Title: Black Widow
Author: HigherMagic
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Dean/OCs
Rating: R
Word Count: ~6,700
Spoilers: Castiel? It's AU.
Summary: He had been the best fighter in the Ring, back when he started as a Rookie hybrid, created by Michael – Michael's pride and joy when he'd been released into the Ring for his first fights. It was on a whim that Michael had created Dean, his most prized creation.
Warnings: character death, violence, gore, language, and hybrid sex
Notes: So, um…you remember one of those ficlets I started way back when? Yeah, well, I finished it. Sort of. Not how I thought it would go, but there you have it. I had to do a lot of fucking spider research for this. There were pictures *shudders* I hate spiders. Unbeta'd. No time – will fix later. All mistakes are my own.
He had been the best fighter in the Ring, back when he started as a Rookie hybrid, created by Michael – Michael's pride and joy when he'd been released into the Ring for his first fights. Sure, there were bigger and badder hybrids out there – ones that were twice his size and easily three times his aggression, but it was his unique style that had caught the eyes of many dealers.
The idea is simple – if two men can cause such destruction to each other as the fabled Colosseum or the battlefields, what must men crossbred and altered with the DNA of the world's most fierce creatures accomplish? The owner of a prize fighter would be respected and rich, and that is what Michael desired.
Michael had worked for many long hours – never call him a stupid man. He tried the obvious choices; lions, tigers, bears, oh my. But it was on a whim that he created Dean.
Dean.
Michael's most prized creation.
It was a whim, pure and simple, but it had created the most magnificent, most efficient killer that anyone had ever seen – and he had been the best fighter in the Ring.
However, every few years Dean kind of makes a mess of himself, and this time he'd injured his right arm pretty badly, almost shredding all the muscle from his bone. Michael had only the top medics for all of his creations, and for Dean, he had Castiel – a new guy, but very promising.
"How did he get injured?" the medic asked, looking over Dean's chart and frowning over at the hybrid, who had curled up on himself in his large wire cage. His entire arm had been crudely bandaged and Dean was holding it to his chest protectively, glaring out of the cage. White drops of foam coated his lips and the hybrid would occasionally lick it away, rumbling softly and making a soft clicking sound in his throat.
"Got caught up in a web again," Michael replied, setting a hand down on top of Dean's cage. The hybrid looked up, eyes narrowing at the intrusion into his personal bubble, and rose up from his crouch to sniff curiously at the hand. The fingers of his uninjured arm flexed and he gently ran the sticky pad of one fingertip across Michael's palm. Satisfied, he settled back down and returned to glaring at Castiel's shins. "Damn near tore his arm off."
Castiel tutted, flipping a page on the chart. "He's crossbred with…" He trailed off, raising an eyebrow at the choice.
"There's also a bit of canine there, to make him a little more…amiable." Michael smiled, patting the top of the cage and earning another curious clicking sound from Dean. The hybrid curled up on himself, resting on his injured arm and licking at the rough, scratchy edges of the crude bandage that had been wrapped around his arm upon finding him injured.
"Does he understand English?" Castiel asked, and Michael nodded. "Is he aggressive?"
Michael pursed his lips. "Shouldn't be if you treat him right," he said, nodding his head back and forth as though he couldn't quite decide if that was the right answer; truthfully, no, Dean was not aggressive. That was what made him scary – he just got the job done. He went in and then he came out with blood all over himself with barely batting an eye.
Michael had never watched Dean fight – he used to watch all the time, but then Lucifer, a hybrid that he had created out of man and eagle, had been torn to shreds right in front of his eyes and he found that he didn't have the stomach for it.
The medic nodded, stepping back from the cage and gesturing for several orderlies to pick it up and haul Dean onto a gurney, still caged. The hybrid clicked curiously, pressing his uninjured hand against the steel bars. There were slight hooks on the ends of his fingers for grabbing onto things so that he could climb more easily and they curled around the metal bars, letting him steady himself as they ungracefully lifted him up and set him down again on the gurney. The hybrid's wide green eyes fixed on his master and he made another low, unsure sound – this time like a dog's whine, his oddly shaped pupils contracting in the harsh medical light as he looked up at Michael as he approached.
"Be good, Dean," Michael said, smiling a little. "They're gonna take real good care of you." Dean bared his teeth, which were slightly curved backwards like a python's, and he pressed his face against the bars, eyes closing and a soft rumbling sound emanating from his chest when Michael scratched him behind the ear. Castiel swore that, if Dean had had a tail, it would be wagging fiercely. "Get better, alright?"
Dean rumbled softly again, pulling away when the orderlies began to wheel him out, still making the occasional worried clicking sound in the back of his throat.
"He's a talkative one," Castiel said after a moment, checking over Dean's chart again.
Michael shrugged. "Just make sure he's healed up as soon as possible."
Castiel nodded, flashing a quick smile. "I'll do my best, sir."
The injuries Dean had sustained were quite extensive – Castiel was looking over the video that had been placed in Dean's cage upon his creation, for monitoring purposes, and saw how he had managed to do it.
Unlike the cameras on other creatures' cages, Dean's was placed in the corner farthest away from the door, but it was placed in the floor as opposed to the typical ceiling monitors. Castiel found out why very quickly – Dean spun webs. They criss-crossed the entire ceiling of his cage, huge designs and meshing of sticky spider's webs that he climbed up into and, from the looks of it, slept in. The video did not show how Dean spun his webs but Castiel was able to watch as the Dean on screen crawled around his cage, then up the metal bars and into the thick forest of webbing. It looked like he had created a tunnel of it so he slept in it like a hammock, and Castiel continued to watch as the hybrid crawled into the centre, and then it gave out under his weight. The onscreen hybrid screeched loudly as his arm was caught up in a rope of web, made thick because of the fall and it had clumped together and twisted around the top of his arm. His cage was very high and the fall was quite great – much of his muscle was completely shredded from his arm as he fell before the web gave out, leaving him with a useless arm hanging by his side.
Castiel was confident he would be able to fix Dean – the muscles were not damaged in themselves and a simple surgery should manage to get the ligaments and tendons back where they needed to be, and none of Dean's bones had been broken. The worst thing the hybrid would suffer from was likely a huge case of embarrassment and a little muscle soreness.
The surgery to reattach a lot of Dean's muscle was extensive and lengthy – the doctors had to remove a lot of the muscles and rethread the ligaments. The entire process took almost thirty hours, but by the end of it Castiel was confident that, while Dean's arm wouldn't ever look as pretty again, he would retain most if not all use of it by the end of the healing process.
The creature was put under sedation for forty-eight hours after surgery, fed through IVs to make sure he got the essentials while he slept. Fighters were always the most difficult to treat – they were either completely against the entire 'bandage to heal it' process, because it was a clear sign to an opponent that they were weak – or treating them was practically impossible because they tried to get back into the swing of things too early and ended up just damaging themselves more.
Castiel was in Dean's facility when the hybrid woke up with a loud screech and a thunk. The medic ran over to the hybrid's cage in time to find Dean ripping out his IV drip with a disgusted look, throwing the thing away with another indignant screech. He was clicking madly, obviously disoriented and unbalanced from the sedation.
"Woah, woah, there, boy," Castiel whispered, backing away from the cage door when Dean's vivid green eyes snapped to Castiel, baring his sharply-serrated teeth in aggression. Dean tried to stand tall, lifting his arms up to make him look better, and then screeched again when his injured arm hurt him, and he stumbled back down to his knees. Castiel smiled a little. "Don't strain yourself, Dean. Your arm will heal up just fine."
Dean glared at the thick bandaging around his arm, then back at Castiel. His next series of clicks sounded almost accusing.
"Can you speak?" Castiel asked, sitting in the middle of the aisle and making himself look smaller, less of a threat to the hybrid. Dean's eyes followed him like lasers. "Maybe, if you tell me what's wrong, I can fix it."
Dean's eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he crawled forward, curling the pads of his sticky fingers, and the small hooks, over the thin bars of the cage. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, jaw working as he stared at Castiel, occasionally clicking softly at him. The medic continued to watch the hybrid, until he realized that Dean wouldn't speak until he averted his eyes, and then did so, staring at the floor.
Dean threw himself at the bars of the cage, obviously having tried to lunge, but Castiel didn't move – he lifted his eyes to the growling hybrid, smiling a little. "Sorry, lad, but you're not getting out of there until I say so."
Dean growled. "Let me go," he bit out, voice low and terse. He bared his teeth in a snarl, nose wrinkling and thick drops of saliva forming around his gums. "Let me the fuck outta here." His fingers curled through the bars, hooks snagging on them and Dean hissed again in frustration. "I'll rip you apart."
Castiel cocked his head to one side, brow furrowing in confusion – what was making the hybrid so distressed? Castiel was used to displays of aggression, but that wasn't what Dean was really showing him; Dean never got aggressive. That was the thing. Castiel had watched a few of the hybrid's fights, hoping to perhaps conduct a behavioral study on his newest charge so that he would know what to expect when Dean woke up, and he'd come to realize…Dean was never angry. He didn't move, he didn't fight back, until, suddenly, his opponent was dead.
There was no sign of agitation, usually, within the hybrid, so why was he so distressed now?
"What's wrong?" Castiel asked, sitting a little closer, but not close enough that Dean could try to reach through and grab him. Dean hissed at him and backed away, green eyes glowing from the shadows of his cage. "Dean, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. And I want to help – the sooner you are healed, the sooner you can leave." The creature's eyes flashed. "That's it, isn't it? You want to leave?"
Dean bared his teeth again in anger and anxiety. "It smells weird in here," he snapped back, hunching defensively, his injured arm curled close to his stomach. "And my arm itches."
"Means it's healing," Castiel replied with a slight smile.
Dean was back at the door before Castiel could blink, pressing up as close as he could get to it. Unblinkingly, Dean stared at Castiel, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. Castiel didn't know what he smelled, but whatever it was made his eyes darken. He growled again and retreated to the other side of the cage, clambering up into his web and staying there. No matter how Castiel tried to call him down, the hybrid just continued to shout profanities at him until the medic deemed it a lost cause for today, and stood up and left.
'The challenger, in this corner, the Black Widow.' He'd gained a name by then, his title – what he was crossbred with, mostly, and after the style with which he fought. Castiel was watching a video from a few months ago. Dean had looked a lot younger, hair unkempt and uncut, eyes wild, body bare except for a pair of thin, dirty sweats that hung low on his slim hips. He held a machete in his hand but looked like he had no intention of using it.
'The current title holder, in this corner – Hell Hound.' The cheers were louder for the other hybrid. Dean was the underdog, the four-hundred-to-one bet. He was smaller than the other hybrid – much smaller, and the creature, bred with wolf and the feral Russian fox, salivated, champing at air while it strained against its bindings, only held in place by several men who were pulling on chains that threaded through the iron grate behind it. When they let go, the creature would be on Dean and surely rip him to shreds, and the man bulged with muscle, long, dirty hair flying around his head as he thrashed and snarled.
Castiel had Dean in his charge, and knew that the creature had won this fight, but it didn't stop his heart climbing in anticipation, in fear for Dean's safety. The other beast looked positively wild, feral – Castiel was amazed it hadn't overwhelmed its handlers.
'Begin!' the announcer cried, and the men holding Hell Hound back let go of their chains. The creature sprang forward, all snarling double-layered teeth and red-rimmed eyes, its nostrils flared widely in its excitement.
Dean crouched low, and dropped the machete to the ground. It rang out hollowly, and the beast suddenly stopped. The cheers were overtaken with a dead silence. Hell Hound crept forward, nose to the ground, growling low in its throat, ears forward and red eyes fixed on Dean, but the smaller hybrid wasn't looking at him – his head was down, shoulders hunched, throat and belly bare to the press of the larger creature's muzzle. Hell Hounds nostrils flared again and it made another sound – this one more eager, less feral, and pressed at Dean's stomach again.
Dean fell to his knees as Castiel watched, wide-eyed, and then to his hands as well, baring his back to the larger creature, while the audience watched on, rapt. Castiel's eyes widened when he saw Hell Hound – the man huge and completely unclothed – begin to harden right in front of the watching humans. Dean made a low, soft sound in his throat, lifting his gaze and baring his throat in submission, and then Hell Hound was on him, mounting the smaller hybrid with a low growl.
Dean mewled, dipping his shoulders further still, and reached back, fisting a hand in the creature's unkempt hair. Hell Hound didn't notice Dean's other hand moving up to knot also, cupping the back of his neck, the hybrid overwhelmed with what Castiel was beginning to suspect were mating pheromones.
Then, Dean took a fierce hold of the creature's head and, with a tight grimace, twisted, snapping his neck. The larger hybrid fell to the ground, dead, and Dean pushed his limp body off, snarling in victory.
"Black Widow indeed," Castiel murmured as he watched Dean bare his teeth at the dead hybrid, and then knelt down, ripping into his body with the gusto of someone who has been very, very deeply wronged. Dean tore at Hell Hound's body, drinking his blood in the palm of his hand and ripping shreds of flesh apart with his large, serrated teeth, until his handlers came to take him away, and even then Dean was still snarling, vengeance burning in his jade eyes.
Castiel clicked the window closed, sitting back in his chair, and resigned himself to further contemplating the mystery that was his new charge.
"Do you like fighting, Dean?"
The hybrid's nostrils flared, and he glared over at Castiel. "What kind of question is that?" he demanded defensively. "Of course I do."
"But why?"
Dean's shoulders tensed, and he took another bite out of the rare steak that Castiel had brought him, deeming the hybrid healthy enough to go back to solid foods. "Because…because my Master wants it of me," Dean replied stoically, raising his chin as though daring Castiel to argue. "It's what I was made for. Why would I be made for something I didn't enjoy?"
Castiel's brow furrowed. "There are a lot of people that ask the same question," he said seriously, "and a lot of people are forced to do things every day that they don't like."
"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged, "I'm not a person, am I? Not really." He shrugged again, taking a large bite of the steak. "I'm a means to an end. A tool. A weapon. And my Master loves me for being that. A few harmless fights isn't gonna kill me."
"But they can kill you, Dean," Castiel implored, his blue eyes dark and serious, "and you don't fight."
He couldn't help the way he spat that word, and Dean tensed up again, face impassive. "So I guess you saw a couple?" he asked, picking absently at the edge of his bandage, and then sighed, shrugging. "Well, I know it's not the most accepted style, but it still fucking counts, last time I checked." He took another bite of steak, shoving it all into one cheek in an expression that was three parts stubborn, one part childish.
Castiel sighed, sitting back a little. "Must be lonely," he said, trying for a different approach, and Dean's eyes flashed to his, "to only have fights and meaningless almost-fucks." He tilted his head to one side. "Or is that the part you enjoy? The sex?"
"Hey." Dean pointed an accusing finger his way. "Don't you dare fucking judge me, alright? You know what, people like sex. I can smell the humans that are watching when they see me getting fucked, and I like it, I'm good at it, and sometimes, when they put me in a room with a fucking monster, it's my only fucking option, alright?"
"I'm not judging you," Castiel replied coolly.
Dean shorted. "Like shit you're not," he growled, and then threw what was left of his meal down, turning to face Castiel. "You know what I really like, though?" he asked, leaning forward and bearing his sharp, backward-facing teeth. "I like that they never see it coming. I like it when they think they've won, all the while knowing that if they don't satisfy me, I can rip their fucking heads from their bodies."
He sat back, blinking once. "Other hybrids call me a whore," he said, turning away a little. "They can smell how many males I've had on me and they think I'm a slut. S'never just been about survival, I guess, for them." He shrugged, green eyes flashing back to Castiel's wide ones – honestly, the medic was just surprised; Dean had never been this talkative before. "Somethin' on your mind, Doc?"
Castiel blinked. "Surely you want a mate," he said, unable to stop his curiosity. "Don't you have a mating instinct?"
Dean snorted, lips curling up in a smirk. "You get a bit of a reputation when you fight like I do," he said, shrugging. "No one has the balls to try, I guess. S'not my fault I have high standards." And he smirked again, shaking his head. "When can I get out of here?"
"When your arm has healed a little more, we shall take off the cast and examine it," Castiel said, "and make sure there is no more damage that we need to repair. I'm feeling optimistic, though – all the tests are checking out wonderfully. You may be home within two weeks."
"But not fighting," Dean said.
Castiel shook his head a little, smiling slightly. "No fighting."
Dean looked ahead. "Master's not gonna like that," he said with a twist to his mouth. "Shame. I liked being the favorite."
Castiel's brow furrowed again. "Dean, I'm sure that -."
"Nah." Dean smiled sadly, looking over to Castiel. "Master's a great guy, really, but…" He briefly touched his temple. "He's too smart, see. Always needs to be creatin' things. And I'm old news. Especially now that I'm injured. I'll hold less, ah, allure." He chuckled briefly.
Castiel's eyes widened in understanding. "That's why you want to leave so badly," Castiel whispered; "You think if you get back to fighting quickly, then Michael won't need to create more and you'll keep his favor."
"You heard him yourself," Dean snapped. "He told me to get better. I've already been out of the Ring too long – stupid, falling from the web like that. Knew it was weak but I thought I could get a few more days out of it." Dean growled at himself, disgusted, and then stood up. "Just heal me up, Doc, and then let me go. I need to fight. I want to." Then, he disappeared up his web again, and Castiel sighed, realizing that the conversation had come to an abrupt and final close.
Dean was pushing himself too hard in physical therapy, but Castiel didn't have the heart to tell him to slow down, and he knew Dean wouldn't listen anyway. The cast came off later that week and, as predicted, there was no damage, and everything was healing up rather nicely. Dean didn't have the same grip as he used to in his hand, but he could still move his arm and retained a lot of his dexterity and muscle strength, so Castiel counted it as a win.
"You should be able to be discharged tomorrow," Castiel murmured, smiling in pleasure over a job well done. It had been a little over a month and Dean was well on his way to making a full recovery and, aside from a few rough spots, Castiel had enjoyed spending time the with hybrid. Dean was a vibrant creature, funny and witty and charming in that rough-around-the-edges sort of way.
Dean smirked, raising a brow. "So, what, I don't at least get a goodbye kiss?" he asked, chuckling a little at Castiel's expression. He shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for tryin'. S'been a long time for me."
"I'd rather keep my head, if it's all the same to you," Castiel murmured with a slight smile.
Dean shrugged once more. "You never know," he muttered, looking down, "you might get it right."
He was discharged later that week. Castiel felt oddly sad to see the hybrid go, watching with lips pressed together as Dean was hauled up in a cage into a loading van. Michael came over to him, smiling widely, obviously pleased with Dean's progress while the hybrid watched on with avid green eyes.
"I don't think he should go back in for another month, at least," Castiel said before Michael could speak.
The man laughed, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. "Well, we'll have to see," he said, looking back as the truck doors closed on Dean, shutting him off from sight. "Got a fight scheduled later this week, but if he's still looking off I'll have to delay it."
Castiel frowned a little, but didn't reply, because he had nothing to say to that. He wanted to take Michael's word on it that he wouldn't push Dean too far too fast, but, of course, the fighting business was quite literally cutthroat, and to be on top, one had to fight fiercely to get and stay there.
"I mean it," Castiel whispered, looking to his boss. "Sir," he added almost as an afterthought. The man smiled at him a little. "Dean's been pushing himself and I'm worried. He almost ripped his damn arm off and had to have all of the muscles reattached – that's not something you can just shrug off. Please, Sir, give him time to recover, and he'll be as good as new."
Michael's expression didn't change from the almost vacant smile, and Castiel got the feeling that he wasn't being listened to. With an exasperated huff, he turned away again, looking at the tail-end of the truck as it slowly inched out of the practice's parking lot and onto the main road. Michael clapped him on the shoulder again, regaining his attention; "Good job, Novak," he said, waving and heading towards his car. "I'll be sure to mention this to your superiors."
Castiel got a promotion out of treating Dean so efficiently and sending him on his merry way – Michael had, apparently, been very generous with donations and funding, and had promised a cut of all Dean's future winnings. That made his bosses very pleased with him.
It didn't sit right with Castiel, but he couldn't do anything about it.
"Hey, Cas!" The medic stopped, turning around to see an orderly running towards him, slowing to a halt in front of him. "Some of the guys were gonna go out and watch the fight. Live streaming from Ring-side. You in?"
"Who's fighting?" Castiel hazarded.
"Widow and…dunno. Think the thing's name is Chief or something." Castiel's eyes widened – it had only been a few days since Dean was discharged – he was in no condition to fight! Shocked, horrified, Castiel could only vaguely nod, accepting the invitation without realizing, and before long he found himself sitting in a bar with several of the other medics and orderlies, drinking beer and watching the fight.
He'd asked around to try and get more information – rumors of Dean's injury, it seemed, had been going around, and the hybrid was at twenty-to-one odds, the underdog to Chief's eight-to-three.
The hybrid was crossbred, from what information Castiel could glean, with a cobra and partly with a gorilla. It showed in the large, rough patches of scales across his bare skin that made it look like he suffered from some kind of rash or flesh-eating bacteria, and fat hung off his torso in gross rolls. Castiel swallowed, seeing how much larger he was than Dean – the widow hybrid was half his size, maybe. Castiel's hand clenched around his beer, anxiety and fear for Dean washing over him as he watched, through the gritty, crappy camera, Dean's green eyes look the other creature over, sizing him up.
Chief hissed, baring his grotesquely dirty yellowing teeth, roaring loudly as he raised his arms above his head to show his size and strength, much to the delight of the crowd, both Ring-side and in the bar. Castiel hunched his shoulders, feeling tiny just looking at the beast. Dean, however, didn't waver.
His arm looked good – it was unbandaged, and he stood turned away so that his weak arm was furthest from Chief. It that hand was gripped a weapon, loosely – Castiel couldn't see it well but it looked like some sort of knife, and Castiel had to wonder why they kept arming Dean if he never used the weapons.
The announcer rang the bell, shouting for the fight to begin, and the crowd leapt into a frenzy, as though they were the hybrids in the Ring ready to fight to the death. Chief bared his teeth in a savage smile, stepping towards Dean.
"Come on, pretty spider," he rumbled, his voice deep and jarring and Dean straightened, lifting his chin high in defiance. "The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout…" Chief laughed, his large hands landing on the rolling mass of his belly, clearly thinking himself a genius for the nursery rhyme. Dean's eyes flashed with hatred and malice, but no one would have seen it if they weren't looking.
Dean took a small step forward too, keeping his injured arm and his weapon concealed. His lips were moving but he wasn't saying anything – nothing that the camera could pick up, anyway, over the roaring of the crowd. He side-stepped Chief's lunge, swinging his knife down to embed itself in the creature's back, and yanked it out with a savage snarl before darting away, nimble and quicker on his feet than the other creature.
"Come on, come on," Dean whispered, darting away again. The air reeked of sweat and piss, stale blood and vomit and he hated it. He hated the smell of his God-forsaken place. He wanted to go. He wanted to leave and the sooner this sonofabitch died the sooner he could get out of here.
Soon, Chief would smell his pheromones, and then it would be all over. Dean just had to survive until then. His arm hurt, more than he would care to admit, and the jarring sensation of trying to sink his knife into Chief's thick flesh had strained him unnecessarily.
Chief roared, lunging once more, and caught Dean's arm when he tried to dodge. Dean jerked away, wrenching himself free and snarled, eyes flashing that this piece of filth had managed to touch him. God, he felt dirty.
The fucking medic had gone and made him soft.
Thinking of Castiel made Dean angry – son of a bitch had just stood there, trying to argue against Dean fighting. He had tried to get his master to abandon him, and Dean had no idea why. The only thing he could think of was that he had tried to do that out of some twisted kind of jealousy.
But he wasn't sure.
Chief roared again, and Dean jerked when he felt the creature's massive hand cuff him around the head, sending his world spinning. Dean stumbled, cursing, and the crowd went positively feral. Dean fell to his hands and knees, gasping as he tried to get his bearing again, but then Chief's large bulk was over him, bearing down and completely smothering him.
"Mine now, pretty spider," Chief growled, laughing, his rancid breath ghosting over Dean's neck, and the hybrid gasped again, shaking his head and trying to buck the other creature off – he wasn't ready yet. He wasn't nearly wet enough and if Chief tried to fuck him now he'd get ripped open. Chief's hands hooked over his biceps and Dean cursed again, collapsing when his weak arm gave out on him, unable to support both his and the other creature's weights.
Chief growled in victory, positioning himself behind Dean, his breathing getting ragged and heavy and, at a loss of anything else to do, Dean grabbed for the knife, turned around, and plunged it into Chief's neck. Blood spurted out, a sickly greenish color, around the blade and Dean shoved it in, baring his teeth in a grimace as he forced the knife as deep as he would go, while the creature roared and scrabbled at the weapon. Then, Dean grit his teeth, pain lancing up and down his weak arm, and force the knife out through the back of Chief's neck, semi-decapitating him.
The hybrid slumped down, his hot blood gushing over Dean's neck and chest and arm, and a little into his mouth, and Dean spluttered, spitting the rancid liquid back out, and slowly wormed his way out from under Chief's body as the hybrid slowly slumped forward, already cooling down.
Dean snarled at the stunned ground, raising his knife in the air and then plunging it back into Chief's body, ripping his back open from neck to ass. His blood burned with the victory, but his mouth tasted sour from the other creature's presumption, that he could touch Dean and that would be okay. What gave him the fucking right?
The spider allowed himself to be led away by his handlers, still soaked in Chief's blood, and went out to meet his master. Michael smiled, reaching forward, and gently touching the space about three inches from Dean's forehead.
"Congratulations, Dean," he said.
The hybrid bared teeth, lined with the greenish blood, and smiled.
Castiel almost collapsed in relief when Dean crawled out from under Chief – he had through for sure that the larger hybrid would smother him, but Dean proved him wrong, of course. It seemed strange to Castiel that Dean's savagery was only taken out on the corpse, that he never allowed himself to falter while actually fighting, and Castiel wondered why that was.
"Aw, damn it!" Castiel looked to one side, where the orderly that had invited him out was throwing down a coaster in disgust. "I had a hundred on Chief."
"Should have bet on the underdog," another one said smugly. "Widow never loses."
"Neither did Chief, until tonight," said another.
Castiel sighed, and stood up. "Gentlemen," he said, excusing himself, but he didn't think they really cared – he hadn't taken part in the betting. He wasn't a gambling man, and the thought that others put a gain or loss on Dean's life, quite frankly, sickened him.
He knew that not all hybrids died in fights – some of them were just badly injured and then deemed too weak by their opponent to be more competition, so they allowed them to live and were merely satisfied with their victory. As far as Castiel could tell, Dean had never let an opponent live – not even one who was so badly injured from the fight that they hadn't even been able to try crawling away.
A thought occurred to him, as he started the long walk home because he had been drinking and it wasn't responsible to drive – maybe it was because of Dean's species. He knew physical characteristics were given to the hybrids – that's what they were made for, after all – but maybe some of the instincts were there too. Maybe it was more than just making them stronger or faster or more deadly.
When Castiel finally got into his home, he settled down at his computer, and began to research.
Around three in the morning, it suddenly made a whole lot more sense.
"…Oh," Castiel said, and then shut off his laptop and went to sleep.
Dean was back the next day, in the medic's care, because Michael had been worried when he'd found Dean sleeping, uncharacteristically, on the floor of his enclosure instead of up in his web.
"I think his arm has been strained," the man had said. "From the fight."
Castiel's mouth twisted, thinking about that, but his retort – 'You should have followed my advice, you idiot' – went unsaid. Instead, he went over to Dean's cage and sat down in the hallway, on the floor, like he usually did.
"Dean?" he asked, and the creature's eyes snapped his way. "How you feelin'?"
Dean smiled a little, baring his python-like teeth, and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm faking it," he whispered, grinning, sounding very pleased with himself.
"What?" Castiel asked, blinking.
Dean shrugged, sitting back. "I prefer it here. It doesn't…smell. As much."
Castiel cocked his head to one side, an amused smile flashing across his face. "Well, what did you plan on doing, now that you're here?" Dean shrugged, and Castiel paused for a moment; now or never. "Dean? Can I ask you something?"
"Fire away, Doc," the hybrid answered.
"…How well can you see?" Castiel asked, and Dean's eyes flashed towards him. "I mean…is everything blurry? Or…"
Dean coughed a little. "The, um…" He cleared his throat again. "Usually stuff's just blurry. But I can go by feel. And smell – the dog gives me a really good sense of smell." Castiel nodded, more of his theories slotting into place. "Why?"
"You don't like them touching you, do you?" Castiel asked, ignoring the question, and Dean's eyes narrowed. "It feels weird, I bet."
Dean pressed his lips together. "They only touch me to hurt me," he murmured, looking away. "Why should I let them?"
"You let them fuck you," Castiel pointed out.
Dean laughed. "They've never gotten far in that aspect, Doc, if you know what I mean."
Unfortunately, Castiel knew all too well. "Dean," he said, "press your hand against the cage." He scooted a little closer and the hybrid tensed, lifting his chin, nostrils flaring as he tried to scent the air, to get a grip on what was happening, but he obeyed, tiny hooks in his fingertips catching on the metal bars and sticky pads pressed against the thin metal. Castiel reached forward, slowly, and ran a fingernail across the bars, like when children beat at gates with sticks.
Dean shivered, his eyes widening as he looked at his own hand, no doubt able to feel the vibrations of the bars with his super-sensitive fingertips. "What…?" Castiel did it again and Dean mewled softly, a soft series of clicks spilling from his mouth.
"He crossed you with a female spider, didn't he?" Castiel whispered, dragging his nail across again and watching how Dean shivered at it, his toes flexing against the floor of the cage as he drew his legs closer to his body, wrapping his other arm around them. "That's why you eat them. You're not matured, and then when they try and mate with you anyway, you react."
"I…" Dean choked, swallowing, his body tensing as he continued to stare at his hand. "I like to think it's a little more complicated than that."
"They can't communicate with you like this, though," Castiel continued, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pen, then tapping it against the bars, and Dean's eyes widened further, his other hand going forward and pressing against the cage, wanting to feel the vibrations. The medic nodded, pleased with himself for figuring it out. "It's self-defense."
"Shut up," Dean snapped, pressing his hands more insistently against the bars, and then he moved his hands to the side, where he could feel them getting stronger. He traveled around the edge of his cage, feeling the rebounds of Castiel's pen striking at his cage, until he was face to face with the medic.
Castiel stopped, then, and Dean released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, letting go of the cage and sitting back. "I've never felt that before," he confessed. "No one's…that's never happened." His eyes narrowed. "How did you figure that out?"
"Research," Castiel answered with a shrug.
Dean hummed, leaning forward and pressing his face against the cage, fingers curling around the bars to help support him. "Your eyes are really blue," he said. "They're the only part of you I can really see clearly." He paused, cocking his head to one side, thinking to himself. "I think I'll know it's you, whenever I see them."
Castiel smiled. "If you don't smell me first," he said.
Dean chuckled gently, his eyes gently fluttering closed. Cautious, Castiel tapped his fingers against the bars, and then allowed his fingers to slip through, just gently brushing over Dean's hand. The hybrid's eyes opened and he looked at where they were touching, leaning down to sniff lightly at Castiel's hand, and then smiled, pressing his cheek against Castiel's fingers.
"Thanks for taking care of me, Cas," he whispered, eyes flashing to the medic's face. "I think I might have to fake injury more often."
Castiel chuckled. "Not too often," he said, his finger lifting gently to brush over Dean's nose. "I watched your fight with Chief. Scared the shit outta me. I thought you weren't gonna make it."
Dean chuckled, turning his head slightly to lick at Castiel's palm. "Undefeated, Cas," he sing-songed, eyes blinking open. "You'd be amazed."
Castiel smiled a little, and didn't say anything. Dean blinked when he rose to his feet, frowning a little when Castiel's touch withdrew. "Hey." He tried reaching out, but the bars were too close together and he couldn't make a grab for Castiel's coat. Luckily, the medic stopped. "You…" He cleared his throat, swallowing, and looked away. "Will you come visit me? I mean…"
Castiel smiled, and knelt down, pressing a hand against the bars of his cage, and then through to stroke across the back of Dean's hand. "I will always be your top medic when you get injured, and I will watch every fight. And I will visit if Michael allows it. After all, I think you'll need more physical therapy sessions, and follow-up exams…"
He trailed off, smiling, and Dean's eyes brightened up in happiness. "I'd like that."
Inhibitions? What inhibitions? xD