After a day of rest, and more than enough drink, I was ready for another case. Sleep had refreshed me, and I opened my eyes to the sight of yet another motel room. A suspicious stain stared back at me from the ceiling. I grunted and rolled over, wishing I hadn't slept in my jeans. Sam was still asleep, face squished into the uncomfortable pillow. I stood up slowly and wandered over to the door at the end of the room.
The bathroom was small, and I remembered to lift my feet up just in time to not stub my toe on the stupid little step they'd put there. Once I'd splashed my face with cold water and shaken the droplets out of my eyes, I wandered to the small table where we'd dumped our bags the previous night. I dug deep into Sam's and found the laptop.
I pushed the bags onto the floor and typed in the password. As I scoured the internet for a case, preferably one a long drive away so we'd get a bit of a break, something outside caught my attention. It was a muffled cry.
Must be an animal or something, I concluded when I didn't hear it again. The news held nothing interesting, and I was more preoccupied with the thought of breakfast than a job in any case. Reaching onto the floor, I unzipped my duffel bag and took out a shirt.
But there it was again. That sound. I quickly pulled off my sweaty tee shirt from yesterday and put on the clean shirt, walking over to the small window. The net curtains billowed with dust as I drew them apart and then rolled up the damp smelling blind. The early morning sun blinded me for a second, and I blinked, trying to get the sleep and the dust out of my eyes. God why did we always choose the cheapest motels?
It was deserted outside, apart from the impala and a couple of other cars. The other motel rooms were arranged over three sides of a square; their brightly coloured doors facing the almost empty parking lot in the middle. Then I heard it again, that sound.
A hand. I saw a hand. A hand; bloody and bruised on the wet tarmac. I hope to god it's attached to an arm, I thought as I pulled on my boots, not worrying about socks. I grabbed my gun from the bedside table and left the room hastily. As the door slammed, I heard Sam wake up and call my name.
I approached the blue minivan cautiously, my eyes darting around to check if anyone was there. Relief filled me when I saw the hand was attached to an arm. Then I saw the rest of the body. It was a man in torn jeans and a blood soaked polo shirt. He had been stabbed. I glanced around, then pressed to fingers to his neck. The guy was pale and cold and I didn't expect to feel anything, but to my surprise, a pulse quivered in his throat.
Someone laid a hand on my shoulder. Without thinking, a spun around, finger on the trigger. It was Sam. Oh thank god. I glared at my brother, thinking of all times I could have shot him when he'd snuck up on my like that. Then Sam saw the man.
"Woah."
"I know."
Sam stared at me for a bit. "…So…are you gonna call 911?"
"Um, yeah? Should we move him inside though?"
Sam nodded and together we lifted the man into the room. Luckily, Sam had kept the door open with an empty beer bottle that we'd left lying on the ground. As we lay the man down, his eyes fluttered open. The words seemed to stick in his throat.
"Don't call 911."
"Okay, okay," Sam said. The man flinched when he saw that I was holding scissors. My heart tingled with something I couldn't describe.
"It's okay man, we're gonna patch you up," I said, trying to sound reassuring. I took hold of the sticky shirt and ran the scissors down it. The bloody material fell away onto the bed, revealing a stab wound in the man's lower abdomen.
"It hasn't hit anything vital," I heard Sam say, "You're gonna be okay."
A small smile played upon the man's cracked lips.
"But you've lost a lot of blood. We can take you to a hospital."
If it was possible, the man seemed to turn even paler. "No hospital," he rasped.
"Okay then we'll patch you up here. Dean, you okay?"
I snapped out of my trance. I had been staring at the wound in the defined muscle for a long time. I replied with something vague: yeah, I'm okay. But I wasn't. Something about this man entranced me. I reached into the first aid kit to get a needle and thread, but Sam's hand grabbed mine.
"Dean, you're shaking." I looked at my hand, held firmly in his. I was. "I can do this."
I nodded, my head thick. Words tried to form but they didn't appear, so I just sat down heavily on the other bed. The man winced audibly as Sam stitched up the wound and wiped it with an antiseptic swab. They seemed so far away, yet the other bed was just inched from mine. Sam was talking again, but it was like I was listening to him through water. His words blurred into one long drone.
"…Dean… Dean… you okay?" I heard faintly. With the tiniest of movements, I shook my head.
"…What's wrong…?" Sam's voice faded in and out. He stopped winding the bandages around the man and walked over to me. His heavy hand on my shoulder felt light and non-existent. He shook me, and I fell limp, my thumping head lolling against his shoulder.
"…Dean…say something…" Sam lay me down and I sank into the cold bed, thankful for the thin sheets to cool my burning body.
When I woke, the other man was sitting on the edge of the other bed talking to my brother. Sam was pacing the room, staring at me. As soon as he saw I was awake, he hurried over. I silenced his questions with "I'm good," before I sat up and looked at the other man.
"This is Cas," Sam said, his voice no longer distant. He nodded and gave a thumbs up. I remembered our little signal. It meant that Sam had done the tests. Holy water was probably in the beer and the needle from our first aid kit was made of silver. Next to a couple of empty coffee mugs, I saw an empty packet of salt from a diner somewhere. Sam had done the salt-test too. With his puppy-dog eyes, Sam could get strangers to do the weirdest things and they would hardly question it. In any case, the guy was human.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. "Hi Cas." Then, "I'm Dean." We stared at each other. It must have been for only a second, but his piercing blue gaze captured my attention and I looked deep into his eyes for what seemed like a day. The moment was broken when Sam put a cool beer into my hand. I popped open the can and took a sip, aware that they were both staring at me.
"So, Cas, how did you get stabbed?" I asked. The words came tumbling out and sounding much less sympathetic than I'd hoped. The man looked at the floor.
"I don't wanna talk about it," he said. Then, deflecting the attention, he asked, "What happened to you?"
"I don't know." I suddenly realised that he was wearing one of my shirts, his own, as I recalled, was bloody and torn, and now in the wastepaper basket.
"Sorry about borrowing your shirt," he said, breaking the silence. That was odd. I'd just thought that. But damn the man looked good in it. He was slightly more muscular than me, and the black cotton bulged over his arms. I looked up to see Cas blushing profusely.
"What?" Sam asked.
"You said I was hot," Cas replied quietly, looking at me.
"WHAT?" My brother scoffed.
That was odd. That was more than odd. "N-nah, see… I - I thought that. You reading my thoughts Cas?"
"You said it aloud," the man said. His voice made me tremble.
Sam was just as confused as I was. "He didn't!"
"Trust me buddy I didn't," I said, all warning signs flashing. But then again, Sam had done the tests. Cas was human.
"My voice made you tremble. It touched your heart. You love how deep it is," the man said. Now it was my turn to blush.
"So wait- if you can read Dean's…disturbing… thoughts, can you read mine?" Sam asked?
"No."
"What are you?" I asked warily.
"I'm a lawyer fro-"
"No no no, what are you?"
"Dean I did all the tests."
Cas stood up, alarmed. His hand flew to his stomach and pressed it over the place where he'd been stabbed. "Tests? What did you guys do to me?" His voice was shaky, whether out of pain of fear I couldn't tell.
"Relax, man," I said.
Sam took my arm, speaking quietly. "I told him."
My eyes widened. "Everything?" This was our code for not-everything. Sam hadn't told Cas the actual truth. It was our FBI stunt, if I remembered correctly.
"Just routine FBI tests. Nothing special. Makes sure you're not a serial killer or anything."
The man nodded, sitting back down on the edge of the unmade bed, seemingly unconvinced. He spoke again, still on high alert. "FBI stunt? … You're not FBI, are you?" He looked at Sam accusingly.
I swore silently. Sam gave me a death stare. I rolled my eyes. "I can't control what I think Sam!" I protested.
"Try," Sam snapped. "In fact, why don't you go get lunch for us all?" He chucked me my wallet which was on the bedside table.
"Lunch?"
"Yeah Dean, you were out for a couple of hours."
I was? Strange. I pulled my shoes on (which Sam had kindly taken off when I'd blacked out) and walked out of the door. It took me twenty minutes to drive to the nearest service station and pick up two burgers and something containing lettuce for Sam. When I got back, I slammed the impala door loudly, letting them know I was here. I knocked on the bright blue door and Cas opened it.
Wow he was stunning. "Hey. Where's Sam?" I tried to direct my thoughts away from Cas.
"You think my eyes look beautiful."
We both blushed.
"Dude can you not do that? I already thought it… and you apparently heard it, we don't need Sam to hear it!" Did I snap? Was I too angry? Where was Sam? I'd bought a chicken salad for him especially as well.
Cas's reassuring smile told me I hadn't gotten too angry. It was okay. "Sam's fine. He went out for a bit." Already answering my question. "Just for a walk, he said he'd be back in ten for his sandwich." Why? "He said he wanted us to be alone for a while."
He stopped just long enough to voice my query. "Why?"
"He called your Uncle… Bobby?" I nodded, confused. "They figured out why I can read your thoughts. And why you blacked out when I was stabbed."
Then. Cas leant forward. His face was unbearably close to mine. His perfect face… His soft featured and rough stubble that gave him a rugged appearance… His cracked lips so in need of kissing. So I leant forward too. My lips touched his. The cracked, sore skin tasted of beer and something fruity that I couldn't place. I guess mine must have tasted of stale alcohol and un-brushed teeth.
"You're perfect," Cas whispered, blushing more than ever now. He looked at the floor and my heart broke to see him so embarrassed.
My hand caressed his face and his gaze rose to meet mine. "You more," I replied, kissing him gently again.
"Stop," Cas said quietly, breaking away. He seemed nervous.
My pulse quickened. What had I done wrong? "In what way?"
"You've done nothing wrong," he reassured me with a smile. "But I never told you what Sam and I found out from your Uncle."
"What?" I asked.
Cas licked his lips. "The reason I- umm…" He took a shaky breath and started again. "You'll be able to read my thoughts too you know, if you try." I looked at him in wonder. "Just like I can read yours."
Why? How?
"And the reason you blacked out when I was hurt, and the reason you found me so quickly, is because…" he trailed off, trying to blink away the nerves. I took his warm hand in mine and traced my fingers gently over the cuts and bruises on the knuckles. With my other hand, I stroked the stab wound. It was a miracle he was even alive, let alone standing. His fingers wound themselves around mine.
My voice was barely a whisper. "What is it Cas?"
"It's because we're soul mates."