Fic: 'Screw Destiny'
Title: Screw Destiny
Rating: T
Characters and/or Pairing: Demon!Dean/Castiel
Genre: UST?
Warnings: Demonic Winchesters.
Word Count: 1123
Summary: A scene set during the video 'Beginning of the Twist'. So this is how their first kiss goes. It could have gone better.
A/N: IMPORTANT - This fic is part of my Darkside Verse, and probably won't make much sense unless you've watched the original trilogy of videos it sprang from.
It all started after they killed their first angel. Dean never did find out what she was called, just remembered her as the blond one they left in the ruined parking lot for the human police to find. He dropped Sam back at the motel and headed back out on his own, not quite ready to settle down for the night just yet. He was still half-high from the kill, all riled up, whole body stinging from the splash of acidic Grace he’d gotten covered in.
All in all, he was feeling pretty damn good when Castiel found him.
The angel was angrier than Dean had ever seen him, seething over the death of one of his countless siblings. Dean kind of wanted to point out that it was a bit petty to get this upset over just one when you had a hundred-thousand others where she’d come from, but he didn’t get the chance as Castiel hauled him into a nearby alleyway, neatly out of sight. His demeanour was so shockingly different to the calm, otherworldly being that Dean had first encountered that, for the most part, he just let it play out, gleefully riding an adrenaline-buzz as the angel laid forceful hands on him.
“You had no right!” Castiel spat, slamming him into a wall with about as much force as he could muster. Had Dean been human, he was pretty sure something important would have just snapped. As it was, he managed to dredge up some shaky veneer of a smile as pain shot through him.
“Bitch shouldn’t have come after us then, should she?” He sneered and gave a defiant twist of his body, to little effect. He was by far outmatched in terms of sheer strength.
The angel gave no outward reaction, but blue eyes studied his face with disconcerting intensity, mere centimetres from his own. Dean wondered with vague incredulity if it was all angels or just Castiel who had no concept of personal space.
The thought was sent skittering as Castiel suddenly stepped back and, with barely a flick of his wrist, sent Dean hurtling into the opposite wall, where his skull cracked harshly against the brickwork. Dazed, he would have slipped to the floor but for the angel’s hands fisting in his jacket, pinning him in place yet again. It occurred to him that he might not be making it out of this encounter alive. Least Sam wasn’t with him.
“You should not have been able to,” Castiel intoned, low and angry and a little bit bemused. “You should not have been strong enough to hurt her, you should not have survived.”
“Yeah well, me and Sammy don’t exactly play by the rules,” Dean shot back.
“You’re nothing but a demon, not even of the higher ranks.” There was scorn in his voice, enough of it to get Dean’s hackles rising, but it was layered over something that sounded suspiciously like... curiosity.
And he just had to laugh at that, the sound tasting like blood in his mouth. He lifted his hands and gripped Castiel’s shoulders like they were friends (and not to hold himself up, no matter what it might look like). Then he leaned forward and, as if it was something confidential, whispered, “Yeah but, dude, we’re Winchesters.”
Castiel reared back, suddenly furious for no discernable reason. His fist came out of nowhere and had the force of a freight train behind it. Dean found himself reeling, utterly helpless to defend himself as the angel dragged him forward.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be! This wasn’t the destiny of the Winchesters!”
And Dean didn’t even have time to wonder what the fuck he was on about before Castiel had literally freaking drop kicked him the length of the alleyway. Dean hit the wall and crumpled. He groaned as he heard the angel walk forward, coming to stand over him.
“You are not Dean Winchester,” Castiel insisted. “You are a perversion of who he should have been. You are an abomination.”
Dean opened his eyes, letting darkness blossom across their surface, and darted forward just as the angel reached for him. They ended up right in each other’s faces, close and threatening, Castiel’s hand grasping his arm, angelic and demonic power crackling in the air between them.
“Well guess what, Cas,” he snarled, relishing the angel’s twitch of annoyance at the shortened moniker. “Screw destiny. This ‘abomination’ is the only Dean Winchester you’re gonna get.”
And then, without warning, he pushed forward and shoved his mouth against Castiel’s.
Demons, he’d found since becoming one, had a thing for kissing. It was symbolic or some shit, for one thing. Proved a perfect way of sealing a deal, the perversity of kissing a demon like some final nail in the coffin of damnation. But there was also something weirdly binding about a kiss, something unwillingly intimate.
To do it to Castiel seemed only fitting.
The angel, the moment their lips met, immediately went rigid all over, trying frantically to jerk away, but Dean had a hand at the back of his neck and held on for all he was worth. He kept his eyes open, determined to make Castiel look into the blackness of them and know, once and for all, what kind of creature he’d allowed himself to get so close to. He could feel the angel’s panic, could taste it when he flicked his tongue out, spitefully making sure that the blood Castiel had drawn from him ended up smeared across his mouth.
Then, where the angel’s hand still clasped his shoulder, pain abruptly ripped across his flesh. Dean jerked backwards with a bark of protest, breaking the kiss and dislodging Castiel’s hold on him. Almost simultaneously they stumbled away from each other, wary and violated and (in Dean’s case) a little turned on.
“The fuck was that?!” He was the first to break their staring contest, looking down at his throbbing shoulder only to find his jacket smouldering, and the flesh underneath a blistering red. He looked up incredulously, but Castiel only gave him one last wordless, freaked-out glance and then he was gone in a whirl of feathers and trenchcoat.
Nonplussed, Dean swore quietly and decided he’d thoroughly had enough of angels for one night. He was going to go back to the motel and let Sam give him shit about going out alone, and then his brother was going to bandage up whatever freaky wound Castiel had given him and they’d chalk it up to a lucky escape. Over and done with. Simple as.
He most certainly was not going to think about the fact that Castiel was apparently sort of hot when he got angry...