Rainstorm
Sometimes first meetings can be intense.
The rain pelted outside and lightening fissured, streaking along the skies, it was hard to see anything passed the storm.
Sam peered around the room he was in, the tea tray had left and so did the man whose shadow Sam had become acquainted with. He had to find out more about the man, more about this house.
He pulled off the thick and soft duvet from him and let the cool air wash over his warm body. With a shiver, he slowly got up out of bed, testing the cast, he found he was able to lean on it for a moment before it started to ache. He wouldn't be able to walk, but he could at least hobble a bit with some kind of support.
Eyeing a metal poker by the fire place at the other end of the room, Sam struggled to get to the fire place, holding onto the posters of the bed and sliding his leg along the ground. He heard the tell-tale sound of cutlery clinking together and a few moments later the tea tray appeared next to him, it nudged at his thighs and Sam wobbled onto it, using it for support. With whimpers and grimacing at the subdued ache and pain in his leg, he finally made it to the fireplace. Thanking the tea tray, he took the metal poker in his hand, and tested it. It didn't bend or creak, and it seemed to be thicker than most pokers, larger in the handle area, as if someone with a bigger hand used it.
With a makeshift crutch, he was finally able to roam about the house.
Sam hobbled out of the bedroom and into a large hallway, on his direct left was a tall mosaic like stain glass window with an image of an angel's wings on it. He turned back to the door he had just entered from. The bedroom door was a set of two great double doors deeply carved with intricate designs of angels. The hall he stood in was full of dark wood and weighty carvings.
The entire house seemed to have the perception of a gothic style, what with all the angels carved everywhere. The floor he was on was set in a long, straight hall, to accommodate the doors to the bedrooms. Each of the doors he passed were closed. At the left end of the hallway was a small set of staircases, probably leading to the servants' rooms on the floors above, and to the service rooms below.
Following the hallways down, he saw a large staircase that lay back in the far end. It pooled down to the floors below. Sam could see there was a wide landing and then the staircase well.
Wait…
He blinked a few times. He could have sworn he saw someone standing by the main doors leading to what looked like a large ballroom on the balcony of the staircase. And it wasn't the man who had looked after him.
He made his way to the balcony, his feet making an obscenely loud tap-click with every footstep. The top floor was completely empty, that was no surprise. A quick look at the large grandfather clock on the ground floor told him that it was just about midnight.
His bare feet thudded against the wooden floor as he walked over to the large staircase, his long fingers wrapped around the banister as he made his way to the bottom floor.
Tap-click, tap-click, tap-click. His makeshift crutch held on strong.
Empty.
His stomach chose them to rumble.
He made his way passed the large closed doors leading to what must have been a ballroom, and into the kitchen area. The kitchen was just as big as everything else in the house. And decorated much the same. There was a large island bar in the middle, and everything was tiled beautifully. He paused when he saw an ornate silver plate dome, with a post-it note on it.
Sam peeled it off. "Dinner is in the dining room."
Sam made his way back to the dining room he had passed and pushed the heavy door open. A dark wood table was spread down the length of the room, the door being at its half point. A large fire place loomed behind the head of the table, and it was blazing hungrily. Large windows lined the walls far above, letting in light by which to see. Other than that, the room was relatively unadorned.
Sam saw a chair by the head of the table and made his way towards the chair on the right, unsure of whether to sit, or to remain standing. Gingerly, he sat down on the hard, black lacquered chair, awaiting his host.
He folded his hands neatly in his lap, staring down at them, his heart pounding in anticipation. The very air around him suddenly changed. Curious, he re-opened his eyes and found himself completely unable to move.
Fear gripped him as he stared at the pale beast standing at the head entrance of the dining room. He stood tall, but he was still shorter than Sam's six foot four, and he looked like a mix of a wolf and a bear, with ram like horns that curled in his hair. His dark hair was shaggy and fell in a curled mass around his face. He had two large cat-like ears and whiskers. He looked unusual, but in no way ugly or scary.
This was the man Dean was talking about.
He was real!
The beasts' deep blue eyes bore into Sam's hazel green ones. Sam felt trapped, imprisoned in the intenseness of his hosts gaze. The beast of a man smiled, the corner of his lips turning up to show fangs. Sam cleared his throat, making himself known and boosting up his withered confidence.
"I apologise for intruding in your lovely home," He said, bowing his head down, trying not to be daunting. This was the host, he looked frightening, but if Sam were to act as anything but courteous he'd be forced out of there with a broken leg and arm.
The beasts' voice was a low growl when he spoke, and it made Sam shiver. "So, you are the one Gabriel has been talking about,"
Gabriel. Was that the name of the man who had cared for him?
"My name is Castiel, I will be your host, Gabriel will attend to you tonight," The beast man said, settling down at the head of the table. He draped his long, bushy tail behind him. The cutlery started moving of its own accord as he did so, plates, glasses, knives and forks setting themselves in front of the two.
A few moments later, the door leading from the kitchen area budged open and tray after tray of foods arrived, dancing along the air, sliding across the table and settling themselves in front of Sam.
Sam watched, enthralled, as all sorts of different foods spun and settled before him. He didn't know what else to do, everything seemed like a fantasy. Maybe he had hit his head harder than he had thought and all of this was some weird dream.
Castiel held a childlike wonder in his eyes as he watched Sam. "What brings you here?"
Not wanting to be a bad guest, Sam suddenly found himself telling Castiel about himself, about his inventions, the reason he had stopped in front of the house, about his brother. He was calmed when Castiel told him that Gabriel would bring his car, and his invention, to the garage.
Sam found that Castiel really did seem intrigued as to how his inventions worked. But then again Castiel seemed raptured with everything Sam was saying about his life.
Maybe he never had the chance to see the real world. It must have been hard for him. Sam suddenly felt less frightened and more saddened for this otherworldly beast.
It was freezing and Dean was soaked as he trudged through the cobblestone and mud in the large garden entrance. His boots squelched as the rain water fell, shrouding him in the blustery wings. He looked up to the large house in front of him, the flowers and the trees were bending against the wind.
The entrance of the house came around him in a rush, the sound of his feet on the wood of the veranda was an outrage in the utter silence, even with the rain. It was as though it had been a very long time since anyone walked across the boards of the house.
Dean brought his hands up to the heavy iron knocker, but the door opened without warning.
"Spooky," He muttered to himself as he stepped inside.
The house was huge. He walked deeper into the foyer. The main floor led to a grand staircase. Taking a look back to the darkness of the rain outside, he shivered. Daring back into the large house, he heard the muffled sound of his brothers' voice coming from deep inside.
He didn't seem to be hurt, or in pain, so Dean made his way slowly, instead of guns blazing, like he wanted to.
"Who are you?"
Turning, Dean saw the golden winged Gabriel standing at the foot of the staircase, holding his hand to his hips. He stopped, taking a long look at the man, he was a small man, but he still looked powerful and intimidating. And those wings, or what was left of them.
"Where is the owner?" He asked, closing the door behind him to show he was not intending to go anywhere until he got what he wanted. "I know you're not him, where is he? Where's the beautiful one?"
Gabriel paused. "Beautiful?"
Dean's eyes widened. Had he really said that?
That was when Castiel made his appearance into the foyer. And Dean couldn't help but smile. He hadn't really meant to say 'beautiful', but now seeing this fair skinned cat like man standing before him, with his horns and whiskers. He truly did look more beautiful than he did beastly.
Castiel returned the smile and stepped a little closer, invading his space, which was when Dean discovered several things. One, he realised his body wasn't listening to his head that was telling him that he did not know this beast, but his heart seemed to recognise this man, intimately. And two, and even more unsettling, he smelled good—like really good.
"And who might you be?" Castiel asked.
Closing his eyes, Dean felt his body actually tingle, brought to a hyper-awareness that felt almost foreign as something zinged through him. Desire. Bone-melting desire. When he opened his eyes again, Castiel was even closer. The beast's eyes weren't the solid warm blue Dean had thought, but it had flecks of silver dancing in them, as well. Like starlight. Dean could have drowned in all that deliciousness.
Not a bad way to go, he figured—death by lust.
"You're the brother. You are Dean," he said, and Dean felt his mind go fuzzy.
Just that, just his name in a deep voice that was full of promises Dean knew this man intended to keep. And suddenly, the part of his brain that had dictated the 'right-person' for him quietened. There were no feelings of disgust, nothing that indicated that this was wrong.
Everything was right.
So instead of taking a step back, he took one forward and met the beast halfway on wobbly legs. He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he reached forward, tentatively, and ran his hand up the beast's large shoulder, up over his throat, going slowly, achingly slowly, so that by the time he had cupped the man's jaw, Castiel was quivering. Lifting his other hand, he slid a curl from the beast's temple, tucking it behind his ear.
With his pulse somewhere at stroke level, Castiel closed his eyes to better absorb the touch. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him like this. Dean's fingers were warm and callused. Strong, protective.
Castiel's heart and body suddenly aligned. He wanted this man, this mere human. He wanted Dean, bad. Maybe he was the man that would break the spell?
Gabriel cleared his throat behind them, bringing the two back to reality.
"Huh?"
There was amusement in Gabriel's voice. "You still with us?"
Dean had stepped back, but Castiel still felt him, pressed up against him, deliciously warm and hard. Everywhere.
He needed a clear head. "Yes," he said, but it came out as more of a croak. He cleared his throat and said it again. "Yes, I'm still here."
Dean studied his face, then gave him a very small smile. With a quick, single shake of his head, he took a giant step back, his eyes shuttered from the beast. "Where is my brother?"
