Disclaimer: All materials belong to their respectful owners. Any and all of the following written is completely, one-hundred percent, fan-written and I claim no profit for it what so ever.
Author's Note: So I'm feeling pretty good about the direction this story is heading. As a matter of fact, I think I already have a pretty exuberant ending planned out as well! So yes, I'm very excited to continue on writing this. Which is probably what I should be doing rather than jabbering on haha... *clears throat*
Just as a fare warning, I thought I should let you know that there is a bit of torture involved in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but you deserve be told ahead. Also, there is mention of attempted suicide—I know that is a delicate topic for some people so, please, just be aware. Without anything further, enjoy!
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Until We Bleed
As he watched Dean approach him slowly with the shimmer razor in hand, Castiel was utterly thankful the hunter hadn't chosen to just start in ruthlessly. He knew Dean had become merciless, but Castiel did not think he was completely mad—as of now, anyway. And so as Dean leaned in close, well beyond his well-known personal space boundary, the angel couldn't help but shutter in his suddenly insatiable presence.
"Come on Cas, I'm trying to be nice here," Dean murmured almost sensually, "At least I'm giving you a choice right? I mean, Hell, with some of those other sons'a bitches they put out for me... well, let's just say they were choking on their own blood before they even knew I started."
Castiel swallowed hard, trying his best to keep his eyes focused solely on Dean and not his demonic master which lingered just beyond. He pleaded gently, "Please Dean, you don't have to do this."
Dean tilted his head in mock confusion, the light tug of a grin playing at his lips as he gazed upon the angel with eyes so clouded with misguidance. Folding the razor into itself, the hunter temporarily slipped it into his pocket before lifting his hands to run them slowly up Castiel's torso. The angel, at first, was unsure of the motive behind his actions but as Dean's fingers approached the first button of his dress shirt Castiel could only guess where this might lead. More flesh for the carving, he mused. Almost hesitantly, Dean looked up towards Castiel's face once more through a curtain of eyelashes.
"I know I don't have to do anything," he spoke softly, "But what if I want to?"
This blew Castiel off his feet entirely. He hadn't actually expected Dean to be doing all this of his own accord and, quite frankly, the angel wasn't sure how to react. He then decided to act upon his first instinct of negotiation and ran with it. "How can you be sure this is what you want?" he sputtered frankly, watching as one by one his buttons were undone to reveal his chest, "Have you been offered a mirror in these recent days?"
Dean paused at the angel's question, caught off guard. He glanced over his shoulder at Alastair in question, the demon's brow too furrowed in confusion. "What's that got to do with anything?" Alastair hissed impatiently.
"Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like," Castiel again spoke quickly, unsure if Alastair would cut him off before he had a chance to fully quote his chosen scripture passage, "But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do."
By this time, Alastair was nearly half-way across the room rage burning in his eyes. Brushing Dean hastily aside, the demon came within inches of Castiel's face. "Now you listen to me, angel. I've little patience for choir boys, much less ones who don't know how to shut their traps. Or would cutting off your tongue just fix the problem all together?" Alastair contested fiercely.
Castiel mentally recited the verse from Proverbs, The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing. In the end however, he decided against using it—despite Alastair's threats, he was still trying to win Dean back over. He couldn't stray from that immense purpose. "Good," the demon muttered, believing he had silenced the angel.
As Castiel watched Alastair turn his back though, he dared to spoke once more, "If you could only catch a glimpse of yourself Dean, I believe you would crumble faster than a clump of sand."
Alastair watched Dean intently from where he stood, his back still turned to Castiel. Dean, instead of showing any sign of remorse, only smiled as a light chuckle erupted from his throat. "I smell a challenge," he waggled his eyebrows, looming closer to Castiel yet again. The angel watched him with uncertainty as he drew so near that the two were nearly breathing the same air. "So tell me Cas, what do I look like to you?"
Castiel swallowed hard, searching for any sign that would show him the Dean he'd come to know was still alive somewhere deep inside his once again butchered soul. The angel instead decided to combat Dean's question with another question. "Do you remember our conversation back at the motel room?" he asked suddenly, his voice light but firm in his words, "Before Alastair came? When you were lying on that bed, cold and afraid?"
Alastair turned, looking as though he were about to proclaim yet another threat when Dean cut him off abruptly. "Yeah, what's your point?" the hunter muttered impatiently.
Castiel felt strong now, confident that he had Dean's undivided attention at last. "I told you that you were a hero, the only one most fit for the hand that fate has dealt you," he declared, making sure to emphasize the meaning held deep within the memory.
The demon could see how Castiel was attempting to win Dean over now. Stepping forth, he clamped a hand down firmly on the hunter's shoulder whispering sick discouragements into his ear. "Don't be swayed Dean, he doesn't deserve—"
"I still believe that now," Castiel continued, leaning so close to the hunter that their faces were nearly touching, "And I need you to believe it too Dean, and that you have a choice. There's always a choice."
Alastair gritted his teeth, feeling as though he might reach his boiling point at any second. And then it hit him—he could still potentially use Castiel's words to his advantage. Turn the tables and make the blame fall back on the angel. "That's right," he cleared his throat, his voice still low and rumbling with fury, "And you chose to join me. To be a master in the schemes of Hell."
Dean visibly flinched at the words—they were true, yes, but there were just so many truths being thrown at him from both angel and demon, Heaven and Hell, that he could barely stand it. Feeling his heart thudding so very vigorously within his chest, Dean's breath hitched in his throat his body now trembling with bewilderment beyond comprehension. He barely even noticed as Alastair's hand slipped into one of his jean pockets and retrieved the razor that he had discarded but moments ago.
The demon continued on, slowly poisoning Dean's mind with his words of false reality, "And your choice made you happy, standing before that rack. Wielding my razor." To layer upon what he'd just said, Alastair dutifully unfolded the razor once more before placing it in Dean's right hand with a squeeze.
The hunter had to hold back a yelp from escaping from his lips as he felt the metal of the razor lightly brush against his thumb. His mind was still racing with endless thoughts of debate and frustration. "Dean," Castiel caught his eyes again, "I was only trying to save you."
And suddenly, Dean felt something completely flip inside of him. "Save me? I didn't need saving!" Dean hollered ferociously, "I mean, fuck, that's the reason I said yes to this son of a bitch in the first place! Alastair was my salvation, he gave me what I needed." As the hunter just continued to spew out his rage, he honestly couldn't care what neither angel nor demon were thinking at this point—whether Alastair was offended for seemingly being Dean's last resort, or Castiel was simply devastated to hear the horrid truth.
Despite any of the words that may have marred the demon's pride though, Alastair still felt he had the upper hand and used it to gain swift victory. "He broke your happiness Dean, punish him," Alastair commanded with a cool conciseness to his voice.
"I'm sorry," Castiel murmured in defeat, his voice trembling as he allowed his head to hang low.
Still Dean felt torn but had no chance in which to escape the order Alastair had laid upon him. Yelling out viciously, the hunter could feel the demon's hand wrap around his own and lift the razor towards Castiel. Alastair guided Dean's hand along, just as he had done in Hell, making grooved slits across the angel's otherwise smooth skin. At some points he dug deeper, causing Castiel to bleed out more rapidly, while others he just barely nicked the exposed flesh.
All the while, however, Dean could not keep himself from screaming a mixture of sweat and vague tears dampening his face. As timed passing though, incomprehensible like that of a dream, the hunter found the echoing laughter of his master and profound cries of his victim combining with his own shrieks in one unbearable chorus.
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Sam and Valac exchanged a curious glance before returning their attention back to Lillian. "Alright, so what's going on?" Sam asked, casually folding his arms over his chest.
Lillian seemed to hesitate for a moment, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "The doctors found a tumor on my liver, of all places," she began quietly, "The type of formation is pretty common, but there were some, well, complications."
Sam looked sympathetic, while Valac almost appeared as though he were trying to figure out a most difficult puzzle. The demon cleared his throat, "I'm no doctor but shouldn't you, I don't know, maybe still be in the hospital?" Sam nodded in agreement with this statement.
Lillian bit her lip. "Well see, that's where things get tricky," she continued on, "It's gone."
Sam did a double-take as he looked at her incredulously, nearly unable to fathom her words. "What do you mean, it's gone?" he stammered in surprise.
"Just what I said, there's no sign of the tumor. It's gone," she repeated.
Valac shook his head, "Sounds kinda miraculous."
"Not entirely," Lillian clarified, "I healed it."
Now it was the demon's turn to be caught off guard. "You?" he shouted, sarcastic laughter creeping in the edge of his voice, "You, miss normality over here, have the ability to heal? Who'd have thought!"
Lillian looked frustrated, but said nothing angry towards the demon. "I know, it sounds crazy, but," her voice trailed off, "But I don't think Lauren's abilities may be one-hundred percent of her demonism's doing. I think that maybe, just maybe, she's inherited some slight gifts from myself."
"Well you got a lot of nerve, you know that?" Valac spat suddenly.
Sam looked at him, his brow furrowed in frustration, "Valac—"
"No Sam, he's right," Lillian cut the young hunter off, "All this time I tried to change Lauren, tried force anything that wasn't normal, in the God-awful sense of the word, out of her. When really, it wasn't her fault at all."
Suddenly, from the far corner of the room, Bobby Singer spoke up, "Not to break up this little love fest here, but uh Lauren's upstairs if you wanna talk to her. Hearin you say those words may make her a little more inclined to chat it up about where Dean is, if you catch my drift."
Lillian looked unexpectedly saddened. "I didn't realize Dean was still missing," she murmured under her breath, "Can I talk to her?" She glanced in Valac's direction almost for some kind of authorization.
"Sure," Valac shrugged, "I'll lead the way."
Silently, the demon led Lillian up the stairway and through the small corridor leading towards the guest bedroom. Knocking lightly on the door, Valac waited for any kind of protest before opening it and stepping forth. He saw Lauren lying on the bed, seemingly resting, her face turned away and slumped on her shoulder. He couldn't help but smile. "Lauren," he murmured delicately, shaking her other shoulder lightly, "Lauren, you've got someone here to see you." When he received no reaction of any kind, Valac frowned slightly and continued to try and gently awake her from her sleep. "Hey, Lauren," he said again, this time louder, as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.
Setting his other hand atop the mattress, the demon suddenly felt something damp upon his fingers. Glancing downward, Valac's eyes widened in horror as he saw the all too familiar sight of blood flourished over his entire palm. He quickly searched for the cause, grabbing Lauren's arm and lifting up in which to reveal a dutifully slit wrist. Overturning her other hand, Valac caught sight of not only a razor blade but also the second bloodied wound much to his dismay. "Help," he choked out, his voice dim and half-hearted before regaining its strength, "We need some help in here!"
Lillian, who had stayed standing just outside the door, quickly rushed in gasping at the scene laid out before her. With a thudding of stairs, Sam appeared in the doorway within seconds with Bobby not too far behind. The eldest hunter pressed past Sam and a most hysteric Lillian, rushing to examine Lauren's lesions. Muttering obscenities under his breath, he pressed his fingers over the gashes in attempts to stop any further blood from leaking out. "Sam, call an ambulance!" he shouted desperately.
Sam turned when Lillian's plea caught his attention, "No don't, wait!"
Bobby looked at her in sheer amazement. "D'you want your daughter to die?" he yelled furiously.
"Just wait," she repeated coming swiftly to his side. With a light nudge of his fingers, she was able to place her own over Lauren's injuries without allowing any blood to leak out. Closing her eyes, Lillian focused all her energy on the flesh that was marred and the lifestream coursing through her daughter's veins. She just prayed that it would work—she hadn't the time to dare practice her newfound abilities, but she couldn't stand the thought of losing Lauren now. Not after this moment of clarity, she needed forgiveness. She needed Lauren to at least know that she loved her.
Much to everyone's amazement, slight color suddenly began to return to Lauren's face as the slit skin of her wrist slowly closed over. Lillian was only able to continue on with the healing process a moment longer, before pulling away and panting in the utmost exasperation. Bobby quickly sprung forward once more, this time tearing strips of the thin bed sheet as to create makeshift bandages in which to keep pressure on the barely closed wounds. It would only have to take the slightest yank of skin to open those cuts again and so the hunter handled the young woman with much care.
"I'll go call an ambulance," Sam declared and then disappeared without another word.
Lillian, meanwhile, trembled with exhaustion as she moved slightly away from the bed and slowly slumped onto the floor. Running her still bloodstained hands through her hair, she began to sob uncontrollably. Valac, surprisingly enough, was by her side shortly thereafter placing a hand of comfort around her shoulders and stroking her arm lightly.
"It's alright," Valac urged, swallowing hard, "Lauren will be fine."
Lillian shook her head in protest. "No it's not, it's my fault. I should've, oh God," she whimpered, her words splicing together in an unrecognizable gibberish.
Valac seemingly couldn't find any way to combat Lillian's self-accusations as he cradled her. Slowly rocking her though, he could feel the anguish gradually begin to fade from the woman's body her tears becoming less and less. Once more Sam appeared in the doorway, his brow knitted with intense concern. "The paramedics are on their way," he muttered quietly.
Bobby nodded, standing from his place where he'd been tying the last of the linen around Lauren's wrist. "I'd better wash up a bit," he cleared his throat, glancing down at his blood-tinted fingers.
Lightly brushing past Sam, the elder hunter made for his bathroom. Sam, meanwhile, slowly approached Lauren's bedside looking upon her with the utmost interest. In the shadow of her sleeping face he could see the faintest resemblance of remorse and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface within her subconscious. One she awoke, he knew, she would be none too happy about the circumstances.
It didn't take long for the ambulance to arrive and carry Lauren's body onto a stretcher and out Bobby's front door. Lillian naturally tagged along with the paramedics while both Valac and Sam tagged along behind in the Impala. Bobby had decided he'd stay behind—hospitals had never quite been a comfortable surrounding to him. Once they'd all gathered in the waiting room though, it was just a matter of patience and uncomfortable silences. A few police offers had stopped by, wishing to talk primarily to Lillian and Sam but thankfully hadn't asked too many questions.
At long last though, a doctor with graying hair and a white coat approached the trio. "Uh, which one of you is Valac?" he asked, his voice hushed as though not raise alarm.
"I am," the demon replied, arising from his seat.
"Lauren's asking to see you," he said simply.
Lillian almost looked panicked as the doctor turned to walk away. "Can't I see her?" she blurted, her voice trembling ever slightly.
The doctor paused, "I'm afraid we're allowing only one visitor at a time for right now. We don't want her to feel over crowded."
Looking as though she were about to object, Sam placed a reassuring hand on Lillian's shoulder. "Of course," he nodded graciously to the doctor, watching as the man then walked off.
Valac took a hesitant step towards the corridor which led to Lauren's room, glancing just over his shoulder at both Sam and Lillian. The hunter motioned Valac silently with his eyes that he should continue onward, and so the demon turned once more and trekked slowly down the hallway. Upon reaching Lauren's room, in which the door had been left partially cracked open, he sucked in a deep breath for crossing over the archway.
As Valac came through the archway, Lauren only slightly acknowledged his presence with a flick of her eyes before returning her gaze to a distant corner of the room, staring at nothing in particular. "The uh, doctor said you wanted to see me," the demon spoke lightly, not daring to sit at her bedside as he felt he was not completely welcome. A thick tension seemed to linger in the air.
Lauren nodded, her jaw growing tight before she swallowed hard amidst her constricting throat. "Why?" she asked breathlessly.
Valac furrowed his brow in slight confusion, "I don't—"
"Oh save it," Lauren spat, her voice a low growl, "Couldn't you see that's what I wanted?"
"Lauren you can't mean that," Valac objected, his own voice trembling.
"Can't I?" Lauren's brow softened somewhat, "Haven't I played my part? Haven't I done enough? I mean, I thought it's what you wanted too."
Valac's eyes widened in the utmost surprise. "Lauren!" he gasped, coming closer to her now, "I- no, that's insane."
"But you've thought about it," Lauren insisted, a slight smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Valac couldn't deny it—there'd been multiple occasions in which he'd pictured the two of them together everlasting. Bound in a chaotic world of ash and flame. But he could never ask that of her, no matter the circumstances. Lauren deserved paradise. "You belong in Heaven," he said firmly, "When God's ready for you."
"God," Lauren scoffed harshly, "Do you even believe in Him?"
Valac sighed wearily, "I know He exists. And I know He'd welcome you, you've done nothing wrong."
"I just tried to commit suicide," she pointed out.
The demon just snickered lightly—playing devil's advocate, so typical Lauren. Clearing his throat though, he stared her dead in the eye, "Lauren, why would you do it? Alastair let you go, you survived. That's gotta mean something."
Lauren shifted uncomfortably atop the stiff white hospital bed. "Life is tiresome," she admitted, her eyes unfocused as she seemed to search for a reason in which to justify the means, "Death seems... I don't know, easier. Like there's only one road, not so many damned choices to make."
Valac stared in awe at her poor reasoning. "I'd hardly call death easy," he urged, leaning very close to her indeed now, "Especially Hell. Talk about a poor choice there."
"Shut up," Lauren muttered breathlessly. But she didn't mean it though, Valac knew, not really anyway. Lifting her hand to stroke his cheek, she rested her forehead against his as they seemingly breathed the same air. Valac's eyes caught sight of the still bright red skin upon her wrist, the razor's mark so very evident in the dim lighting. Ever so lightly, the demon stroked his thumb over her artery feeling the intense rushing of her pulse beneath his gentle grasp. "But why did you do it?" Lauren half-whispered, her voice a low rumble in otherwise silent room.
Valac leaned back somewhat, placing a tender kiss upon the crown of her forehead. "I didn't," he breathed into her hair.
Now it was Lauren's turn to be confused—glancing up at him with bewildered eyes, she grasped a hold of Valac's shirt desperately. "Who then?" she pleaded, almost like a reverent prayer to a far-off god.
Valac's gaze distanced from where he'd been looking at the young woman before him, over towards the doorway once more. Lauren traced the pattern of his eyes, stunned to see Lillian standing solemnly at the edge of the hallway almost afraid to enter the room. "It was your mother," the demon murmured, cupping Lauren's cheek knowingly before exiting the room without another word.
Lillian watched carefully as Valac slipped past her and out of the room, staying silent a moment longer once it was just her and Lauren alone. "Hi there," she said awkwardly, her feet tapping loudly against the linoleum as she walked.
Lauren's gaze narrowed. "You're a liar," she muttered bitterly.
Lillian looked slightly taken aback, that hadn't quite been what she was expecting. Even so, she remained calm, clearing her throat, "Lauren, I know that you won't believe—"
"Why should I believe you?" Lauren accused angrily, "My whole life all you've done is lied to me!"
Lillian ran a hand through her hair in exasperation, "Now hold on just a minute. You and I, we may not have known each other very long but I never lied to you Lauren. Not ever, I've only been honest with you."
"Bullshit, you could've helped me! You could've told me what I really was, helped me to figure it out! Instead of ridding yourself of me like some kind of disease!" Lauren shouted, feeling fierce anger flush to her face.
"I'm sorry," Lillian only half-shouted back, "I am Lauren, sorry that I didn't raise you. Sorry that I left you behind, but I didn't even know who I was let alone my daughter."
"What are you talking about?" Lauren sniffled.
Lillian dared to approach her child's bed, not coming to stand beside Lauren just yet, but trying to evoke empathy with her body language. "After that demon came—"
"Alastair," Lauren corrected, a certain persistent edge to her voice.
"Yes, Alastair," she nodded, "After he came to the motel room, to collect Dean and his angel friend, I was sent to the hospital. They discovered a tumor-mass growing in my liver."
"A tumor," Lauren echoed lightly, her eyes glazed a bit, "Are they treating you?"
Lillian chuckled lightly, "See, that's the kicker. I healed it."
Lauren's eyes became the size of saucers with sudden amazement. "But... how?" she exclaimed, utterly perplexed.
"When I was in that hospital, something was triggered. I don't know what, but some kind of energy I guess was released and so that's when I discovered my ability to heal. Lauren, I did my best to mend the wounds on your wrists. I watched as the skin resealed itself and was made new," she spoke so softly now, standing at the foot of Lauren's bed.
"But why?" Lauren choked, feeling tears beginning to well up in her eyes.
Lillian shook her head incredulously, "Because you're my daughter. Because I love you."
Lauren could feel fresh tears spilling down her face now, beginning to gurgle and sob uncontrollably at the emotion lodged in her throat. "D- don't you say things like that," she protested defiantly.
But Lillian continued to ignore her daughter's empty threats, only coming closer in which to wrap her arms protectively around her hysteric child. Slowly stroking her fingers through Lauren's hair, Lillian was able to quiet her somewhat before speaking once more. "I've always loved you Lauren, from the moment you were born," she declared boldly, "I know it was wrong of me to push you away, to try and change whatever it is that rages inside you. And I know I don't deserve it, but– but if you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me, that would bring me closure. To know that there could at least be some peace between us."
Lauren pulled away ever slightly, looking up at her mother in wonder. "I've never held a grudge against you," she replied quite honestly, "Ever since that day we met, and you tried to exorcise me, I made a vow that I would always forgive you. That if I could just not be bitter in my heart then maybe, just maybe, I'd be able to hold onto the light and not give into the darkness."
"You don't know how happy this makes me," Lillian uttered, her voice barely even audible as she lightly planted a kiss atop her daughter's head. Lauren said nothing in return, simply wrapping her arms around her mother and breathing in the scent of acceptance—love. "Though Lauren," Lillian cleared her throat, pulling back, "I need to ask a favor of you."
Lauren made no qualms as her mother gently took her hands in her own, stroking her thumb lightly over the skin of Lauren's palm. "What is it?" Lauren asked curiously.
Lillian hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, "I need you to tell me where Alastair is. Where he's holding Dean."
And for a moment, Lauren couldn't seem to meet her mother's stare. Alastair, well, he'd given her everything she'd ever wanted practically. As she explained to Valac, all the warmth and affection which she'd never been fortunate enough to receive but so desperately desired. Hell, Alastair, or the loss of him rather, had been what drove her to this point of helpless. She'd even used a razor in his honor. But as her thoughts continued to twist and collide even further, Lauren realized that he could quite simply be replaced. Had been replaced. By her mother, of all people—Lillian had just filled her heart with a hope and love to which none could compare. Lillian would try to establish a relationship with her now, Lauren knew. One that would not diminish as easily as the cheap heartache she'd formed with Alastair.
"Please," Lillian's voice was urgent then suddenly, "We need to get Dean back."
Lauren felt release then. That she no longer needed to hold onto Alastair, protect him so—after all, why should she? He'd abandoned her. Helping to take what he had strived so hard for was certainly the least she could do. Anger bubbled within her, a wish to see the demon falter. "I need a piece of paper," she spat suddenly, "I can draw you a fucking map."
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Alastair had helped Dean to make good use of his razor—gauging Castiel in various places across his chest. Watching in delight as crimson lifestream flowed so thick and luscious from the raw and battered flesh. Finally though Dean had said, "Enough." Alastair left without an argument.
Since then the events, or lack thereof, which had taken place had been far less than Castiel was expecting. Dean had turned away from him so suddenly, sitting in a chair just beside his cart of tools. Picking a thin knife from the bunch, he'd daintily picked at the dirt under his fingernails until the skin around them began to bleed. Not that Castiel was complaining at the lack of torture on his part though, for he knew Dean was capable of so much worse than a few scrapes.
But they'd spent much time alone in the darkness already and deep down Castiel knew that this solitary confinement amidst the two of them could not last for much longer. Alastair had to rejoin them sometime. "Dean," the angel rasped at long last. The hunter said nothing in response, simply flickering his eyes in Castiel's direction in which to indicate that he had at least heard what he'd said. "What is it you plan on doing?"
Dean paused from his fidgeting with the knife, turning his head with a movement so slow in which to face the angel. "What would you like me to do?" he challenged, his voice still grave an unfamiliarly dark.
Castiel swallowed hard as he watched Dean arise from his seat now, placing the knife carelessly aside on the cart once more. Though he knew the razor was still in his pocket. "Release me," the angel pleaded uselessly.
A low growl-laugh echoed against the stillness of the room, Dean taking one, two, three steps closer to where the angel was secured. "Sorry there Cas, no can do," he muttered airily, "But let me know if you think of anything else."
At this, the hunter ran his eyes up and down the angel's body almost lustfully. He was so close, Castiel could feel Dean's body heat radiating off him so immensely—the hunter was hot, especially in comparison to the chilled flesh widely exposed on Castiel. The angel's insides twitched with nervous anticipation as Dean just continued to stand there and look him over. And then, with a movement so swift, the hunter raised his hand above Castiel's head simply to yank at the short and spiky strands of his hair. It seemed to bring a delightful grin to Dean's face as Cas winced at the slight irritating pain, the hunter gaining some kind of twisted pleasure from watching the angel's mouth fall open when he tugged even harder.
"Ah Dean," Castiel groaned when the hunter began to twist his hair tightly, pulling at it from the roots now.
Dean leaned his head in even further, slipping it towards the nape of Castiel's neck in which to whisper delicately into the angel's ear. "You beg so easily," he said, his voice thick.
Castiel could feel himself trembling now, Dean's breath oh so very hot as he breathed against the delicate skin on the angel's neck causing gooseflesh to rise at the sensation. The angel had to close his eyes a moment in which to regain control, daring to speak once more, "I am inclined to—"
Interrupting him suddenly, however, there came a loud crash from the floor above followed by voices that Dean was all too familiar with. Letting go of Castiel abruptly, Dean turned back to his cart of tools crouching down to the bottom shelf in which to retrieve his shot gun. Briefly checking to make sure it was loaded, the hunter clicked it into place and wielded it tight against his chest as he braced himself for whatever was to come.
There was a struggle near the top landing of the stairs, and then Dean could hear not one or two, but three, sets of feet barreling down the creaky steps. The door was pushed open quickly, without hesitation, which was a mistake to whoever stood just behind, Dean knew. Cocking his weapon, the hunter fired with a loud bang.
"Watch out!" Sam's voice echoed, panicked.
Smoke filled the air, clouding Dean's vision somewhat, but not before he was able to make out a silhouetted figure falling to the floor below.
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A/N: So a little over a week... that's not bad, is it? Haha well I certainly hope that you enjoy where I'm taking it. I've a little more planned as to what is going to happen but the ending shouldn't be too far off. Also, I'm hoping that Lauren's kind of "reuniting" you might say with her mother is fairly believable? Please let me know if you think otherwise, or if you just have any suggestions.
In the mean time, thanks so much for reading and I shall try to update soon!