I've never posted so much in one week...
When it rains it pours.
Thanks so much for the reviews! I appreciate so much. Now, for you, we continue...
Chapter Twelve
Vampires are harder. Dean's never had much of a problem killing them, back in the world; but in a place like Purgatory, so vast and inhuman, neither Cas nor Dean can deny the inklings of humanity in the vampires. They used to be people once, like Dean. They still mostly look like people, they sound like people. They move and talk and fight like people.
So it's hard for Dean and Cas to stomach killing them.
For the most part, they leave the vampires alone. They come across a nest, or the trail of a vampire, and they turn back, or deviate. Not because they're afraid. No, they've taken down worse at this point. But because neither wants to look into a human face, human eyes, and watch the light dim. It's too hard. After so much time apart from the world, it's just too hard to kill the only thing left that looks like it.
But every once and awhile they come across a few vamps, stubborn and unstoppably high off the scent of live human blood, that just won't let the fight go. They hunt Cas and Dean, and then there is no choice. Kill or be killed. And sometimes, Dean hates it.
Because there is no victory in decapitating a twelve year old girl.
She's too young, too far removed, to see that she is so obviously outmatched. The intoxication of the scent of Dean's blood is too much, and she comes at them in a frenzy. And Dean tries to hold her off, he tries to fight her without killing her. Because even though she's not human anymore, he knows, that she must have been turned against her will - that she used to be somebody's little girl.
She bites him, drinks, too much too fast and Dean is dizzy and somehow still, hesitant to hurt her.
Castiel pulls her off of him and holds her tight from behind, trying to talk to her, trying to convince her to remember her humanity. And Dean loves him for it. For trying. For not being the guy who would have simply smote her and moved on.
But Dean knows it's over.
She fights her way out of Cas' hold and she wants him, Cas can see it, she wants to taste him too. She moves to attack, but before she can there is a sharp sound, a swiping blade, and a thud. And Castiel sees Dean standing over her body, jaw tight, looking like he wants to vomit.
When they bed down later, they hold onto each other tightly, neither sure who needs who more.
The girl and her nest (only two others who were quickly dispatched) were inhabiting a cave. And Dean and Cas both were pleased to see so, it having been a long time since they were able to stay in a cave. Mostly they have to burrow themselves into the dirt, beside felled trees, but always out in the elements. Out in that impossible weather - freezing cold ground and muggy hot air, or sometimes the reverse.
The prospect of sleeping somewhat indoors has Dean extremely pleased and Castiel ready to pass out.
But before he can nod off Dean flops down clumsily atop him, ignoring the angel's groan of irritation and instead dragging his body up the length of Castiel's until his lips meet the other man's throat.
Castiel wiggles as if to dislodge Dean and say Not now, but he is already smiling and Dean knows it. Dean places quick, playful pecks up Castiel's throat, over his adam's apple, up over his chin, and briefly wonders when they went from using each other to get off, to acting like lovers. But it's just a curiosity. It doesn't bother him. Cas held his soul in his hands, Dean's pretty sure Cas already knows he likes being lovebirds, even if he'd hate to say it. Dean kisses him teasingly, lowering his lips slowly to Castiel's, pressing down softly, teasing his lips open. Dean tilts his head artfully, sinking down, deepening the kiss, slowly and carefully, both men loving the languid slide of their tongues.
It feels right. Perfect. And neither can remember the time when it didn't, when this wasn't normal, when they weren't each other's everything. Dean actively refuses to remember. He likes it better this way, he thinks. Castiel under him or over him, either just content to be there or utterly demanding, holding or tracing fingers lightly. Sometimes Dean thinks he would like to give himself to the angel. Let him in, let him take him completely. Or maybe it's that Castiel wants to give himself to Dean... He isn't sure anymore. But either way, it's a good feeling. And they're in no rush.
For right now, Dean wants to kiss him.
Castiel runs his hands up the valley of Dean's back, shifting easily so that Dean can settle more comfortably between his legs. Second nature. Dean runs a palm over the outside of Castiel's scrub-clad thigh, and it's not needy or lustful. It's just comfortable. Familiar.
Dean is content to lie on top of Castiel and kiss him, slow and deep and undemanding, until he is ready to fall asleep. And Castiel is familiar with the thought, and is content with it himself, and with holding Dean as long as the man wants, until he sinks down against Cas' chests and sighs to sleep and Castiel keeps him there, hands skimming over his back and hair and shoulders and arms. He doesn't have to worry that Dean will mind. He knows he likes it, that it helps him sleep.
Dean huffs a small laugh against Castiel's lips, the angel's thoughts making him already sleepy, and Cas can't help but smile back, lips curving against Dean's.
Dean moves down to Castiel's neck, lips brushing his skin as though he isn't so much kissing him, but just feeling the way their skin meets.
Castiel's eyes are closed, his body lax and calm. Until he feels something that shouldn't be there. Something he hasn't felt in a long time. An inhuman sense... of warning.
The feeling nags at him, has him opening his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, trying to figure it out. It's a cold feeling, a fine-pointed dread, deep inside him. So out of place when he is safe and warm on the cave floor with Dean on top of him. But the dread grows, until it is a physical pain - dull first, and then sharp and sudden.
The hair on the back of Dean's neck stands up. He feels Castiel tensing, reaches a hand down - but no, Castiel is still mostly soft. Something isn't right.
Castiel's head snaps up, his eyes going wide, and Dean looks into his face, seeing that it's all wrong. Castiel certainly isn't ready yet, he knows that much for sure. And the look in his eyes, it isn't pleasure... it's terror. Confusion. And as the moment carries on it tinges with pain, until Castiel's stare shifts to Dean's eyes, in panic. Dean knows that look from a long time ago - the desperate need to say something, before he gets shut down by a greater power.
Dean watches him closely, his own heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing to figure out what was wrong. He starts running his hands over him, lifting his clothes, looking for injury. But he finds none.
Blood he could've handled. This... he doesn't know what this is.
Suddenly Castiel writhes, his back arching up into Dean, and it is familiar, but it too is all wrong - his face is screwed up in pain, his fists clenching in Dean's clothes, a guttural scream barely being held back behind clenched teeth.
Dean clamors up onto his knees, Castiel writhing between them, veins bulging in pain, and Dean looks down at the angel at a complete loss. He places a hand behind Castiel's head, cradling where it is pressed back against the cave floor in his spasms.
Castiel's head snaps forward, a look of determination on the angel's face as he forces his shaking body to be still enough to look up at the the man.
"D-Dean -" is the beginning of a choked-out warning that Castiel never gets to finish.
Just then Dean feels an inhuman pressure in his gut, sudden, from nowhere, and he looks first down to his own body, pulling up his shirt, shocked to see nothing visibly wrong. Then he looks to Cas, whose eyes, Dean is terrified to see, are glassy and scared - as if he knows there is a terrible fate in store for them. As though he knows, but can no longer manage to say, what awful plague is upon them.
The pressure in Dean's gut builds until it is excruciating. It feels as though he will split in half, and he can't breathe because of it. He groans up to the ceiling, shaking hard, before his arms give out on him and collapses onto Castiel, who arches up again, screaming through his teeth. And Dean hates the sound more than any other thing he's ever heard - it shoots straight through the core of him.
He is helpless - he can't help him, and it's torture.
Dean feels then, something indescribable inside - as though he is being pulled, by his organs, in every direction.
He tries to stifle the groan of pain, and wraps himself around Castiel, not caring how it might seem - he has to anchor himself, he can't allow himself to be pulled from the angel.
Castiel makes a grunt that demands Dean look at him, and when he does he can see Castiel's ears bleeding, he is shaking severely, the vein in his forehead is bulging and his jaw is clenched. But his eyes...are soft. He looks at Dean as if is the last time.
Dean groans in pain as the pulling starts to tear him up inside - that's how it feels. He chokes, it makes a disturbing gurgling sound, and he tastes blood. He makes a desperate sound that at any other time he'd be ashamed of, and presses his face into the crook of Castiel's neck, gripping him tight. But even then he feels his strength failing him. He drags his head up to Castiel's and lets his face fall onto his, feeling that if these are their last moments, there is nothing wrong with making them right.
Dean screams inside his head, he screams at Castiel to hold on. Begs. And he feels Castiel's hands clench against his back as his own eyes squeeze shut with a final scream that he just can't stifle.
The pressure in his gut gives a final, excruciating pull, and jerks him away, rips him open, tearing him - heat floods his body, everything coming loose inside, and it burns him up, pierces his skull.
The hollowness of the silence that follows is enough to make Dean's eardrums feel like they are splitting open.
An emptiness so black and silent that he is left deaf and blind in it's wake - a void. He feels himself become so lost, so disoriented, that there is no up or down - no vision, no hearing, no gravity - just intense, prickling, pressure and pain.
So much so that he only barely registers the drop onto a solid surface.
The pain in his gut recedes slowly, and he gasps desperately in relief. He can hear himself breathing. He can feel his body, tingling, every sensation overwhelming as if he's never felt anything before, so none of it makes sense. All of it is so new that for a moment, it hurts.
He feels something cool and solid under his palms. He spreads his fingers out over it, finding the small movement borderline baffling. The transition from thought to action is confounding for his body. He presses down, trying to lift his weight, attempting to orient himself. But he can't figure which way is up. He feels so impossibly heavy...
He tries to open his eyes, wincing at the brightness, throwing one arm out in front of him in self defense. The leaden weight of the limb nearly tipping him forward. He hears breathing. Swallowing. Such shaky breathing -
"Dean...?"
His heart lurches - impossible.