Shotgun Love Story
Title: Shotgun Love Story
Author: earth_heart
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, mentions of cat!Gabriel, mentions of Sam, Uriel
Genre: AU, gift!fic
Spoilers: None
Warning: Zombies, gore, sexual content
Disclaimer: Supernatural and the Resident Evil games do not belong to me, I am simply borrowing them briefly.
Summary: Based on a picture I found while browsing through Fox4859’s (who has awesome artwork :D) DeviantArt.
Picture http://fox4859.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2m1gl2
AN: I have never actually played any of the Resident Evil games, so I ask you to please bear with me while I muddle through. Hopefully no one gets too offended. D:
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Raccoon City Diner; 6:47pm
Castiel sighed tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face before he picked up a bus-tub full of dirty dishes. Thankfully his shift was almost over, and then he could go home; home, to his tiny apartment and his cat Gabriel.
Walking into the wash room, Castiel set down the bus-tub on the table and began to fill the silverware caddies with dirty utensils. Usually this wasn’t his job, but Adam had gone home nearly an hour ago, and there were no other dishwashers around today.
A chef’s knife he’d picked up slipped from his grasp, the handle more slippery than he’d realized. It slashed a gash across his palm and Castiel jerked back, swearing fiercely as he grabbed for his injured hand. Hurrying over to the sink, the man turned on the water; pushing his hand under the cold spray to wash away the blood and give him a better look at the damage.
“Shit; shit, that hurts.” he hissed, his blue eyes narrowed. With one hand he reached fro the First-Aid kit, pulling it off the wall and setting it on the stainless-steel rinse table. He turned off the water next, balling up a towel and wrapping up his hand. Blood immediately stained the white cloth, so Castiel hurried to open the kit.
Inside he found everything one might expect to find, but all he needed was the Neosporin and the gauze. Removing the towel, he smeared the procured Neosporin over his hand. Castiel grit his teeth against the pain and quickly wrapped the gauze thickly around his hand; fastening it quickly.
“Well, I can’t work like this. Knowing Uriel, he’ll say I did it on purpose.”
Leaving the dishwashing room, Castiel cut back through the kitchen on his way to Uriel’s office. A low moan distracted him, and the waiter paused. Turning, he saw one of the other waiters crouched beside the grill. He moaned again and Castiel hurried forward.
“Hey, are you alright?” he asked, putting his hand on his coworker’s shoulder.
The waiter whirled around and lunged for him, snarling. Gasping in surprise Castiel jumped back quickly, putting distance between them. The other man chased after him, blood smeared over his face; bits of meat lodged in his teeth. On the floor was Uriel, his chest cavity torn open and his shredded organs exposed to the air.
“Oh, shit!” Castiel sputtered, feeling his stomach roll. He turned tail and ran like hell, hearing the monster behind him.
Bursting through a side-door, Castiel shot down the alley and out into the street. It was dark out already; the streets of Raccoon City deserted except for stragglers. Only, normal humans weren’t missing half of their face!
The sound of his dress shoes connecting with blacktop drew their attention, and suddenly there were six crazy not-humans chasing him.
“What the hell is going on?!” Castiel screamed, picking up speed. Now, more than ever, he was glad he’d been a track runner all through school and college. He was faster than them, and he could hopefully outrun them.
As he shot past an intersection, a pair of headlights flared into existence; effectively blinding him. Throwing up a hand, Castiel stumbled. The car screeched to a halt beside him; a door was thrown open.
“Get the fuck in!” a voice shouted, and Castiel dove into the passenger’s side. He didn’t even have a chance to fully shut the door before the driver reversed with a squeal of tires and burning rubber. His door slammed shut on its own, then.
“What the hell is going on?!” Castiel yelled at him, snapping down the door lock; as if those things would somehow be able to open the door of a speeding car.
“Did they bite you?” the man growled, slamming the gearstick into drive and speeding off down another street.
“What?” Castiel stared at him. “What?!”
“Did they bite you?!” the driver bellowed, never taking his eyes off the road. He swerved suddenly, clipping a bloody woman who seemed to be feeding on a child. “Fucking answer!”
“No! No, no one bit me!” Castiel assured him, holding up his hands. “I promise.”
“What the fuck happened to your hand?”
Castiel looked at his bandaged hand, then quickly put them back down. “I was cut by a knife. I’m a waiter.” he said quickly. “Seriously, none of them bit me. What the hell is wrong with them?”
“They’re zombies.” the man said tersely, cutting a corner sharply and sending the waiter sprawling into the side door. After picking himself up and fastening his seatbelt, Castiel noticed that he was wearing a Raccoon City Police uniform. So, he was an officer. That just made it crazier.
“Zombies.” he deadpanned. “Like, horror-film-come-to-life, flesh-eating zombies.”
The man snorted, shooting Castiel a Look from beneath long, sandy-colored eyelashes. His eyes were the most fascinating shade of green Castiel had ever seen. “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.” he grunted, turning his eyes back to the road. He accelerated suddenly, full-on hitting a little girl who was racing for their car; her eyes wild and her entire front covered in blood.
They connected with a sickening thud, the child’s body tossed up over the body of the car like a ragdoll. Castiel felt that much more sick, his stomach threatening to rebel at any second. Usually he had a very strong stomach, but they’d just hit a child. On purpose.
“How did this happen?” he whispered, drawing his legs up and wrapping his arms around them. It should have been an uncomfortable position, but Castiel was incredibly flexible, and he pulled it off.
“Official word is that no one fucking knows.” the guy grunted. “All of the sudden all of the dead are fucking zombies, and they’re turning the humans faster than we can keep up with. The mayor’s already blocked the city off; no one comes or goes. Which means we’re fucking stuck here with a shit-load of zombies.”
“Where are we going, then?” Castiel asked, shutting his eyes as the car accelerated again. He couldn’t block out the wet thump of them hitting another zombie, but at least he didn’t have to see what they’d just plowed over.
“My place. I need to restock on ammunition, and I’ve got a radio there we can use. Plus, my old man built a bunker in the basement that nothing can get in once the door’s locked. There’s food, water, weapons; anything one might need to hold of a siege.”
“How much farther?” Looking at his hands, Castiel noticed that he was already starting to bleed through the gauze. The wound hurt; a steady throb of pain that had him clenching his teeth. He might need stitches.
“About five minutes. Sit tight and look pretty, we’ll be there before you know it, man.”
“Castiel.” he said, looking up into those large green eyes. “My name is Castiel.”
“Alright then. I’m Dean. Nice to meet you, Castiel, although the conditions suck. What were your parents on, anyway, that they named you Castiel?”
“They were religious. I’m named after the Angel of Thursday, because I was born on a Thursday.”
“Huh. Alright then.”
Dean’s house was on the outskirts of the city; a modern little two-story establishment with what looked like an attic. The man stopped him before Castiel got out of the car, shoving a shotgun towards him.
“Do you know how to fire a gun?” he asked, eyeing Castiel. The waiter scowled at him and took the firearm.
“What, you think that just because I’m a waiter, I was never interested in the NRA?” he retorted. “Yeah, I can shoot.”
Dean chuckled. “Easy there, soldier. It was just a question. Alright, then; you know how to fire a weapon, so lets get in there and get down to the bunker. Keep your eyes wide open, and stay close.”
They both exited the car quickly, and Castiel did as ordered and stayed close to Dean. There were no problems when they were heading up the front walk, but when they reached the door Castiel heard a noise behind him. Whirling around, he brought up the shotgun quickly and leveled the barrel at the zombies head. If the movies were right, a headshot was the way to go.
He pulled the trigger.
Dean whistled behind him, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. “Nice job, man.” he praised. “That was an awesome shot.”
Smiling wryly, Castiel ejected the empty shell and readied the gun for another round. He kept his eyes on the street while Dean unlocked the door, only turning around when the man touched his back.
Once the door was shut and bolted behind them, Dean led the way to the basement. The house was silent, but they were both on high alert; Castiel’s sharp blue eyes missing nothing, and he knew Dean was the same.
There were no zombies in the basement, for which Castiel was grateful. Even if they were trying to kill him, they’d been human once, and the waiter wasn’t too excited about having to put them down.
Following Dean, Castiel let his eyes run over the man in front of him. He had a strong posture; wide shoulders, and obvious muscle. His dirty-blonde hair was cropped short, though the top was long enough to rise up in tufted spikes that looked thick and soft.
So focused was he that he didn’t realize the danger until the zombie tackled him. Crying out in surprise Castiel went down, a strong hand locking around his throat. He tried to bring up the shotgun for the killing blow, but he was a bit too preoccupied with trying not to die or get bitten. The woman’s breath was foul, reeking of blood and rancid meat. She was trying to bite his face. Oh God, he was going to die.
The crack of a firearm cut through the struggle and the woman’s head literally exploded. Castiel turned his head away as coagulated blood splattered him, shoving the corpse away.
Dean was there, holding out a hand to help him up. In response, Castiel brought up the shotgun and blew away the zombie behind him. Scrambling to his feet, the waiter turned around in time to kill another zombie.
“Where are they coming from?” he demanded, ejecting the empty shells and quickly reloading while Dean neatly put down three more zombies. When Castiel looked up there was blood on his face, trickling down his temple. He must have been knocked down before killing that woman.
“Fuck if I know. The cellar door’s probably open.” Dean snapped, grabbing hold of Castiel’s arm and leaving a bloody handprint on his white shirt. “It’s time to retreat, Cas. Get a move on, man.”
Castiel effectively killed several more zombies before he had to reload again. Before he could, though, Dean shoved a .9mm into his hand and told him to just start fucking shooting. So he did; taking down one after the other as Dean wrestled with something behind them.
A strong arm wrapped around his chest and jerked him back. The zombies tried to follow, but Dean hauled the door to the bunker shut before they’d gotten too far. He didn’t let go of Castiel, however; just kept pulling him back further into the surprisingly large room.
When he was finally released, Castiel turned to hand back the weapon. Dean took it from him and set it on a table before wiping away the zombie-blood on his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Standing so close, Castiel could see his eyes clearly; see the smattering of freckles across his nose. He could smell Dean’s breath; bitter from coffee but with a hint of mint.
Reaching out, Castiel wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and drew him into a kiss. Dean kissed back immediately, shoving him up against the cold concrete wall behind them. He moaned when the police officer grabbed his thigh and lifted his leg, letting Castiel wrap it around his waist. Dean’s other hand had slid behind his back at some point, fingers digging into his side through the shirt and vest.
Keeping one arm around Dean’s shoulders, Castiel cupped the man’s face with his free hand, his fingers sliding through warm blood. He wiped it away tenderly, feeling Dean tremble. When the man’s tongue flicked over his bottom lip, Castiel opened his mouth.
Their tongues met and tangled, drawing a whimper from Castiel; one that turned into a moan when Dean used his hold on the waiter’s thigh to roll their hips together. Pulling away with a gasp, Castiel stared into Dean’s green eyes, which had darkened with want and lust.
“You saved my life.” Castiel whispered, dropping his head to pepper kisses down Dean’s neck. “You didn’t have to stop for me, but you did. You could have just kept going.” He bit lightly at Dean’s throat, drawing a groan from the man; his fingers worked quickly to unbuckle the man’s breastplate. “I want to repay you. Will you let me?”
“Damn, Cas,” Dean moaned, tilting his head back to give the waiter more room to work with. “Depends on what you have in mind.”
Removing the armor, Castiel set it down carefully. It was hard, working with an injured hand, but he managed well enough. Dragging his fingers down Dean’s dark blue shirt, he hummed in delight. Dean moaned again when he moved the man’s hand so he could sink to his knees.
The concrete was cold through his slacks, but Castiel ignored it so he could work on undoing the man’s belt, button, and zipper. He pulled Dean’s pants down enough to give him room to work; leaning forward to nuzzle against the man’s boxers and breath in his scent. Castiel mouthed hungrily at his erection, feeling it grow as blood filled it.
“Fuck, Cas, don’t tease.” Dean ground out, sliding his hand through Castiel’s hair to grab a thick fistful of it. He grinned up at the man, flicking his tongue out to drag it up the dark gray boxers. It was worth it for the moan he pulled from Dean.
Deciding to be merciful, Castiel finally hooked his fingers around the waistband of the man’s briefs, wincing in pain as his hand throbbed, and pulled them down. Before they were even fully out of the way he closed his lips around the head of Dean’s cock, sucking hard and flicking his tongue into the slit.
Dean’s groan was loud, his hand tightening around Castiel’s hair to the point of being nearly painful. It just helped to turn Castiel on that much more, and he moaned around the erection in his mouth, surging forward to take him in completely. There was a brief battle with his gag reflex, but soon enough Castiel was able to relax his throat and slide forward. He didn’t stop until his nose was pressed into Dean’s pubic hair, the man’s musky scent making him moan again.
As he sucked, he felt Dean’s hand slide back until it was cradling the nape of Castiel’s neck. He didn’t force Castiel to do anything the waiter didn’t want to do, which pleased him to no end. Drawing back, Castiel flattened his tongue against the underside of Dean’s dick; pausing to play with the sensitive bundle of nerves under the head. Dean’s aroused cry was very gratifying.
Castiel pulled back fully after one last lick, looking up at Dean with half-lidded eyes. The man was leaning over, his forearm braced against the wall and his dark eyes fixed on Castiel. The man’s fingers carded through the short hairs at the back of his neck as they looked at each other.
“Having fun?” Dean finally asked, after Castiel had stared at him for several long moments without blinking. The question made him smile.
“Immense amounts.” he purred, putting his back to the wall again and sliding up. “However, I believe there’s something I would like more.” When he was standing again he slipped his uninjured hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulled him in for a wet, messy kiss.
They both moaned, and then suddenly Castiel’s wrists were caught above his head, held in place by one of Dean’s hands. The man quickly undid his slacks, pulling them down along with his boxers and exposing Castiel’s erection. All of this was done without their mouths separating; which led Castiel to believe that yes, this man indeed had skills when he fully removed Castiel’s slacks without much trouble. He had to help by kicking off his shoes, and after that it was easy to step out of the pants.
“Don’t move your hands.” Dean growled, letting go of his wrists and reaching down to hitch up his leg again. His gloves were warm against Castiel’s skin, his fingers digging into his thigh. Castiel leaned back against the wall, watching as Dean shoved his own pants down farther.
Fingers pressed against his lips. “Suck.” Dean ordered, and Castiel moaned breathily, eagerly pushing forward to take the man’s fingers into his mouth. They tasted like gunpowder and the sharp tang of gun metal, but that did nothing to discourage Castiel from curling his tongue around them; making them as wet as possible.
Suddenly the fingers were gone and Dean was kissing him again. Castiel moaned when he felt the man’s slick tongue stroke over his own. He knew Dean was trying to distract him, but when the first finger began to push into him he whimpered, tensing.
“Shhh. Relax, Cas,” Dean whispered against his lips. “You need to relax. It’ll get better, I swear. Have you ever done this before?”
Castiel shook his head, whimpering at the throb as Dean worked his finger in deeper. He tried to relax, but it was hard. The pressure of something inside of him was uncomfortable, but when Dean stopped moving and let him adjust it became bearable.
“Gonna add another one, Cas, okay?” Dean whispered, dipping his head to lick at the bruises no-doubt forming on Castiel’s neck from where the zombie had tried to strangle him. The waiter felt each centimeter of Dean’s withdraw, biting his lip and whimpering.
When two fingers began to push into him with little twists and wiggles, Castiel bit his lip harder. He’d thought one finger had been difficult enough. How was he even going to keep from having something torn internally when Dean actually pushed his cock in?
“Fuck, this isn’t working.” Dean growled, pulling his fingers out and setting Castiel’s leg back down. He pressed a quick kiss to Castiel’s lips, and then he watched as the man moved away. “Give me a second, Cas. Let me find something better.”
‘Something better’ turned out to be a large tube of healing salve. Castiel watched as Dean covered three fingers before setting it down and approaching Castiel again. Like he’d done before, he lifted Castiel’s thigh, holding onto it tightly. This time, when the first finger slipped in it was much easier to handle.
Dean thrust his finger a few times, and when Castiel whimpered and rocked down onto it, the man pulled out before wiggling two fingers back in. There was a twinge of discomfort, but it faded soon enough. Castiel felt Dean push his fingers deeper, and when they pressed against his prostate he choked on a cry, his body bucking.
“Feel good?” Dean chuckled, nibbling along his jaw as he pressed his fingers against the nub again.
“You should know the answer.” Castiel retorted weakly, his eyes rolling back in his head as he reached between them, grabbing Dean’s arm tightly. With every thrust of his fingers, Dean’s sleeve was brushing over Castiel’s erection. “Oh, please, keep going.”
When Dean added the third finger, the discomfort was greater, but Castiel worked on relaxing himself. All three fingers pressed against his prostate and. Well. That worked just as well. There was still pain, but there was also pleasure, and it was quite alright with him to be walking the line closer to pleasure.
Then Dean’s fingers were gone, and Castiel whimpered. Dean used his fingers to coat his erection, and then he was grabbing Castiel’s other thigh and hiking him up against the wall.
Moaning when he felt the head of Dean’s erection against his entrance, Castiel wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders, burying his face into his collar and biting his shirt.
He’d been right; Dean’s cock sliding into him was a lot more to take than his fingers. There was more pain now, the pleasure fading away. Castiel whimpered, his eyes screwed shut tightly and his fingers biting into Dean’s back through the fabric of his shirt.
“Easy, Cas, easy.” Dean whispered, his voice thick. “Relax, man, you’ve gotta relax. It gets better, you just need to relax.”
“Kinda hard.” Castiel snarled through a mouthful of Dean’s shirt, so it was doubtful that the man even understood him. He felt every painful inch of the man sliding into him and nearly sobbed when Dean was finally in all the way. The feeling was indescribable.
God bless Dean, because the man didn’t move for a long time after that. He continued to whisper reassurances to Castiel while he adjusted to the feeling of someone inside of him. When it finally became bearable he cracked open his eyes and stopped squeezing Dean’s shoulders so tightly.
The man slowly pulled out then, thrusting back in gently and rubbing over Castiel’s prostate. He gasped at the sudden spike of pleasure, rocking his hips down when Dean thrust up again.
“God, Cas, you feel so good.” Dean moaned into his ear. Castiel whimpered; using his grip around the man’s shoulders to pull himself up, then shove back down. “So tight, and warm.”
Rearing up, Castiel caught Dean’s mouth in a desperate kiss, thrusting his tongue into the man’s mouth. Dean caught it and sucked hard, drawing a strangled noise from him.
Castiel shifted; his sweat making his vest and shirt cling to his skin, which made him hotter. He imagined Dean was in the same position, since the man was still wearing his shirt and his little bits of armor except the bulletproof breastplate.
“You can go harder, Dean, I’m not going to break.” he growled once they pulled apart for air. With his permission granted, Dean suddenly shifted his hold, sliding his arms under the backs of Castiel’s knees and spreading his legs wider. The man thrust into him harder and faster, moaning into Castiel’s neck; biting and licking at his skin.
There was no hope of him lasting much longer, not with the way Dean was hitting his prostate on every thrust. When the man’s gloved hand wrapped around his erection, pumping quickly, the friction was too much. With a cry Castiel plunged head-first into his orgasm, his body shuddering and bucking.
Dean came with a cry, crushing Castiel to his chest as his hips thrust frantically. Wet heat filled him and the waiter shuddered, tilting his head back to rest it against the cold wall.
Feeling him legs being lowered, Castiel braced himself against the wall to keep himself standing. He could feel Dean’s release trickling down his thighs and made a face. At least his shirt hid that; falling down to mid-thigh.
They both dressed quickly, Dean shooting him satisfied little smiles. Castiel scowled back, though he couldn’t keep that up for long and would eventually grin.
“So,” he began once his belt was fastened, “what do we do now? I doubt they’ve left. Are we going to stay in here forever?”
“’Course not.” Dean snorted, ruffling Castiel’s hair before kissing the tip of his nose. “I told you, I have a radio. I just need to find the right signal and channel to let others know that we’re still alive and not hungry for brains.”
Castiel snorted, shaking his head before following after Dean. He accepted a bottle of water, quenching his thirst gratefully. His hand was throbbing again, blood staining the gauze.
“Hey, do you have any needles and thread?” the waiter asked hopefully. “I’m pretty sure my hand needs stitches.”
“Fuck, man! Why didn’t you say something before?” Dean grunted, rummaging to find the surgical equipment. He made Castiel sit down and unwrap his hand, hissing at the sight of the gash. “Jesus; you moron.”
Despite his harsh words, Dean’s hands were gentle as he cleaned away the blood with peroxide, which hurt like a bitch. A towel was used to dry his hand, patting around the wound.
“Grit your teeth.” the cop advised as he threaded the needle with the surgical suture. Castiel obeyed, grinding his teeth at the feel of the needle puncturing his flesh. He couldn’t help but watch, though. Dean’s stitches were small and neat, his skill with the needle and thread quite admirable.
When the wound was closed Dean poured more peroxide over his hand before wiping the disinfectant and blood away with a clean towel. Once that was done, he wrapped up Castiel’s hand with fresh gauze.
“So, you’re probably suffering from some bloodloss. You really should have told me it was that bad before you jumped me, Cas.” Dean helped him stand and led him over to a army-sized cot. He helped the waiter under the covers; carding his hand through Castiel’s hair once he was settled. “Sleep. I’ll radio out; see who I can find.”
Nodding, Castiel closed his eyes and burrowed under the sheets. He didn’t even remember Dean walking away; sleep took him too quickly.
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End~