Dancing with the Devil - Chapter 1

I don't own Supernatural.

Chapter One

The Debt is Paid

Castiel was seventy-nine when he died, and he died alone. He had never married, and his older brothers – Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel, Balthazar – had all passed away by this point. They'd gone to Heaven; at least that is what the priest said at their funeral services. The priest proclaimed that they were good, honest men. Castiel always felt a sharp, stinging pain in his chest when he thought of his brothers in Heaven. They certainly deserved it . . . but at the same time, he knew that he would never see them again. He would never get to see their Heaven. He would never get to spend time with them, or see their faces again. No, he had a different destination.

Castiel was very sick and was living in a nursing home. His youngest brother, Samandriel, had arranged it, and paid for Castiel's stay there. Normally, Samandriel would have been there, sitting at Castiel's bedside – just being there to comfort his older brother. But the day Castiel died, Samandriel wasn't there.

As he waited for his younger brother, Castiel's mind began to drift back to that demon he had met with almost fifty years ago. It seemed like . . . such a long time since they had met. Will he come for me? Castiel wondered. The notion was oddly comforting to him. He wasn't afraid of the demon collecting him. He was waiting for it. Anything for this to . . . just go away. This pain. Let it be over . . . Dean . . . The name sounded bizarre even in his head.

Then, a sound reached Castiel's ears. Footsteps. They seemed to be coming down the hall – toward his room. Good, he thought with a sigh of relief. Samandriel has finally made it. I always knew I could count on him . . . Maybe I should tell him to stop coming . . . I know it is hard on him. He's seventy-three himself – can hardly get around. He should be home with his wife, not catering to my needs. As he worked up the nerve to tell his younger brother this, he finally heard the footsteps cease just outside his door. He turned, expecting to see Samandriel, but instead, seeing someone he would have never expected. His mouth fell open ever so slightly.

"Hey, sugar-lips," Dean said. He leaned on the side of the doorframe, smirking. "You're . . ."

"Old?" Castiel cracked. His voice sounded so . . . weak. So dry. It was nothing like it once was – deep, commanding; a voice that turned women – and apparently demons too – on.

Dean shrugged. "I think you're still lookin' hot, but hey that's just me." He waltzed into the room and shut the door behind him.

"Is it time?" Castiel asked quietly.

"How'd you know?"

"I thought . . . You mentioned something about . . . dogs collecting," Castiel murmured. He had been thinking about that. If it looked like he'd been mauled by dogs, what would the nursing home think? What trouble would they get in for that one?

Dean looked insulted. "Do you really think I'd let a pack of mutts come in and hurt you?" he asked. Castiel was surprised by the earnestness in the demon's voice. He looked up at him, almost sheepishly. Dean's piercing green eyes were fixated on him, and his forehead was slightly creased. "Castiel, you aren't an ordinary soul on the highway to hell."

"That's a . . . interesting choice of words."

"Castiel, you are special to me – very special. No, I had to do this personally," Dean said. And suddenly, he was right beside the bed, smirking down at Castiel. The demon sat on the edge of the bed and gently cupped the older man's face. "Now, are you ready? Ready to finally come home with me?"

Home might have sounded nice if it didn't refer to Hell. But . . . if he was going with Dean, and if Dean meant everything he had said . . .

"Yes," Castiel whispered.

For once, Dean didn't have a devilish smirk on his face. Instead he ran his thumb along Castiel's cheek. "This won't hurt a bit, sugar-lips. I promise."

Castiel took in a shaky breath and nodded.

Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Castiel's once more.

Dean had been right; it hadn't hurt . . . not at first. Death itself was such an easy concept. It was quick and painless; more of a release than anything. In fact, Castiel was unconscious the entire time; unaware. When he came to, Castiel was, to his great surprise, lying on a luxurious bed. He sat up with a start. If he had been human – alive – his heart would have been hammering in his chest, but the cavity was oddly silent. Castiel did not feel the blood pulsing through his veins. The anxiety and the uncertainty was still there, but the adrenaline – the humanness – was gone.

He looked around his new surroundings in wonder. He was in a medium-sized room that had a Gothic look to it. The bed on which he sat looked like rod-iron (but he knew it had to be an imitation of some kind since Michael had once told him that supernatural creatures hated iron), and the comforter was a dark crimson. The walls had an intricate red-and-black design on them, and most of the furniture was either the same "iron" of the bed, or wood that had been painted black. The carpet was red, as were the shades of the lamps that were positioned on either side of the bed. An "iron" chandelier hung from the ceiling, but instead of having bulbs, it had red candles. The flames of those candles danced lazily as wind drifted by, making them shake ever-so-slightly.

"What d'ya think, sugar?"

Castiel jumped at the sound of Dean's voice. His head shot up and his dark blue eyes locked with Dean's evergreen ones. He looked around the room once more, before looking back to Dean. He never would have expected his room to be so . . . furnished; so fancy. "It's nice," he said, and it was the truth. Castiel could have done without all the red, but, for a room in Hell, it was pretty damn nice – better than the dungeon of misery and torture he had been expecting.

"Yeah, I didn't do the decorating – that was Crowley," Dean said. He stood in the room's doorway, half in and half out. He, again, was leaned up against the doorframe. Castiel had figured that that was just something he did – a tiny, insignificant detail that could easily get lost in the numerous others that made up whoever Dean was.

"Crowley?" Castiel asked, sitting on the edge of the bed now. He was watching Dean with interest. Their first encounter had been . . . intimidating, but also invigorating. Castiel had spent years trying to deny it, but eventually had no choice to accept it: his encounter with Dean fifty years ago had turned him on. But this . . . this time it was different. Dean was no longer trying to persuade him, or even play with him. Castiel was already his, so the Dean he was seeing now was the real one . . . Wasn't it?

"A friend of mine," Dean explained with a dismissive tone. It was clear to Castiel that his new demonic companion didn't want to talk about it. "He's . . . not important. He'll show up here eventually – sooner than later – but we'll . . . get to him when the time comes. You won't meet many demons – not if I have any say in the matter. The only person you'll probably have contact with is my brother – Sam."

Castiel cocked his head to the side. He slid off the bed and turned so he faced Dean head-on. Dean shifted and stood up straight. His eyebrows arched upward, and his dark green eyes held an unspoken dare. They almost seemed to say, Did I tell you that you could stand? Are you gonna try to walk out? You wanna try that, sugar-lips? But Castiel didn't want to walk out. Due to reasons unfathomable to him, he wanted to be closer to Dean. "You have a brother?"

Dean seemed to relax, he leaned against the doorframe again and folded his arms across his chest. "Is that surprising to you, Castiel?"

Castiel shivered at the sound of his name on Dean's lips. Did this demon have any idea what he did to him? But even more unsettling, how the hell was it so easy to make him feel this way? "I just . . . never thought of demons having siblings."

"Like I said – human once."

"And your brother is . . . a demon too?"

Dean nodded. He walked into the room then, letting his arms fall to his sides. His evergreen eyes raked over Castiel's slender figure hungrily. Whether he was trying to distract the human, or turn him on, Castiel didn't know. He would have been fine with either, really. How could something evil be so . . .

"Long story," Dean replied. Either he didn't notice the way Castiel stiffened under his gaze, or he chose to ignore it. Castiel had a feeling that it was the latter. He believed that Dean knew exactly what he was doing, and was doing it entirely on purpose. "I might tell you one day."

"That's the second time you've told me that," Castiel pointed out. Dean was closer now – about five feet away. Come closer. The thought crossed Castiel's mind before he could stop it. Stop it, Castiel . . . He's a demon. You shouldn't . . . you shouldn't want this. What would Michael say if he saw you now? What would any of your family members say if they saw you now?

"Is it imperative that you know the answer right now?" Dean asked.

"Uh . . . no?"

"Exactly. So, I don't feel the need to tell you," the demon said simply. His eyes flickered black for half a second.

Castiel, realizing that he had overstepped his boundaries, took a step back and lowered his head. He remembered that he wasn't here as Dean's equal, but his servant. His submissive, as Dean had called it.

Submissive.

The term sounded oddly appealing.

I could live with that, Castiel thought, his mind drifting to dirty places.

"Okay Dean," Castiel murmured.

He thought he heard a sound come from Dean's direction. It was a soft, barely noticeable sound; a somewhere between a sigh and a groan. Dean's voice then sounded, darker and more demonic than ever before. "Say it again."

Castiel looked up, his blue eyes wide. Dean had – silently – appeared in front of him. He was less than a foot away, and his eyes were pitch black. "Huh?" Castiel asked, not comprehending what was going on. Dean was too close. He was making it hard to concentrate.

"Say it again," Dean growled this time. "Say my name."

Castiel stared at him for a moment, finally realizing what his new companion was requesting. His lips curled upward in the slightest of smiles. "Dean." It came out as a breathy sigh – more like a moan. It was full of want and desire, just as Castiel had intended it.

Dean let out a low growl. For the first time since Castiel had known him, he knew for a fact that Dean was not human. He was something else – something wilder, something fiercer, something that couldn't be tamed . . . or could it? Could Castiel somehow be able to tame this monster?

Without warning, Dean's hand was clamped around Castiel's throat and they were on the bed. Castiel was being pressed into the mattress, Dean's weight almost crushing him. The demon had straddled him, had one hand on his throat, and the other was now covering the human's mouth. Dean smirked and leaned down so his face was less than an inch from Castiel's. "Don't tempt me, sugar-lips. Because you might just get more than you bargained for."

Dean held him like that for a few moments, staring into his eyes. Castiel just stared back, his stomach doing somersaults. His pants suddenly felt unusually tight. He gulped. God forbid Dean happened to notice that he was actually . . . aroused by this. Do you think he doesn't know that? a voice in the back of his head thought. With the way you've been acting, he knows damn well that you like it when he . . . takes charge. And Castiel didn't agree with the voice inside his head. In fact, he thought it was right. Dean pinning him to the bed with one had on his throat and the other over his mouth was sexy as fuck.

Then, Dean pulled away. Castiel almost whimpered at the loss of contact but managed to suppress it. Dean hopped off the bed and strode toward the door. "Maybe later you and I can . . . get to know each other better, but for right now, I have work to do," the demon said, not even bothering to give Castiel a second glance.

The human sat up on the bed, his hair slightly mussed. The tan trench coat he always wore – and was also his favorite piece of clothing – looked a little ruffled, and his dark blue tie was slightly crooked. To an outsider, the scene would look rather comical, but Castiel wasn't enjoying it in the slightest.

Don't leave. I'm sorry, Dean. Don't leave.

"Where are you going?" Castiel asked. He internally winced at how needy he sounded. He didn't even know this guy – demon – and he was already acting like a clingy, needy girlfriend. What is it about him? Castiel wondered. Why does he captivate me so thoroughly?

"I just said," Dean said, looking over his shoulder once. "I have work to do." Before Castiel could ask another question, Dean had stepped across the threshold and closed the door of the bedroom behind him.

Castiel sat on the bed dejectedly. He stared at the black wooden door. Dean had been there just a few seconds before. Perhaps he still lingered outside . . . listening. It was a wild thought, and, looking back, Castiel shake his head at it. For Castiel never would understand what had attracted him to Dean in their first few meetings. The only thing Dean had going for him was his good looks, and that would have been enough for some, but not Castiel. Castiel was not a materialistic man. He always tried to never judge books by their covers, and he certainly never feel this way solely based on a person's appearance.

But soon, Castiel would find himself meeting the real Dean. And he would find that the demons that haunted him were even more frightening than the demon he had become.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review and tell me what you thought!