Dean looked around himself carefully at the cave in which he had followed the vampire. His lair was close. He had already encountered two of his traps and had slowly, meticulously unraveled them. Dean's chest was inexplicably tight, his lungs laboring to draw air. There was an anxiety in him that had never been there before when he was hunting. He was here at last. Castiel. He whispered his name softly in his mind. Castiel had told it to him often, the sound blending with his accent to form something beautiful, but he never dared repeat it. Now the strange name tugged at his heartstrings. He had known the day would come when Castiel would find him. He had been getting closer month by month, day by day. He was relentless in his pursuit of him, and all alone, Dean had known he would have to face him one day. He thought he had been prepared, but in truth, he was terrified. Dean relied on him, on his concern for him, his companionship, strange though it might be.
Castiel had come into him life in his darkest hour, had shared his torment, the depraved tortures of an evil mind. His voice had been sheer magic, transporting him to his distant lands and places where his captor had not been able to follow. He had left his body behind, but his heart and very soul had roared free. Castiel, so far away, had been his salvation. He had saved Dean's life, saved his sanity.
But Dean had learned the hard way not to trust an alluring voice. He had once responded to one, and that monster had killed his family. Since that time, so long ago, he had heard sweet voices over and over, and all those voices had belonged to liars, depraved monsters who thrived on the pain of others. He thought of Castiel as his only family, yet he knew better than to trust him. He had saved him with his beautiful voice, but he had also taught him other things. He had taught him to kill his captors, taught him to kill the monsters preying on other families, other children. He had taught him to be as he was; a master killer.
Dean ran his hand carefully along the rock wall, knowing there was an entrance, knowing the vampire had to be hiding somewhere behind what appeared to be a solid rock wall. Water was steadily dripping, the sound loud in the small confines of the cave. Dean tilted his head, examining the heavy rock above his head. It seemed solid enough, but there was a distinct uneasiness roiling in his stomach, a warning he had learned from vast experience to heed.
The cave felt like a trap. He took his time surveying the floor. It was uneven, damn in spots, from water leaking continually from the walls. Lightly passing his hand over the rick, he nearly missed the subtle movement beneath his palm. Blinking to try to focus on what he couldn't see, Dean pulled his hand quickly from the surface of the rock. Something lay there, waiting for an unsuspecting victim. Something microscopic, but deadly.
Dean took a cautious step away from the rock wall. Immediately he felt the floor beneath him sink, as if he had stepped onto a sponge. He sank ankle deep into the strange mire. The mu clung to his ankle, sucked at his shoe. Tightened around his skin like a vise. His heart jumped, his breath leaving his lungs in a small rush. He forced his mind to stillness, keeping panic at bay.
Rather than fight the black goo sucking at his foot, Dean chose to dissolve. He shimmered for a moment in the darkness of the cave; then there was only a mist of color glowing in the cavern, moving cautiously just above ground. The colors spun, bright droplets of water weaving together just over the largest damp spot where the water dripped steadily. Suddenly the mist bored into the heart of the spot, penetrating the wet soil and disappearing completely from the chamber.
Dean found himself in a much larger cavern deep beneath the mountain. The smell of sulfur was nearly overpowering, the air thick and hot. Noxious gas seeped and swirled from the green pools that dotted the earth. Yellow vapor clung heavily in the hair. He took great care to examine the ground before he took his true form, placing his feet on solid ground, his knees slightly bent, his body relaxed, ready to spring into action should there be need. Dean had the feeling the need would be great and would come soon. Very soon.
He studied the chamber, not moving, hardly breathing, not wanting to disturb the flow of air, and not wanting to trigger a dangerous trap. There were two openings leading deeper beneath the mountain; he could catch glimpses of subterranean passages which probably extended for miles. Sharp natural spears hung from the ceiling of the cave, great columns of mineral built up to form a legion of armaments, poised over his head. The stalactites made Dean nervous. The enemy was close by, and in his lair he had the advantage.
Cautiously he scanned the chamber, using more than his physical vision. The stench of evil permeated the area, burning his eyes so that tears welled up. Dean was careful not to rub his eyes. It was likely that the thick vapor filling the chamber was dangerous.
A hunter must presume that everything in in the vampire's lair is a lethal trap. You cannot overlook the smallest detail, especially anything that appears to be natural. Castiel had taught him that. His saviour. His mortal enemy. He had prepared him with painstaking care for his battles with the undead. He had lived because of him, yet he would be forced to face him in battle.
Impatient with his thoughts, Dean shook his head. He couldn't afford to have his attention divided. Determinedly he pushed Castiel out of his mind and turned his complete concentration to the problem at hand. He scanned the chamber, noting the position of each rock, of the dark, gleaming pools, of the vents of stream rising from them. He paid attention to the holes in the floor, the uneven ground, committing the layout to memory before he ever took a step.
Very cautiously he moved to his left, wishing he dared to be out in the open, away from the walls, but the risk was too great. Something moved just out of his line of vision. He felt the stir of air, the subtle difference in the swirl of vapor as it rose from the pool. A tendril of yellowish mist broke off from the vents of steam and floated idly toward him.
Something brushed his leg, tugged at the tightly material of his jeans. Dean resisted looking. Instead he leapt upwards, kicking out with the edge of his foot, shattering two stalactites and sending the remains plummeting into the bubbling pools. He landed lightly in a crouched position on the other side of the chamber. His hands were up, ready for defense, as he surveyed the results of his handiwork.
The ceiling over his head was alive with movement for a moment, the natural-looking formations swaying slightly with the vibrations of violence. One cracked along its length, exposing briefly a dark interior and a whisper of movement before the crack faded into a seamless formation of minerals.
Without hesitation Dean launched his attack, running along the walls of the chamber with long, light strides, his soles barely touching the wall's surface as he raced around the circumference, climbing higher with each step until he had reached the ceiling once again. There, he exploded into action, driving both feet into the one stalactite that had remained perfectly still. Dagger in hand, he attacked as the force of his blow broke open the cocoon, exposing the vampire. His momentum carried him past the creature, but he whipped around in midair and plunged the sharp blade deep into the chest of the undead.
The vampire's scream was hideous, resonating throughout the chamber as he fell to earth. His cries were a command, and instantly the stalactites overhead rocked, and then erupted with great winged predators. Miniature pteranodons burst from the cocoons, wings spread and flapping fiercely, great beaks opened wide. Vapor swirled and spread as the wings fanned the air.
The dinosaur-birds had bodies much the size of an eagle but their wingspans were shorter than either the eagles or the extinct pteranodons. Engineered by the vampire, the carnivores were designed to guard the chamber and keep out enemies. They flew at Dean's face, snapping at his body with their fierce beaks.
He had landed near a building pool. Carefully he stayed close to the walls of the chamber, knowing he would be easy prey for the screaming birds out in the open. The noise was an assault on his ears, yet he made no attempt to control the volume with his preternatural senses. He needed to hear the slightest whisper of sound in the cave. He punched one bird hard in the neck, knocking it from the sky as he leapt over the pool to reach the vampire, which was crawling away from him.
He landed on his feet, but something hit his left leg hard, knocking it out from under him so that he lurched sideways. In that instant, the vampire reversed directions and was on him, his face a vicious mask of hatred, his breath fetid, and the bloody dagger he had pulled from his chest in his fist.
Dean spun to face him, his hand going for the vampire's wrist. He was wounded, had suffered severe blood loss, so Dean was confident that he was the stronger of the two. He wrapped his wrist and wrenched his hand back toward him. Ducking to avoid talons coming at his face from above, he drove the knife into the vampire's chest a second time.
The vampire roared with hatred, tearing at the dagger. Dean whirled to face a second attack from behind. A monstrous lizard was climbing up out of the bubbling pool, saliva dripping from its formidable Its long tail, which had already scored a hit against his leg, knocking his aside earlier, was swinging ominously. The creature looked much like a Komodo dragon, with clawed feet and a peculiar swinging gait. Its speed was incredible as it rushed at him. Dean had no time to seize the heart from the vampire; he had to dissolve and scatter his molecules through the noxious vapor in order to save himself.
The vapor in the chamber was heavy and carried in in some kind of trap he had never encountered before. Immediately it seemed to latch on to the molecules of mist, soaking them up like a thirsty sponge. Panic flared in him, a sudden realization that he had been careless and was now caught in a trap.
Shape-shift into one of the birds. Castiel's magical voice was calm, steading. Close by.
Dean did so instantly, taking the imagine from his mind rather than his own, not realizing he had automatically reached for Castiel, shared with him his peril, allowing him to "see" the trap and the chamber through him. He flapped and screeched right along with the rest of the strange creatures, all the while eyeing the vampire below him.
To his horror, the giant reptile shifted into human form, becoming a tall thin man with a beaked nose and graying hair. He reached out casually to the other vampire, helping him to his feet. In Dean's mind, Castiel went very still. Vampires traveled together at times, but they used one another, sacrificed one another. In all the long centuries of his battles, Castiel had never witnessed one vampire helping another.
"Come, my dear, I grow tired of this little charade," the taller vampire said. He clapped his hands and the birds felt from the air, plummeting into the bubbling pools to scream impotently as they disappeared under the surface. "Vernon needs blood. I think you had best supply him, since you were the one to cause this distress."
Dean settled to earth, shape-shifting to his true form as he did so. "Well, well, its old-friend week, I see," he smiled coolly at the two vampires. He kept his eyes fixed on the taller one. He was strong and without a single wound and very, very dangerous. "I'm surprised a big bad vampire such as you would associate with a weakling like Vernon. He seems a bit out of your league. Three times I scored a hit on him – a bit much, don't you think?" There was a taunting amusement in his voice. Dean's face was a pleasant mask, confident and serene, while inside, his brain was working out a way to escape. The hunter was now the hunted, but he would never, ever allow himself to be taken alive by such monsters.
Vernon snarled at him, exposing his long fangs. "You won't be smiling when I drain the blood from your veins." Spittle ran down the side of his mouth and he coughed, holding his hands over his wounds.
"Now, now, Vernon, he does have a point. A mere youngster and he stuck you like a pig." The taller vampire smiled, exposing his sharp incisors. "No need to get nasty with him over your own incompetence."
Look for something more. Another perhaps. It seems unreasonable that they would be in the same lair, but he is drawing your attention for a reason. They are afraid of you. You have twice plunged a dagger into one of the undead and you are extremely young to possess such skills, you are a puzzle to them. Look with more than your eyes but do not turn away from him. Dean sensed Castiel at the cave's entrance, and his heart began to beet much faster.
Do not show fear, even if it is of me. They will think you weak, and you want them worried. They have never encountered a hunter such as you before.
He had to trust Castiel; he had no choice. He had hunted Dean for years, wanting him for himself, or some plan he could not fathom. He couldn't imagine Castiel betraying him to other vampires at this late date. And he knew from experience that he was right. Vampires did not share lairs. The situation was unusual and highly dangerous. Dean scanned the chamber, utilizing all his senses. He scented the third adversary immediately. He couldn't locate him, but he knew he was there. Dean shared the information with Castiel.
Dean laughed softly, feigning unconcern while Vernon snarled his hatred of him. Dean turned to the more powerful vampire. "I don't understand. Usually when one as powerful as yourself enters my home territory, I hear rumours." Deliberately he flattered him, managing to sound breathless and slightly flirtatious.
The tall vampire bowed low. "I am called Pater. And you are?"
"Not fooled." Dean whirled around, crouching low, and extracted a dagger from his boot and drove it up into the newest attacker's soft belly. As he shrieked, Dean drove his fist hard through bone and muscle, straight to the heart. His fingers closed around it and he jerked hard as he leapt backward to avoid as much as the poisonous blood as possible.
Flinging the heart as far from the flopping vampire as he could, he struck a spark off the rock wall, fanning the embers as he raced up the wall, then tossing the flames at the pulsating blackened organ so that it incinerated immediately to a fine ash.
Vernon waved his hands recklessly, forgetting for a moment his terrible injuries. Dean had destroyed the third vampire who had waited so patiently to attack him from behind while Pater distracted him. Dean dropped to the ground, ever conscious of the dam spots and yellow vapor swirling thickly.
"I hope he wasn't a friend of yours, Pater," he said, smirking a little. His leg, where the reptile's tail had struck him with such force, was beginning to throb and burn. "I certainly hope you aren't calling yourself Father. You're much too young, you know." He focused on the tall vampire, knowing Vernon posed little threat unless he was close to him. His strength was waning rapidly from loss of blood and the terrible wounds Dean had inflicted upon him.
The tall vampire merely smiled at him. He inhaled deeply, his eyes widening as he took in Dean's scent. "You are one of use – the blood of our people flows in your veins." He looked slightly puzzled. "Haven't you heard the whispers of the movement? We are banding together, one by one, growing strong within our ranks. One piece of straw can blow away in the wind, but a bundle is solid. Took long our power had been hidden. We've been forced to fear while lesser creatures, beings no more than cattle to us, rule the earth. Why? Because we have never joined forces. Together we can defeat the hunters. They are few, and most are close to joining our ranks. We have eyes in the hunters' camps and have been growing in our dominion over the cattle, infiltrating into positions of influence and power. Join with us."
A strange tingling had begun in his calf muscle, alarming because it radiated up his leg toward his thigh and also down his foot. He tilted his chin, suddenly afraid of what Pater was going to say. Was this why Castiel had hunted him for so long? To convince him to join the ranks of the undead in some new bid of power? The idea was chilling. Could he possibly stop such a movement on his own? Who would believe him? If Dean told anyone what he was, they wold destroy him.
"You belong with us." He winced at Pater's words. He couldn't help the shudder that ran through his body, the sudden memories that sickened him. He slammed the door on them hard, terrified of what they would do to him.
Sensing her vulnerability, Pater took a gliding step toward him, barely skimming the ground. Dean stepped to the side, not wanting to back into the wall of the chamber. He was certain there was something there. Unexpectedly, his leg went out from under him. He went down hard, a shocked look on his face. The strange tingling was a paralysis creeping up from the bruising on his calf muscle toward his thigh. His food was rigid, unable to move.
Snarling triumphantly, Vernon pushed past Pater, rushing at him, greedy for blood. He stumbled in his haste, lunging forward. Dean saw his foot lashing out and he rolled awkwardly, the blow catching him on the temple, but without most of its original force. In retaliation, Dean launched a rock straight at one of the wounds on his chest. He could see Pater gliding towards him with his unhurried stride, that same smile on his face.
The heavy rock smashed solidly into Vernon's mangled chest. He howled spittle and blood spraying from his mouth as he nearly collapsed. "I'll kill him," he vowed, so incensed he could barely get the words out. His hatred manifested itself in the chamber. The yellow vapor swirled closer to Dean, circling him as Vernon approached.
Dean waited, watching his every move. Vernon was severely injured, his blood loss great. Despite Dean's inability to move his leg, he was certain he was still the stronger of the two. He could take his heart if he was close enough. He would have to kill at least one of them - before he found a way to destroy himself. He was determined he would not be taken alive by either of them.
Something in his stillness made the vampire pause. Even Pater stopped moving to regard him uneasily. Vernon's hate-filled gaze narrowed and he lunged at Dean.
The chamber exploded with fireworks, bursts of flame and a shower of sparks. A tall, powerfully built man landed solidly in the midst of the pyrotechnics. It was far too later for Vernon to retreat. The new comer's hand caught his bullet-shaped hear and wrenched had, snapping bones. The attacker moved so fast he was a blurred image, his fist driving deep through the undead's chest cavity and extracting the heart from the screaming vampire. As Vernon fell, Dean caught a glint of a dagger. It dropped from the vampire's nerveless fingers and landed a short distance from him.
Dean stared up at the stranger. He knew him. He would know him anywhere. He was raw power and pure elegance with his dark hair and strong face and piercing eyes. Eyes of death. Whirlwind of death. He took Dean's breath away. He couldn't think of him as anything but his mortal enemy. A dangerous vampire who had killed against and again.
"How badly are you injured?" Castiel demanded tersely, his brilliant gaze slashing through the heavy yellow vapor that was gathering around them. "This entire chamber is a death trap. We have to get out of here." He took a step towards Dean, leaned close, reaching for him to gather him into the safety of his arms. Pater had disappeared, and the feel of the chamber was alarming. The very air vibrated with tension and something far more sinister.
Dean flung himself forward to meet him, a dagger concealed along his inner wrist. He would have only one chance to save himself. As Castiel loomed over him, all muscle and sinew and flowing grace, Dean's stomach lurched alarmingly, his resolve weakening for just a moment. The he saw Castiel's eyes. Dark. Dangerous. Flames flickering in the depths. He thrust the knife at his heart.
Hands clamped around both of his wrists in a vise-like grip, pinning the flat of the blade against his skin. Someone caught him from behind, jerking her backward against a hard chest. His captor was enormously strong, his grip unbreakable. Dean threw his head back, attempting to make contact with his captor, hoping to smash his nose. The back of his head hit a chest so hard that pain exploded behind his eyes and in his temples. He could only watch helplessly at Castiel bent ever closer toward him. Dean brought up his one good leg, attempting to kick him.
"We have to get out of here," said a voice behind Dean. Low. Musical. Compelling. "You were careless Castiel. He nearly did you in." Dean's unseen captor twisted the dagger from his hand, and just that quickly slit his wrist.
The action was swift and unexpected, the cut deep and extremely painful. Blood poured from Dean's wrist. He scowled, unable to understand why they would do such a thing. Vampire's craved blood and the power of feeling their prey die. They needed the rush of adrenaline in their victim's blood as much as the blood itself.
"Damn it, Michael, it wasn't necessary to hurt him." The low murmur of the voice registered ever as he felt the combined power of the two men merge, thrust deep and hold her in their thrall.
Completely helpless, unable to move or to deny them anything, Dean could only watch in horror as Castiel gathered him to him, opening his chest with a single slash. He pressed Dean Close, offering his ancient blood; blood Dean knew would bind them together for eternity. He struggled in his own mind, heard the scream of fear and panic wrenched from his soul, a scream that never made it past his throat. But he drank because he had no choice. They were far too powerful together.
It is necessary to remove the tainted blood from your system. Relax – we have to do this fast. We need to leave this place, and the vampire has poisoned your body with something new to us. Go inside yourself, analyze the compound, break it down and push it out of your body. As always, Castiel's voice was gentle and steady.
Dean heard his captor chanting, words Castiel had used in his mind before, a rhythm of soft, soothing music that somehow took the pain away from his calf and his wrist. From Dean's shoulder and arm where the vampire had managed to mark him. Strangely, as Castiel's blood poured into him, the terrible burning that was with him day and night seemed to ease. He became aware of Castiel's hand at the nape of his neck, cradling his head, massaging his neck. Gently.
Dean closed his eyes to shut out what was happening to him, the helpless feeling of being utterly and completely vulnerable. The ground beneath them shivered a forewarning. They couldn't dissolve into mist with the poisonous vapor surrounding them, and he couldn't run with the poison in his body paralyzing him. Dean had no idea why they were forcing her blood to run in a steady stream onto the ground and filling him with the powerful blood of an ancient, but it occurred to him that they were risking their lives by staying in the chamber with him.
A part of Dean's brain was working furiously, considering his options, testing his strengths, determined to find a way to escape. Another part of him was relaxing into Castiel's hold, sinking deeper into his compulsion, accepting their strange connection.
"You will have to do it for him, Castiel." The voice floated up from behind Dean, sounding far away. "He is not capable. We will have to take him from this place ourselves. The trap is closing, and the one who escaped hopes to keep us locked here."
That pricked Dean's pride. He could do anything they could do. He was strong and Castiel had taught him well, perhaps far better than he realized. Dean sought inside himself, past the pain and fear, past the knowledge of what and who he was. He simply dropped away, finding pure energy, finding a place of power and healing. His blood was fascinating, and he could clearly see the difference between the blood pouring onto the ground and the blood being forced into his body. He could see the ancient blood at war with his own, driving it from his body, a battle fought in his veins for his heart and soul. There were thick dark spots spreading up his calf, invading his muscles and multiplying at a rapid rate.
He turned his attention to the spots, the dark bacteria that had invaded his bloodstream to do the vampire's binding.
Hurry. We must go now. I will carry you as close to the surface as possible, but you will have to be able to shape-shift in order to get out of here safely. As always, the melodic voice was unhurried and unconcerned. Dean was aware of the urgency of their situation. He knew the vampire Pater had escaped. His lair would be a dangerous trap designed to ensnare them. The shifts in the earth were all the warning Dean needed. He concentrated on the spots of bacteria, breaking them down, pushing most of them out of his pores, pushing the threads that had rushed toward his heart back to the huge gash in his wrist.
The terrible paralysis was gone, along with the bacteria. Strength poured into his body with the ancient blood. Castiel brought his wrist to the warmth of his mouth. Dean's heart stilled, skipped a beat, and began to pound heavily. The fiery pain of the laceration eased, was replaced by a curious throbbing, a sudden heat creeping into his bloodstream. The two hunters loosened their mental hold on him, allowing his mind and body freedom from their compulsion. Dean snatched his hand out of Castiel's possession, held it against his heart. He became aware he was cradled in Castiel's arms as he rushed through the maze of subterranean chambers. Dean swept his tongue across the gash in his chest, an automatic gesture to close the wound.
Deliberately he stayed limp in Castiel's arms, gathering his energy, waiting for his opportunity. He turned his attention to the grim-faced man running close to Castiel's side. He was an inch or so taller than Castiel, with the same dark hair and piercing eyes. Michael glanced at Dean, turning those flat, emotionless eyes in his direction, and a shiver went down Dean's spine. He recognized death when he saw it.
They chamber they had left boomed, and there was a loud crash that reverberated throughout the subterranean maze as the walls and ceiling collapsed in on the cave. They were moving with preternatural speed, yet the thick yellow vapor was only a pace behind them.
"I'm much stronger," Dean pointed out. "Put me down, and we'll get out of here faster."
Castiel shifted him in his arms without slowing his pace, allowing Dean's feet to drop toward the floor until he was running with him. Castiel immediately took up a position behind Dean, protecting his back while his brother sex a grueling pace in front of them.
Dean couldn't help admiring the flowing grace of his enemy as he ran, shifting shape as the opening loomed just ahead, a narrow crack none of them would be able to fit through. He had never imagined anyone could shift that fast, the large, the elegant form compressing to that of a bat.
Now! Hurry, shift! It was the first time he had detected urgency in Castiel's voice. Dean didn't waste time glancing behind him to see what was following them; the urgency in Castiel's command was enough warning. He held the image of the bat uppermost in his mind, feeling the change take hold of him, move through him, and consume him. His bones wrenched and contracted, reshaped and compressed. He skimmed through the narrow opening, nearly ripping the tip of one wing. He felt Castiel crowding close behind him.
A wall of fire closed in behind them, reaching for them, moving nearly as quickly as they were, pushing the terrible yellow vapor before the greedy orange flames. Dean followed the lead bat up through the narrow opening, his small body cringing from the blast of heat.
Faster. Dean whispered the word in his mind, anxious that Castiel was going to get caught in the inferno. He didn't realize he had sent the word into his mind. That he had betrayed his anxiety to him. That behind him, even in the form of a bat, rushing in front of a firestorm, he smiled.
We will make it. Castiel was calmly reassuring. That annoyed Dean. He heard his soft, very irritating amusement echo through his mind as Dean burst through the chimney and into the next chamber. It was small and dark and there was an eerie heaviness in the air. The heat was stifling. Castiel swore under his breath, but the words were still a warning in Dean's mind. At once Dean shifted back to his own shape, examining the thick walls of layered rick, the swirling patterns. This strange little cave had once been part of a lava flow but now was a lethal trap devised by a cunning monster. The yellow vapor poured into the small space, quickly filling every crevice.
Castiel and his brother were also feeling along the walls of the cave, judging the heat with their palms as they quickly covered as much surface as possible. "Over here, Michael."
Dean watched as Castiel stepped back to allow Michael to run his hands over the same spot. He moved closer, wondering what exactly they had found. Castiel caught Dean's arm and thrust his smaller body behind the protection of his just as Michael slammed the flat of his palm through the rock.
The ground shuddered; the walls wavered and began to grumble. Great chunks of rock fell in a shower above their heads. Castiel turned; bent his body over Dean's as he pushed him as close to the hole Michael had created as possible. Michael slammed his palm a second time to enlarge the hole. The yellow vapor, tangled around their necks like nooses, began to pull tight. The ground trembled again, and then buckled, a hard jolt that threw them both against the red-hot rock. Dean swallowed a scream of pain, fear choking him. He dared not open his mouth or breathe the terrible venomous fog ensnaring them.
Michael leapt through the jagged opening as the next tremor shook the earth. Castiel caught Dean around the waist and tossed him after his brother. He landed hard on the other side, automatically scanning his surroundings. Behind him, the wall collapsed in on itself, dust and debris mingling with the yellow vapor that had poured through the hole in an attempt to keep them in the smaller cave.
Dean jumped back toward the wall, digging at the rocks, throwing them haphazardly out of the way. "He's trapped," he yelled, clawing at the rocks, his heart nearly stopping. Are you all right? He called out to Castiel, unable to stop himself. His one companion. He couldn't be dead. His saviour. Talk to me. Say something.
Michael physically dragged Dean away from the wall. "Go," he ordered gruffly. "Do not take this poison into your body – go while you can. I will get him out."
Dean hesitated, watched as Michael began to work at a ferocious pace, working against time while the earth bucked and caved in.
Go. The voice was as steady as ever. Unconcerned. Without worry. He spun around, leapt over an open crevice and raced toward the upper chambers. Every step he took away from him added to the terrible weight pressed against his chest like a stone. He didn't understand it; he didn't want to understand it. He only knew that he could barely breathe, so strong was his need to turn back and go to his aid.
Dean raced away from the remaining tendrils of vapor, shape-shifting as he did so, streaking through the caves and chambers, climbing steadily toward the surface. He was a comet of mist, staying well ahead of the trailing poison, but something of him was left behind. Not flood this time, but something far more important. It was his soul that seemed to be left behind with him in that collapsed chamber.
He burst into the open, into the cool, refreshing air. Dean shifted into the form of an owl, winging his way across the sky. Normally he enjoyed the sensation; the ability to take on this form was a benefit of what he had become. Now his mind was consumed with the need to know that Castiel was alive and well. It was all he could think of, all that mattered.
Nice to know I matter to you. There was that inevitable male amusement, designed to set his teeth on edge, but this time he only felt relief. We are clear of the chamber and fighting our way out of the vapor. We will join you soon.
Dean broke the connection abruptly. They would not be joining him soon. He needed the solace of the earth. His wounds burned and throbbed, reminding him that he could feel pain when he wasn't making a continuous effort to block it out. Weary, he still made every effort to cover his trail. He could not take change of being found. He knew Castiel, knew how skillful a hunter he was. He had given him access to his memories, and he had such a wide range of experiences, century after century of battles. Dean was in no shape to fight him, especially as he had a travelling companion with him.
Dean deliberately doubled back several times, watching his back trail. He was determined to pick the time and place of his battle, to make certain the advantages were all on his side. He would never allow himself to be a captive again.
Bone-weary, he settled in a small grove of trees halfway up the mountainside in a national park. The wind was blowing hard, intensifying a biting cold that seeped into his body all the way to his bones. Shivering, he wove his safeguards, a maze of traps that would deter humans and slow vampires, as well as alerting her to their presence.
As he opened the earth, felt the rejuvenating soil beckoning to him, he thought about what Castiel had done. He had saved his life, shoved him clear of the collapsing wall, and acted the savior over and over again. Was that the work of a true vampire? All that he had ever seen of vampires argued against him being one. True, their voices were fair and sweet and lured even the wary to them. They could appear handsome and sensual. But they couldn't mask their evil natures; they were selfish and spiteful and gloried in the pain of their victims. They would never willingly help anyone, or save anyone.
Yet there was Pater and his plan to unite vampires in a grand scheme to take over the world. No matter how far-fetched, the idea truly terrified him. Vampires had incredible powers, tremendous influence over humans, creating puppets to do their bidding, evil minions to carry out their orders even while their masters rested below the earth and out of the sun.
Castiel had never shown those traits, not even in his battles. During his fights, Dean had felt the wildness in him rise, a demon crouched and poised ready to destroy, but it was always leashed, always under control. He sighed softly. He needed to find out much more about him before he destroyed him, his only companion.
He could never admit to himself he would miss Castiel if he never again merged his mind with Dean's. He counted on him. So many times while he was learning to kill the vampire who'd tormented him, he had drawn heavily on his memories. More than that, Dean had relied on him for emotional support. Through even the most degrading, frightening times of his life, Castiel had been with him. Sheltering him. Distracting him. Keeping him alive.
Dean settled deeper into the soothing arms of the earth. Castiel had often told him fairy stories of a race of beings. Ancients. He had said he was one, that he hunted those of his kind who betrayed their race by becoming the most evil of all beings. In the beginning he'd thought he had made up the tales to distract him from the terror of his existence. Later he thought he was attempting to lure Dean to him, to make him believe he was something other than vampire. In all the time Dean hunted the undead, he had never run across any being such as he had described. As Dean closed his eyes and the soil poured in over him, as the breath left his body and his heart ceased to beat, his last thought was that he must find out more about this species. He prayed they truly existed.