A creature hissed, dissipating into smoke as it reached too far past his wall and Castiel ignored it, his eyes opening to a weakness he had previously overlooked. Unnoticed in the creatures’ labyrinth was a small hole, a flickering in the fringe of reality. Castiel surged forward, ripping it apart, forcing his way into the physical plane. He crashed forward into a room of stone, bracing himself on his hands and knees.
And screamed as the creatures breached his defenses. They poured into him, their darkness infecting him, their fingers pawing through his mind, scraping past his outer thoughts and memories to dig deep into his psyche. They filled him to his core, gorging on his essence. The physical world flickered back out of existence, tossing him back into the void. Castiel writhed, fighting to reclaim himself from the inside out. The creatures burned inside him, laughing even as they perished for they had found what they’d wanted.
Shapes flashed in front of him, familiar and disturbing. Anna stood in front of him, not with her human visage but with her true form, full of grace and light. Powerful and beautiful, an inspiration to the garrison, and Castiel felt his heart wrench. Love and regret and admiration mingled together, overwhelming him. “Castiel.”
He hung in the void, staring at the sister he used to know. “Anna?”
She smiled. Beautiful, radiant, the same as she ever was before she fell. She was unbound in her glory, fit only for angelic eyes. “Yes, Castiel.”
Castiel shook his head. “But how…?” How was it possible for Anna to be standing before him? Surely the others…
“I came for you,” she said, still smiling as she drew closer. “To save you. So that we can be together.”
Castiel studied the visage in front of him, spotting its flaws as the puzzle pieces slotted into place. He understood. “You’re not here for me.” Anna, or rather the image of Anna, shook her head in disagreement and held out her hand but Castiel drew back. “You’re not really here. Begone,” he whispered, and Anna swirled away.
Uriel took her place, grinning as if a joke waited on his lips. “Castiel,” he said, holding his arms wide. “What are you doing here? Did you get yourself stuck? With these rockdwellers?” His whole body shook as he roared with laughter. It had been ages since Uriel had laughed so freely. Castiel missed the sound of it. It made him homesick to hear it.
Castiel closed his eyes. “Be gone.”
“Well, well, well, Castiel. Long time, no see!” Balthazar’s light-hearted tones made Castiel’s heart twist and anger curled inside him. These creatures. They had no shame. They would dredge up any memory that they could find, use whatever bond existed, in the hopes of turning him, no matter how many locks Castiel had around the doors.
“Begone!” Castiel shouted. He lashed out into the darkness and the visions withdrew, leaving him alone in the void once again. He drifted, with only his own wretched memories for company.
“Cas.” Castiel turned, seeing another face approaching in the dark. “Cas, wake up.” Dean? “Cas, come on, man….” Dean’s hands slid along Castiel’s shoulders, shaking him. “We need to get you out of here.” Dean kept glancing over his shoulder as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.
Castiel searched the face in front of him, unable to trust what his senses wanted him to believe. Hope sparked in him regardless, his heart giving a strangely painful lurch. “Dean?”
“Yeah, man.” Dean pulled him upward, smiling at him. “I came to rescue you. Remember?”
“You came for me.” These feelings were not natural.
Dean’s hands slipped up Castiel’s neck and cradled his face. “I’ll always come for you, Cas…” he said, his eyes sincere, his face kind. He leaned in, his lips soft and inviting and Castiel hesitated, not knowing what he should do. His nobler thoughts took flight, fluttering away, leaving him with just confused mutterings that ran in panicked circles. Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s and the puzzle box that Castiel had been prodding with blundering, ignorant fingers since the moment he had met Dean Winchester clicked open. Castiel knew desire.
Just as surely as he knew that the man-the image-in front of him was not Dean. Rage burned away every other feeling and thought, leaving the clear cut landscape of vengeance. A snarl ripped from Castiel’s throat and he grabbed the visage of Dean with both hands, fingers locking behind its jaw. “Cas?” Dean asked, frightened, bringing a small kernel of doubt.
“Begone,” Castiel ordered and summoned power from depths he hadn’t known he possessed to wipe away the abomination in front of him. Something snapped and twanged inside him, stretched too tight, and still Castiel pushed, forcing all that he was into the creature in front of him. If it wanted him, had gone so far, crossed so many lines to get to him, it would have him. And all that he was. The image of Dean’s face warped in terror and he screamed and screamed, burning from the inside out as the light filled him.
Too much for the fragile form, the light exploded outward, bathing the darkness and driving it back. It ate at the nothingness and Castiel’s ears rang with the power. The creatures that had been circling his cage like wolves, broke and ran, seeking to escape and he forced the light into the deepest nooks and crannies until all that was left was him.
Dean’s arm ached under the bandage Sam had wrapped around it. Sam had flatly told him that he’d need stitches and Dean had agreed but it wasn’t as if they had time to sit down and do that at the moment. So a quick-fix solution it was and Dean was trying his damnedest to pretend that everything was just happy hunky-dory and Sam needed to keep his attention focused on more important things like possible shadow creatures with sharp teeth, thanks. He kept pushing further into the cave, hunched over because the ceiling was so low but thankful that at least he didn’t have to crawl.
His arm hurt like a son of a bitch.
Sam swung his flashlight around, a glint of light catching his eye, and spotlighted a tiny unicorn. Reared back on its haunches, it had a prism-like glow. Dean blinked at it and then added his own light to Sam’s, finding a trail of pennies heading off into the darkness. A gnome stood guard in a corner, its chipper pointed hat held at an angle and a little bag thrown over its shoulder.
“Creepy,” Dean said and Sam ignored him, pushing deeper into the cave. The cave’s tunnel curved around, bending like a snake’s slither, forward then back again.
White light flashed into the cave, a supernova radiating off the stone. Dean threw his bad arm over his eyes to shield them, still clutching onto his gun with the other. Hands yanked him to the side and shoved him against the wall. For a moment, Dean fought, blindly thrashing against the hold. His elbow connected and Sam grunted just to his right as the hands slid down to wrap around his biceps.
Screams echoed through the cave, discordant and terror-filled. Dean’s skin attempted to peel off of his body and hightail it for the exit. His eyes popped open, the white light still searingly bright, and he saw the shadows move. They streamed out from around the curve of the tunnel and headed straight towards Sam and Dean, single-minded in their fixation. Dean struggled as he was pulled backward, away from the creatures and freed himself enough to bring up his gun. His vision fuzzed and he shook his head.
Tiny bodies were outlined in the light, grouped together like lemmings as they ran. In the tight confines of the cave there was nowhere to go except forward. Beside him, Dean saw Sam fumbling for his own gun, aiming it at the pack of imps. The jar that Sam had been holding was now on the ground a few feet in front of them, clattering against the stone.
The imps squealed and wailed as they rushed forward and Dean braced himself for the avalanche, expecting to be buried by sheer momentum. The first rows stretched like taffy, their bodies lengthening until they finally separated all together and dissolved into smoke, subsumed into the next row. The second row did the same and then the third, fourth, fifth, until Dean couldn’t see anything beyond a large black cloud bearing down on him. His mouth went dry.
The combined imps swirled around like an underground tornado, funneling downward into a tight point. The screaming joined together with a sound like air being sucked out of a room.
The jar shook and spun as hundreds of the imps shoved inside of it at once, smoke gushing through the open neck. The tornado whirled around-small faces appearing in the stream before they were pulled apart-and collapsed in on itself, disappearing into the jar.
After one last spin, the jar tipped onto its side and rolled in an oblong circle, coming to a rest beside Dean’s feet. Dean stared down at it, wondering if he dared to breathe, and tapped it with a toe. Nothing happened.
Sam was already on the move, heading around the bend to the source of the light, finding out whatever it was that had made the imps flee in terror, accepting re-imprisonment rather than face it. Dean darted after him, making sure he was only a few steps behind. The light grew brighter the closer they came before it sputtered and dimmed to a small glow. Dean wheeled around the corner and nearly tripped over the corpse on the ground. “Jesus!” He caught himself on the wall and skipped a step to land on the other side of the shriveled remains. It still wore a flannel shirt, like maybe it was going to go out later. Sutter, Dean guessed. Poor bastard.
The light winked out of existence entirely, leaving Dean in pitch blackness. He scrambled for his flashlight, checking his pockets and wondering if he’d dropped it back in the tunnel. Before he could find it, the white light flashed again, sputtering to life and illuminating the cave.
Castiel stood in the center of a round room, the ceiling domed above his head. He stared at the floor as the light wrapped around him, licking at him like flames, and radiated outward.
“Cas?” Dean asked. The walls of the cavern were now blacker than pitch, stained to the ceiling and the imps were nowhere to be found. Just beyond Castiel, on the far side of the room, a woman stirred, her hands fluttering against the ground. Dean took a step towards her and then paused as the light surrounded Castiel pulsed.
Castiel turned his head towards Dean, light radiating from all around him, exploding past his skin, and his eyes were like stars. Dean held his breath, feeling as if Castiel wasn’t just seeing him but instead seeing in him-everything that Dean had ever thought, said, or done laid bare in front of him. In just a glance, Castiel had ripped out everything that Dean was and held it up to the light. Instinctively seeking protection, Dean retreated, his hand rising to Sam’s arm, ready to yank Sam behind him. In a blink, Castiel was gone, leaving nothing but scorch marks.
“Cas?” Dean said to the air, glancing around the cavern. Sam pushed past him to kneel beside the unconscious woman, his fingers pressing against her neck. “She alive?”
Sam nodded. He moved to pick her up, sliding his arms underneath her. Dean gave the cavern once last look around as Sam walked past him carrying the woman. Cas was no where to be found. Dean didn’t know if he should be pissed that he and Sam didn’t even so much as get a thank you or be relieved that Cas had took his glowing beams of death elsewhere. Wherever Cas was, it didn’t matter much. With the imps blasted to oblivion, their remnants cowering inside the jar, the problem was solved. Dean had other things to worry about.
Dean winced as the needle dug into his skin and took a pull of whiskey. He fucking hated this part. “Stop moving,” Sam murmured. Dean sighed and held his arm dead still in Sam’s lap as Sam finished the stitch, tugging the needle and thread through Dean’s flesh. Sam’s fingers were gentle as they prodded his skin, shifting it to better close the wound. Dean glanced down at the angry gash the imp had made of his forearm and then focused on Sam’s bent head. Sam’s hair tickled along his jaw line, long enough that it was a miracle it wasn’t in his eyes and still damp from the rain. Banishing the imps-or whatever the fuck it was that Cas had done to them-had been like breaking a dam on the weather. The temperature outside was dropping fast and it had started to pour before Sam and Dean had even reached the exit of the cave.
The local news anchors, brightly colored and mute on the screen, appeared to be giddy to have something so bizarre to report on. They shuffled their papers back and forth and kept flipping back to the baffled but game weatherman, who waved his hands around the map like he was trying to cast a spell. The needle sank in again, quick and precise and annoying as fuck because of it.
Two more stitches and Dean’s arm was Frankensteined back together, Sam carefully wrapping it to keep it clean. Following the urge he’d been having ever since Sam had pushed him down on the bed, Dean reached up and pushed Sam’s hair back behind his ear. Sam’s eyes traveled up to meet his. There was that look again. “What?”
“Hmm?” Sam turned away to close the med kit and rose to his feet.
“You keep…looking at me.” Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean gave him the point. Putting it that way, it did sound kind of silly. “Like I’m some sort of freak or something.” Like he was a guy that had been yanked out of Hell and put back on solid ground again.
Sam shoved the med kit back into his duffle and zipped it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dean stared at the TV. The weatherman was once again trying to explain the heat wave and its sudden departure. He’d worn the wrong color tie because it kept fading into the map, like he was slowly being absorbed and didn’t know it. When Dean looked back up, Sam was standing beside him. “What?” Dean tried again.
“You should be more careful.” Sam gave Dean’s bandaged arm a meaningful glance.
Fuck. Were they still stuck on that? “Let it go, Sam.” Back to the local anchors. Apparently, they’d finally decided to move on with life and were covering a story about a gas station. Now if only Sam would move on, too.
Sam crossed his arms. “You were hurt.”
“I’ll live,” Dean growled.
“Yeah. This time.”
“What do you want me to do, Sam?” Dean snapped, turning on him. Sam jerked backward and braced himself. “Do you want me to apologize for saving you? ‘Cause if you do, you’d better have a goddamned seat because it’s going to be awhile!”
Silence hung between them as Sam visibly ate his words, swallowing them back. There was a tick in his jaw, beating away his frustration. “I want you to be more careful,” he said finally, his words carefully measured.
“Fine,” Dean replied, turning back to the TV. He grabbed up the remote and mashed the buttons, not caring which channel he landed on. “We done?”
“Yeah.” Sam huffed and Dean pressed the channel button. He’d landed on an infomercial.
“Good.” Typical that there were 150 different choices and they were all pretty much shit. He was going to end up watching Animal Planet again, he knew it.
“No, you know what? No, we’re not.” A hand snaked around under Dean’s chin, twisting his face away from the TV and Dean only had half a second of surprise before Sam’s lips were mashed against his. They pressed and demanded, with Sam’s tongue outright ordering as it invaded Dean’s open mouth.
Dean shoved against Sam’s shoulder. “What the fuck-” Sam slammed him to the bed and climbed on top of him, hands grabbing Dean’s wrists and pulling them out and away. The muscle of Dean’s wounded arm twinged and he hissed as he arched upward, trying to dislodge Sam’s heavy body. Kneeing Dean’s legs apart, Sam situated himself between them. Dean struggled underneath of him, fighting the hold until Sam finally broke the kiss and sat up, leaving Dean gasping and confused and half-aroused despite himself.
Sam stared down at him, face unreadable. “Now we’re done,” he said and slid off the bed.
Dean pushed himself up onto an elbow. “What the Hell was that, Sam?”
The bathroom door slammed behind Sam’s retreating back, leaving Dean staring at the blank surface. He blinked then swung his gaze over to the brightly lit TV screen. A redhead was hawking Tupperware, shoving whatever she could find in the small containers. Shrugging, Dean reached for the remote again. Whatever. He hadn’t figured Sam out in nearly thirty years and he didn’t think he’d be breaking that streak anytime soon. Sam would stew by himself for awhile and in a few hours, the whole damn thing would blow over.
He gave his crotch a squeeze, stroking the filling length because no one had ever accused dicks of being smart, and flipped the channel again.
Dean slowly opened his eyes. He felt the cheap cotton sheets underneath of him, the flattened pillow his head rested on, the weight of the comforter over top of him. Just across the room, Sam was facing Dean, his breathing deep and slow. For a brief moment, something red flickered across Dean’s vision, soaking into the sheets but after a blink, it was gone. Dean groaned and rolled over.
“Dean.”
Castiel was standing beside the window, in profile, framed by the curtains. He turned his head and looked over at Dean and then turned back. Dean frowned, pushing himself to his feet. He glanced over at Sam again, just to make sure that he was still there, and padded over to where Castiel was standing. “I dreaming right now, aren’t I?” Dean asked.
Castiel nodded. “It was easier.” It’s been three days and seven hundred miles since Dean’s seen Cas. The angel looked like he’d been dragged the entire way. “I needed to thank you. I should have done it then. I was…preoccupied.”
Dean folded his arms across his chest. “Preoccupied, huh.” Dean didn’t want to ask what that meant. It would either get him a silent stare or an explanation that would go so far over his head, he’d need wings to catch it. “You’re welcome, I guess.”
Cas’s eyes flicked towards Dean and then back again. “I should also apologize. For when I…” He licked his lips, his expression far away for a moment, and then he stared at Dean with a razor-sharp focus. “I was ill-prepared.”
A memory of panic and frightened blue eyes crossed Dean’s mind, chased by heat. “Don’t mention it,” he said. He wondered if Cas would feel fire-hot again. “Ever.”
“Right.” Castiel bowed his head and stood silent for a moment, awkwardness hanging between them. “I-”
Dean didn’t know what pushed him forward: curiosity, boredom, a burning desire to stop living. Probably a combination of all three. His fingers wrapped in the fabric of Cas’s trench coat-the dream facsimile of it-and he leaned in. Cas let him do it, wide-eyed and unmoving. Dean pressed his lips to Cas’s and held them there. Cas’s lips were warm and soft, when Dean half-expected to be incinerated-a spark instead of an inferno.
He didn’t feel like Anna but Dean hadn’t expected him to. Anna had been eager and accepting where Castiel stood frozen like a stone, but there was a tingle racing through Dean’s nerves, a soft shiver down his spine, from the way that Cas’s skin was starting to heat as Castiel thawed. Dean pushed his bottom lip forward and Castiel hesitantly responded, shifting to accommodate. When Dean moved again, Castiel was quicker to follow, learning from Dean’s lead. Dean’s lips tingled, burned, hinting at power hiding just below Castiel’s surface and there was no way for Dean to avoid the fact that this wasn’t a human he was kissing.
Dean leaned back, breaking the kiss, his lips hot from where they had been pressed against Castiel’s. Castiel followed him for a brief moment, his eyes open and piercing like he wasn’t just looking at Dean but through him. Like he was looking at Dean’s soul. Dean’s stained, dirty, broken soul. Dean took a sharp breath and stepped back, breaking the connection and Castiel dropped his head, allowing him the space.
“Uh…” Dean scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, not knowing what to say. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, Castiel was gone and Dean was back in bed, staring across the room at Sam.
Dean sat up, glancing around the room. “Cas?” he whispered quietly and listened to the hum of the old radiator in the corner. He waited for a few more minutes before he sighed and shook his head, tossing off the unsettling feeling that curled in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to think about Castiel anymore. Whatever Castiel’s problems were, they weren’t Dean’s and Dean had enough of his own to worry about because even dying wasn’t enough to please the world. He threw the blankets back and got to his feet. In three steps, he was crawling into Sam’s bed, lifting the covers and slipping beneath them.
He pressed a hand against Sam’s chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of Sam’s heart, and curled himself around Sam’s body. Without a word, Sam moved, wrapping his arms around Dean and pulling him in close, making him safe. Sam’s eyes glittered in the faint light, The Look flashing across his face. Dean ducked his head, not wanting to fight and Sam drifted back to sleep.
Dean spread his fingers. Even this close, there was still space between him and Sam, but Dean wanted to keep on pretending that there wasn’t. And he would. For as long as Sam and the angels and the rest of the world would let him, Dean was going to keep on pretending that the world was the same as it had been before he’d gone down. It was all he had left.
Sam was all he had left.
Dean wondered what he’d ever done to deserve a ticket out of Hell-on the Angel Express, no less. He wondered if they’d eventually toss him back in. He wondered what Sam would think if he knew all the things that Dean had done.
That last one, at least, wasn’t going to happen. If Dean had his way, Sam would never know. He wouldn’t be able bear to see Sam looking at him the same way that Dean looked at himself. It was one more secret to toss into the gulfing void between them.
For all of their secrets, though, they were still here, still bound together by blood and history and the fact that neither did well without the other. Dean stared at Sam’s sleeping face, rememorizing familiar lines. If this was all he had, then he would take it and not ask for more.
The night was cool and still. Frost painted the windows, swirling in intricate designs, highlighting the difference between the chill outside and the pleasant warm of the motel’s interior. The heating system buzzed low and steady along the wall, pumping out hot air.
Dean was sprawled across the bed that wasn’t his, naked save for the few sheets that covered his lower half. His limbs were tangled with Sam’s, forming a design almost as intricate as the frost’s. The brothers had wrapped around each other in the night, protecting each other from the unknown even as they slept. It was a habit as old as they were.
Castiel stood beside the bed, staring downward. Dean’s shoulder was upturned and Castiel could see his own handprint branded on Dean’s skin, could see his mark. Slowly, Castiel held his hand out and matched up the lines, finger to finger, palm to palm. He hovered above Dean’s skin, feeling the heat from his body, the heat from the brand. The handprint was from his true form; his borrowed body’s extremity didn’t quite align. But the thought was there. His mark. Castiel wanted to join Dean in his bed, to curl around him, to know him as Sam just had a few hours previous. The temptation to do so whispered in his ear, calling to him louder than a trumpet’s chorus.
Castiel closed his eyes and willed himself to be strong. Nothing good would come from walking that path, no matter how sweet the Siren’s song.
Dean had kissed him. Had knowingly kissed him. Something had shivered inside of Castiel in that moment and a part of him had changed forever. He’d slipped, plunging down a rocky cliff and had only managed to catch himself because of duty. He hoped that it would hold.
Castiel shouldn’t be here. He was needed elsewhere. A thousand miles away, a seal was about to break and his brothers and sisters were preparing for the battle. He would join them in a little while. He had just…needed one more look before he did.
Dean stirred, shifting onto his side and Castiel yanked his hand away before he managed to touch. Sam, in typical fashion, responded and the brothers settled into a new position, this one with Sam’s arm wrapped around Dean, his forearm obscuring the mark on Dean’s shoulder-hiding Dean from Castiel.
Castiel stepped back and shook his head. He shouldn’t be here. But yet he was.
He dissipated, slipping through reality to join his brethren. He now knew the question that Dean Winchester posed-but he wasn’t yet ready to face the answer.
He was an angel of the Lord. That should be enough.
It would be enough.
Part 2 | Master Post | Art Post