Hey guys, I know it's a slow start but I'm writing a very out of my league story here so I want to take time and write details and stuff. It kinda makes it easier for my ideas to flow, ya know. Anyway, be patient. There will be lots of other more interesting stuff happening between Dean and Castiel in the next chapter. Do you like the story so far? Got any suggestions? Please let me know! Either post a review or inbox me. Constructive criticism is ALWAYS welcome! So please don't hold back. Anyways, thanks for taking the time to read this! I hope you enjoy!
There was a silence, and then once again movement. A woman moved up the steps of the church slowly, coming into Dean's line of vision. She was tall and elegant with flawless skin and hair the color of bittersweet chocolate. Her large brown eyes probed the darker shadows, searching for signs that she was not alone.
Dean used supernatural speed, slipping deep into the recesses of the corner alcove, back away from the church door, using stillness to his advantage. He froze in place, hardly daring to breathe.
The woman walked to the double doors, stood for a moment, one hand resting on the edge of the open door. She sighed softly. "I came here looking for you. My name is Jody Mills. I know you know who I am. I know you come here sometimes – I've seen you. I saw you tonight and I know you're here." She waited a heartbeat. Two. "Somewhere," she whispered aloud, as if talking to herself.
Dean pressed his body so tightly against the side of the church, his skin hurt. They were both in terrible danger, but only one of them was aware of it.
"I know you're here; please don't run away again," Jody said softly. Despite her thick jacket, she rubbed her arms to ward off the cold. "Just talk with me. I have so much to say to you, so much to thank you for." Her voice was low, gentle, as if she were speaking to a wild thing, coaxing it to trust her.
There was a terrible tightness in Dean's chest. He was chocking, suffocating, hardly able to breathe. He waited a heartbeat. Two. Drew deeper into the shadows. He could hear the sound of his own heart beating. He could hear Jody's heart following the rhythm of his. He could hear the beckoning invitation of the ebb and flow of blood rushing through veins. Calling to him. Intensifying his terrible hunger. His tongue felt the sharpness of his lengthening incisors. He trembled with the effort to control himself, to stop the inevitable.
Jody Mills. Dean knew her well. She was compassionate and brave, her life dedicated to helping others. A light seemed to shine from her very soul. Dean listened to her often – her lectures, her group discussions, even her one-on-one counselling sessions. Dean had appointed himself Jody's unofficial protector.
"You saved my life. A few weeks ago, when that man broke into my home and attacked me, you came in and saved me. I know you were hurt – there was blood on your clothes – but when the paramedics came, you were gone." Jody closed her eyes for a moment, reliving the terror of waking up to find a furious man standing over her bed. He had dragged her out from under the covers by her hair, punching her so hard and fast she had no time to defend herself. He was the husband of a woman she had helped escape into a sanctuary and he was determined to get the address from her. He had pounded her into a bloody heap on the flood, kicking her and then stabbing at her with a large knife. She had the raw scars on her arms where she had tried to protect herself. "I didn't tell anyone you were there. I didn't say a word about you to the police. They thought he must have tripped over the overturned furniture and fallen awkwardly and broken his neck. I didn't betray you. There's no need to worry; the police aren't looking for you. They don't know anything about you."
Dean bit down hard on his lip and stubbornly remained silent. Fortunately, the incisors had receded. He had enough sins on his soul without adding Jody to the list of his victims.
"Please answer me," Jody opened her arms wide. "I don't understand why you won't talk to me. What harm could there be in telling me if you were hurt that night? There was blood all over you, and if wasn't from me and it wasn't his blood.
Dean felt tears burning in his eyes, clogging his throat. His hands clenched into two fists. "It wasn't my blood. You don't owe me anything." The words were strangled, barely making it past the lump in his throat. It was partially the truth. Jody's attacker had not put a scratch on him. "I'm just sorry I wasn't there earlier, before he hurt you."
"He would have killed me. We both know that. My life isn't the only think I have you to thank for. You're the one who leaves me the money for our safe houses, aren't you?" Jody pursued. "And our women's recovery programs."
Dean leaned against the wall, tired of pain, tired of being so alone. There was something incredibly warming and soothing about Jody. "It's no big deal, it's just money. You do all the work. I'm happy to help in some small way."
"Come home with me," Jody said. "I'll make us tea, and we can talk." When Dean remained silent, Jody sighed softly. "At least tell me your name. I feel your presence often and think of you as a friend. What would it hurt to tell me your name?"
"I don't want the ugliness of my life to touch you." Dean admitted softly. The night was enfolding him as it always did, gently whispering to him so that he saw beauty despite his determination not to see anything good in it.
"I'm not afraid of ugliness," Jody persisted. "I've seen ugliness before, I will again. No one is meant to be alone in the world. We all need someone, even you."
"You aren't making this easy." The words were wrenched from Dean, almost a sob. "You don't know how evil I am. There is no redemption for me. I should never have allowed our lives to touch, not even for a moment."
"I'm very grateful that you did. I wouldn't be here otherwise, and I have much to live for."
Dean pressed his palm to his mouth, ashamed that his hand was trembling. "You're different from me. You're good, you help so many people."
Jody nodded her agreement. "Yes, I do, and without you, I would never have been able to help another woman or child. You've done that, not me. I couldn't have saved myself; I'd be dead right now."
"That's twisted logic," Dean pointed out, but he found a small smile hovering on his lips in spite of the pain knifing through him. He had heard Jody talk to women many times; her voice always seemed gentle and understanding. Jody always knew the right thing to say to set her clients at ease. She was using the same gift on Dean. "My name is Dean. " His name sounded strange to his own ears, it had been so long since he had heard it. Saying it out loud was almost frightening.
Jody smiled, her teeth very pretty, her smile contagious. "I'm so pleased to meet you. I'm Jody." She stepped forward and held out her hand.
Before he could stop himself, Dean gripped the outstretched hand. It was the first time in a very long while that he had touched a human being. His heart slammed painfully in his chest and he jerked away, sliding back into the shadows. "I can't do this," he whispered. It was too painful to look into those clear eyes, to feel Jody's warmth. It was easier to be alone, to hide in the shadows, forever a night creature.
Jody stood silently, faintly shocked by the extraordinary beauty of the young man hiding in the shadows. He was smaller than Jody had first thought – not short, but not tall either. His entire body was sculpted by muscle. His face was arresting, her eyes enormous, haunted, long-lashed and mesmerizing. They were a vivid, brilliant brown-green, holding shadows and secrets and unimaginable pain. Even his mouth was sculpted and inviting. But he had so much more than physical beauty. There was a subtle allure that Jody had never seen before. The voice was musical, mysterious, compelling. Mystical. Everything about Dean was different. Unexpected.
"Of course you can do this. We're only talking Dean. What's the harm in talking? I was feeling a little lonely tonight and I knew I had to see you." Jody took a step toward the shadows that held Dean, wanting to ease the terrible despair on that beautiful face. She had seen trauma many times, but those enormous green eyes were haunted beyond anything Jody had ever known. Those eyes had seen things that should never have been seen. Monstrous things.
Dean allowed his breath to leave his lungs in a little rush. "Do you know how many times I've watched you wield your magic on a woman in need? You have a gift for giving hope to someone who has stopped believing there is hope. If you think you owe me, you don't. You've saved my life many times over; you just haven't been aware of it. I listen to you often, and your words are the only thing in this world that makes sense to me anymore."
"I'm glad, then." Jody pulled gloves from her jacket pocket and drew them over her delicate hands to protect them from the biting cold. "You know, at times everyone feels alone and hopeless. Even I do. We all need friends. If you are uncomfortable coming to my home, perhaps we could get a drink at the Midnight Marathon. It's always a bit noise in there. Would it be so terrible to come and have a cup of tea with me? It isn't as it you're committing to a long-term relationship." There was an edge of humour to her voice, an invitation to join her in shared amusement.
"Tea? I haven't had a cup of tea in years." Dean pressed a hand to his stomach. His entire being wanted to back in Jody's company, but his stomach rolled at the idea of forcing himself to appear normal. He could only imagine the disgust and horror and Jody's eyes if she learned the truth.
"Then I would say it's time. Come home with me," Jody invited softly, obviously pleased.
The wind rushed over the steps toward he doors of the church, flinging up leaves and twigs. Above their heads the clouds began to spin dark threads. There was something more, something in the wing that tugged gently at their clothes and hair, while it rustled alarmingly in the trees and bushes. It was almost like a voice softly murmuring to them. Calling. Whispering, just out of reach. Jody strained to listen, turning her head this way and that to catch the sound.
Dean leapt at her, his breath coming out in a slow hiss of warning. He caught Jody's thick jacket by the lapel, at the same time jerking the doors of the church open wider. He thrust Jody inside. "Listen to me." Dean stared directly into the woman's eyes. "You will not leave this church until morning. No matter what you hear or see, you will not leave this church." He spoke the command firmly, burying in the woman's sub consciousness a compulsion to obey.
Dean sensed the danger behind him and whirled, going low, attempting to jerk his shoulders of our harm's way. He had spent precious seconds ensuring that Jody was safe, and despite his incredible speed, long, razor-sharp nails ripped his arm open from shoulder to elbow. He was already moving, sweeping with his leg as he did so, scoring a solid hit.
From far away came the soft familiar voice that so often summoned him in an ancient tongue. Call me to you now! It was a command, nothing less, as if he had felt his physical pain and knew he was in danger.
Dean firmly closed off his mind to everything but the coming battle. He focused completely, watching the undead with an unblinking, predatory stare. He was still, balanced on the balls of his feet, his breath moving evenly in and out of his lungs. Vampire. Creature of the night. Hideous monster. Mortal enemy.
His assailant was tall and slender with gray-white skin and black hair. His teeth gleamed at him as he faced Dean. "Call the woman to us." The voice was low, musical, gentle, a subtle invitation.
Dean rushed at him, straight as an arrow, whipping a dagger from a sheath between his shoulder blades, going straight for his heart. The move was totally unexpected. He thought his voice would enthrall Dean, that it would make him obey. The blade sank into his chest, yet he managed to slam his talons into his injured shoulder, raking deep furrows into Dean's flesh as he leapt backward. He dissolved instantly into a greenish vapor and streamed through the night away from the city. Droplets of red mixed with the green, leaving a toxic, venomous trail for Dean to follow. Deliberately he inhaled the noxious scent so he would know him anywhere.
He heard the echo of that familiar male voice deep inside his mind, his soul, a cry of denial followed immediately by a strange warmth. The wounds in his shoulder burned, but he was used to pain and shut it out. The strange melodic chanting of words in an ancient tongue shimmered in his mind and provided Dean with some solace. Still, he couldn't ignore the blood streaming down from his body. He had not fed in several days and needed sustenance. Mixing the rich soil from the priest's garden with his own healing saliva, he packed the gaping lacerations. Before he followed the undead to his lair, he needed to feed. The city was filled with the homeless, with unfortunate creatures who would have no chance to escape him, even in his weakened condition.
Castiel hunkered down atop the massive cliff overlooking the city. He was closer his time than he had ever been. He was certain of it. He was out there somewhere, tired and hurt and vulnerable, fighting his war alone. Castiel felt his pain every moment of his waking hours. When he closed his eyes on the rising sun, he felt gut-wrenching agony crawling through Dean's body, crawling through his body.
Patience. He had learned patience in a hard school. Centuries of living had taught him disciplines and patience above else. He was an ancient with powerful gifts, yet he could not bend Dean to his will. He could not summon him to him. He had taught Dean well. Too well.
Far off, he heard the cry of a raptor, a high keening altering him, and he lifted his face toward the stars. Very slowly, Castiel straightened, rising to his full height. "I thank you, my brother," he murmured softly. The wind caught his voice and whipped it out, carrying the sound through the dense treetops and taking it further, over the city. "Our hunt begins, then."
He could never forget the shocking moment when Dean had first connected with him. A child in sheer terror. His pain and agony had been so sharp, so acute, across time and space to merge with him. Mind to mind. Even as a child, Dean had been a powerful psychic. The imagines Castiel received from him had been so vivid, so detailed; he had lived the nightmare with him, through him. The brutal slaying of his parents and brother, the monster draining their blood in front of the child.
He closed his eyes against the memories but they flooded his mind as Dean so often had. He had been continents away, with no way of tracking him, finding him. Yet he lived with Dean through the repeated cruelties, the beatings, through the countless rapes and murders he had been forced to witness. Dean had crawled into his mind, seeking refuge, and found Castiel there. He whispered to him, distracted him, and shared his knowledge with him. A mere child taught to kill. He had no other gift to give Dean. No other way of saving him.
Those were hideous years, years of hopeless seeking. The world was a very large place when one was looking for one small child. Castiel was an ancient, sworn to protect mortals and immortals alike. A powerful being, a hunter and destroyer of the vampire, sent out centuries earlier by his prince, sworn to rid the world of such evil. He had tried to tell Dean there was a difference between vampire and hunter, but in his mind, Dean saw his battles, his kills. He saw the darkness in him, spreading like a stain over Castiel's soul. And Dean was afraid to put his trust in him.
Castiel stood completely still, raw power clinging to his muscular frame as he presented his leather-clad arm to his travelling companion. The large owl circled overhead once, a lazy spiral, then plummeted fast, talons outstretched. The raptor landed on Castiel's forearm, and Castiel bent his head towards its wicked beak. "You've picked up the scent of our prey."
The round, beady eyes that stared back at him were filled with intelligence. The bird flapped its wings, once, twice, as if in answer, and then launched itself into the air. Castiel stared after it, a faint smile in no way softening the hard edge of his mouth. Dean was hurt. He was chasing a vampire and was injured.
There was no denying the connection between them, yet Dean refused to acknowledge him, to answer him. He had no idea how he could be so strong, when he lived with such constant pain, but he could do no other than find him, mind to mind or otherwise, yet he felt he would know Dean the moment he laid eyes on him.
Castiel stood above the city and stared down at the lights twinkling like so many stars. "Where are you?" he murmured aloud. "I am close to you. I feel you near me this time. Finally I am in the vicinity of your lair – I know I am."
Dean had entered his life so many long years ago. They have lived in each other's minds while a depraved monster had tortured a helpless little boy. Castiel had forced himself to feel what he felt, refusing to leave him alone in his living hell. He had made the decision to train him when he could not find a way to get Dean to talk to him. And he had succeeded, all too well, in teaching him to kill. Where once violence had been his world, now his entire existence was dedicated to finding him. In a way, Dean had been his salvation.
Castiel stepped off the edge of the cliff. Easily. Casually. Dissolving into mist as he did so. He streaked through the sky on the trail of the vampire, following the owl as it moved quickly through the night.
Dean had formulated a loose plan of action. When he found the young man, he would take him to his homeland, take him before the Prince. Surely the healers would find a way to help him. A vampire had converted him, made him a creature of the night, and the tainted blood flowing in his veins was an acid that burned him day and night. The young child had grown into a man, honed in the fires of hell, filled with the battle experience of an ancient. Castiel had imparted that knowledge to him, techniques only one of his kind should have. He had helped create him; he needed to find a way to heal him.
The scent of the undead was a foul stench to Castiel, even as the vampire tried desperately to mask his presence from the hunters. The trail led through the city itself, deep in its underbelly where there were no streetlights and no nice homes. Dogs barked as Castiel passed overhead, but no one took notice. And then he caught sight of the other scent. Drops of blood mingled with the vampire's spoor.
It was Dean, he was certain of it. His Dean. He had come to think of him as belonging to him and he'd found, over the years, he was possessive of him. Like other males of his kind, he had long since become accustomed to feeling no emotion, yet at times he felt little flares of unexpected jealousy and fear on Dean's behalf. He wondered if he was feeling Dean's emotions as he shared his mind, but he had no answers. In truth, it didn't matter to him.
The only thing that mattered was finding him. He had no other choice. Dean had become his saviour, even as he was attempting to save her.
He noticed the hunter had broken away from the vampire's trail and veered off into the city. Castiel knew immediately he was seeking blood. He had wounds, and he probably had not fed in several days.
He found his pray in an alley between two buildings. The man was young and muscular, half siting against the wall, a small smile on his face. His head lolled slightly when Castiel bent to examine him, but his lashed fluttered. The man was alive.
Castiel knew he should be relieved to see Dean had not killed hi pray, only taken what was necessary from him as he had so painstakingly drilled into him, but in truth, he wanted to throttle the man. Entering his mind, Castiel learned he had lured the mortal to him with a promise of paradise, with a sexy enticing smile, and his victim had willingly followed him.
The owl called to him impatiently from the roof of the building to his left. They were hunting, it reminded him. Castiel was alarmed by his own lack of discipline. Initially he had wondered if the male child might be his lifemate when they had connected so strongly, but over the years, when Dean steadfastly refused to speak to him, he had decided it must not be so. Yet now, considering his odd reaction to his male prey, he wondered again.
Supernatural beings, like him, lost all emotions and the ability to see in color by the time they turned two hundred, and so it had been for him. It was a bleak existence, relying on one's integrity to live honorably until a lifemate could be found. Only a true lifemate, the other half of each male's soul, could restore emotion and color to him. All the while the insidious temptation to feel for just one moment beckoned the males. If they succumbed and chose to kill while feeding, they became the very thing they hunted - the vampire.
Castiel took to the air, streaking away from temptation. Away from the young man who had been so close to Dean. The young man who had felt Dean's body against his body. His lips moving sensuously over his skin. The erotic, white-hot bite of pleasure/pain. A red haze, treacherous and blazing out of control, slipped into his head, making it nearly impossible to think clearly. Castiel had the sudden urge to back and rip out the man's throat. The desire burned hot and bright, his gut clenching and a strange roaring filled his ears, his mind. He turned in midair.
The owl changed direction, flying toward his face, preventing him from continuing in that direction, beak open wide and eyes staring directly into his.
You said it was forbidden to kill any but the vampire! Dean's voice was frightened, a soft denial, almost pleading. You said never to kill when feeding and never to feed when killing.
At the long-awaited sound of that voice, Castiel's world turned upside down. He tumbled through the sky while the gray and dark of the night were replaced with shimmering, dazzling silver and brilliant colors. It was like a fireworks display; bursting all around him, robbing him of his ability to breathe, even to see. He closed his eyes against the assault on his senses, struggling to regain control.
The owl struck him hard just as Dean called to him a second time. Pull up, you're falling. Pull up no! There was terror in his voice.
Warmth spread, calmed him, and he righted himself. Dean had given him life again. Saved him from eternal darkness. His lifemate. The only man capable of preventing him from turning vampire.
At long last he had spoken to him. Years of silence had conditioned him to believe Dean would never voluntarily speak to him, but when he was in danger from the raging beast within, he had leapt up to save him in spite of her every resolve not to. Dean had filled the bleakness of his gray existence with colors and life.
Where are you? How badly are you hurt? he asked, praying he would continue to communicate with him.
Leave this place. I vowed if you ever came here, if you found me, I would not hunt you because you saved me. Go away from here. I don't want to have to kill you, but I will if you force me.
I'm not vampire. I'm an ancient. There is a difference. Dean's sigh was soft in his mind. So you say, but I know nothing of the Ancients. I have only met the undead, with their voices so sweet and compelling. Voices such as yours.
Why would I teach you not to kill your prey if I were a vampire? Castiel was patient. He could afford to be patient. Dean was his world now, the only thing that mattered to him. He had found him, and he would find a way to make him see the difference between a dangerous creature that had chosen to lose his soul, and a warrior fighting to maintain his honour.
I will give you another warning. If you wish to live, leave this place and never come back. Again he heard the soft, pleading note in his voice, felt it in his mind. Dean probably didn't even know it was there, but he heard it and it filled him with elation. Castiel believed that he would try to destroy him. Dean was strong and well disciplined. He had taught Dean well, and he was a fast, apt pupil.
They were connected, mind to mind, so Castiel felt the sudden stillness in her. Instinctively he knew that he had reached the lair of the vampire. The undead was wounded, doubly dangerous, and in his own lair he would have numerous safeguards and traps.
Get out of here. I am close – I will destroy the vampire. It is unnecessary for you to take chances with your life.
This is my city, my home. My people, under my protection. I don't share with the undead. Leave. Dean closed himself off to him, slamming a mind block in place, a strong barrier he didn't bother attempting to penetrate.
Castiel sped through the sky, the owl keeping pace with him, eyes searching for sign, senses flaring out to test the air for the noxious trail. He didn't bother to attempt to track Dean; he had taught him too well. His trail was nearly nonexistent. Without the wound, he would never have caught his scent, and he had already dealt with the lacerations so that there was no more telltale spoor for him to follow.
Castiel glanced at his traveling companion, the large owl flying strongly beside him as it had done for years. They were travelling companions. Hunters. Brothers. Watching each other's backs. I will go into the lair of the vampire and destroy him. It is not safe for you to do so, but should something happen to me, I ask that you take this man to the Prince. His brother could no longer battle the vampire. He was too close to the beast to resist the call of blood.
There was a heartbeat of . Castiel felt the wind rushing past them as they moved together through the sky. For a moment he thought the other would not speak. He so seldom did these days, preferring to remain in the form of an animal. You give me a task I am uncertain I can fulfill.
You can do no other than see to it that he is safely returned to our homeland. He is my lifemate, although as yet unbound.
Again there was only the silence of the night. Castiel, I am older by several hundred years. My time is waning. You feel the crouching of the beast. I am the beast. How can you trust my word?
For a moment Castiel felt his heart jump. Michael had long battled the bleakness of a colorless existence. He had hunted the vampire for hundreds of years, destroying old friends. With each kill it became harder and harder to resist the need to feel something. If Michael made a kill while feeding, he would be lost for all time. Castiel closed his mind to the possibility. Michael was strong and he would endure as long as there was need.
I trust you, Michael, because I know you. You are a warrior without equal and your honor is everything. You are my brother, the one who came to guard my back in my darkest days, as I have done for you. Give me your word you will do this if I should fall. You would never go back on your word. Not even the beast is stronger than your word. He is one of us, though converted by a vampire. You must perform this one last task and then you can go to ground, only to awaken if you feel the call of your lifemate. Castiel was firm, dealing warrior to warrior.
There was no other choice for either of them. They had stood for centuries against the vampire, alone in their territories until both were near the end. Until Castiel had been connected to a child being physically and emotionally abused. His brother Michael, centuries older, had rushed to his side, to ensure that Castiel would not succumb to despair when he couldn't prevail the continued assaults.