Supernatural. Dean/Cas.
Strange and Beautiful
Chapter One
Rating: R
Pairing[s]: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess
Information/Background:The title comes from the song "Strange and Beautiful" by Aqualung.
Summary: Castiel falls. Not from his Heavenly rank, but from an injury that he is pertinently unable to heal. He ends up landing smack-dab in a dank little alley way on his Father's creation - Earth. Who so happens to be there to save the day? A man named Dean Winchester, who is about to get more than he can handle on his plate.
Author's Note: Enjoy~ And comment your opinions. It makes me happy! Even if it's constructive criticism. Just... don't full-out flame me to death. That would hurt.
It was unexpected. Abrupt, this feeling. It was as though needles were poking through his grace and sewing him up, like a rip, he was being pulled tighter and tighter, constricting up until everything collided back into place, except there was no place and there was no ending. It simply went on, and on, until everything was forgotten and he suddenly realized his eyes were closed. They were closed and he was falling. Is that what it was? The flame that was licking at his eternal soul, excruciatingly hot and unbearable, burning him to the core. Everything itched, and everything felt broken. It was wrong. This was falling?
He ached, like brittle bones in a human; he could feel pain for the first time in his life. And the rip was being forced open again after being sewn shut, tearing apart the seems, till the light was being split open wider, and he could hear it. It reminded him of the damned souls screaming in his ears from Hell's bowels, filled with blatant and torrid suffering. They had squeezed him too hard, like an infected puss filled wound, and he was bursting now, and he could feel every ounce of his grace spilling out of him. It was a process of being contracted and stretched, repetition, until all at once he crashed . . . and he was empty.
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"Look, look, it's a shooting star!" Green eyes looked up from their newspaper, to find a little boy pointing excitedly at the sky. His face shone with thrill and joy, as he tugged fervently at his mother's long black petticoat. She smiled, and followed his pointing finger, twirling her large pink umbrella around to make sure the rain stayed off of their heads. "Make a wish mommy!"
I wish life wasn't so shitty. Dean Winchester snorted under his breath. He chanced a quick glance up at the dark city sky line and noted the bright light piercing through the veil of dark. Quite unusual for any stars to show themselves in big cities like this. Too many skyscrapers scared them all away, Dean supposed. He gave a soft shrug, felt the smooth brown leather of his jacket brush against his skin and let out a lengthy sigh. A drawled out wisp of cotton-y white air trailed from his mouth and he watched it with mild interest before he decided that hiding under a store canopy to wait out the rain wasn't working, and made a dash for it. He supposed if he jogged fast enough he could make it to the bus station in five minutes tops before the bus came. It was a chance he'd have to take if he wanted to get home without getting completely drenched.
He took quick long strides across the sidewalk, splashing up little droplets from his boots onto the backs of his jeans. Miserably as an attempt to at least shield some of his body off he held the newspaper over his head, and looked both ways before he jogged across to the other side of the street. He was passing an apartment complex when he heard the noise that stopped him mid-step. It was a loud crashing, like the sound of a television set (or maybe even a big, fancy piano?) hitting one of the metal dumpsters and the cold hard concrete ground. Dean stopped by the alley way he'd heard it from, and contemplated whether or not he wanted to turn and see what the commotion had been.
A dog was barking, and a few lights went on up above. Pursing his lips, his morals churning in the pit of his stomach and his heart beating hard he scoffed at his kind heart and turned to face the dark and dank little alley way. He could barely see a thing. This risk would make him miss his bus, this he knew with disparagement, but he admitted to himself that he had to do this just in case. He didn't want to turn the television on tomorrow and see written in a giant headline on channel three news, 'A man was murdered and raped last night in the alley way behind 45 West 139th Street in Central Harlem last night.' That would hang over Dean like a giant rain cloud of gloom that would forever sprinkle Dean in self-piteous guilt.
Taking his first step in he could already smell the foul, stale air of rotting garbage and dirty hobos. It disgusted him to no end, and somehow the likelihood of being kidnapped in this little passage way increased ten fold in Dean's stomach. Now he was alert, as tentative as a cat as he wandered through wearily, just barely tripping over a soda can that had been littered onto the ground. He could hear TVs humming through the brick walls, and somewhere far off the sound of a women and man screaming at each other from one of the rooms. Steam billowed from a little pipe that protruded from the bottom of the building. It was your classic horror movie scenario set in a dark alley way with some creepy bad guy that would jump out and kill you. Dean liked scary movies, but it was not on his agenda to experience one in real life.
Dean felt his heart crawl up the walls of his throat, and struggle to leap out of his mouth to run away from him and leave his body behind for who or what ever else wanted it. There was a man sitting in a crumpled heap on the concrete, curled in on himself with his knees drawn up to his face. He had dark brown hair that was damp and messy on his head. There were little cuts scattered across his peach-y colored skin, and his body shuddered violently. Bare dirty skin that was cold and wet, more than likely. But despite how pathetic and small the man looked no noises came from him. Dean gulped his heart back down and it protested with a sharp stab to his chest. It was now contemplating on whether or not to break Dean's ribs and rip through his chest. Squinting his eyes as droplets of water dripped from his bangs into his face, he took another step forward. The sudden itch in his eyes made him realize he was soaked, and had been staring for quite some time.
"Hey," He finally gathered himself and licked his chapped lips, savoring the earthy, copper-ish flavor of rain water. "Are you okay?"
He took another step forward and bent down low. Three things happened all at once in the moment of his making eye level. A wafting smell of beer, pie, and motor oil filled his nostrils. A giant blanket of warmth settled around his shoulders. And he felt safe, for the first time in his life since his father put his hand on Dean's shoulder and told him everything would be okay. Dean's eyes widened, and it was overwhelming all at once. He swallowed a deep breath and squinted at the wet, gnarled mess of brunette hair.
"Hey, you shouldn't sit here naked like this. It's raining. Come on, are you okay?"
"Falling." It was the faintest little whispered thing Dean had ever heard. And he was about to put his hand on top of the man's shoulder and ask what he had said again, when he heard the voice, a little louder now. "Falling...."
Dean shook his head. "Falling?" He raised his arm and finally put his hand on the man's shoulder, plan B all along. "Look, you fell? Then maybe you should get up and -"
It was the quickest movement Dean had ever witnessed. All at once he was staring into deep blue eyes, and an intense wave of nausea heaved itself onto Dean like a tsunami. He felt dizzy as a firm iron grip tightened around his own shoulder. It was like a fiery hot iron rod had been placed onto his skin and was searing through his flesh. Dean's vision blurred with the pain, but those eyes never wavered one minute. They saw right through his damned soul.
It all happened so fast, but slowly it all began to fade away, and the man in front of him began to sway off kilter with the world again. Dean caught him before he fell back, and hugged him close. It was awkward, holding a naked man he didn't know in his arms so tightly. But what could a person do? Dean wasn't about to leave a naked man in an alley way. That would be like painting a giant colorful billboard that said 'Fresh meat! Rape me!'. Dean groaned loudly to himself for getting into this mess. Fuck you God. Giving me all these problems. I'm like the lady who can't say no and takes in every single stray cat she sees. It's bad enough I live with Sasquatch himself.
Dean suddenly remembered Sammy, who was probably worrying like a mother hen over where Dean was. He muttered a curse under his breath as he lifted up his sleeve to his mouth and pulled at the leather jacket, slinking his arm out. It was cold, and he couldn't just carry a naked guy bridal style in the street. That would definitely raise many questions and get him pulled over. He didn't want to deal with drama tonight. He wanted to get home and melt onto his couch with a beer. That was the plan... Well it had been, but now as he awkwardly weaved the jacket around the pale man's thin torso he figured that his idea of a good night was now ruined. Again, fuck you God.
The man that he had in his arms seemed to insist that he would not let go of Dean's shoulder, no matter how fucking hard Dean tried to pry his palm away. He also noted that there was now a giant hand print shaped hole cut out of his leather jacket and shirt. "Are you kidding me!?" It was leather! Nice, black, brand new leather! He had the thought of dropping the man right then and there onto the ground and leaving him to marinate, but he knew that even if he did the man would still be clinging to his shoulder like a leech dangling off his arm and he'd have to drag the man back to his house either way only with many more curious stares. It would definitely cause less of a scene to carry the damn guy, and drama again was not on Dean's forte of the night.
So gathering the man up into his arms he cringed and squirmed uncomfortably, a blush painting over his cheeks as he wrapped his hands under the man's buttocks to keep him from slipping onto the ground like a dead carcass. The man's legs were wrapped around Dean's torso and the arm that wasn't conjoined to his shoulder lazily flopped against Dean's back as he walked out onto the city street. He ignored the... The... The penis that was pressing up against his abs. Over and over again he repeated "Oh my baby Jesus" in his head. He would never get used to this. And only for a brief moment was Dean relieved to be out of the dingy little claustrophobic alley. Except when he heard the most devastating and mortifying thing he'd ever heard come from a little kid's mouth.
"Mommy, why is that man carrying that naked guy?"
Dean sent pleading eyes toward the mother who was disgustedly spitting in Dean's direction and shooing her child away. This was officially the gayest thing he'd ever done in his life. And it seemed that this thirty minute walk was going to be the death of him, as more pondering eyes snootily shunned him away. On one of the streets, passing by one of the more... rainbow colored clubs, Dean earned a few wolf whistles from the men sitting out under the entrance way smoking clips and... well, one couple was vivaciously making out. There were two girls holding hands that smiled and cooed at him, obviously taking it as the cutest thing they'd ever seen. Dean ducked his head behind the other man's in his arms. And just as he thought he was safe from dying of embarrassment, he bumped into a strong burly chest and looked up into stern brown eyes that narrowed down on him.
"You're just gonna' leave him naked like that while it's raining?" Asked the man, with a thick Boston Mafia like accent. Dean desperately wanted to explain his situation but who would believe him? His lips opened like a fish out of water, and closed. What the hell was he supposed to say? Sorry, I found this naked guy in an alley way and decided to bring him home with me, but oh wait, he won't take his god damned hand off of my shoulder and I think it's slowly starting to grow roots that are burrowing into my flesh? He was about to spin on his heel and make a run for it, because the man was raising a really muscled, buffed out meat-y arm but just when his legs were about to try and leap over this six foot tall man he was startled by the thumb that protruded from his fist. Immediately a taxi pulled over to the curb. Dean felt all the fibers in his body empty onto the sidewalk. "You forgot they had taxis in this place? Or you just dirt broke?"
Dean was actually dirt broke. His eyes must have said it all, because the man gave a broad, friendly grin. "Hey, it's all right. I got you, I got you. Us people gotta' stick t'gether, ya' know? I'll pay the fee and you get that man home safe. Couldn't just let ya's get jumped and mugged, ya' know? This city. People... Now get in there and get home!"
The Italian skinned man with his dark hair and his many tattoos of angels and crucifixes gave a little wink as he paid the cab driver some money before he slammed the door closed. Dean figured yeah, God did owe him this much, because who else would have done something so kind?
"Where must you be, sir?" He had almost forgotten about the taxi driver, too busy beaming at the man who had just practically saved his life, and snapped back into attention. "Sir, where do you have to be?"
"The Sylvia." It was the best Dean could do with his two-roomed apartment rental. Sam was an expensive boy with his law school and edu-ma-cation. Tucking the naked man awkwardly next to him, with which the hand on his shoulder clenched rather bone breakingly hard when Dean moved the wrong way, he settled into the black, old, worn leather seats of the taxi and pursed his lips. The man in the driver's seat was a short little pudgy darker skinned man, with a thick mustache above his lips and big puckered lips. He reminded Dean of his doctor, and immediately glowered at the thought of that man. He was a creepy little guy. Dean didn't like creepy men. Who did?
"So, sir, are you two going to be kanoodling tonight?" It was an innocent question, Dean supposed, but he gawked and sputtered from the very sure tone the man used. "I know how it is. Yes, indeed. I have many wives that I must take care of at home. Many, indeed. And many children. I know how we men like to pick up new kanoodlers along the way. I have seven as of today and ten daughters and five sons."
"It's not like that. I don't want to... you know, with this guy. I'm more like the Hugh Hefner type of man. I get lots of ladies. I mean, boobs. Tits. And geez, how many? You sure know how to get around. You're gonna' have to teach me your lady skills," Dean's eyes widened. That's more girls then Dean has actually been with. He means been with, in a relationship. He has his many one-night stands but damn. Seven? "That's a lot of kanoodling for one man..."
"Oh friend, you do not have to lie to me. Yashmit knows a happy night of play when he sees one." Dean gave a good face plant with his palm, and ignored the 'sexual' innuendos. The stout little Indian man gave a hearty laugh, the kind that made him throw his head back and really enjoy it. Dean couldn't help but smile a bit too. It was inevitable, with the cheery nature of such a guy. "But yes. Many, many. Oh you are very funny man, yes indeed. Ohhhh." He seemed to wipe little happy tears from his eyes and sighed out a content little breath, the kind that men make when they've had a good meal and a few beers. "Oh. You must call me any time you need a ride. Yashmit here will give you one. Consider us as homies."
A business card was handed toward Dean, which he took and tucked away into his jacket pocket. It was surprising how carrying a naked man around New York possibly could have possibly gained him any popularity in the time span of a day. He was still pondering it all over when the man pulled to the curb to let him out. He flashed a grin and opened the door up. "You take care good sir! Oh wait, what is my new g-skillet's name?"
"Dean. Dean Winchester, and it was nice to meet you Yashmit," he called over his shoulder as he lugged the statue cold corpse out onto the sidewalk. "You better get back to your wives. I'm sure they miss your company in bed."
"Hahaha! And you as well, Dean. Go make love to your naked knight. Yashmit does never judge a man for his preferences!" Dean rolled his eyes at that. He was not going to be having sex with an unconscious man he did not know and that he picked up in an alley way naked. Who knows what kind of genital diseases were roaming around the man's blood stream! Dean extended his hand into the air as a goodbye and put on a smile as Yashmit drove away.
When he turned around he looked up at the hotel where his brother and he stayed and gave a dramatic sigh. Just get it done and over with. Who cares what the receptionist thinks when she sees you carrying this naked guy into the hotel. Who cares if she's banging hot and you were thinking about mingling with her, but now there's no way she'd want to. It's all good. You're doing the right thing Dean. This is the most heroic (not to mention publicly humiliating) thing you've done in your life. You walk through those doors and don't look at anyone! Ignore them all and just go straight to the elevator.
Dean did just that. He kicked the door open with the toe of his big boot and heard plenty of surprised gasps and whispers as he strode with his head held high toward the elevator. He stood patiently next to a busy looking women wearing a formal little accountant like dress, who kept glancing awkwardly over to them, pursing her lips as they waited for the elevator to reach their floor. The doors opened, the people walked out (and slowed down to look back over their shoulders at the scene of Dean), and he stepped in.
"Uhm..." He didn't expect to need to talk. A blush painted over his cheeks as she turned her head and stared intently at him. "Could you push the third floor button?" And he thanked her profusely when she did.
Sure the lingering awkward silence that settled amongst them afterward in the small space was quite unnerving for a man of Dean's stature (normally he would be making moves on her, but that would be down right weird), but he stared up at the plain yellow ceiling and focused on the crappy jeopardy music playing in his ears. The gravity of motion tingling through his body stopped, and he heard the little ding before the doors opened as the women quickly exited the elevator and held baited breath until the doors closed, when he unraveled and banged the back of his head against the wall. The world thought Dean Winchester was a homo in disguise. You like torturing people, don't you God? I'm sure you sit up there in your little cloud getting off on it? Jerking off to our pain and suffering? You masochistic bastard. Dean had a lot of questions for the Almighty. A lot.
He sped out as soon as he heard that little bell chime, and nearly ran toward their room, pounding on the door for Sam to open up and let him in so he could hide for a week until the world forgot what they saw. That's what he wanted to do. Melt into himself and forget. But he couldn't, and as Sam's 'Where the fuck have you been face' appeared in the door, looked startled by Dean's ragged breathing, soaked wet clothes and - "The fuck!?"
Dean pushed past his brother, ignoring Sam's bitch face. "Do I have to start lecturing you on bring random hobos off the street now? Especially naked ones? What the hell Dean!?"
He was followed out to their small living room. Dean gently set the man onto the couch, tried to pull away to get some dry clothes and a towel but was squeezed tightly and ended up flying backward onto the couch. He gave a little sigh and flailed his hands in the air, as he tried to escape to no avail. Sam had taken to blabbering on about how Dean was crazy, while he watched the older man fumble onto the floor and attempt to crawl away, which resulted in his sliding along the carpet as he was pulled backward by the strong hand. Huffing loudly he gave up, and sat down to cross his arms and brood. He was pissy, and Sam's big insult words did not help his aggravation. "Sammy, shut the hell up for a minute!"
And Sam did just that. Dean set weary eyes on his brother and scratched the back of his head. "Look, could you just get me a towel and some dry pajamas from my dresser. I'll explain it all to you after I get the guy dry."
Sam only raised a brow, hesitating before he turned and heeded his older brother's orders. When it came down to it, Sam would do lots of things for Dean. Even if it involved housing a stranger that could be mentally insane or on America's Most Wanted. As long as it made Dean happy, it was alright with Sam. And if bringing naked men into the house made Dean happy, then what ever. As long as Sam could grab his wallet and leave before anything physical happened, it was all good.
"Here," he threw the things over and stood by the wall, watching from afar as his brother began to pat the man dry. It felt strange, uneasy as he shyly watched the scene before him. Sam had never seen his brother handle something so gently, especially another human being. Unless it was a car, Dean was a hard, rigid man. Sam blushed a little bit. "Now explain?"
And Dean did just that. Sam sat there with wide eyes, and when it was all said and done they stared at each other from across the room until a small grin started flowering onto Sam's face. "You creep." Dean was about to throw a pillow at his younger brother, when Sam held up a hand. "Okay, okay. What ever. Just... where is he going to sleep?"
Dean gingerly attempted to pull a pair of boxers onto the tangled man's limbs. It was hard to do without touching any part of the guy's body that Dean was trying to avoid as much as possible. His cheeks flamed at the sudden question, taken off guard, and his hazel green eyes slowly made their way toward Sam's large body leaning against the wall, staring intently at him as he pulled his pajama bottoms onto the other man's form.
"With me... I guess." There were no other options. They didn't have a guest bedroom, and Dean didn't want to sleep in the tight little cramped space of their couch. That would cause for some pretty awkward positions when they both woke up (if this man ever did). His bed was the only other option unless they all slept together, and Dean was pretty sure Sam was opposed to Dean's out of the ordinary antics. And he knew that he would be tortured by this day for the rest of his life if Sam had anything to say about it. And by the twinkle in his eyes, humorously amused, Dean knew that it was going to be many long years of the rest of his life. "Shut up, bitch."
"Jerk."
"Sasquatch."
"Man-whore." Dean scowled as he wiggled his hands underneath the now at least halfway clothed man's back, picked him up and began their journey down the hall. Sam wandered like a puppy behind them, slowly, with his arms crossed over his chest. "Aren't you hungry?"
"Yeah, you know what, I am. Why don't you go do your lady duties and make us men some grub." Dean grinned up at Sam as he flopped onto the edge of his bed, pointing at himself and the man who was slumped like a hunch back in Dean's grip. It was a pretty creepy sight to see. Sam grimaced and snorted all at the same time. "What? He's a man too. I would know. Trust me."
That was too much information. Sam was gone in a flash, grumbling something about Dean's personal life and how he didn't need to know. Dean of course was making jokes about this whole thing. It was the only way he knew how to not freak out. And god dammit, he was freaking out right now. He shoved the brunette off of him and let him topple over to the side, sprawling out onto the bed like a man that had been shot. And somehow even through it all that man's god damn hand still held persistently onto Dean's shoulder like a little crab claw. He let out the biggest groan ever and let himself fall down beside the stranger. Cautiously, as if he'd find a monster staring back at him, he turned his head to stare.
"You... Who are you?" Dean whispered as he took in every little inch of detail of the man's face. He was almost a sickly pale color, like the life had been drained from him. Dean hoped to God he hadn't lugged a dead corpse through New York and laid it on his bed. The guy didn't even look like he was breathing. But when Dean hesitantly put his fingers up to the brunette's neck to find a pulse there was a dull thudding, so Dean let out a little sigh of relief. He had dark, chestnut brown hair that was mussed and short. He had soft and delicate features, but a firm jaw line and a light five o'clock shadow you had to squint to see. And he was small, short, but definitely built. "You're one lucky s.o.b. is what you are."
It went like that for another ten minutes. Dean spoke out loud to himself, or the air, or maybe even to the unconscious stranger on his bed? about anything and everything. Just blabbered like an idiot, like he didn't have anything in the world to keep a secret from. It was strange for him to open up like that. He talked about the men he met on the trip to his hotel, and why he was even out there on the streets in the first place. It was because he had been searching for a second job, had an interview to wait tables, but had ended up spilling soup on a very rich man and was canned immediately. He really needed to get more cash because honestly, living was a hard thing to do. And then he told the man how lucky he was that Dean had balls. Because otherwise, that guy would probably be a piping hot bowl of dead man stew by the next morning if he hadn't of snagged him. He was about to go into another topic when a throat cleared by the door, and he lifted his head up to find a bemused expression on Sam's face.
"Didn't dad ever warn you about talking to strangers?" Dean snorted, and flipped the taller man off as Sam carefully made his way over to Dean's bed to set the tray on Dean's night stand. "Nice, Dean. Busty Asian Beauties? Is that what has been keeping me up every Saturday?"
"Hey. Don't be jealous that your morals don't allow you to whack off. You gotta' let loose every once in a while, otherwise it'll all get pent up down there and your junk will explode." Sam was rolling his eyes, as he pushed the magazine onto the floor and Dean scrambled over the corpse's chest to catch it. "Be careful with that, it's precious cargo! We can't all be the thirty year old virgin like you."
"Shut up Dean." The younger brother glowered, scowled and spat as he set the tray of instant pepperoni hot pockets and a bowl of soup down. Was that pie? Dean's eyes glittered over with lust and want and need. He could feel the drool pooling over the side of his bottom lip, dripping slightly down his chin. "Jesus, control yourself you caveman. It's just pie. For God's sake you look like you jizzed in your pants or something."
"I think I did," Dean groaned as he attempted to reach out to that lovely piece of steaming cherry pie calling his name, the wafting scent of crisp home-baked dough and warm cherries tickling his nose and teasing him. He couldn't fucking reach it though. He struggled and whined like a child being played. You know, when parents get bored and shine lasers and watch their baby chase after it? That was Dean figuring out the so-called fairy was just a little light. He pushed his lip out into a pout, and wiggled his fingers in the air, just barely there! So close! He was biting his lip now, concentrating. Maybe if he used the force!
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. He silently slid the bowl a little closer into Dean's reach, and shook his head when Dean victoriously grabbed it and gave a grunt. "But I want the pie..." He looked miserably into the brown broth that stared like an apparatus of sad little frowning faces at him. Little chunks of meat floated around in there, and a few helpless peas and carrots and potatoes. It reminded Dean of a toilet. He frowned. "Pie?"
"Eat your soup and hot pocket first. You can't have dessert before dinner. It's illogical." Dean pouted as he began to eat, and like a parent Sam hovered by the bed watching, swatting at Dean's hand as it stealthily tried to slip over to grab the pie. "Nuh uh. Eat your soup."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Dean sighed and lifted the bowl to his lips. He began to slurp it all down, gulping each mouthful down his gullet. Sam stared with mortification in his eyes, watching his older brother's adam apple bob and weave as he finished the bowl off in less then two minutes. Dean gave a content breath and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He sent a mischievous grin at Sam, who raised his eyebrow and pointed to the hot pocket, which immediately made the happy smile on Dean's face melt into a frown.
"What are you my dad tonight?" Dean snapped as he hastily snatched up his hot pocket and nibbled on the end quietly. "Thanks, father. This hot pocket is great."
"I try, I try," Sam nodded his head. "You should eat it nice and slowly to savor the flavor."
Dean smirked, slowly slid the hot pocket into his mouth, eyes half-lidded and glazed as he moaned while the bread and sauce touched the back of his throat. "You asshole. You have to turn everything into a sexual innuendo don't you? Forget it. I hope that hot pocket burns your tongue into the fiery pits of Hell."
Dean nearly choked as he laughed. He waggled his brows and swallowed. "Why? You told me to take it nice and slowly, right? I was just obeying you dad."
"I'm not your dad. And God, I pray that dad didn't take the time to teach you how to deep throat hot pockets because that would just be weird," Sam laughed when Dean nearly coughed up a lung, sending a brooding glare at his younger brother. "Though I'm sure this man here that you knocked out and brought home to rape would appreciate a lesson."
"I didn't -" Dean sputtered. "You bitch. You know I like the ladies."
Sam's lips tightened into a curious little line. "I do?"
"Shut up! That's enough. I'm going to finish this, eat my pie and go to sleep! My penis is reserved for girls only. VIP, baby." Dean displayed the action of insertion with his fingers, by pushing his index finger through a circle he made with his other hand. "Got it?"
"Gah! I hate your exhibitions of sexual actions. I need to go bleach out my eyes. Good night, you asshole." And then Sam stopped at the door, just as Dean was reaching toward the pie, and the blond froze midway like a little kid caught doing something naughty and put on an innocent smile. Sam pointed an accusing finger. "No pie till that is done!"
Sam watched Dean shove the rest of his hot pocket into his mouth, smirked, and headed for the bathroom, leaving Dean alone.
He nervously swallowed and pursed his lips. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Eat his pie and then go to sleep with a man he didn't even know? He glanced down at the stiff looking cadaver of a human being lying beside him. He cautiously grabbed his pie slice and began to eat it slowly, burning time, all the while watched the never moving or blinking form of the naked man.
Finally, there was nothing left to distract him. He shyly turned the light off and dragged the man up toward the pillow he'd be using. Dean grabbed the blanket and wrapped them both up with it. He curled in a little, got as far away as he could before the hand gave a reminding squeeze that it wasn't letting go anytime soon, and stared at the ceiling fan hanging from above praying to God that this was all just some horrible nightmare.
"It's going to be a long night."
Surprisingly, Dean fell asleep faster then he expected to. It was like a giant sheet of warmth and comfort settled over his visage. Almost as if he were five years old again, and his mother was tucking him into his bed kissing his forehead and telling him that angels were watching over him.
Dean felt safe, for the second time that day.
Chapter One
Rating: R
Pairing[s]: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess
Information/Background:The title comes from the song "Strange and Beautiful" by Aqualung.
Summary: Castiel falls. Not from his Heavenly rank, but from an injury that he is pertinently unable to heal. He ends up landing smack-dab in a dank little alley way on his Father's creation - Earth. Who so happens to be there to save the day? A man named Dean Winchester, who is about to get more than he can handle on his plate.
Author's Note: Enjoy~ And comment your opinions. It makes me happy! Even if it's constructive criticism. Just... don't full-out flame me to death. That would hurt.
It was unexpected. Abrupt, this feeling. It was as though needles were poking through his grace and sewing him up, like a rip, he was being pulled tighter and tighter, constricting up until everything collided back into place, except there was no place and there was no ending. It simply went on, and on, until everything was forgotten and he suddenly realized his eyes were closed. They were closed and he was falling. Is that what it was? The flame that was licking at his eternal soul, excruciatingly hot and unbearable, burning him to the core. Everything itched, and everything felt broken. It was wrong. This was falling?
He ached, like brittle bones in a human; he could feel pain for the first time in his life. And the rip was being forced open again after being sewn shut, tearing apart the seems, till the light was being split open wider, and he could hear it. It reminded him of the damned souls screaming in his ears from Hell's bowels, filled with blatant and torrid suffering. They had squeezed him too hard, like an infected puss filled wound, and he was bursting now, and he could feel every ounce of his grace spilling out of him. It was a process of being contracted and stretched, repetition, until all at once he crashed . . . and he was empty.
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"Look, look, it's a shooting star!" Green eyes looked up from their newspaper, to find a little boy pointing excitedly at the sky. His face shone with thrill and joy, as he tugged fervently at his mother's long black petticoat. She smiled, and followed his pointing finger, twirling her large pink umbrella around to make sure the rain stayed off of their heads. "Make a wish mommy!"
I wish life wasn't so shitty. Dean Winchester snorted under his breath. He chanced a quick glance up at the dark city sky line and noted the bright light piercing through the veil of dark. Quite unusual for any stars to show themselves in big cities like this. Too many skyscrapers scared them all away, Dean supposed. He gave a soft shrug, felt the smooth brown leather of his jacket brush against his skin and let out a lengthy sigh. A drawled out wisp of cotton-y white air trailed from his mouth and he watched it with mild interest before he decided that hiding under a store canopy to wait out the rain wasn't working, and made a dash for it. He supposed if he jogged fast enough he could make it to the bus station in five minutes tops before the bus came. It was a chance he'd have to take if he wanted to get home without getting completely drenched.
He took quick long strides across the sidewalk, splashing up little droplets from his boots onto the backs of his jeans. Miserably as an attempt to at least shield some of his body off he held the newspaper over his head, and looked both ways before he jogged across to the other side of the street. He was passing an apartment complex when he heard the noise that stopped him mid-step. It was a loud crashing, like the sound of a television set (or maybe even a big, fancy piano?) hitting one of the metal dumpsters and the cold hard concrete ground. Dean stopped by the alley way he'd heard it from, and contemplated whether or not he wanted to turn and see what the commotion had been.
A dog was barking, and a few lights went on up above. Pursing his lips, his morals churning in the pit of his stomach and his heart beating hard he scoffed at his kind heart and turned to face the dark and dank little alley way. He could barely see a thing. This risk would make him miss his bus, this he knew with disparagement, but he admitted to himself that he had to do this just in case. He didn't want to turn the television on tomorrow and see written in a giant headline on channel three news, 'A man was murdered and raped last night in the alley way behind 45 West 139th Street in Central Harlem last night.' That would hang over Dean like a giant rain cloud of gloom that would forever sprinkle Dean in self-piteous guilt.
Taking his first step in he could already smell the foul, stale air of rotting garbage and dirty hobos. It disgusted him to no end, and somehow the likelihood of being kidnapped in this little passage way increased ten fold in Dean's stomach. Now he was alert, as tentative as a cat as he wandered through wearily, just barely tripping over a soda can that had been littered onto the ground. He could hear TVs humming through the brick walls, and somewhere far off the sound of a women and man screaming at each other from one of the rooms. Steam billowed from a little pipe that protruded from the bottom of the building. It was your classic horror movie scenario set in a dark alley way with some creepy bad guy that would jump out and kill you. Dean liked scary movies, but it was not on his agenda to experience one in real life.
Dean felt his heart crawl up the walls of his throat, and struggle to leap out of his mouth to run away from him and leave his body behind for who or what ever else wanted it. There was a man sitting in a crumpled heap on the concrete, curled in on himself with his knees drawn up to his face. He had dark brown hair that was damp and messy on his head. There were little cuts scattered across his peach-y colored skin, and his body shuddered violently. Bare dirty skin that was cold and wet, more than likely. But despite how pathetic and small the man looked no noises came from him. Dean gulped his heart back down and it protested with a sharp stab to his chest. It was now contemplating on whether or not to break Dean's ribs and rip through his chest. Squinting his eyes as droplets of water dripped from his bangs into his face, he took another step forward. The sudden itch in his eyes made him realize he was soaked, and had been staring for quite some time.
"Hey," He finally gathered himself and licked his chapped lips, savoring the earthy, copper-ish flavor of rain water. "Are you okay?"
He took another step forward and bent down low. Three things happened all at once in the moment of his making eye level. A wafting smell of beer, pie, and motor oil filled his nostrils. A giant blanket of warmth settled around his shoulders. And he felt safe, for the first time in his life since his father put his hand on Dean's shoulder and told him everything would be okay. Dean's eyes widened, and it was overwhelming all at once. He swallowed a deep breath and squinted at the wet, gnarled mess of brunette hair.
"Hey, you shouldn't sit here naked like this. It's raining. Come on, are you okay?"
"Falling." It was the faintest little whispered thing Dean had ever heard. And he was about to put his hand on top of the man's shoulder and ask what he had said again, when he heard the voice, a little louder now. "Falling...."
Dean shook his head. "Falling?" He raised his arm and finally put his hand on the man's shoulder, plan B all along. "Look, you fell? Then maybe you should get up and -"
It was the quickest movement Dean had ever witnessed. All at once he was staring into deep blue eyes, and an intense wave of nausea heaved itself onto Dean like a tsunami. He felt dizzy as a firm iron grip tightened around his own shoulder. It was like a fiery hot iron rod had been placed onto his skin and was searing through his flesh. Dean's vision blurred with the pain, but those eyes never wavered one minute. They saw right through his damned soul.
It all happened so fast, but slowly it all began to fade away, and the man in front of him began to sway off kilter with the world again. Dean caught him before he fell back, and hugged him close. It was awkward, holding a naked man he didn't know in his arms so tightly. But what could a person do? Dean wasn't about to leave a naked man in an alley way. That would be like painting a giant colorful billboard that said 'Fresh meat! Rape me!'. Dean groaned loudly to himself for getting into this mess. Fuck you God. Giving me all these problems. I'm like the lady who can't say no and takes in every single stray cat she sees. It's bad enough I live with Sasquatch himself.
Dean suddenly remembered Sammy, who was probably worrying like a mother hen over where Dean was. He muttered a curse under his breath as he lifted up his sleeve to his mouth and pulled at the leather jacket, slinking his arm out. It was cold, and he couldn't just carry a naked guy bridal style in the street. That would definitely raise many questions and get him pulled over. He didn't want to deal with drama tonight. He wanted to get home and melt onto his couch with a beer. That was the plan... Well it had been, but now as he awkwardly weaved the jacket around the pale man's thin torso he figured that his idea of a good night was now ruined. Again, fuck you God.
The man that he had in his arms seemed to insist that he would not let go of Dean's shoulder, no matter how fucking hard Dean tried to pry his palm away. He also noted that there was now a giant hand print shaped hole cut out of his leather jacket and shirt. "Are you kidding me!?" It was leather! Nice, black, brand new leather! He had the thought of dropping the man right then and there onto the ground and leaving him to marinate, but he knew that even if he did the man would still be clinging to his shoulder like a leech dangling off his arm and he'd have to drag the man back to his house either way only with many more curious stares. It would definitely cause less of a scene to carry the damn guy, and drama again was not on Dean's forte of the night.
So gathering the man up into his arms he cringed and squirmed uncomfortably, a blush painting over his cheeks as he wrapped his hands under the man's buttocks to keep him from slipping onto the ground like a dead carcass. The man's legs were wrapped around Dean's torso and the arm that wasn't conjoined to his shoulder lazily flopped against Dean's back as he walked out onto the city street. He ignored the... The... The penis that was pressing up against his abs. Over and over again he repeated "Oh my baby Jesus" in his head. He would never get used to this. And only for a brief moment was Dean relieved to be out of the dingy little claustrophobic alley. Except when he heard the most devastating and mortifying thing he'd ever heard come from a little kid's mouth.
"Mommy, why is that man carrying that naked guy?"
Dean sent pleading eyes toward the mother who was disgustedly spitting in Dean's direction and shooing her child away. This was officially the gayest thing he'd ever done in his life. And it seemed that this thirty minute walk was going to be the death of him, as more pondering eyes snootily shunned him away. On one of the streets, passing by one of the more... rainbow colored clubs, Dean earned a few wolf whistles from the men sitting out under the entrance way smoking clips and... well, one couple was vivaciously making out. There were two girls holding hands that smiled and cooed at him, obviously taking it as the cutest thing they'd ever seen. Dean ducked his head behind the other man's in his arms. And just as he thought he was safe from dying of embarrassment, he bumped into a strong burly chest and looked up into stern brown eyes that narrowed down on him.
"You're just gonna' leave him naked like that while it's raining?" Asked the man, with a thick Boston Mafia like accent. Dean desperately wanted to explain his situation but who would believe him? His lips opened like a fish out of water, and closed. What the hell was he supposed to say? Sorry, I found this naked guy in an alley way and decided to bring him home with me, but oh wait, he won't take his god damned hand off of my shoulder and I think it's slowly starting to grow roots that are burrowing into my flesh? He was about to spin on his heel and make a run for it, because the man was raising a really muscled, buffed out meat-y arm but just when his legs were about to try and leap over this six foot tall man he was startled by the thumb that protruded from his fist. Immediately a taxi pulled over to the curb. Dean felt all the fibers in his body empty onto the sidewalk. "You forgot they had taxis in this place? Or you just dirt broke?"
Dean was actually dirt broke. His eyes must have said it all, because the man gave a broad, friendly grin. "Hey, it's all right. I got you, I got you. Us people gotta' stick t'gether, ya' know? I'll pay the fee and you get that man home safe. Couldn't just let ya's get jumped and mugged, ya' know? This city. People... Now get in there and get home!"
The Italian skinned man with his dark hair and his many tattoos of angels and crucifixes gave a little wink as he paid the cab driver some money before he slammed the door closed. Dean figured yeah, God did owe him this much, because who else would have done something so kind?
"Where must you be, sir?" He had almost forgotten about the taxi driver, too busy beaming at the man who had just practically saved his life, and snapped back into attention. "Sir, where do you have to be?"
"The Sylvia." It was the best Dean could do with his two-roomed apartment rental. Sam was an expensive boy with his law school and edu-ma-cation. Tucking the naked man awkwardly next to him, with which the hand on his shoulder clenched rather bone breakingly hard when Dean moved the wrong way, he settled into the black, old, worn leather seats of the taxi and pursed his lips. The man in the driver's seat was a short little pudgy darker skinned man, with a thick mustache above his lips and big puckered lips. He reminded Dean of his doctor, and immediately glowered at the thought of that man. He was a creepy little guy. Dean didn't like creepy men. Who did?
"So, sir, are you two going to be kanoodling tonight?" It was an innocent question, Dean supposed, but he gawked and sputtered from the very sure tone the man used. "I know how it is. Yes, indeed. I have many wives that I must take care of at home. Many, indeed. And many children. I know how we men like to pick up new kanoodlers along the way. I have seven as of today and ten daughters and five sons."
"It's not like that. I don't want to... you know, with this guy. I'm more like the Hugh Hefner type of man. I get lots of ladies. I mean, boobs. Tits. And geez, how many? You sure know how to get around. You're gonna' have to teach me your lady skills," Dean's eyes widened. That's more girls then Dean has actually been with. He means been with, in a relationship. He has his many one-night stands but damn. Seven? "That's a lot of kanoodling for one man..."
"Oh friend, you do not have to lie to me. Yashmit knows a happy night of play when he sees one." Dean gave a good face plant with his palm, and ignored the 'sexual' innuendos. The stout little Indian man gave a hearty laugh, the kind that made him throw his head back and really enjoy it. Dean couldn't help but smile a bit too. It was inevitable, with the cheery nature of such a guy. "But yes. Many, many. Oh you are very funny man, yes indeed. Ohhhh." He seemed to wipe little happy tears from his eyes and sighed out a content little breath, the kind that men make when they've had a good meal and a few beers. "Oh. You must call me any time you need a ride. Yashmit here will give you one. Consider us as homies."
A business card was handed toward Dean, which he took and tucked away into his jacket pocket. It was surprising how carrying a naked man around New York possibly could have possibly gained him any popularity in the time span of a day. He was still pondering it all over when the man pulled to the curb to let him out. He flashed a grin and opened the door up. "You take care good sir! Oh wait, what is my new g-skillet's name?"
"Dean. Dean Winchester, and it was nice to meet you Yashmit," he called over his shoulder as he lugged the statue cold corpse out onto the sidewalk. "You better get back to your wives. I'm sure they miss your company in bed."
"Hahaha! And you as well, Dean. Go make love to your naked knight. Yashmit does never judge a man for his preferences!" Dean rolled his eyes at that. He was not going to be having sex with an unconscious man he did not know and that he picked up in an alley way naked. Who knows what kind of genital diseases were roaming around the man's blood stream! Dean extended his hand into the air as a goodbye and put on a smile as Yashmit drove away.
When he turned around he looked up at the hotel where his brother and he stayed and gave a dramatic sigh. Just get it done and over with. Who cares what the receptionist thinks when she sees you carrying this naked guy into the hotel. Who cares if she's banging hot and you were thinking about mingling with her, but now there's no way she'd want to. It's all good. You're doing the right thing Dean. This is the most heroic (not to mention publicly humiliating) thing you've done in your life. You walk through those doors and don't look at anyone! Ignore them all and just go straight to the elevator.
Dean did just that. He kicked the door open with the toe of his big boot and heard plenty of surprised gasps and whispers as he strode with his head held high toward the elevator. He stood patiently next to a busy looking women wearing a formal little accountant like dress, who kept glancing awkwardly over to them, pursing her lips as they waited for the elevator to reach their floor. The doors opened, the people walked out (and slowed down to look back over their shoulders at the scene of Dean), and he stepped in.
"Uhm..." He didn't expect to need to talk. A blush painted over his cheeks as she turned her head and stared intently at him. "Could you push the third floor button?" And he thanked her profusely when she did.
Sure the lingering awkward silence that settled amongst them afterward in the small space was quite unnerving for a man of Dean's stature (normally he would be making moves on her, but that would be down right weird), but he stared up at the plain yellow ceiling and focused on the crappy jeopardy music playing in his ears. The gravity of motion tingling through his body stopped, and he heard the little ding before the doors opened as the women quickly exited the elevator and held baited breath until the doors closed, when he unraveled and banged the back of his head against the wall. The world thought Dean Winchester was a homo in disguise. You like torturing people, don't you God? I'm sure you sit up there in your little cloud getting off on it? Jerking off to our pain and suffering? You masochistic bastard. Dean had a lot of questions for the Almighty. A lot.
He sped out as soon as he heard that little bell chime, and nearly ran toward their room, pounding on the door for Sam to open up and let him in so he could hide for a week until the world forgot what they saw. That's what he wanted to do. Melt into himself and forget. But he couldn't, and as Sam's 'Where the fuck have you been face' appeared in the door, looked startled by Dean's ragged breathing, soaked wet clothes and - "The fuck!?"
Dean pushed past his brother, ignoring Sam's bitch face. "Do I have to start lecturing you on bring random hobos off the street now? Especially naked ones? What the hell Dean!?"
He was followed out to their small living room. Dean gently set the man onto the couch, tried to pull away to get some dry clothes and a towel but was squeezed tightly and ended up flying backward onto the couch. He gave a little sigh and flailed his hands in the air, as he tried to escape to no avail. Sam had taken to blabbering on about how Dean was crazy, while he watched the older man fumble onto the floor and attempt to crawl away, which resulted in his sliding along the carpet as he was pulled backward by the strong hand. Huffing loudly he gave up, and sat down to cross his arms and brood. He was pissy, and Sam's big insult words did not help his aggravation. "Sammy, shut the hell up for a minute!"
And Sam did just that. Dean set weary eyes on his brother and scratched the back of his head. "Look, could you just get me a towel and some dry pajamas from my dresser. I'll explain it all to you after I get the guy dry."
Sam only raised a brow, hesitating before he turned and heeded his older brother's orders. When it came down to it, Sam would do lots of things for Dean. Even if it involved housing a stranger that could be mentally insane or on America's Most Wanted. As long as it made Dean happy, it was alright with Sam. And if bringing naked men into the house made Dean happy, then what ever. As long as Sam could grab his wallet and leave before anything physical happened, it was all good.
"Here," he threw the things over and stood by the wall, watching from afar as his brother began to pat the man dry. It felt strange, uneasy as he shyly watched the scene before him. Sam had never seen his brother handle something so gently, especially another human being. Unless it was a car, Dean was a hard, rigid man. Sam blushed a little bit. "Now explain?"
And Dean did just that. Sam sat there with wide eyes, and when it was all said and done they stared at each other from across the room until a small grin started flowering onto Sam's face. "You creep." Dean was about to throw a pillow at his younger brother, when Sam held up a hand. "Okay, okay. What ever. Just... where is he going to sleep?"
Dean gingerly attempted to pull a pair of boxers onto the tangled man's limbs. It was hard to do without touching any part of the guy's body that Dean was trying to avoid as much as possible. His cheeks flamed at the sudden question, taken off guard, and his hazel green eyes slowly made their way toward Sam's large body leaning against the wall, staring intently at him as he pulled his pajama bottoms onto the other man's form.
"With me... I guess." There were no other options. They didn't have a guest bedroom, and Dean didn't want to sleep in the tight little cramped space of their couch. That would cause for some pretty awkward positions when they both woke up (if this man ever did). His bed was the only other option unless they all slept together, and Dean was pretty sure Sam was opposed to Dean's out of the ordinary antics. And he knew that he would be tortured by this day for the rest of his life if Sam had anything to say about it. And by the twinkle in his eyes, humorously amused, Dean knew that it was going to be many long years of the rest of his life. "Shut up, bitch."
"Jerk."
"Sasquatch."
"Man-whore." Dean scowled as he wiggled his hands underneath the now at least halfway clothed man's back, picked him up and began their journey down the hall. Sam wandered like a puppy behind them, slowly, with his arms crossed over his chest. "Aren't you hungry?"
"Yeah, you know what, I am. Why don't you go do your lady duties and make us men some grub." Dean grinned up at Sam as he flopped onto the edge of his bed, pointing at himself and the man who was slumped like a hunch back in Dean's grip. It was a pretty creepy sight to see. Sam grimaced and snorted all at the same time. "What? He's a man too. I would know. Trust me."
That was too much information. Sam was gone in a flash, grumbling something about Dean's personal life and how he didn't need to know. Dean of course was making jokes about this whole thing. It was the only way he knew how to not freak out. And god dammit, he was freaking out right now. He shoved the brunette off of him and let him topple over to the side, sprawling out onto the bed like a man that had been shot. And somehow even through it all that man's god damn hand still held persistently onto Dean's shoulder like a little crab claw. He let out the biggest groan ever and let himself fall down beside the stranger. Cautiously, as if he'd find a monster staring back at him, he turned his head to stare.
"You... Who are you?" Dean whispered as he took in every little inch of detail of the man's face. He was almost a sickly pale color, like the life had been drained from him. Dean hoped to God he hadn't lugged a dead corpse through New York and laid it on his bed. The guy didn't even look like he was breathing. But when Dean hesitantly put his fingers up to the brunette's neck to find a pulse there was a dull thudding, so Dean let out a little sigh of relief. He had dark, chestnut brown hair that was mussed and short. He had soft and delicate features, but a firm jaw line and a light five o'clock shadow you had to squint to see. And he was small, short, but definitely built. "You're one lucky s.o.b. is what you are."
It went like that for another ten minutes. Dean spoke out loud to himself, or the air, or maybe even to the unconscious stranger on his bed? about anything and everything. Just blabbered like an idiot, like he didn't have anything in the world to keep a secret from. It was strange for him to open up like that. He talked about the men he met on the trip to his hotel, and why he was even out there on the streets in the first place. It was because he had been searching for a second job, had an interview to wait tables, but had ended up spilling soup on a very rich man and was canned immediately. He really needed to get more cash because honestly, living was a hard thing to do. And then he told the man how lucky he was that Dean had balls. Because otherwise, that guy would probably be a piping hot bowl of dead man stew by the next morning if he hadn't of snagged him. He was about to go into another topic when a throat cleared by the door, and he lifted his head up to find a bemused expression on Sam's face.
"Didn't dad ever warn you about talking to strangers?" Dean snorted, and flipped the taller man off as Sam carefully made his way over to Dean's bed to set the tray on Dean's night stand. "Nice, Dean. Busty Asian Beauties? Is that what has been keeping me up every Saturday?"
"Hey. Don't be jealous that your morals don't allow you to whack off. You gotta' let loose every once in a while, otherwise it'll all get pent up down there and your junk will explode." Sam was rolling his eyes, as he pushed the magazine onto the floor and Dean scrambled over the corpse's chest to catch it. "Be careful with that, it's precious cargo! We can't all be the thirty year old virgin like you."
"Shut up Dean." The younger brother glowered, scowled and spat as he set the tray of instant pepperoni hot pockets and a bowl of soup down. Was that pie? Dean's eyes glittered over with lust and want and need. He could feel the drool pooling over the side of his bottom lip, dripping slightly down his chin. "Jesus, control yourself you caveman. It's just pie. For God's sake you look like you jizzed in your pants or something."
"I think I did," Dean groaned as he attempted to reach out to that lovely piece of steaming cherry pie calling his name, the wafting scent of crisp home-baked dough and warm cherries tickling his nose and teasing him. He couldn't fucking reach it though. He struggled and whined like a child being played. You know, when parents get bored and shine lasers and watch their baby chase after it? That was Dean figuring out the so-called fairy was just a little light. He pushed his lip out into a pout, and wiggled his fingers in the air, just barely there! So close! He was biting his lip now, concentrating. Maybe if he used the force!
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. He silently slid the bowl a little closer into Dean's reach, and shook his head when Dean victoriously grabbed it and gave a grunt. "But I want the pie..." He looked miserably into the brown broth that stared like an apparatus of sad little frowning faces at him. Little chunks of meat floated around in there, and a few helpless peas and carrots and potatoes. It reminded Dean of a toilet. He frowned. "Pie?"
"Eat your soup and hot pocket first. You can't have dessert before dinner. It's illogical." Dean pouted as he began to eat, and like a parent Sam hovered by the bed watching, swatting at Dean's hand as it stealthily tried to slip over to grab the pie. "Nuh uh. Eat your soup."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
Dean sighed and lifted the bowl to his lips. He began to slurp it all down, gulping each mouthful down his gullet. Sam stared with mortification in his eyes, watching his older brother's adam apple bob and weave as he finished the bowl off in less then two minutes. Dean gave a content breath and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He sent a mischievous grin at Sam, who raised his eyebrow and pointed to the hot pocket, which immediately made the happy smile on Dean's face melt into a frown.
"What are you my dad tonight?" Dean snapped as he hastily snatched up his hot pocket and nibbled on the end quietly. "Thanks, father. This hot pocket is great."
"I try, I try," Sam nodded his head. "You should eat it nice and slowly to savor the flavor."
Dean smirked, slowly slid the hot pocket into his mouth, eyes half-lidded and glazed as he moaned while the bread and sauce touched the back of his throat. "You asshole. You have to turn everything into a sexual innuendo don't you? Forget it. I hope that hot pocket burns your tongue into the fiery pits of Hell."
Dean nearly choked as he laughed. He waggled his brows and swallowed. "Why? You told me to take it nice and slowly, right? I was just obeying you dad."
"I'm not your dad. And God, I pray that dad didn't take the time to teach you how to deep throat hot pockets because that would just be weird," Sam laughed when Dean nearly coughed up a lung, sending a brooding glare at his younger brother. "Though I'm sure this man here that you knocked out and brought home to rape would appreciate a lesson."
"I didn't -" Dean sputtered. "You bitch. You know I like the ladies."
Sam's lips tightened into a curious little line. "I do?"
"Shut up! That's enough. I'm going to finish this, eat my pie and go to sleep! My penis is reserved for girls only. VIP, baby." Dean displayed the action of insertion with his fingers, by pushing his index finger through a circle he made with his other hand. "Got it?"
"Gah! I hate your exhibitions of sexual actions. I need to go bleach out my eyes. Good night, you asshole." And then Sam stopped at the door, just as Dean was reaching toward the pie, and the blond froze midway like a little kid caught doing something naughty and put on an innocent smile. Sam pointed an accusing finger. "No pie till that is done!"
Sam watched Dean shove the rest of his hot pocket into his mouth, smirked, and headed for the bathroom, leaving Dean alone.
He nervously swallowed and pursed his lips. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Eat his pie and then go to sleep with a man he didn't even know? He glanced down at the stiff looking cadaver of a human being lying beside him. He cautiously grabbed his pie slice and began to eat it slowly, burning time, all the while watched the never moving or blinking form of the naked man.
Finally, there was nothing left to distract him. He shyly turned the light off and dragged the man up toward the pillow he'd be using. Dean grabbed the blanket and wrapped them both up with it. He curled in a little, got as far away as he could before the hand gave a reminding squeeze that it wasn't letting go anytime soon, and stared at the ceiling fan hanging from above praying to God that this was all just some horrible nightmare.
"It's going to be a long night."
Surprisingly, Dean fell asleep faster then he expected to. It was like a giant sheet of warmth and comfort settled over his visage. Almost as if he were five years old again, and his mother was tucking him into his bed kissing his forehead and telling him that angels were watching over him.
Dean felt safe, for the second time that day.