Episode 20: Smoke On The Water (Part II Continued)
Previous Part
: : :
Sam had gone through some dark times in his life, but the dash to Harper's jeep easily counted among the scariest experiences he'd ever had. In the settling twilight, the jeep was no more than a smudge in the gloom, but Sam never slowed. Half-blind, he raced across the clearing while monstrous voices bugled and shrieked in the trees. Shrubs crashed and the meadow crawled with shapes and shades all slithering Sam's way.
How many were there, fifty, a hundred? More?
Sam and Harper flung themselves into the jeep, and Harper gunned the engine, tires kicking up dirt as he swung the car around. Something hit the jeep's soft top with a smack, but Harper rammed in the gear and they were off, tires skidding.
Sam fumbled for the seatbelt, the jeep jolting hard over bumps and crags as Harper sped down the unsealed road like a bat out of hell. Leaves whacked against the jeep's side, and the headlights jumped up and down ahead of them, illuminating a crisscross of branches and trailing vines. Sam twisted around, but saw nothing behind them except the clutch of palm leaves and wild bushes.
"We're good," Sam shouted. "Harper, we're good!"
The jeep hit a pothole hard enough Sam's teeth clacked together, and Harper cursed, jerking at the wheel to keep the jeep from rolling. Another palm frond slapped against the windshield before the jeep shot out from the underbrush and onto a wider stretch of road. Harper eased off the gas and the jeep rolled more smoothly down the hill.
Heart pounding, Sam slumped back in his seat and let out a pent-up breath.
"Raios me partam," Harper rasped, and turned to Sam. "You all right?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "Jesus."
"It's like bloody hell broke loose up there!"
"You've got no idea how right you are," Sam muttered and closed his eyes. The half-glimpsed legions of hybrid creatures teeming out of the forest still made his skin crawl. Like roaches pouring out from under a rock. Sam swallowed.
"Jesus," Harper repeated. "You've got the sword?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, and opened his eyes. He realized he still clutched the hilt of the weapon and eased his grip. The blade was soiled with the sticky goo that had oozed out of the fish-guy it had killed, but Sam didn't have it in him to clean the sword just then. Careful, he put it on the jeep's backseat.
"Sam," Harper said, his voice strained. "What we've just seen, man. How's one sword gonna stop all this?"
"Honest?" Sam asked. "I don't know. We just have to hope it'll help."
Like we always do, he thought, going over the thingamajigs they'd used against big evils in the past. The Horsemen's rings, phoenix ash, the Colt. Damn, Sam hoped the sword would work better than the Colt had on Lucifer. "I'm getting too old for this shit," he muttered, repeating one of Dean's favorite phrases. He patted down his pockets, pulled out his cellphone and flipped it open. Three reception bars, thank God. He also had two messages, both from Castiel's phone.
Outside, the rain started in earnest, and Harper switched on the windshield wipers. "I read up about Cthulhu when Tamara and Mira made contact," Harper said. "But that up there, the things in the forest, that statue in the cellar - I've never been so afraid."
"I know," Sam agreed as he dialed his mailbox. "It's weird. It was just a statue but-"
"It felt like a hole," Harper finished. "A black hole, like the ones in space. Only it opened up to something intelligent. That make sense?"
"Yes," Sam said, thinking of rifts in reality. "It was like a door that shouldn't be open but," Sam stopped, frowned as the first message played. "Wait."
He listened to Castiel's voice, the panic Cas had barely reined in, and any theories he'd had flew right out of his head. He must have shown some of his shock on his face because Harper frowned.
"Sam? What's wrong?"
We've been attacked, Cas said. Sam, one of them had a knife. I didn't get to Dean in time.
"My brother's hurt," Sam said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.
I don't know how bad it is.
"What?" Harper said sharply. "Bad?"
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and struggled with the picture of Dean staring dead-eyed up at the ceiling. It wouldn't go, no matter how much Sam tried to push it down. When the recording finished, he was cold all over, and his stomach twisted slowly into a knot.
"Cas says he's fixed the worst damage, but they're trapped," Sam murmured, his heart thumping in his chest. Dean's going to be fine, he told himself. Cas had his back, he always did. Sam cleared his throat. "They were jumped in one of the churches. Must've been another cell of the cultists."
"Jesus," Harper cursed, "Fuck, we'll be back in town in, wait, twenty minutes. Where are they? Can you give them a call?"
"Yeah, I'll let them know we're-" Sam began and broke off as his mailbox picked up again. Listening, Sam stared out the windshield at the rain that hammered down onto the jeep in a thickening rush.
Castiel's next message told Sam the crypt was filling with water.
: : :
The narrow space under the crypt's ceiling slowed every noise and each small splash reverberated over the water before rolling back from the walls. Perhaps it was Dean's imagination, but he thought he felt the gentle push and pull of the sea, the waves cresting and falling and rising again.
Dean closed his eyes, his breath warming in the small space between his mouth and Castiel's shoulder. His body slid down before he knew it, sinking with the gravity beneath the water until Castiel's arm clenched tight around him. The angel's fingers dug into his side hard enough to hurt and startled Dean into tightening his own grip.
"Don't you dare," Cas snapped at him. "Don't you dare let go."
"Cas," Dean began, shocked.
"Don't. I swear, I'll smite your ass."
Dean opened his mouth only to swallow seawater and sputter. Cas hoisted him higher, and Dean saw there was only an inch or two between Castiel's head and the grate now. The water reached up over their chins and licked at Dean's lower lip.
Cas spit out a bit of water too, and Dean went rigid with fear, a fresh rush of adrenaline punching through his exhaustion. Castiel could hold them up 'til kingdom come, but he had to breathe now that his grace was weaker, and if the water breached the grate…
Dean looked up, desperate to find a loophole. If Cas pressed his face to the grate maybe, but the iron bars were too tightly meshed.
"I can give you some room," Dean said, and Cas stiffened.
"Dean, no."
"I won't go down, I promise."
Gritting his teeth, Dean let go of Castiel and fumbled his fingers through the grate. Cas wouldn't take his arm away entirely, but he loosened his grip, allowing Dean to hold his own weight. Hanging from the grated trapdoor, Dean choked out a moan. He wouldn't be able to do this for long but he nodded at Cas. "Try it."
Cas thrashed his legs, used his shoulder to push against the grate but couldn't move it. He made a frustrated sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, before he sunk down again. His eyes were wide and dark as he stared at Dean, and the muddy, vanishing light had leached all color from his face.
Releasing the grate, Dean reached for Cas again. He returned his arm around Castiel's back and fitted himself as close against him as he could. Cas shivered, and Dean leaned his forehead against Castiel's, closing his eyes to the fast drumming of his heart.
Cas let out a breath that pushed against Dean's mouth and tangled their legs together under the water. He pulled them up until the grate pressed against the top of their heads, and they couldn't go any further.
: : :
All day the weather had been building up to a storm, and by the time the sun had set, the sky broke open and released water masses akin to the deluge. Rain rushed down onto the roofs of the houses in Paraty's old town, palms shuddered under the onslaught of water, and the gutters spilled over in the streets. The pier and parking lot in front of the Capela de Santa Rita had been swamped and the lawn in front of the church had turned into a large puddle. The tide was still high.
Harper's jeep came tearing down the hill like a race car down an off-road track. Windshield wipers swiping back and forth, the jeep streaked along the harbor road and plowed into the flooded parking lot. The engine hadn't even stopped running when Sam jumped out, his feet hitting the water with a splash. With a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Sam sprinted across the lawn, the dark shape of the church looming straight ahead of him. Within seconds Harper was running beside him, leaving the jeep behind with its lights on and both doors open.
: : :
Sam banged through the church's front door. He vaulted over the velvet cord separating the church's lobby from the museum and hit the ground running, hooking around a pillar in the church's left aisle. The latticed door to the side-room gaped open in front of him.
All the way down the hill, he'd tried Castiel's phone and Dean's, but neither of them could be reached. Numbers tumbled through Sam's head; one and half hours since Cas left his last message, thirty-three minutes since Harper and Sam left the Haven. How fast would the tide fill up the streets and vaults of Paraty? How much faster when it rained?
Maybe it's not too late, Sam prayed. Maybe we're still time.
Sam skidded to a halt in the doorway, and Harper bumped into his shoulder, raising his flashlight. The beam fell into the room and lit up the hole to the catacombs, the grate that covered it and the water that had already brimmed beyond the hole's edge.
Dark water, overspilling the crypt, spreading in a puddle and no sign of either Dean or Castiel.
It felt like the floor dropped out from under him, but Sam didn't falter, didn't hesitate. He jammed his hand into the duffel and pulled out a fistful of glow sticks, snapping them as Harper shot the lock on the grate. Together they lifted the grate off the hole and Sam jumped in feet first.
Six minutes until a trained person ran out of breath under water. Two if you didn't have practice.
Sam let go of the glow sticks as he dived down, their luminescence spreading below him and bathing the submerged vault in a ghostly green light. A pillar reached down to the floor, its circumference the only reference point in the gloom until one of the glow sticks settled on the ground and illuminated Dean, his unmoving form sinking slowly.
Heart squeezing to a standstill in his chest, Sam kicked his legs out and reached for his brother. He got Dean round the chest and pulled him up, the lead weight of Dean's body threatening to unravel every last bit of self-control Sam had.
Please, no, Sam begged. Please, please, no.
He was struggling to get a better grip on Dean when Dean suddenly spasmed, his head twitching and his eyes opening briefly before his body went limp again. Sam shook him, willing him to hold on.
Not too late, Sam repeated to himself and swam for the exit. Not too late.
Even as he pushed for the hole, Sam looked around until his gaze lit on Cas, lying flat on the ground with his dark hair waving in the water. His eyes were closed, and his face looked marble smooth in the soft sheen of the glow sticks.
Sam cried out before he could stop himself, the sound coming out in a burst of bubbles. He thrashed his legs, thrust toward the circle of Harper's flashlight above the demon's hole and broke the water's surface with a gasp. Locked in the crook of Sam's arm, Dean spluttered and retched, his eyes still closed and his face white as a sheet.
Harper was there in a heartbeat, grabbing Dean's arms and dragging him from the hole.
"I've got him," Harper shouted. "Go!"
Pulling air into his lungs, Sam tensed his muscles and plunged back in. Knowing where to go, he cut straight through the water until he reached Cas. He seized Cas around the waist, crouched on the ground, and pushed up with his feet. He reached the hole within a few seconds, but unlike Dean, Cas didn't react to his rescue. When they broke through the surface, Sam had to tilt Castiel's head back to keep his face above water, but even then Cas didn't twitch.
Desperate, Sam tried to hoist Cas onto the church floor, but it took Harper's help to lift him clean out of the water. Once Harper eased Cas onto the ground, Sam scrambled out of the flooded crypt with heavy, dripping clothes. His gaze flitted to Dean, who lay heaving on the far side of the hole, before he moved to help Harper with Cas. Harper shook his head, though.
"I know what to do," he said. "Check on your brother."
Sam bit his lip, reluctant to leave because Cas lay so terribly still but also wanting so badly to know whether Dean was okay. Wiping a hand over his face, he stumbled around the demon's hole and dropped down to his knees beside his brother. He lifted Dean so that he lay half in Sam's lap, his head cushioned against Sam's chest.
His breath wheezing in and out of his lungs, Dean clutched at Sam's knee. He grimaced and drew up his left leg, digging his fingers into his own thigh.
Searching for damage, Sam lifted the soaked hem of Dean's t-shirt and got his first glimpse of the knife wound stitched together with black thread. The skin around it looked tender and red, and the rivulets of water that ran down Dean's side turned pink once they slid past the stitches. Nasty job, that wound, but not lethal, not anymore. Dean's hand flexed on his thigh, and he was obviously in pain, but he was alive, still alive. Sam hugged Dean against him, mindful of the injury but unwilling to let him go far.
"Sam," Dean croaked, and twisted in Sam's hold. "Where-"
His eyes seemed to clear a little, and he searched around the room until he found Cas and Harper. Harper, who by now had both hands braced on Castiel's chest, was administering CPR with a face hard as stone.
Sam's heart constricted, but Dean flinched like he'd been electrocuted, his body straining against Sam's arm. He made a sound that started as Castiel's name but ended in a violent coughing fit. He would've dragged himself across the room if Sam hadn't had the sense to hold him back.
"Dean, no," Sam blurted. "Harper's taking care of him."
Dean still struggled, too weak to pull free, but Sam knew from the way Dean's body was shaking that he didn't want to be here, that it was torture for him to just watch.
"It's going to be okay," Sam rasped, and he hoped, oh how he hoped he was right. For the last two hours he'd done nothing but pray to a God he didn't have faith in anymore, but he couldn't stop and the pleas ran through his head on a loop.
Harper pumped Castiel's chest without tiring, but the seconds ticked by and with each moment it felt to Sam as if the cold water from the vault was rising up around his heart.
"Breathe," Sam whispered. "Come on, man. You're an angel. Angels don't drown."
Dean flinched and his fingers dug so hard into Sam's knee, Sam knew there would be bruises.
"Breathe," Sam repeated. His eyes stung with more than salt water but just when his hope faltered and his heart prepared to crack in two, the world decided to give them one more break. Castiel's legs twitched, his hand fluttered on the floor, and his eyes flew open. He tried to draw in a breath and water burst past his lips, his whole upper body jerking off the floor as he gagged and retched.
Harper reacted quickly, braced Cas as he lurched up, and held him steady. The first breath Cas drew rattled all around the room, it was that noisy.
Sam laughed out loud with relief, but Dean slumped against his chest as if every last bit of strength had seeped right out of him.
"He made it," Sam said, and shook Dean a little. "Son of a bitch made it."
"Yeah," Dean agreed. His gaze never left Cas, as if he was afraid to lose sight of him even for a second. "'S tough-"
"For a little nerdy guy with wings," Sam finished and smiled. "You guys. You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"
Dean didn't say anything, but he didn't make any attempt to untangle himself from Sam's hug either.
On the other side of the room, Harper helped Castiel lay on his side. While Cas spat out the rest of the water he'd swallowed, Harper stroked his back and murmured soft words that were impossible to catch across the distance.
5.
Casa Verde Hostel, Paraty
It was still raining when Dean woke up and the trees outside rushed like the sea beneath the downpour. The balcony doors and windows stood open as usual, and the sheets of Dean's bed had cooled along with the temperature.
Dean swallowed, his throat as rough as sandpaper. He had only vague memories of his return to the hostel. He'd been in Harper's jeep and felt the car hum against his back, then Sam had led him into a bathroom and poured peroxide over his stitches. He'd helped Dean out of his soaked clothes and into dry boxers. Harper had given him something for the pain, someone else had wiped the sea-salt from his face, and they'd bundled him into bed.
A soft, gray twilight filled the room. Morning couldn't be far off but Dean was still dead tired. He would've gone straight back to sleep if not for the one thing he needed to do first.
Mindful to favor his injured side, Dean raised his head and looked around, gaze brushing past Sam's empty bed until it landed on Cas.
Like Dean, Cas lay on his side. He'd curled into a tight ball and the top-sheet had slid down to his feet, leaving his body exposed to the moist air from the open window.
Gritting his teeth, Dean slipped out of his bed and pushed up on his feet. The movement pulled and bit at his wound but Dean didn't care. He put his hand over the fresh bandage on his midriff and hobbled across the room.
Cas was gone so deep he didn't stir, not even when Dean climbed into bed with him, but he was alive and he was within reach and that was all Dean needed for now. He rested his forehead against the back of Castiel's head before he stretched out and pulled the sheet up over both of them.
Carefully tugging Cas into the curve of his body, Dean closed his eyes and soaked up the rhythm of Castiel's slow, steady breathing.
: : :
Standing beyond the doorway, Sam watched as Dean rolled out of bed and padded across the room. He waited for Dean to check on Cas from the edge of the bed, but instead Dean crawled right under the sheets with him. Sam raised his brows, surprised but not really baffled anymore. When it came to those two, he'd begun to expect the unexpected.
Sam snorted softly through his nose. At least it looked like Dean and Cas were patching things up. Nothing like a near-death experience to get the forgiveness rolling.
Sam crossed his arms and rubbed the instep of his foot over a mosquito bite in his calf. He'd been pushing Dean to share what bothered him because he thought Dean needed to get it out into the open. The truth was, though, that Sam had a good idea why Dean had pulled away from Cas. He'd watched Dean's face in Arkansas when it looked like Meg would shoot Cas in the heart. Sam had a strong hunch that in that moment Dean had realized, really realized, that Cas could die much like the rest of them. So maybe he'd decided not to stick around only to discover how much losing Cas would hurt.
Sam got that. He'd been riding on the same track for a long time. The belief that it would be better to keep his distance had wormed itself into his heart after Jess's death. He'd reasoned that being close with people wasn't worth the heartbreak.
But he didn't believe that anymore.
I'm glad we joined forces. Mira's words echoed in his head, and Sam had meant every word when he'd answered that, yeah, so was he.
Sam smiled. Mira had come into his life just when he'd begun to feel safe in his own skin again, and it felt like she was the final turn into a new direction. He felt better, more balanced than he had in years. Maybe the world would end bloody, but at least he would have lived for real until then.
He hoped Dean would learn to feel the same way.
Sam leaned against the doorframe, unwilling to let Dean out of his sight yet. His grumpy, guarded, loud-mouthed brother. Wrapped around Cas like he wouldn't be able to rest if there was so much as an inch of space between them.
Sam watched them and wondered how hungry Dean had been for the comfort of human touch, how often he'd been allowed to give it, how seldom he'd received it. John had raised them to be strong, but he'd never been very affectionate. Sam knew that casual touch never came easy to him, even with Jess it had always been her who kissed Sam on the top of the head or squeezed his hand. He'd figured Dean was wired the same way, but maybe Dean had hidden more behind his no-chick-flicks façade than even Sam suspected. With a pang he regretted all the times he'd shrugged off Dean's hand growing up only because he'd been angry at their father.
For a second Sam wondered how Dean and Cas were with each other when no one was looking, but oh ho no, he really did not want to go there.
The sound of footsteps startled Sam from his thoughts and he looked up, grateful for the distraction. Bare feet stepping softly on the hardwood floor, Harper came down the hall with a coffee mug in each hand. He'd reached the door before Sam had the sense to intervene and of course Harper saw Dean and Cas right away. He froze, his face immobile for a second before he tipped his head.
"Huh," Harper said. "That explains a lot."
"Yeah, uhm," Sam floundered. "Sorry about that."
Harper shrugged, and handed Sam his coffee. "I knew I hadn't approached Cas in the right way yet," he said. "I just didn't know there was no chance at all."
But his gaze slipped back to the two men in the bed, and Sam got the impression Harper wasn't quite as cool about his dashed hopes as he pretended to be. He raised his mug and sipped at his coffee, masking any expression his face might make before he turned and walked away.
Sam felt a bit bad for him. Maybe he should have given Harper some sort of warning. But in his defense: it had taken Sam until now to realize no one had a chance of getting between those two.
: : :
Sam found Harper in the common room half an hour later. The ex-priest sat at one of the tables with his laptop, a newspaper, and a fresh mugful of coffee in front of him. Sam fetched a refill for himself and snagged two donuts from the free food box. When he sat down at the table, Harper moved the paper to make room for him.
"Your brother and Cas still asleep?" he asked, maybe a touch too casually.
"Out like a light, the both of them," Sam said, and offered Harper the second donut.
Harper shot him a wry smile but declined the offer with a shake of his head. He picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair. "I've been calling around," he said. "Tried to find out if anyone got wind of something strange happening up the hill."
"Let me guess," Sam prompted.
"No one's heard or seen anything," Harper confirmed.
"Shocker," Sam muttered, and bit into his donut. Last night when they'd reached the hostel, Harper had gone to wake up Fausto and his boyfriend. Sam hadn't been surprised when Fausto had showed up with three rifles and army-issue flashlights. Fausto, Marcos, and Harper had patrolled the hostel's wrap-around balconies until sunrise. Sam had stayed with Dean and Castiel, but he'd sat by the open window and listened for the sound of gurgling voices rising in the garden.
The night had passed without incident, so maybe killing Almeida had scared the fishmutants off.
If they had killed him.
"You know, I can't get that cellar out of my mind," Harper said quietly.
"Yeah, me too," Sam admitted. He swallowed the bite of donut and pudding that was way too sweet for him really. He found he couldn't reconstruct the exact look of the Cthulhu idol. In truth he didn't really mind that, but when his mind didn't focus on the altar it dragged up the image of the speared corpse. "That corpse," Sam said out loud. "Do you think that was Nunes?"
Harper nodded. "It crossed my mind, yeah."
"So cutting the head off the snake didn't really do the trick," Sam said. "The other followers of the cult ganged up and followed him up the hill."
"It's a likely scenario."
Sam thrummed his fingers on the table. "They must've picked a new leader," he said. "One of Almeida's ancestors?"
"If not Almeida himself," Harper said grimly. "Think about the state of his mutation. He's been dealing with Cthulhu magic a long time that one. And all sources say the followers who come into the Old Ones' good graces don't die."
Sam clenched his hands, imagining the century-old creature squatting in the green shadows of his house like a toad. He must've hovered over the hill like a toxic fog. No wonder Paraty officials reconsidered their plans to connect with São Colina.
"But if they picked a new leader, why didn't they get back on track?" Sam wondered. "Why didn't they return to the coast?"
"Maybe it got too hot for them," Harper suggested. "Nunes didn't defeat the cult on his own. That mayor, you remember him? He backed Nunes up with a company of soldiers fresh off a boat from Salvador da Bahia. They had that and more reinforcements on their way. Would have been hard for the cult to gain a foothold against such odds."
"So they went into hiding," Sam concluded.
"Infesting the hills like maggots," Harper agreed.
Sam winced but couldn't deny the appropriateness of the comparison. With disgust he remembered the squishy softness of the fish bodies, their drooping mouths and coin-sized eyes. There was something intangibly repulsive about the Cthulhu cultists.
Sam pulled a face. He wiped chocolate frosting from his fingertips and found he'd lost all appetite for his donut.
People started drifting into the common room for breakfast; Bree and Janette, the Canadian girls, and Felix, Dean's backpacker buddy. The fridge was opened, porcelain clinked and someone turned on the radio.
Harper lowered his voice. "I did some other research," he said.
Sam raised his brows. "About?"
"The sword," Harper answered. "About how it could be used."
"And?"
Harper smiled an apology at the eagerness in Sam's voice. "Man, I've got no clue. But I think there's someone who might be able to help you out."
He shoved a page with a name, telephone number, and address toward Sam.
"Eloni Nam'ulu?" Sam read.
"Professor Eloni Nam'ulu," Harper clarified. "She's teaching archaeology and ethnology at Oxford. She helped me out with the translation of some old spell scrolls some ways ago. I thought she might have an idea where to get an instruction manual for that pig sticker."
"Do you trust her?" Sam asked.
"I do. I already called her," Harper admitted. "Turns out she's way ahead of us."
"What?" Sam perked up. "How? Is she a hunter?"
"No," Harper said. "But she's seen behind the curtain if you know what I mean. Anyway, she says she's been aware of strange events along the coasts of South America and in the Pacific Islands for a while now so she took a sabbatical to check them out. She's headquartered in Chile most of the time, but is currently on Easter Island. Eloni says there are rumors of rituals being held on some of the islands that no one should know squat about. She collected quite a bit of intel, but she didn't know who she could trust with it."
"But she trusts you back," Sam said.
"Seems like it," Harper said with a nod.
"Okay. Good enough for me." Sam looked over the contact details, already planning how to get from Paraty to Chile. They would have to fly under the radar somehow because the visa Bobby got them didn't extend to countries other than Brazil.
"You said she can help us out?" Sam tracked back to Harper's earlier sentence.
"Yes," Harper said. "Guess I won't be coming with you when you go."
He didn't say it was because of Dean and Castiel and how it might make things a bit complicated, but Sam didn't need a translation.
"It's better that way," Harper continued. "Besides, someone needs to clean up those hills."
"You don't even know how many are up there," Sam said, worried.
"Only one way to find out." Harper smiled again and scratched at his beard. "I'm sure Fausto and Marcos will lend a hand."
Sam didn't really know what to say. Until later, see you around, catch you on the flipside. Hunters didn't use those phrases.
Harper closed his laptop and got to his feet before Sam had figured it out. "I think I'll have a smoke," he said. "You want one?"
Sam laughed. "Nah, I'd rather die the old-fashioned way."
"Eaten by a Rugaru," Harper suggested.
"Or ganked by a ghost."
"Fair enough." Harper grinned tiredly. "It's been good working with you, Sam."
"Likewise," Sam said.
Harper had already turned away when Sam thought to stop him.
"Hey," Sam called after him. He ripped a corner off the newspaper and quickly wrote down Bobby’s number. He held up the scrap of paper and Harper took it with a raised brow.
"If you ever need help," Sam explained. "You can get us here."
Harper looked at Sam, and something flicked over his face fast enough Sam couldn’t read it. He put Bobby’s number carefully into his pocket and held out his hand.
"You three be safe, okay?" Harper said.
"Yeah,” Sam answered, and shook his hand. "You too, man."
: : :
The morning smelled like summer, blue and cloudless. Sunlight filtered through the mosquito nets in the open windows and warmed the bedroom.
Dean had woken up minutes ago but he hadn't moved, lying on the bed with his face half sunk into a pillow and a sleeping Cas wrapped around him.
They'd switched positions during the night so Cas spooned against Dean's back. The angel had one arm slung over Dean's waist, and his hand rested low on Dean's belly, his fingertips tucked beneath the waistband of Dean's boxers. With Cas crowded against his back and the possessive placement of his hand, no wonder he'd woken up half hard. Dean smiled. There'd be no complaints from his corner.
Wings flapped outside on the balcony, the sound followed by the trill of a parakeet. Dean imagined palm leaves shuddering in the breeze, the garden green and tropical, drops of water glistening on the lawn. The storm was over.
When Dean shifted, he expected his stab wound to act up but it didn't. Frowning, he padded down his belly but found nothing but a scar. The bandage had vanished too.
Dean stiffened, fully awake now and worried. Cas had been a wreck last night, and he shouldn't have wasted his energy on healing anyone but himself.
"Dammit, Cas," Dean muttered.
"You're welcome," Cas growled into the hollow between Dean's shoulders.
He withdrew his hand from Dean's boxers, but Dean caught his wrist before Cas could move away. He held Castiel's hand close to his belly until Cas relaxed. When Castiel's sigh drifted against the back of Dean's neck, Dean bit down on a chuckle. He turned around so that they faced each other.
Cas looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair sticking up every which way and day-old stubble darkening his jaw. With the shadows under his eyes and his lips cracked from the sea salt, he still looked beat. But his face was also flushed from bed warmth, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Tough bastard.
Dean wrapped his hand around the protective charm Cas wore on a cord and tugged gently. "Still with me, huh?"
Cas snorted. "It would seem so."
Twisting the charm's cord around his finger, Dean leaned over and kissed Cas, nipping at the angel's bottom lip before easing his tongue into Castiel's mouth. Tasting salt. Tasting rain. Giving back as good as he got, Cas tightened his arm around Dean's waist and pulled him up against his chest.
Skin on skin, god, yes.
Dean let go off Castiel’s necklace to grab his shoulder, a fistful of his hair, the nape of his neck. Their legs tangled, the sheet twisting tight around them until Cas kicked it off.
When Dean stopped for air, he put his thumb to Castiel's mouth and kept his lips parted. Shuddering, Cas put a hand behind Dean's head. His fingers dug into Dean's hair and every shaky breath he exhaled brushed against Dean's mouth.
Dean swallowed. He'd felt like a cursed man for so long, but today he didn't. He felt lucky. Grateful, because Cas was still here. A good thing had happened to them. A good thing. Heart in his throat, Dean placed a kiss on Castiel's brow and his closed eyelids.
It was ironic but watching Cas almost die had kicked something lose inside him. All the tension that had been winding him up over the last few weeks had come to a head and snapped with a bang when Cas had drawn his first breath outside of the water.
Dean bit his lip, brushed his nose over Castiel's forehead before he bent down to lick at the seam of Castiel's mouth and kiss him again and again. That Cas let him do this…it was still a miracle. Never would be otherwise.
"Is this make-up sex?" Cas muttered.
Dean snorted. "Make-up sex, we-fucking-survived sex, take your pick." He hesitated, caught Castiel's gaze. "You okay with this?"
"Mmh."
Dean arched a brow, and Castiel ran his hand through Dean's hair, dragging his thumb across Dean's temple with such gentleness it made Dean's pulse quiver low in his belly.
"You and me, Cas," Dean whispered.
Castiel frowned but didn't ask what Dean meant, just took Dean's face in both hands and pulled him down for another kiss. Dean closed his eyes, feeling the trapped bird beat of Castiel's heart against his chest. Missouri was right. They didn't have time to dick around.
Voices drifted up from the common room and a radio played downstairs. The scent of toast suffused the air, strong enough that Dean tasted crispy bread when Cas kissed him, fucking his mouth with his tongue slow and good.
So good.
Castiel shoved his thigh between Dean's legs and pressed his hands into Dean's back, allowing not so much as a hair's breadth of distance between them. Stuttering out a heavy breath, Dean rubbed his crotch against Castiel's thigh and closed his eyes.
"Get those off," Cas murmured, and tugged at the waistband of Dean's boxers.
Dean stripped quickly while Castiel's hand stayed on his ass, thumb stroking over the curve of one cheek, blunt fingernails scraping at the skin. Jesus.
Dean pressed his forehead against Castiel's and shoved his hand into Castiel's briefs. The second his fingers closed around Castiel's warm, hard cock, Cas shivered and gasped. Stroking Cas with slow twists of his hand, Dean tongued at his chin, bit at Castiel's jaw. His knuckles brushed against his own dick and he shuffled closer, heat building behind his balls.
Dean raised his hand to Castiel's mouth, let Cas suck at his fingers before he went back to jerking him off. Shivers ran up and down Dean's spine as Castiel's hand kneaded his butt, his fingertips digging into muscle. He was hooking his leg behind Castiel's calf when Castiel's finger pushed into his ass, first one digit, then two; and oh Christ, oh Jesus.
Dean's hand clenched around Castiel's dick, and the angel's hips snapped forward, sudden and sharp. Dean's pulse sped up, his first instinct still to pull away. But Cas moved his fingers slowly, and Dean hooked his leg over Castiel's thigh instead so he could moved with him, just a little, just as slow and, God, should it feel like this?
Castiel fisted his hand into Dean's hair, tugging painfully. "Dean."
"Yeah," Dean huffed. "Tell me wh-"
Cas didn't waste time asking questions. He rolled them over in the blink of an eye, put Dean flat on his back and sunk down into the bracket of Dean's legs.
That worked. Man, that worked.
Dean strained against Castiel's crushing weight, relishing the feel of bare skin sliding against his, the sharp angles of Castiel's body moving under his palms. With a haste that wasn't like him, Cas shoved off his briefs, and Dean stretched out for him, arms over his head. Threading the fingers of his left hand with Dean's, Castiel braced his other hand on the mattress, rocked their bodies together and put pressure where they both needed it.
Dean slammed his head back against the pillow and arched his back, reaching down to clutch at Castiel's hip. By then Cas looked wrecked in a totally different way, with his mouth open and a blush spreading from his chest to his face, holding Dean's gaze with those freakishly blue eyes that Dean had goddamn dreams about.
Cas lost control for him, just for him. Ah, the things Dean wanted to do to him, the things he wished Cas would do to him in turn. He smoothed his hand down the small of Castiel's back, imagined Cas hooking his legs over his shoulders to get his dick into Dean's ass, the way his hips would shove and roll just like this.
Dean groaned and didn't care if the whole hostel heard him. Jesus, did he ever not care. Laughter bubbled up in his belly, but the rapid rise and fall of his chest choked off all sound. Throwing caution to the wind was liberating. More than that, it felt right. All the times he'd kept Cas at arms-length, he'd felt the wrong size for his own skin. But now? Stretching out in the sun with Cas braced above him, every muscle in his body humming with pleasure? This was easy. This was him, the simple abandon more true to his nature than repression.
Dean squeezed Castiel's hand, bucked up his hips and messed up Castiel's rhythm just to see the angel smile. Cas leaned down, and Dean didn't know if he'd ever kissed Cas when he was smiling but it felt awesome, the gentle curve of his mouth, the lightness of it.
This, right here. He didn't need anything else. Tomorrow didn't matter.
Someone laughed out on the porch and Cas sped up his thrusts, grinding their cocks together, his lean body stretching and pushing, his breath stuttering from his mouth. Dean rubbed up against him, so caught up in the back and forth he didn't notice Cas had let go of his hand until Cas eased one finger back into his ass and teased his thumb over a spot just behind Dean's balls. Dean came before his brain had caught up, muscles jumping in his belly and a grunt punched from his gut. Above him, Cas flicked his tongue out to wet his lips, his gaze fastened on Dean's face.
Reaching between them to get both their dicks in hand, Dean surged up, letting Cas fuck his fist with a choked off whine. He rubbed his thumb over Castiel's stubbled jaw before he bent his head to lick along the handprint on Castiel's chest, sucking on the raised flesh until Cas squeezed his eyes shut. Two tugs on his dick, and Cas opened his mouth on a soundless cry, spilling over Dean's fingers.
: : :
With Castiel leaning on his knees for balance, Dean eased back onto the bed and stroked his hand around his softening dick.
"Fuck," he breathed, his heart knocking around inside his ribs. Cas collapsed half on top of him, and Dean folded his arms around him, pulled him close, and buried his face in the curve of Castiel's neck.
You and me.
Once they'd caught their breath, Cas settled down next to Dean. Not ready to let him go far, Dean hooked his arm around Castiel's neck, and Cas rested his head on Dean's shoulder.
The heat in the room was thick as mist now, but Dean didn't mind. He looked down at his angel, tracking the sprawl of his limbs and the long lines of his body. Cas had tanned a little, his skin darkened to a milky coffee shade, and hot damn, were those freckles?
Fascinated, Dean trailed his fingertips over Castiel's naked shoulder. The radio still played downstairs and someone sung along, crooning snatches of the chorus. Dean laughed.
"That guy Felix told me this story," he said. "About a pair of lovebirds going at it like bunnies in a backpackers' hostel in 'Nam."
"Felix," Cas said. "He listened to them?" He smoothed his hand over Dean's leg and settled it on the inside of his thigh. Dean hummed at the warm weight of the touch and tilted his leg against Castiel's hip, comfortable to just lie there.
"Couldn't help it with the thin walls and all. Whole hostel did." Dean grinned. "Show was over, they all applauded. Standing ovations and catcalls, the little shits."
"Awkward?" Cas asked.
"Totally."
Cas closed his eyes and relaxed against Dean's side like the cat who got the cream. "I'm sure we could get standing ovations if we tried."
Dean chuckled, amused down to his bones, and for the first time in a long time not afraid of anything.
: : :
Commercial Airfield, Paraty
Dean looked at Paraty's miniature airstrip and had a vision of private jets crashing into the surrounding palm trees. Why he had to get on a plane for the second time in a week he would never understand.
Harper had managed to get them onto a charter flight to Santiago de Chile, and from there they would be catching another private charter to Hanga Roa, the main town on Easter Island. He'd promised the charter pilot wouldn't ask any questions.
"You're going to travel with a German tour group," Harper had said. "Good cover."
Dean still thought they could've stolen a car, but Sam insisted driving would take too long.
The sun sat high in the sky, burning down at a balmy seventy-five degrees, enough to make Dean sweat inside his t-shirt. He'd put on sunglasses and so had Cas, looking like Maverick with the charter plane behind him. They stood at the edge of the airfield, the German tourists a.k.a. their cover waiting in the shadow of the airport's only hangar.
Sam stood a few yards apart from them, cellphone at his ear as he talked to Mira. He carried the sword in a billiard cue case like an old school Mafiosi. Dean had the rest of their weapons in his bag, an assortment of guns, machetes and knives, courtesy of Harper.
Full of misgiving, Dean watched the tiny prop plane that would take them to Chile. If it didn't choke out along the way.
"All good?" Cas asked, looking at him from behind his dark glasses.
Dean huffed a laugh. "All good."
Cas smiled, small tilt to his mouth, his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and flip-flops on his feet. Dean watched him even when Cas turned his head to the airfield again.
Yeah, they were walking into the mouth of the beast, Dean thought. Maybe they always would be. It didn't drive him crazy like it used to, though. He was still nervous, felt a quiver like bees buzzing in his belly, but otherwise he felt quiet, satisfied. In the right place, at the right time, heart brimful with hope or something close. Might be fragile, might be temporary. But for now it held.
It is simple, he'd once told Cas, and now more than ever he knew it was true.
Up on the airfield, a tug tractor rolled a stair to the side of the plane. The chatter at Dean's back announced the tourists walking up to the take-off strip. A shrimp of a kid, maybe nine years old, zipped past Cas onto the tarmac, headed for the plane in a beeline and drenching everything in his path with water from a squirt gun. The father chased after him, bumping into Castiel's shoulder in his hurry.
"'Tschuldigung."
Cas, caught off guard, stumbled against Dean. He still hadn't recharged in full otherwise the guy would have never been able to move him. A woman shouted the kid's name, and suddenly Dean and Cas were surrounded by people. Cas stood close enough their shoulders touched, and Dean took Castiel's hand, keeping him close and steady.
"Warten sie bitte hier," the German tour guide said. "Es geht gleich los."
The father returned, carrying the wayward kid on his hip. Someone laughed, the mother scolded the child, and the guide seemed to make a joke. Dean threaded his fingers with Castiel's, heart bumping hard in his chest and not giving a damn if anyone saw them.
: : :
Episode 21: The Sprinting Dead