Title: Seeing Double

Rating: M

Characters/Pairing: Dean & Castiel

Summary: While hot on the tail of their newest unidentified bad guy, one sleazy motel room and an almost unhealthy amount of hard liquor find our two favorite boys in a very compromising position that is witnessed by a dangerous third party. Cas gets taken and tensions rise as Dean fights against the clock to save his angel—and deal with some new feelings that have taken root.

A/N: So, this is the last part of the story I have saved on my computer from months ago. From here on out, updates are going to be slower and the quality of writing is going to steadily decrease. Which is definitely saying something.


Cas nudged open the bathroom door, his wide, curious eyes sweeping over the array of stalls and urinals hesitantly before entering. There was one other man in the bathroom, standing at one of the urinals in the center and holding his…his genitals in his hands? Cas observed with wide eyes until his object of fascination felt his stare and turned slightly around. Remembering what Dean had warned him, Cas quickly looked away and shuffled over to one of the flushable wall fixtures. The man grunted suspiciously, and with the zip of his fly he made a beeline towards the door. As he did, another man with hooded eyes entered.

Cas's perplexed eyes surveyed the receptacle before him, head tilted to the side in that way it usually was when he didn't quite understand something. The feeling in his groin persisted, making him squirm and feel antsy as he tried his best to decipher the cryptic colloquial terms Dean had been using, wondering if they could be useful to this particular situation. Drain the lizard? Castiel glanced surreptitiously around the bathroom, but there were absolutely no lizards to be seen. Take a leak? Nope, no leaks to be taken, either. It seemed that the bar's plumbing war more than pristine. Drain the main vein? Cas glanced down and made a dubious face at the bluish veins pulsing beneath the thin skin of his wrists. He didn't see how that would help relieve his vessel's growing problem. Sighing impatiently and deciding to do whatever that other guy had been doing, Castiel made a move towards the zipper of his pants when a slick voice from behind interrupted him.

"Castiel. Well, I can safely say that I never expected to see you in a place like this."

Cas whirled around, finding himself face to face with the hulking form of a tall man, leering menacingly down at him. Of course, the man's size and height weren't what made the bottom of what felt like Cas's stomach drop out. How did this man know his name? Even without his Grace at full strength, something deep in Castiel's gut told him that this man was not human. Danger. Castiel could have sworn he heard a lock click as the man edged away from the door and towards him. Cas swallowed hard, instinctively backing up a step as the man approached him.

"Who are you?" the angel asked evenly, trying his best to keep his vessel's voice from betraying the nagging, icy cold fear that gripped at his lower intestines. The man barked a harsh laugh, and suddenly a vicious grin was peeling his lips away to reveal rows of large, pearly white teeth.

"Who am I? That's funny, Castiel…you of all people should remember me." the man sneered meanly, taking another step closer. Castiel flinched away but felt the small of his back bump up against the urinal. He was cornered.

Cas opened his mouth to say something when suddenly the man's hand was reaching out and taking hold of Castiel's slender fingers. Castiel recoiled, pulling his hand away. The stranger clicked his tongue, a devilish smirk darting across chapped lips.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be like that, Cas." the man taunted mockingly, putting emphasis on the nickname that Dean had given Castiel. "You certainly didn't object to such contact last night, did you? You and your human were 'getting it on' last night, am I right? Maybe you'd be more comfortable if I took on a more…pleasing form." he leered, and suddenly his face was morphing, distorting itself. A thin, aquiline nose bubbled and morphed into a more distinguished, pointed one, gaunt cheeks expanding with disturbing cracks. In painfully slow motions, the man's once nondescript face slowly took on that of Castiel's human charge.

The fake-Dean snickered in a way that was too sinister to fit the rugged hunter, too wrong. He stretched Dean's plump lips into a twisted, Cheshire cat grin. Cas looked on, horrified, for some reason finding himself, or his vessel, rendered completely speechless.

"How did you—you're…" he trailed off with an embarrassed squeak, his face reddening and breaking his cold, emotionless composure. Fake-Dean laughed maniacally, sidling up even closer until his chest was nearly pressed up against Cas's and there was hardly an inch between them. Even though the voice was definitely Dean's, something about it was harsher and just…different. Cas closed his eyes at the familiar sensation of Dean's hot breath ghosting lightly down his neck; had to keep reminding himself that no, this was not Dean. This was whatever thing had spied on them the night before and then decided to cruelly impersonate the hunter.

Suddenly, those perfectly formed lips were crashing down against his own with a scary sense of urgency. Cas choked out an unconvincing stop, trying unsuccessfully to push the Fake-Dean off of him. The weight against him was familiar, and as he was pinned between the hard ceramic of the urinal and the almost equally hard chest of Dean, or whatever this was, Cas felt his own arousal stirring helplessly. Fake-Dean laughed callously into the kiss, biting down hard on Castiel's lower lip and drawing blood. Cas let out a surprised squeal, yanking his face away and gazing up at this Dean impostor with large, betrayed blue orbs.

That was when he saw it; the fatal flaw in Fake-Dean's clever design. The eyes. What should have been an piercing, greenish hazel was instead a murky, muddy brown. That was all that Cas needed to resist the temptation, shove the imitator away and make a break for the exit, ignoring the angry string of curses that echoed behind him. Cas slid to a stop and slammed against the door, fumbling clumsily with the lock when suddenly an almost claw-like hand threaded through his dark, unruly head of hair, dragging him violently backwards.

Castiel struggled, hands immediately flying up to where the thing had him by the roots of his vessel's hair, eyes watering at the little shockwaves of pain that pulsed down his scalp as he was flung carelessly into one of the stalls, crashing against the unforgiving porcelain toilet with a sickening thud. Cas suppressed a cry, struggling to restore order to his now tangled mass of limbs that were splayed messily out around him. For some reason, the vessel wouldn't obey him—instead, he found himself staring up at his attacker like a deer in headlights.

The impostor Dean came down on him, once again using his hair as a makeshift leash. "You—will not—escape me this time!" it snarled, slamming the angel's head against the concrete of the toilet seat. Fighting unconsciousness, Cas felt his body go slack in the monster's stony grip, a shower of red clouding his vision. Another bash to the head and the dark spots that had been slowly creeping into his vision converged and left him floating in blissful unawareness.

Dean sighed heavily, casting yet another uneasy glance at the back of the bar as he dutifully awaited the return of his angel. The hot chicks alone that he was missing out on because of this guy had Dean's chiseled jaw working overtime as he every so often brought his beer up to his lips in an almost robotic motion.

Dean hadn't wanted to bother Cas. It was the guy's first time using the bathroom, for god's sake. He deserved a little alone time, right? But c'mon, roughly fifteen minutes? That was pretty ridiculous. About ten minutes in, Dean had felt a strange churning in his stomach that he chose to ignore. Yeah, he had a pretty damn good gut instinct. But Castiel was in a public restroom. More than enough guys had entered and left by now. What was the worst that could happen? Cas falls into the toilet and gets stuck? Walks out with toilet paper attached to those fancy dress shoes?

Fighting the overwhelming temptation to burst into the restroom and demand to know what was taking so long, Dean another swig of his beer and turned to check out the cute little waitress who kept slinking by. It was then that he noticed the line. At first it had looked like it was for the arcade game that was tucked away in the corner of the bar. But Dean had only gathered that from a passing glace, and he realized now that it didn't make much sense. Grown men waiting to waste quarters on some stupid kid's game?

Cocking an eyebrow, Dean leaned back a little and saw that the line was definitely for the men's bathroom. Now, that was strange. A feeling of dread washed over Dean and chilled him to the bone as he hopped off the barstool and made a beeline to the back of the bar.

"Uh, excuse me, what are you guys waitin' for?" Dean asked one of the men towards the front, casting a suspicious eye up and down the growing line. The man snorted in annoyance, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'll be damned if I knew. Some asshole thought it would be funny to lock the goddamn bathroom door. That scrawny-assed waiter's been scurryin' all around, lookin' for a key or somethin' to get it open."

Okay, something was definitely up. Cas tried his hardest to stick to regular human 'traditions,' and he usually picked things up pretty quickly. It was highly unlikely he would hole himself up in a cramped public restroom just to piss off a few drunk Southerners. Dean grunted a distracted thank you and made his way to the locked door, ignoring the protests from the people in the line and trying the handle.

"Hey, Cas? Dude, you in there? Cas?" Dean asked, a sudden edge to his voice that definitely had not been there before. When there was no answer, the hunter tried the handle again. Not in the mood to pick some stupid lock that didn't really have a purpose anyway, Dean reared back a few steps before kicking down the door, stirring up a dusty cloud of plaster that had the men behind him coughing and spluttering.

Immediately, Dean knew something wasn't right. One of the urinals was broken and spraying a jet of water all over the bathroom floor. Ushering the curious onlookers back a few steps and flashing them one of his various FBI badges, Dean ventured further into the bathroom.

"Cas? Buddy? You uh, get lost or somethin'?" he called, but there was a growing sense of worry rising up in the back of his throat, making his tongue feel too big for his mouth.

Writhing snakes rapidly swallowed the butterflies that had been fluttering in his stomach as he turned and looked into the stall closest to the exit. Its door was hanging off of its hinges, and there was an almost candy-colored splash of red smeared along the toilet seat, growing darker as it gathered and dripped lethargically to the grimy floor. There was an almost handprint-shaped smudge that looked as if it had been dragged along the cheery whiteness of the tiles.

A soft breeze tickled eerily at the back of Dean's neck, making him turn instinctively. He found himself faced with a wide-open window, one last splotch of smeared blood glaring out at him from either side of the open window frame, as if a pair of hands (with fingernails not quite long enough to dig into the thin white paint) had grasped weakly onto the sides in one last, pathetic attempt at resistance.

Dean stood frozen for a moment, before running to the open window and poking his head out, although he knew it was no use.

"Cas! God dammit, Cas!"


A/N: Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Bye-bye, Cas! Don't worry, our mystery figure will eventually reveal his true identity—and his devious intentions, of course. Because these bad guys always want something from you. When they show up, it's never to just say hello or have a cup of tea. Like a rapist (or an auditor from the IRS), they come, they take what they want, and then they leave.