- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of the TV show Supernatural, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella.

- No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.

- Thanks to the Sister Husbands, who are my best friends in the whole world, and happen to be gracious enough to also beta most of my works for me. I don't know what I'd do without you girls, but I certainly wouldn't be doing this.

- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them.

- WARNING: If you're here because you loved Come On In, please read this carefully. The characters are the same, and I'm hoping to keep the fluffiness as much as possible, but this story is dark. It deals with some things I didn't anticipate when I started dropping hints about Cas' past in COI, so if that's not your jam, please read the tags. If you're still worried, feel free to drop me an email at thereluctantshipper and I'll give you any information you need to stay safe. 3 Love y'all. Be careful.

- Feedback is life.

- TRIGGER WARNING in the end notes. Please scroll down to read it or proceed with caution.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

"Cas."

"I need you to be sure, Dean."

"I'm sure, I'm sure, Jesus."

A deep breath. "All right. Everything is arranged?"

"I'm signed up for remote classes for next semester, and Charlie says that doing that for the semester after won't be a problem. Sammy and Bobby know, and Sam's teaching the old man how to Skype. Benny and Ash think I'm studying abroad."

"Very good." Another deep breath. "Very good."

"Cas… Are you sure?"

"I'm not the one about to die."

"Yeah, all right, point. But you're stalling."

"I most certainly am not."

"Ca, if you don't want to do this, or if you're uncomfortable with it, we can find someone else to-" A loud, rumbling snarl. "... Okay, then, Mr. Possessive."

"... My apologies."

"The hell was that?"

"I find the idea of someone else turning you undesirable."

A snort. "'Undesirable.' I thought the whole 'bond between sire and child' thing was a myth."

"It is."

"... Okay. Wanna elaborate?"

"Quite frankly, the idea of someone else biting you makes me want to tear someone's throat out."

"... Goddamn, Cas." The response is breathy.

"Indeed."

"Don't be smug. IF it's not because you're having second thoughts, why are you stalling?"

"I'm not-"

"Cas."

"I find that I am… Incredibly nervous."

"Dude. You're not the one who's about to die. Why are you nervous?"

"Dean." His voice is thick. "If I were to lose control, if I were to hurt you, I would never be able to live with myself."

"Cas," his voice is soft, gentle, "Cas, baby. I trust you."

"I don't know if I trust myself."

"Well, then, trust me." A rustling sound, one body moving closer to another. "Baby, please. I want this with you. I want it to be you."

One last deep breath. "Of course, Dean. Lie back against me and we'll get started."

Dying is a lot colder than Dean thought it would be. He probably should have expected it, but as his limbs fail and his eyelids grow unbearably heavy, he's surprised at how cold he is.

He has no idea how long they've been here. He's sitting on a bed, leaning back against Cas. They're not in his bed, he doesn't think so, anyway. He doesn't remember. They went somewhere for this, somewhere safe, but the knowledge is slipping away with his lifeblood. The only thing he knows for sure know is Cas, Cas' cold chest behind him, Cas' strong arms holding him up, Cas' lips at his neck.

The draining sensation is slowing down now, and it's getting hard to breathe.

"C… Cas…"

It will be frightening, a deep voice from a memory he can barely grasp assures him.

Were you scared? When it happened to you?

… Yes. I was petrified.

His eyes have been closed forever, now, and moving is something he distantly remembers as an option. He slumps forward, completely unable to control his descent. He's vaguely grateful for the cold bands that keep him from falling more, falling forever in darkness.

He feels, as if it's going on very far away, a sort of withdrawing happening to him, but it's unimportant. He's much more focused on the fear, the terror.

I don't want to die.

He realizes with an extremely delayed panic that he doesn't want to die. He has to be there for Sam, and someone's going to take care of Bobby as he ages, and Cas. He needs Cas, and Cas needs him, and it doesn't matter to him that Cas is a vampire because Cas is the best and Cas is…

A vampire.

Something is pressed to his lips and he can tell that it's been torn open. Something wet and burning hot is smearing onto his mouth, his chin.

"Dean," a soft, urgent voice murmurs in his ear. "If you don't want to die, you have to drink."

He wants to, he wants to. He doesn't want to die, he's twenty-fucking-three, for fuck's sake. He wants to live. He wants to watch Sammy grown up, he wants to harass Bobby. He wants to be Charlie's best man at her lesbian wedding. He wants to watch Ash take over the world.

Cas. He wants to be with Cas. He wants to watch him smile and laugh and frown and concentrate and eat and hunt and sleep and read. He wants to be with Cas forever.

Forever.

"Dean," the voice is panicking. "Dean, you have to drink."

Dean draws up every ounce of will he's ever had in his life and uses all of it to let his mouth fall open against the wet flesh pressed against it. Coppery liquid floods his mouth, so hot it feels like it's boiling against his tongue, but he accepts it greedily. Some instinct is telling him that he needs it.

He's maneuvered until he's flat on his back, but he ignores the hands that guide him to a comfortable position and focuses on drinking deep. The warm liquid is burning him up and he can feel his insides shifting and flexing in a way he's not familiar with. It scares him a little, but death scares him more, so he finds himself reaching up to clasp whatever it is (an arm, it's a muscular arm) with one hand weakly and pressing his teeth to the flesh to draw more of the liquid (blood, it's blood) into his mouth.

Something runs through his hair. "You're doing so well, dearheart," the voice whispers. "I'm so proud of you."

Dean would preen if he could focus on anything but the blood he's pulling from the arm, Cas' arm.

With that thought, the sudden awareness of who he is, what's he becoming, and where he is comes flooding back to him.

Unfamiliar fangs drop from his gums and sink into the arm held to his lips, both by his own iron grip and by Cas himself. At the same time, he feels his heartbeat shudder to a complete stop.

His eyes snap open, and he's drowning, drowning, drowning in the crystalline blue of Castiel's eyes in his first moments of eternity.

- TW: Dean dies in this chapter. It is described in detail.