Episode 21: The Sprinting Dead (Part I Continued)

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- - - - -

Dean's nursing his second beer as the sun begins to set. Head still spinning with information, he walks barefooted along the cool wood floors of the long corridor until he reaches the bedroom he and Cas dropped their stuff in. The fading evening light spills into the room, soaking the white walls in a deep amber. He sets his bottle on a side table, and settles down on the bed, stretching out and leaning his head back against the soft decorative pillows. The fabric smells of salt and sun, warmth beyond warmth.

Dean closes his eyes for a brief moment, but then quickly opens them when he hears a shuffling noise. He had thought he was alone, but now he notices movement through the french doors leading out onto the balcony. Ah, he'd thought Cas was still hanging out with Sam touring the grounds. But it looks like he'd come upstairs too. Dean manages to pull himself out of the too-comfortable bed and head for the balcony.

It's spacious and huge, expanding the full length of the suite and overlooking the tranquil cove and white-sand beach. In the center, a set of cushioned wicker chairs cluster around a wrought-iron table. At the far end, he sees Castiel doing a series of stretches, probably starting on the set of workouts Dean often finds him doing in the early hours of the morning when the angel thinks everyone is still asleep.

Dean doesn't head his way, not wanting to disturb him. Instead he leans against the rails that surround the balcony, sips on his beer, and soaks up the nice view. It's a breathtaking panorama of land and sea. Over to the left, the sky is painted in pinks, golds, and violets, and the beach is surrounded by massive cliffs. It's paradise, really, but they're not here to enjoy it, even if a part of Dean wishes they could. Off to the right is the far expanse of the grounds, its large palms swaying with the breeze flowing in from the sea. He knows Sam probably fell asleep reading by the pool, but part of Dean still wonders if he's getting enough sleep. Medication and meditation have helped to ease back hellish memories, but Sam's still got far to go. And Dean's worried that all this talk of beasts and the underworld might have stirred up too many things.

A sea breeze combs through Dean's hair, pressing coolly against his heated face. He closes his eyes, tries to not think about the mission just for a moment. Tries to concentrate on the sounds of heavy breathing coming from Castiel. After a few long moments, Dean opens his eyes and turns back to look at Cas, watching how the dying sunlight kisses shyly against his muscled back. Sweat shines in the dip of the angel's hips, and his movements are slow, thorough, long limbs stretching up to the sky as he arches his body in a way that Dean finds almost impossible.

In the last few months, Castiel has learned how to work his body to its maximum. Dean's seen the changes in the way he moves, when they work out together, and when they fuck. Cas is pure force and energy confined in human form, and he's learned to use his human body like an extension of his power. Even now, looking as human as he does - barefooted and shirtless, narrow hips just barely holding up his well-worn sweatpants, lean muscles moving under his smooth skin - he seems to radiate awareness and strength. He appears at home in his body, in his skin, in a way that not even Dean has learned to master himself.

Watching Castiel move, the pure balance and control he shows off as he shifts from one position to another, is strangely relaxing. Dean feels the tension of the day begin to ease away. He leans on the railing and closes his eyes as the wind washes over the balcony and strokes his face like invisible fingers. It's only a few moments before he feels Castiel step up behind him, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist, pressing his front to Dean's back, and settling his face against Dean's neck. "Hello, Dean," the angel whispers, breath puffing warm against Dean's neck.

Dean sucks in a breath, and he doesn't fight when in the space of a heartbeat Castiel catches him by the elbow and spins him around so that they are facing each other. "What's wrong?" Castiel asks him softly.

"Nothing," Dean murmurs as Castiel smoothes the back of his hand over Dean's cheek.

"Don't lie," Castiel says, voice low and rough, but he doesn't say anything more, just rests his hand there against Dean's face. Watches and waits.

They're quiet for a time, and Dean listens to the surf for a long while before he swallows and finally says, "What the hell are we even doing out here, Cas? What makes us think we can go up against something that even God knew to lock away?"

"Because we must," Castiel says simply, his fingers brushing against Dean's forehead in a soothing motion, and for another another long moment there is only silence between them, stretching all around them, blocking out even the noise of the lost world they've stumbled into.

Dean's gaze flicks to Castiel's face, calm as the sea. "Why?" he asks.

"Because we couldn't live with ourselves knowing that we didn't try," the angel replies, voice as soft as the breeze. "Because you can't bear to see other people suffering. If there are people in need, you will work to save them."

Dean feels his face warm, and he swallows thickly, sighing. "You think too good of me."

Castiel places his palms over Dean's hips, curling his hands in the denim of his jeans. His eyes glimmer in the low light of the evening as he says, "I know you."

Dean looks at Castiel, the golden glow of his sweat-slicked skin, how the curls of his dark hair stick to his forehead. He reaches out and presses his hand against Castiel's stubbled cheek. "Maybe you do," he whispers. He leans forward then, his eyes sliding closed as he brushes his lips softly against Castiel's own.

Castiel lets out a low rumble, pulling Dean close, his teeth sliding over Dean's bottom lip as he opens to the kiss, dragging a slow, broken moan from Dean's throat as their chests press together. When their tongues meet, Dean can feel something inside of him catch fire, and the air feels charged with it, charged with heat and life and everything between them.

"Goddammit, Cas," Dean breathes out, struggling to find time for air and words around the slide of Castiel's warm lips.

"Language," Castiel chides, dipping in to suck at Dean's neck as Dean runs his hands along the smooth skin of Castiel's bare back, his fingers getting caught in the elastic of Castiel's ratty sweats, dancing below to the warm skin underneath. Castiel rarely wares underwear, a fact that amuses Dean as much as it turns him on.

It's always a surprise, the way Cas responds to his touch, surging up to wind his arm around Dean's neck and pressing him back against the railing. He fits them flush together, mouths and chests and hips, as he takes everything he needs from Dean, and offers back just as much.

For a long time, against the backdrop of the setting sun and the sound of the ocean, it's just them: slick lips and warm tongues and needy hands. Dean doesn't know how long they've been there when they eventually slow down, and their kisses become sloppy and lazy and sleepy.

Dean lets his head fall against Castiel's shoulder, resting in the crook of his neck. Castiel moves one hand from Dean's hips to his back, as he nips at Dean's neck. His other hand runs through Dean's hair, softly rubbing along his skull. Castiel asks, "You're feeling better?"

"Think so," Dean mumbles against Castiel's warm skin, lips pressing against his steady pulse beat.

Castiel smiles against his neck, but then he pulls away, grabbing both of Dean's hands and leading him back into their room.

"What now?" Dean asks him as Castiel lets him go and wanders off to claim his duffle, searching around for clothes.

"Shower," Castiel says, peeling off his sweats and folding them, and placing them on the dresser before meandering toward the bathroom, completely naked.

Dean smirks, stripping off his own shirt and settling on the bed to kick off his jeans as Cas starts up the shower. Dean slips off his boxers and stands quickly, making his way to the bathroom. It's gorgeous like every other part of this house, its yellow light bright and welcoming. The walls are painted a warm chocolate brown, and the huge shower wraps around the room, inlaid with hand-made and hand-painted porcelain tiles, the curved walls covered by multi-hued stones.

Dean retrieves soap and towels from the bathroom closet before climbing inside the shower behind Cas, the spray from the showerhead hitting his skin in smooth, steady, soothing beats. The water's hot, but Castiel's hotter still, his long, wet body welcoming as Dean slides against him, licking the drops of water from Castiel's skin, running his hand over the smooth muscle of the angel's slick torso. The spray slams deep into Dean's shoulders, pounding out kinks he doesn't even remember getting.

"Tonight we need to rest," Castiel whispers in his ear, close enough that Dean can hear him over the pounding pressure of the shower. "We don't know what we will find out there. We have to arm ourselves with everything we need to fight the Old Ones. There's so much we still don't fully understand about what's happening. But we need to be prepared for every possibility."

Dean blinks, beads of water sitting heavy on his eyelashes. He bites at his bottom lip, listens to the hard beating of water against tile, of his heart against his ribcage. "I know," he says.

They don't say anything else, simply showering together. Dean gets lost in the feel of the hard planes of Castiel's body shifting against his own, in the softness of Castiel's hair as he works soap through it. Dean braces his forehead on his arm, leaning heavily on the wall of the shower when Cas kneels down in front of him and takes him into his mouth. Dean bites his lip hard to choke back the sound of his moans. Castiel's hands are warm and strong pressing into Dean's hips, holding him tight as Dean comes undone.

- - - - -

An hour or so later, Dean finds himself in bed naked, propped up on fancy pillows and buried under blankets. Cas strokes his hand over Dean's bare belly, fingers trailing along his abs before working their way up to Dean's chest, tracing some invisible protection sigil over his heart.

"There's no way I have the power that I need to protect you against what's coming," Castiel says, voice gone soft in the evening quiet of the bedroom. "It won't be safe for any of us."

"But we knew this going in," Dean says quietly, truthfully. He wraps his hand over Castiel's wrist where it rests against his heart. Castiel flattens his palm across Dean's chest, as if he needs to feel the steady press of Dean's heartbeat against his skin.

"We could lose everything," Castiel whispers.

Dean nods, eyes closing against the thought. "I know."

"No matter what happens, I'll stay by you through it all," Castiel says, sounding for all the world like he's taking a solemn vow.

Dean's silent for a long moment, trying to fit emotion into a set of reassuring words. All he manages to say is, "You don't have to do that."

Castiel raises his head and looks up at Dean intently then. The sun has set, and the pooling shadows of the room make his face hard to read. "Dean, I know where I want to be." The angel brings his hand up and touches Dean lightly on his shoulder, fingers tracing over his fading brand. "By your side."

"Cas," Dean says, his gaze mapping over the angel's face, taking in Castiel's tired blue eyes and dark, rumpled hair, his chin full of dark scruff because he always forgets to shave. Dean's heart feels like it wants to escape his chest, hurts enough that one would think he's having some kind of attack.

Dean sucks in a breath, smoothes his palm across Castiel's chin. Shakes his head. They've only been doing this for a few months, really. So he shouldn't expect to have all the answers, know all the right things to say. Or really maybe they've been doing this for years, and they still can't seem to get their act together. Those five years they spent moving themselves into each other's orbit, not knowing what to call the other - friend, brother, charge, something more, something different. Maybe they were even doing this in those long weeks or months or years they shared together in Hell, ones Dean still can't remember. Even after all these months, these years, these lifetimes together, Dean wonders if it'll ever stop feeling too good to be true, like some Djinn reality that will suddenly end. Because even though Cas once said the words, Dean finds it hard to believe: Good things do happen.

Not to him. Not to them.

"I know where I want to be too," Dean says after a time, rolling them toward the center of the giant bed, legs tangled beneath the silk-soft sheets.

Castiel pulls at Dean, slack mouth and shining half-lidded eyes. "I'm glad," Castiel whispers to him. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel's shoulders, tucking his head into the crook of the angel's neck.

Sometimes Dean thinks about how crazy this thing between them really is. It's one more thing for him to lose, one more thing to shake his world apart if he takes the wrong step. He knew how to operate when it was just him, Sam, and the open road. He knew what the rules were, what his responsibilities were (take care of Sammy), and he knew never to get too close to other people because that might mean he couldn't do his job right. But then came Cas, and fuck it, the angel has made some pretty shitty mistakes, but he's been there for Dean too, fought to protect him, Sam, and Bobby. Despite everything they've seen and done, despite the horrors they've had done to them, Cas stayed.

Dean's heart aches again; it feels like a hand is squeezing it so tight he can't breathe. Shit. Their life is too much to handle alone. Fate. Destiny. The end of the fucking world. Being alive when everyone around you keeps dying. It's too damn much.

"Stop thinking," Castiel says, and Dean does, the feel of the angel's naked body enough of a distraction from the weight of troubling thoughts.

Dean tastes the soapy tang of Castiel's skin (Eloni had stocked the bathrooms with some sort of homemade almond oil and aloe soap that Dean loves the smell of on Castiel). Dean sinks into Castiel's warmth as the angel presses them closer and closer, finding all the ways they fit together, slotting them where they belong, connecting them.

Castiel's body under Dean's hands is a solid comfort, something he can hold on to and map with fingers and lips. Relaxed and pliant beneath him, Castiel rolls onto his belly and lets Dean kiss down his spine. Dean's tongue smoothes over Castiel's ass and thighs, slides into the crease between his cheeks, slicking there in a gentle circle. He mouths along the thin skin before pulling his body up and kissing back across the tanned expanse of Castiel's muscled back.

When Dean slinks back up beside Castiel, he presses his front to Castiel's back and moves his hand across his chest.

"Dean," Castiel whispers as Dean lines up their bodies and rubs against him slowly.

Dean sucks on Castiel's neck, smoothing his hand down across the angel's belly before wrapping it around his cock. Cas leans back into his chest as Dean cups his balls in his palm, squeezing them gently, before jacking Castiel's dick in long, soft strokes. His own dick is slippery, thick, and hard against Castiel's back, pushing and sliding as they move together. Cas whimpers with the motion, squeezing Dean's cock between his thighs, and in no time Dean's humping and spilling down Castiel's legs.

Castiel gasps when Dean's hand speeds up on his cock, sliding along the shaft, fingers playing at the head, and his thumb spiraling in the way he knows Castiel loves. They're both panting as Cas tilts up, falls back into Dean, and comes with a shuddering Ah-ah-ah, ropes of thick come spilling in Dean's hands. Dean presses his lips against the warm space behind Castiel's ear, whispers I need you, Cas, before Castiel twists himself around, circling Dean's face with his warm palms.

Castiel stares at him for a long moment, fingers still against Dean's cheekbones, his bright eyes mapping Dean's face. "Come here," he whispers, and then kisses Dean, hard and with an edge of desperation.

Dean moans low into Castiel's mouth, his spent cock throbbing against Castiel's own. Castiel draws him in, sucking gently at Dean's lips, his hands steady on Dean's hips and shoulderblades as they lose themselves in the kiss. Dean feels like he's never been this raw before, so peeled back and broken open. Like he's never put so much at risk. Lying with Cas in the dark, at the edge of the world, so far from anything and everything he's ever known. Naked and unmasked. Quiet and content.

A little while later, after they've kissed and whispered to each other in the way they sometimes do late at night, they change into warm pajamas and curl around each other in bed. Dean rests his head against Castiel's shoulder, breathing easy as Castiel runs his hands through his hair. "I choose all of you," Castiel whispers, his breathing heavy with sleep, and Dean closes his eyes and wonders if this is what it's like to fall.

- - - - -

Dean wakes to the scratchy feel of sand under his skin, to the roar of the ocean in his ears. He's really cold, a salty dampness snapping at his skin and seeping in through his pajama pants and t-shirt. He blinks his eyes open at the feel of a cool breeze, because what the hell?

With a groan, he pulls his cramped body inward as he sits up and looks around, eyes widening as he instantly recognizes his surroundings. He's laid out on the beach: the little moonlit cove he could see from the bedroom window, to be precise. He turns toward the direction of the villa, wondering how he got that far. He remembers falling asleep, wrapped around Castiel. And it's still nighttime, late if the blue-black expanse of night sky and the sharp glow of the moon are anything to go by.

Dean pinches himself just to check if he's dreaming, but the corresponding dull pain in his arm makes him frown. His entire body feels grimy and numb from the chill as he climbs to his feet and dusts off his pajama bottoms. How'd he get out here? And better yet, where were Sam and Cas?

He looks back toward the house one more time, breathing in the thick smell of sand and briny sea. He then steadies himself on his bare feet, his toes cushioned by the soggy sand, and turns around to look toward the encroaching sea.

Dean pauses, squinting when he sees movement along the distant shoreline. There's something standing out there, moving into the water, a flicker of white against the waves. Something inside of Dean leaps at the sight, taking his breath away. He moves quickly, feet sinking into the sand as he runs toward the ocean. The salt spray wets the bottom of his pants as he steps closer to the water. He frowns, watching the waves crash against the beach, the high tide drawing the water nearer and nearer. The mist from the sea foam sprays his face, and he tastes brine on his lips. He squints his eyes against the darkness and steps toward the edge of the sea; the water crackles and whispers over his feet before a wave surges and breaks across his legs.

The ocean is so dark it looks nearly black, but the full, fat moon sits in the center of the sky, shining a torchlight across the rolling surface. It's more than enough light to see now, enough to understand. Dean knows what's out there, can feel it in his bones, the same soft, urgent tugging that drew him to Castiel in Purgatory.

"Cas," Dean whispers, eyeing the still figure nervously. The angel's shirtless, in just his pajama pants, and he's standing about knee-deep in the shallow surf, the waves coming up to his thighs as they crash toward the shore. He's staring out to sea, as if completely enraptured by it.



Knowing that this has to be one of Castiel's trances, Dean reaches his hand out instinctively and calls out to him. No reaction. Of course not, Dean thinks, trying again with, "Cas, man, you gotta snap the fuck out of it! I'm so not kidding this time! I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't snap out of it!"

The wind seems to capture his words, tossing them out to sea. The tumbling waves in the distance sound loud to his ears. Dean moves closer then, legs getting swept up in the crashing water. Only a few feet separate him from Castiel now, and Dean watches the angel for a long moment: his body is stiff and rigid, muscles tight and wired. As Dean thinks on the best plan of action (rush at him or wait it out?), Castiel begins to rock slightly to and fro in that familiar way he's done before, and his soft, freaky chanting begins to fill the night, loud and louder as his voice carries over the roar of the ocean. Like a call into the night, the chant is dark and wild, and it pulls at something deep inside of Dean. Makes him think he hears something answering back from the sea.

Fuck.

Dean swallows and nods jerkily, rubbing his hand over his face to wipe away the dampness. "Please Cas, don't do this," he urges loudly. "Not now, not here."

From this distance, Castiel's movements look controlled, but just barely, like he's on the verge of combusting, all this power leashed and bound, but straining to be free. His chants grow stronger, more complicated, taking on new patters and rhythms and words Dean doesn't recognize from the times before. Castiel has always had a low, guttural voice, but his words now seem otherworldly, changed into something darker, deeper. Older.

"Cas…" Dean hopes that the name alone is enough to pull Castiel back this time, but he knows deep down this will take more, like all the times before. So much so that when Castiel lowers himself into the water, Dean's ready. "Oh, hell no!" he yells, his long legs bounding over the waves as he moves to grab Castiel.

When Cas goes under, Dean moves into a running dive, launching himself into the water. The sea's icy coldness shocks his system as he grabs Castiel by the waist and chest in a tackle that brings them both under the surface. The fast current tugs at Dean's body as he struggles to maintain his hold on Castiel, who's still rocking, although his chanting has turned into gurgling as they shift and surge with the water.

For a moment they break the surface, gasping. Dean sucks in a chilling breath that makes his lungs hurt, clinging harder to Castiel's squirming, wet body as he moves them into a swim. There's another struggle as Castiel tries to pull away, and for a moment they go under again, and it feels like the sea's dark shadows are pulling them down and down.

Under the water, it's too dark to see, and Dean's lungs burn with the need to breathe. It's instinct that makes Dean fight back, grab, push, and yank at Castiel the same way the angel had gripped him in the crypt at Paraty, until they're heading toward the surface again, bursting through the water, spluttering and coughing, mouths full of water. They float there for a moment, bodies moving together at last.

"Castiel, it's me!" Dean manages to groan out after he's sucked in enough air. He repeats Castiel's name again and again until Castiel finally stops fighting him, going limp in Dean's arms.

"Come on man," Dean whispers, holding on to him as he moves them through the water and back toward the shore. He isn't even sure Cas can hear him, if he's even conscious at all, and he feels his stomach drop when he thinks about how he could have lost him to the sea again, like he almost did in Paraty.

The chill of the sea cuts deep to the bone, and Dean struggles to keep his and Castiel's heads above the water. Striking out with long strokes and fast kicks, Dean swims with Castiel in his arms. He's a good swimmer, always has been. Sam had tried to convince him to try out for the swim team with him once in high school, but team sports were never Dean's thing. He was too much of a loner, had too many responsibilities, never fit in at most of the schools he went to. Concentrating now on the line of shore in the distance, Dean guides them back in the direction of the beach to shallower waters, letting his arms and legs pull them forward, moving with the current in the way he'd been trained. He concentrates on the feel of water sliding up his calves and thighs and chest, tries not to think about Castiel's silence and stillness.

Dean eventually reaches the beach, dragging Castiel's limp body with him. He spits out seawater onto the sand and shivers, his t-shirt and pants soaked as the water laps around him. Wet, cold, and shivering, Dean pulls Castiel onto the driest sand he can find and kneels beside him. He checks Castiel's vitals, sees that he's breathing steadily, and lets out his own relieved breath. Dean then spends a long moment trying to come back to himself, eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling. Just breathing.

Then he opens his eyes, the brilliant night sky washing over him in dark grays and blues. He tracks his eyes over the spill of silver moonlight dancing across the surface of the ocean and then back toward Castiel.

Castiel, who's blinking up at Dean. The angel is watching Dean with an intense gaze, a light, inhuman cast to his eyes.

"Cas?" Dean asks, placing his palm over his brand on Castiel's chest. "You all here?"

"Dean," Cas rasps out, low and breathless, his hand coming up to tighten around Dean's arm.

"You're okay, we're okay," Dean says, trying to reassure but knowing he sucks at it.

"What happened?" Castiel asks, pushing himself up carefully, sand falling in clumps from his back.

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. "Man, I don't even know. I woke up out here. And you were out here too, but in one of your trances. About to take a swim. I had to dive in after you."

"That would explain why we're both wet," Castiel says, frowning. He runs a hand over his wet chest, seemingly mesmerized by the sodden state of himself. "I was dreaming about the water," he adds, frown deepening as he turns to look at Dean. "I don't remember much, but I remember the sea. The ceaseless pull of the sea."

"Cas…" Dean stops, not knowing what exactly to say. He presses his fingers into his eyes and tries to clear his mind, but all he can think about is how he's about to lose Cas and maybe Sam too if they can't find out what's happening and stop it. Dean's whole body shivers; he's aching and cold from the nighttime exertion, and he just wants to sleep and for Cas to be alright.

But he's not alright. None of them are.

Castiel looks up at him, lashes wet as he blinks. "I think I must have transported us out here in my sleep. We were holding each other last night, and I must have taken you with me when I moved. I'm sorry, Dean."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean grunts, running a hand through his wet hair, spiking it up. He shivers again. "Instead of just sleep walking, now you're sleep teleporting?"

Castiel stares at him, head cocked in a way that is so much like the Cas of old, something inside Dean swells. Dean swallows hard, turns his head away from Cas. Slowly, painfully, he looks out at the sea. Black and infinite. Easy for someone to get lost in. "I almost…if I hadn't woken up…" He blinks against the heavy tightness in his chest, the fist strangling his heart. "Goddammit, Cas. This can't keep happening," he says softly. Please.

Castiel makes a strangled sound, his hands coming up to Dean face, as he says, "Look at me."

Dean is shaking again, from the cold or the adrenaline, he doesn't know. He just feels ready to collapse. The sand is damp and rough, but he falls forward into it anyway, pulling Cas against him and shivering because Castiel's bare skin is like ice.

"I'm sorry," Castiel whispers against his neck, and Dean can't figure out what he's apologizing for anymore, can't figure out what the hell's happening anyway, and he can't get a sense of how any of this is going to end well. All he knows is that right now they need to get moving, get warm. Get away from the blackness of the sea.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean tighter, breathing in time with Dean now, puffs of warm air pressing against Dean's neck. Dean's still cold, but he's finding it hard to get up, despite the goosebumps on his skin and Castiel's. But he knows they have a long journey ahead of them, and they have to be at their best, their healthiest. No catching colds when they have to fight a mythical sea beast.

"Cas, let's go inside," Dean says after a long moment, coaxing Cas onto his feet.

"He's getting stronger," Castiel interrupts softly, his eyes honing in on Dean's, his hands gripping Dean's wrist. "I don't know how or why I know, I just do," Castiel continues, and his voice is low, urgent, and rough in all the ways Dean has come to love.

Dean doesn't say anything, just leans in, and Cas meets him halfway, touches their lips together and then licks at Dean's bottom lip, before pulling away and looking back out over the dark water. "We're so close. I can feel it."

Dean follows his gaze to the water, to the flat surface of the ocean, and he has the strangest sensation, shivering for an entirely different reason than cold or adrenaline. Castiel's hand brushes his, wrapping their fingers together, and pulling them closer as they begin the walk back to the villa.

Castiel is quiet all the way back to the house, and when they enter Dean momentarily feels bad for tracking water and sand across the nice wood floors. But exhaustion sets in quickly, and they stumble to their bedroom, barely awake enough to dry off and pull on clean sweats and t-shirts before curling around each other.

"I can't lose you," Dean whispers into the dark, too ashamed to say it to Castiel's face, so instead he says it into a pillow. Castiel is heavy behind him, warm and solid and close as he cocoons Dean from behind. He wraps an arm around Dean's waist and presses warm lips against the nape of Dean's neck. He says, voice low and quiet, "Ego dilecto meo et dilectus meus mihi." And Dean knows the words because Castiel has whispered them to him so often in the dark, so many times when Dean feels like he's going to lose it. It's from the Latin, Song of Solomon, 6:2, I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine.

Dean swallows so hard it hurts, and then reaches behind him, finding the back of Castiel's neck, yanking his face down and forward, twisting his own head to crush their lips together with enough force to send them both groaning. It's only a moment before Castiel climbs up on top of Dean, taking Dean's face between his hands and whispering to him between biting kisses, his words a mix of Latin, English, and Enochian, his breath hot like fire as Dean slides his hands up along the angel's thighs, grinding their bodies together.

Dean's hands eventually find their favorite spot on Castiel's hips, his thumbs brushing over the perfectly-shaped juts of bone there. Castiel's hands drop from Dean's face, and he slides one against Dean's shoulder, sending sharp points of heat through Dean's body as he presses into his brand, the place he first marked Dean as belonging to him. It's enough. For now, it's enough.

They somehow manage to sleep through what's left of the night. But they don't dream.

- - - - -

Over breakfast, Castiel looks tired, red-eyed, and pale, and Dean figures he's looking about the same way himself because Sam keeps shooting them both worried glances between bites of his bacon-and-cheddar omelet.

Truth is, Dean feels tense, like there's something underneath his skin, something waiting to burst out and strangle him. They eat breakfast quickly and in relative silence, and then head outside to pack up the Land Rover with Eloni and Tuk's help. It's chilly out, the grasses bending in the wind, the waves foaming on the shores. The sand glitters white like snow, and the sky is a paint-brush flicker of pink and blue. There's too much vibrancy for so early in the morning, and Dean has to turn away.

"Think we're ready to go?" Sam asks him while loading the last of their bags into the back of the Land Rover.

"As ready as we're gonna be," Dean says, raising his head to take in the horizon. The South Pacific sun beats down steadily, and when Dean yawns, he can feel the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. He's getting too old for this.

"What about you, Cas?" Sam asks.

Dean flicks his eyes toward the angel. Standing next to the vehicle while Sam and Dean rearrange their bags in the trunk, Castiel is quietly watching the distant coastline, face unreadable. Last night already seems unreal, a dream even, but Dean doesn't want to ask Cas about it, doesn't want to risk triggering a repeat episode.

Castiel turns to look at them after a long moment, head tilting as he takes them in. "I'm ready," he says before turning away again.

Sam shoots Dean a questioning look, but Dean shrugs, dropping the weapons bag into the trunk and settling against the side of the Land Rover.

"You sure you're doing okay, man?" Sam asks, bumping their shoulders together as he rests beside Dean and sips from his thermos of coffee.

"I'm fine," Dean says. "I mean…I just need us to find this weapon and to kill this sonofabitch."

"You make it sound easy," Sam says softly, frowning.

"Nothing's easy with us, man. I know it," Dean mutters, clearing his throat and looking back toward the house. By the front door he sees Eloni and Tuk laughing together, Eloni patting down Tuk's hair in a way that reminds Dean of Lisa with Ben. God, Lisa. That life now seems so far away, another dream that's fading the longer time passes. He can almost remember what their mornings had been like. Lisa shaking him awake after Dean had pressed the snooze button one too many times, her long hair falling over her face as she tickled Dean and sent them both rolling to the floor with laughter. Dean would follow her to the kitchen when she'd leave to start breakfast, teasing her until she burned the eggs. If Ben was staying with friends, Dean would lift Lisa to the counter, kiss her until they were breathless, his fingers tangled inside of her warmth, their breakfast forgotten.

Dean shakes his head. It's a fantasy of a life that he was never meant for. He sighs and turns to look around, catching Castiel watching him from his perch by the bumper. Dean heads over to him, placing a hand at his waist.

"Hey," Dean says, catching his eye.

"Hello," Castiel returns, and something about the awkwardness of the moment makes them both smile.

Dean knows this thing with Cas is different: stronger and somehow more real than anything he's experienced before. But sometimes he thinks about what it would be like to be able to be safe in one place, to wake up next to each other and not have to worry about whether they'd survive the day. Cas is different, stronger too. He's the first person Dean's ever met that makes him feel solid, still; makes him feel like staying in one place. Makes Dean feel like he can be all of himself, completely.

The ocean is smooth and gray outside the windshield when they take off, but Dean doesn't look at it, looks instead at the place where his leg touches along Castiel's in the backseat, mapping the way their bodies curve into each other, the way they keep each other steady.

- - - - -

They take two vehicles, Dean and Cas riding in Eloni's Land Rover, while Sam rides with Tuk in a small pickup that the boy maneuvers expertly along the rocky coastal roads. Through the truck's window, Sam watches the green pastures that he's begun to associate with the island's simple terrain. There are a few hotels, restaurants, and cottages tucked up along the coastline and dotting the main road into town. The sea is never far away though; the surf sits a few hundred feet from the road, breaking against craggy rocks and pristine sand.

Sam rolls down the window and lets some of the warm air brush over his face. He never used to like the beach when he was a kid. He has an old memory of him and Dean getting stranded at one for days in South Carolina, hungry and cold as they camped out and waited for their dad. He remembers how lonely the sea made him feel back then, the cool stretch of it pulling him toward the sea serpents his ten-year-old mind imagined held domain at the bottom of the ocean. Of course, it just so happens those sea serpents turned out to be real. Even now, when Sam's a million miles from that beach, from his childhood, the sharp smells of damp sand and fish and salt are enough to take him back there. Sam closes his eyes and tries not to think too hard about the sea. About being left by his dad. About dying and coming back.

Another thirty minutes after leaving Eloni's villa, they arrive in Hanga Roa, Easter Island's capital city. It's a small seaside port town catering to the seasonal tourist trade. According to the Lonely Planet guidebook Sam read on the plane ride over, the small harbor has a shipping service to Chile, but not much other industry. Surrounding the port is an open-air market, as well as a number of small shops geared toward tourists, offering things like Moai-inspired souvenirs and island tours.

From the window, Sam glimpses the town's unique architecture, small colonial-style buildings, storefronts, and paved roads that wind down toward the docks.

"We have a boat docked here that we use to visit the other islands," Tuk says as he steers the truck into a parking lot a few hundred feet from the pier.

"Do you really think we'll be able to find this other weapon?" Sam asks as Tuk parks the truck and turns off the engine.

Tuk meets his eyes for a moment, not saying anything. He places his hands in his lap and smiles softly before saying, "When my mother told me that you were coming, I couldn't believe it. I thought there would be no one in the world willing to fight what's coming. But here you are Sam, you and your brother, and the man who calls himself an angel. You've come to save us."

Sam runs his hand through his hair, looks away. "Yeah. We, uh, we're going to try. This thing…Cthulhu. It's unlike anything we've faced before."

Tuk glances at him, smiling crookedly. "Are you trying to say you've never faced a mountain-sized tentacled sea god before?"

Sam laughs, sharp and fast. "This will be our first."

Tuk laughs in turn, the laughter covering up the fear and unease, before opening the truck door and stepping down. Sam follows, eyes squinting as he takes in the line of boats moored at the docks. Only a few people are out and about, sailors, fishermen, and dockhands tending to their boats.

Sam inhales thick sea air when he steps onto the pier, cracking a smile when he sees Dean and Cas approaching. There's never much space between his brother and the angel, their shoulders and hands brushing as they walk side by side.

"Dude, did you see that Duck?" Dean says, pausing in his steps, eyes lingering on the jetty while he practically bounces on his feet.

Cas is watching Dean, looking confused, as he says, "Ducks are not indigenous to this region."

"Not that kind of duck, man," Dean laughs, shaking his head and pulling Cas closer so that he can see what Dean's talking about.

Sam follows them, squinting to see what his brother's pointing at so enthusiastically. And yeah, wow. There's a freaking DUKW parked in the harbor, one of those amphibious transport vehicles used by the Allies during World War II, most famously on D-Day.

"General Motors designed like twenty thousand of these things during the war," Dean says, whistling, and showing off the sort of geek-boy wonder he gets whenever confronted by powerful, old, and complicated machines.

When Sam looks back at his brother, Dean is looking right back at him, smiling goofily, eyes clear green in the warm light. "This is kind of crazy right? I always wanted to drive one of those things," Dean admits, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Geek," Sam says fondly.

"Shudup," Dean says, rolling his eyes and pulling an amused-looking Castiel closer to him.

A moment later Eloni joins them on the pier, pointing out toward the water where Tuk is manning a small boat. "He's good with her," she says. "I call her the Sea Goddess. She'll get us where we need to go." They follow Eloni farther down the piers, lugging their bags along the way.

"Ready?" Tuk calls down at them from the pilothouse. "Dean, if you get the line, we'll be off."

Sam watches Dean hop into action, obviously excited by the prospect of untying ropes and playing at being a sailor. Tuk already has the engine going when Sam follows Eloni, Dean, and Cas onto the small vessel.

"And we're off," Sam comments, watching Tuk carefully maneuver the boat away from the pier, making ripples in the blue-green waters of the harbor.

"To the Sacred Lands," Tuk says, tightening his fingers around the wheel at the helm as the boat bounces over the green waves. "Where the map says the third weapon lies."

Bracing his hands on the railing around the deck, Sam looks out to sea, the endless blue skies and sparkling water. Breathing in the sharp brine of the surrounding ocean, a rush of something fills his body.

"We're close," Castiel says, suddenly appearing at his side.

"Close to the weapon?" Sam asks, watching as Dean settles beside the angel.

Castiel's gaze sharpens, and he says, "To Cthulhu."

"How do you know?" Sam asks, swallowing hard, his stomach twisting at the thought.

Castiel tilts his head slightly. "I'm not sure how I know. I just know."

Dean clears his throat pointedly beside them, and Sam frowns, but he doesn't say anything else. Both Dean and Cas have been acting weird all morning. Sam turns to watch Dean, who's staring off into the distance, shoulders tense and expression brooding.

They sail pass the neighboring islets, Motu Nui and Motu Iti. The bow of the boat cuts through the crashing spray gently, gathering speed as it parts the small waves. Specks of other tiny islands peek out in the distance, and Sam wonders about their names, about living somewhere so isolated from civilization. For a while there is no sound except for the roar of the boat's engine and the lapping of water. Sam leans a hip on the railing, watching the waves hit the side of the boat in a steady rhythm. Almost an hour later he catches his first site of approaching land, a tall, looming island that takes his breath away.

- - - - -

Watching the large landmass rise in the distance, fog completely smothering its coastline, Dean sucks in a deep breath. He tries to recall exactly what Eloni had explained last night in their planning session. The coordinates on the map found in the Necromonicon lead to a chain of isolated, uninhabited South Pacific islands that Eloni has only visited once before, during an expedition. The islands are so remote that they don't get much exploration, not even by the more adventurous tourists and scientists.

According to Eloni, one island in particular, Tu'ugamau, is said to contain the decaying ruins of an ancient, lost civilization. But no archaeologist has ever discovered the ruins - they are said to be hidden by protective magic. But the Necromonicon has a ritual that could unlock the island's magic; it would reveal the ancient city where the last weapon is hidden. Eloni has never had reason to look for the city until now, but she believes it to be real.

A fine spray peppers Dean's cheeks, the ocean rolling underneath the boat. He turns to watch Tuk and Eloni at the helm, easing the boat toward the southwestern side of the island chain. Castiel is quiet beside him, but from time to time Dean feels the angel's hands linger against his own, knuckles brushing knuckles.

"There is something here," Castiel says softly, and Dean turns back to look at the looming island parting the mist. He sees a rocky coastline, a mass of trees creating a dense tropical rainforest that he guesses must span the island's interior, and lush, red volcanic hills that border the sea.

"It's like coming to the edge of the world," Eloni says to them from her perch at the helm, sweeping her arms across the stunning South Pacific waters. "This is the Laaki Azmalu. The Sacred Islands."

As they sail past the southern-most point of the largest island, Dean notices a circular reef and lagoon, and granite sands littered with palm trees and seabirds. Tuk docks the boat in one of the island's deep-water coves, and everyone spends the next several minutes unloading their supplies onto the connecting beach and taking stock of everything. The shadow of what Eloni calls Mount Luokla rises in the gloomy distance to the southeast, sheltering them from above.

"According to the text, the last artifact is located in the Temple of the Malama," Eloni says, pulling out several maps and passing them around to the gathered group.

Castiel examines his map and says, "And the Temple is said to reside in the lost city of Lagi."

"A city that no one has ever seen," Sam adds, settling on the ground beside his camping gear.

Dean snorts, his eyes following the map's hand-drawn replication of the island. "Because it's hidden by powerful magic."

"It's why none have survived to share stories of that particular lost civilization," Eloni says, and then goes on to explain that the city is supposed to be situated on the highest point of the island - in the dark, mist-covered Aumoe Mountains in the west.

Dean scans the surrounding area, making note of possible paths in and out, and estimating the trajectory of the journey inland. Tu'ugamau. The island is large and green everywhere Dean can see, and the surrounding sea is so blue it melts into the sky. Lush vegetation edges across the cove they've built their temporary camp in, and tall palm trees sway in the breeze coming in from the sea. Sunlight falls across the high treetops leading to the island's interior, flashing down through the leaves. Dean has to squint against the light as he says, "How long do you think it'll take us to reach the city?"

"We'll hike as far as we can today before making camp," Eloni says, setting aside a coil of rope and a medic kit. She takes out another water bottle and adds, "We'll need to make our way to the center of the island to perform the ritual, and I think that will take about two days at most on foot."

Dean eases down to the ground beside his own bag, reaching for the water bottle Castiel holds out to him. He sips from it and then asks, "You think finding this will be easy?"

"No," Eloni replies, voice honest. "But I do think we'll find it."

"If something doesn't find us first," Castiel says, running his eyes across the trees surrounding the cove.

Dean frowns, shooting him a curious glance. "Do you sense something?" he asks, hand moving to his gun.

"There is a darkness here waiting for us," Castiel says quietly. He takes a breath and adds, "It will not want us to succeed in our task." The angel's words are quiet, but his tone is hard, tense.

"Well, we'll just have to make sure it doesn't stop us," Dean says, meeting Castiel's steady gaze.

Castiel cocks his head sideways and asks, "How do we do that?"

"We kick it in the ass," Dean says simply, and Castiel smiles, something resembling fondness in his gaze. Dean returns the smile, feeling his cheeks flush.

"You're both adorable," Eloni says, casting them both a knowing wink.

"You'll have to excuse my brother," Sam interrupts with a soft chuckle. "He's been waiting to play Indiana Jones all his life. When he was thirteen, he bought his first bomber jacket, fedora, and bullwhip."

"Indy is the man," Dean defends, daring Sam to deny it. As if Sam himself hadn't dreamed of blazing through the jungle with a machete to uncover a lost city.

Sam puts up his hands, as if in surrender. "You're right about that," he agrees with a smirk. "You know as a kid I was always in awe of your childhood crushes. Especially the ones involving Harrison Ford. You'd get all breathless when you talked about him."

"Shudup," Dean groans, flipping Sam the bird and glaring.

"Dean is fond of strong heroic figures," Castiel chimes in, helpful as always, and Dean is really tempted to kick both Sam and Castiel's asses right about now. Tuk and Eloni seem to be enjoying the conversation though, watching them all with amused smiles.

"My brother does seem to have a type," Sam comments, snickering as he catches Dean's eye before waggling his brows in Castiel's direction.

Dean scoffs, eyes rolling. "I will end you," he grumbles at his baby brother's laughing face before decidedly ignoring him by pretending to search for something in his backpack. Where was the damn mosquito spray anyway?

"Okay, boys, leave Dean alone," Eloni says, throwing another knowing look Dean's way and dropping a bag of supplies at his feet. Dean releases a loud, put-upon sigh before Eloni laughs and continues with, "Let's make his day though and get started on finding this lost city."

They spend the next fifteen minutes reviewing their plan of action. It's still early enough to get closer to the center of the island before nightfall; there's enough time to find and fortify a good place to set up camp.

It's only another half hour before they're off. Dean begins the trek feeling ready: the team's backpacks are full of food, weapons, and camping gear. They don't know how long this will take, but they prepared for a few days' worth of travel. According to Eloni, most of the island's defenses are probably magical in nature, spellwork, curses, and the like, but Sam and Dean have packed more than enough monster-killing weaponry from Raúl's treasure chest in case anything unexpected pops up, especially given what Castiel senses on the island.

Castiel's eyes scan the landscape as they walk, his angelic senses probably reaching out, while Sam's eyes track over the road ahead as he flanks Tuk and Eloni's left side. Dean takes a breath deep enough to burn as he follows behind them all, guarding their rear. He doesn't know what to expect as he walks, one hand settled on the machete in his weapons' belt, his long fingers working along the curved edge, the other on his gun.

The jungle is thickly grown, covered with giant species of trees Dean's never seen before, some of them sixty feet high and more, darkening the day even though it hasn't reached noon yet. Dean's boots crunch over the rocky ground, trying to find the right foothold to avoid pits and thick roots, most of which are partly covered with weeds and moss. Water is everywhere, a system of streams and pools that feed into the heart of the island.

They walk for almost three hours, taking their time, picking their way cautiously through the dense lowland jungle, which is alive with sound and movement: the crowing of birds, the howling of monkeys, and the buzz of gnats circling their faces. Dean finds himself measuring the size of the massive tree trunks in his head, wondering about the sorts of things he could carve from them. He thinks he could build enough furniture to fill an entire house from just one tree. Everyone is quiet mostly, although once in a while Castiel names the variety of tropical birds, monkeys, spiders, and snakes they come across, while Tuk and Sam drink in the information like eager students.

Dean breaks out the machete once they start getting into wilder territory, taking the lead for the next few miles as he chops at the tree limbs and thick flora blocking their path, watching the others follow suit. Strands of misty light filter down through the dark canopy of trees above them, but it's gloomier and darker the farther they get into the forest. He's sweated through his layers by the time they take their second break, sitting around each other and gulping down water from the canteens.

"Did you see the size of those flies?" Sam asks, stomping his boots on the ground in an attempt to remove some of the mud caked on them.

"Size of fucking birds, man," Dean mumbles, tossing his backpack to the ground and digging out a towel to mop the sweat from his brow. Castiel looks unaffected by the heat; although partly fallen, the angel seems able to withstand the heat in a way he couldn't withstand the South Dakotan winter. He drinks his share of water though, his eyes continuously darting to the overhanging branches, ever vigilant in his watch.

"There are remarkable creatures in this ecosystem," Castiel says after a long moment of catching their breath, his eyes reaching out to make contact with Dean's. "Many of my Father's most beautiful creations have a way of surviving and adapting even in the harshest environments."

Dean looks away, clearing his throat, feeling too seen by Castiel's gaze and pointed words. He fists his hands in his lap; his arm muscles ache and burn from the journey and from using so much pressure to hack his way through the underbrush for the past two hours. The evening swelters, and Dean closes his eyes to it, while all around him the air hums with the noise of insects and other creatures, a cacophony of sound that Dean's only known in the wilds of the southern United States.

"Another three miles, then we make camp," Eloni says after they've rested their legs.

"And we eat," Dean murmurs, following slowly behind Castiel into a narrow partition in the trees leading to the mist-cloaked foothills. They carefully pick their way over roots and around creeping vines, staying close as the ground grows rockier. Dean doesn't say anything when Castiel takes his hand part of the way up, helping him to lift himself up onto a rocky outcrop and surveil the area.

Castiel doesn't let go of his hand until they're another mile down the path, making their way toward the heart of the island.

- - - - -

Episode 21: The Sprinting Dead (Part II)