I AM SO SORRY for the wait! Real life got absolutely mad… but alas, here is the new chapter, finally :)

xXx

Episode 8 – Short Bursts

Summary: Metatron has escaped – the Winchesters are called upon to help but a series of strange accidents at TRYANGLES begs for attention as well.

Author's Notes: Dean/OMC warning for this chapter. And Metatron being annoying… but what's new? Oh, slight torture… and… actual smut!

I should warn for bottom!Dean, in case some people don't like that. (I totally get that; I can barely stand top!Sherlock...)

Title from the We Were Promised Jetpacks song of the same name.

xXx

The sound of the emergency horn blaring across Heaven interrupts Gabriel's respite. With a groan he tears himself away from the cloud he was twisting into vulgar forms (it's an art form, okay? And humans get so amused when they notice), bending time and space until he reaches the prison tower where the trumpet is being blown.

"You know, if this is another false alarm I'll force y'all to take another seminar on the identification and classification of risk sit –"

"It's not!" the angels interrupts (rude) and urges Gabriel to follow him. "We don't know how it could have happened!"

A clammy feeling overcomes Gabriel's form as he realizes where the angel is taking him. The doors to Heaven's prison open with a thought and then there he is, staring at row upon row of empty cells.

It's fine - ninety-nine percent of those are supposed to be empty, since of course all inmates decided that earth is a better home than a cell, so they haven't returned after Metatron was taken out of commission.

And that's exactly what's wrong with the picture: Metatron's missing too.

"So you're telling me, just so that don't get anything wrong," Gabriel snarls, his wings quivering with rage, "that prisoner zero is gone and no one's noticed until now?"

"Well, Cornelius was on duty and we only realized he was gone as well when his shift ended –"

"Get out of my sight before I smite you, you incompetent fool!" Gabriel roars and the angel is gone in the blink of an eye.

Gabriel takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm him, so he screams in frustration, kicking at the bars of the nearest cell.

Of course that hurts more than it helps, so Gabriel is jumping on one foot while trying to soothe the other when Castiel enters.

The seraph tilts his head. "They sounded the trumpet because you stubbed your toe?"

"No, you dickwad, Metatron's escaped!"

xXx

Sharp pain like small daggers is piercing Dean's chest and back, unseen weapons of torture digging deep beneath his skin. He sways on his feet and grabs the map table map so hard his knuckles whiten.

He gasps as his stomach seems to turn in on itself, the first drops of sweat erupting from his forehead.

Except for the noises Dean is making the bunker is silent. Even the prophet sleeps, which is a rare occurrence. Dean glances at the clock to find it's early morning but the two humans have been awake for over thirty-six hours so them crashing only makes sense.

He coughs, then, strong and violent, as if glass shards were ripping his throat open and spilling onto the floor.

It's only blood in the end, hitting the ground with a splash that's loud in the empty room. Dean curses under his breath, grabbing the first blade instinctively and immediately the pain lessens and he can at least stand up straight once more.

Whatever he'll do, he needs to clean up this mess first. Two towels and lots of cussing out the Mark later, Dean's made up his mind.

He could just go out and kill, zap someplace with lots of demons, but Dean needs something stronger, something more feral. He's so beyond clean kills it should be shocking if Dean had it in him to care.

So, for the first time in his existence, he teleports downstairs on his own volition. He lands right in Crowley's office, a vast space decorated with weapons and skulls and innards but if you ignore all that shit the room could have come right out of a catalogue for modern design, leather sofa and all.

Crowley is considering a contract on his desk but looks up when Dean appears. The King of Hell takes one look at him and the blood that's probably still clinging to the corners of his mouth and he intuitively understands.

"Need a hit, soldier boy?"

Dean growls 'cause talking would mean asking and he ain't asking Crowley for help, that's for sure.

"Mere fighting not good enough for you, eh? Let's see what we can do."

Crowley zaps next to him in a heartbeat and the next they blink out of existence. They reappear in a part of Hell that Dean knows best, where he's spent years and years first as a victim, than as an abuser.

"I'm sure you remember where everything's at, Dean. If not, look for Merrick, he's in charge. He's no Alastair but then again, who would ever come close? Except for you, of course."

Crowley gives him a toothy grin and a pat on the back that barely registers 'cause Dean's ears are filled with screams and the Mark is burning hot on his forearm, making his fingers itch.

Time to spill some blood.

xXx

"My garrisons are ready," Castiel announces, quickly followed by Hannah and Kemuel.

"Well, go!" Gabriel urges them. "Or you wanna give Metatron time for a pedicure? Or a haircut? A massage?"

Hannah and Kemuel look sufficiently chastised while Castiel simply rolls his eyes. Definitely spent too much time with the Winchesters, Gabriel decides. No respect for authority, the three of them.

Hannah and Kemuel incline their heads instead of their missing wings as a sign of deference, then leave to take their groups via portals to the ground. Metatron may still have his wings and thus shall be hard to find; his followers however don't have that luxury. Too bad Heaven can't spare more than three high-ranking angels and their troops, but it'll have to do.

"Do you want me to ask Dean and Sam for help?"

Gabriel expected the question and shoots his brother a long-suffering look. "I guess you're not going to listen if I say 'no'?"

Castiel even manages to feign innocence but the defiant set of his jaw is a dead giveaway.

"Just go," Gabriel grumbles, though at the last seconds hold him back. "And Cassie?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful. You're running low on angel juice."

"I will, brother." Castiel nods and walks away, leaving Gabriel to look on in worry. Castiel and lying never became best friends and self-preservation has never been high on his list of abilities.

xXx

The soul screams in agony, high-pitched and loud. It really ain't nothing but a soul, even if Dean's eyes trick him into seeing a corporeal form sometimes. There are echoes all around him, other screams, sobbing, pleading that doesn't touch Dean in any way.

If anything, the noise fuels his body, makes him strike down harder, come up with ever more vicious strategies.

"You're a legend down here," Merrick comments as he returns from a different corner of the dungeon. Dean calls this part of Hell dungeon for lack of anything better. It's not like Crowley gave him a floor plan or anything.

"You're a real monster, aren't you?"

Topside, Dean would flinch, grimace, try to deny it, yet down here Dean simply shrugs. Right now with no inhibitions and neither angel nor brother around to see him, he lets himself go, indulges. Because at the end of the day he'll be better off, able to function and keep his head on straight.

Dean needs to find a rhythm. He needs a balance so he won't be yacking blood on the bunker floor in the future.

"Next time you can work this one over," Merrick tells him, pointing towards a soul in chains, heated iron plates attached to its feet. It used to be a man once, and somehow he looks familiar but Dean can't quite place him. "Sold his soul ten years ago. He is surprisingly resilient – just your type of case. You'll be back, right?"

Dean grunts in response, replacing the knifes he used on the side table without bothering to clean them.

'Course he'll be back.

xXx

Sam eyes Dean across the breakfast table. Most of the time his brother just forgets about food altogether, but when Sam decides to make pancakes he's suddenly right behind him, demanding the good maple syrup and an extra helping.

Sam just rolled his eyes and sent him to the store.

Kevin empties his plate and practically jumps up, rushing through his explanation. "Thanks for breakfast, I'll be back in the library, I'm getting close!"

Dean and Sam trade amused smirks and Dean returns his attention to the food. It gives Sam a chance to study his brother more closely. For a while there he was really worried – Dean seemed strung out, more aggressive than he's been since he turned… Now his shoulders are relaxed and the scowl is mostly gone from his face.

Sam isn't stupid and he doesn't believe that just because Dean is hitting up the clubs every night he'll just miraculously be okay. Something else is going on and once again, Dean's not telling him.

He shouldn't be surprised.

Yet Sam bites his tongue, takes care of the dishes once Dean has plowed through enough pancakes to feed a family, and checks up on Kevin. The prophet is engrossed in the tablet so Sam returns to the other room and the map where he is trying to figure out if there is a case for them anywhere.

The ringing of his phone hardly registers half an hour later. Sam hurries to answer the call; a glance at the screen telling him that Cas is calling.

"Cas, what's up, man?"

"I'm standing outside. Please let me in. I need your help."

Worry speeds up Sam's steps as he climbs the stairs two at a time, calling out for Dean while he does so. When he returns to the ground floor with Cas in tow, his brother is there, eyebrows knitted in what Sam wants to believe is concern but looks more like detached interest.

"So Cas, what's the buzz?"

Cas opens his mouth, pauses, and tilts his head. "Do you expect me to burst into song now?"

Dean, who for all Sam knows has never in his life seen a musical, let alone Jesus Christ Superstar ('Jess had a phase' is Sam's excuse why he knows that), just blinks at the angel. "Whatever, spit it out, what's wrong?"

Castiel draws a deep breath and squares his shoulders. Sam's stomach drops.

"Metatron has escaped. He must have found a way to influence his guard since there was no sign of struggle and no one noticed his absence until the next angel on duty came in."

"Damn it, Cas! Why didn't you gank the son of a bitch when you had the chance?"

Cas doesn't answer, just breathes out through his nose, the anger apparent in his stance. Besides, they've had this argument before.

"What's happening now?" Sam asks to distract them a bit from their epic glaring contest.

"Hannah, Kemuel and I are looking for him and his followers. Metatron still has his wings, yet his followers don't. So far it has been futile."

"What, how long's this douchebag been gone?"

"Two days. I didn't want to worry you."

"Bullshit, Cas, you shoulda told us!" Dean shouts and Cas makes to argue but a cough from he door to the library makes them look around.

Kevin looks pained and exhausted, his body tense.

"So, is now a bad time to tell you that the final ingredient is Metatron's grace?" Sam groans in response. "The tablet says you need the grace of the original spell caster. Which is Metatron."

"Which probably is the reason for his sudden escape," Castiel fills in the blanks. "He must have heard about our endeavors and inferred we might have need of him still."

"And it's really good that Castiel has left him alive, wouldn't you say, Dean?" Sam asks pointedly. Dean just grumbles something unintelligible into his ever-present scruff. With an eye-roll, Sam turns back to Cas. "So, how can we help?"

xXx

The club is packed, people dancing front to back, chest to chest, some grinding against each other, some outright making out in the middle of the dance floor.

It is the perfect hunting ground.

There is a fog machine and you're poised in the shadows, waiting for it to be switched on. You get your wish soon enough, and smoke streams over people's head's. The crowd cheers, going wild, so many pheromones already filling your senses and it's paradise.

You join the smoke, glide through the masses and see a man, tall and probably handsome by human standards, tugging at someone's wrist, drawing the other party in the direction of the back room.

He is an obvious choice and you fill his lungs, make him cough.

"Are you okay?" the other man asks, worry furrowing his brows.

You don't know about Donal here, just a mere suit now for your purposes, but you are absolutely fine.

You grin at him and continue your way to the back room, eager for what's to come – no pun intended.

xXx

Dean has found a balance. It's happened without him actually aiming for it – but apparently the combination of daily trips to hell are doing something for him, soothing the beast inside of him that's screaming for blood day after day.

Dean sure ain't complaining. Crowley's happy since he's teaching the Knights valuable lessons, and there's never a shortage of souls to torture down there. Afterwards, Dean mostly hits the clubs and by the time he gets back to Sammy and Kevin, he's calm and ready for whatever the day's gonna fling at him.

Even if it's helping Cas picking up the mess he made 'cause he was too damn righteous to kill the douchebag who ruined his life and fucking stabbed Dean on top of everything. Yeah, Dean might've found his inner zen or qi or whatever, but he ain't forgiving that fucker till Hell freezes over.

The rage must be apparent in his eyes, which Dean keeps green on purpose. They've got an angel trapped, tied to a chair in the abandoned basement Dean zapped them to, after days of following leads and scaring people into spilling their guts. And that angel is clearly shitting himself as Dean casually swings the blade, having some fun before actually hurting the guy.

"What's your name?" is the first question Dean asks.

"S-Sariel," he stammers and jeez, those angels have the stupidest names ever, don't they.

"We heard you know 'bout Metatron."

Sariel shakes his head, lower lip wobbling dangerously. Dean raises an eyebrow and looks at Sam who watches from a few feet away, equally unimpressed. Dean is starting to think that the two angels he killed after he got back from Cain were the only real warriors Metatron still had. Ezra was a similar pussy.

"So you're trying to tell us that you're not working for him, huh?" Dean raises his arm, the blade an extension of it, tilting the guy's chin up so he sees when Dean's eyes turn black. "Better talk fast, kiddo, or I'll make falling seem like a walk in the park."

"Yes! Yes! I'm working for him, but I swear, I don't know where he is! No one knows, that was the plan after his escape, so that Castiel can't find him, I swear!"

"You sure?" Dean growls, pressing the shiv against Sariel's throat.

"Yes, please, don't kill me, please!"

Too bad the guy's telling the truth, 'cause that means Dean has to let him go but he does it with a shove and Sariel whimpers beautifully.

"So he's being honest?" Sam asks, huffing a sigh when Dean nods. "We better call Cas or Gabriel, tell him what we found out."

"Yeah, whatever, man."

It's getting late and it's Thursday – if Dean wants to get some tonight, he should really hurry up and get to the club soon. He wonders whether Sam would mind if he zapped off now, seeing that his work here is done but before he can make up his mind, Sam's praying and the two minutes it takes Gabriel to get his ass here really aren't worth the hassle.

"I'm surprised that he still has all his limbs," the archangel comments when he appears, and – 'cause Dean can't catch a break today, now can he – he has Cas with him.

"I was feeling generous today," Dean sneers, twirling his blade again just to see Cas' eyes zero in on the movement.

"Yeah, you're the next Mother Theresa, Dean-o," Gabriel quips. "Did he sing?"

"Metatron made sure no one knew where he is. He knew we'd come looking for him so he took the necessary precautions," Sam explains.

"Are we positive he is telling the truth?" Cas checks, frowning at the angel and Dean teleports behind the chair, blade in his hand and against Sariel's neck once again in record time.

"I could cut off something, just to make sure?" he suggest, letting his voice dip lower as if he's suggesting something another shade of inappropriate.

He doesn't miss Cas' swallow, Adam's apple moving enticingly.

"Please, don't!" Sariel is off gain, begging for his life. "It's all I know, all everyone knows!"

"Oh, but I'm sure you know other things," Gabriel drawls, advancing slowly with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Like who's on Metatron's side, what his agenda looks like… If you're willing to cooperate, we shall be lenient with you."

Sariel hesitates.

"Or we could just hand you over to Dean here. I'm sure he's itching for some old-fashioned maiming."

Dean raises his eyebrows at the same time Sam does, both out of Sariel's line of sight. Of course, Cas is the only one not catching on to the little game. But then again, Gabriel might've been counting on that.

"Gabriel, you can't be serious –"

"What? He's a traitor. You told me those two thugs tried to kill you a few weeks back; what's to say they were the last? Really, we could set an example with Sariel here."

"We don't torture. We are the Heavenly Host, brother –"

"And as far as the Host is concerned, this is war." It's said with enough finality that Cas' jaw snaps shut with an audible click and Gabriel rounds on their hostage again. "So, what d'ya say?"

"I can give you names! I don't know much about Metatron's plans, but a bit, and I'll tell you everything, please, just take me with you!"

Gabriel smiles in a way Dean didn't think him capable of. "Just remember – Dean here's only a phone call away."

Sariel is nodding frantically while Cas has a pout of epic proportions going on. Inside his head, Dean finds this hilarious.

"Thanks for the help, boys," Gabriel waves at them, then grabs the other two angels and blinks out of existence.

"Well, let's get the hell out of dodge," Dean decides, zapping them off before Sam has a chance to object.

xXx

Dean's plans are shot to pieces when he sees several police cars parked in front of Tryangles, blue and red lights flashing like a poor imitation of the dance floor inside.

"The fuck, man?" he asks Matt, one of the bartenders and the first guy Dean recognizes.

"Three kids collapsed; they think's an overdose. Shutting the club down tonight 'cause this is the third time in a week. Sorry, dude."

Dean nods but doesn't leave. Instead he walks closer so he's right there when the EMT guys are wheeling a gurney out of the club. There's a woman stretched out on it but something's off. Dean's gotten used to seeing true forms and if he concentrates hard enough he can even get a glimpse or two of a soul here and there. All he's saying is he got an idea of how a soul is supposed to look like and whatever's inside that woman? Not near bright enough to fit the description.

There's almost zero energy… It's as if she's been drained.

Well, it looks like Dean found himself a case.

xXx

His suspicions are proven when he digs through online articles (thank fuck Sammy forgot to demon-proof his laptop tonight).

Two other cases of people just collapsing, the last time it was some young kid after getting hot and heavy with someone in the back room, the other happened when the victim was already outside on the sidewalk.

One of the thousand perks of Dean's new abilities is that he can just zap into the hospital at three in the morning, steal some files, copy them back in the bat cave and bring them back (which he only does 'cause he knows Sam's gonna bitch if he doesn't), all in under thirty minutes.

"Tell me you're not streaming porn in the library!" is Sam's way of wishing him a good morning some three hours later.

"Dude, does it look like I'm jacking off to ancient medieval books filled with ugly-as-shit drawings of monsters?"

"Hey, I'm not judging, as long as you're not doing it here."

Dean glares and throws a crumpled piece of paper at him for good measure. "Shut your cakehole, bitch, I found us a case."

Now that gets his brother's attention.

xXx

"Sam, is there something you wanted to tell me?" Kevin asks hesitantly, taking in the sight of him in ridiculously tight jeans and an even more ridiculously tight t-shirt.

"I'm going under cover."

Kevin blinks. "Where?"

"Tryangles. That gay club… Dean found a case."

"And I take it Dean dressed you?"

"Damn right I did," the man in question saunters in, apparently freshly showered and wearing a plaid shirt with the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up with dark jeans that are nowhere near as tight as Sam's, which is just unfair. "Sammy here has to fit in after all."

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"Well, small pleasures in life, man. Come on, I got no idea when this thing's gonna strike, better get a move on."

Sam follows Dean into the other room rather reluctantly and tries not to blush when Kevin calls after them "Use protection!"

xXx

An hour later blushing is inevitable. Sam's cheeks are burning and he clings to the water bottle in his hand as if his life depended on it.

"Relax dude, no one's gonna drag you off without your consent."

"I just don't get it," he tries to explain but judging by the look his brother sends him he's not doing a good job of it.

Well, Sam is used to people flirting with him, even though it still confuses him. Maybe because in his mind he's still the gangly kid with too long limbs from high school with the ever more attractive older brother. Anyway though, he's grown used to women showing interest and even some men eying him but he's never been hit on this obviously.

"Care for a real drink, big boy?" A voice asks next to him and when Sam turns he sees it belongs to a blond man, shirtless and sweating from dancing and probably ten years younger than Sam.

"No, thanks, I'm just, uh, here with a friend," he explains for the millionth time, gesturing to Dean.

"Oh, Dean can play, too," the guy says but after Dean shakes his head at him he bounces back and joins the raving crowd.

Sam raises an eyebrow. "How does he know your name?"

Dean shrugs. "Been coming here for a bit. You get to know people."

"Hey, haven't seen you in a while!" another man asks, tall, with a dark mop of hair, bit of a stubble and big doe eyes, wearing a white shirt.

Sam watches as Dean makes quick small talk, working in some question to find out if the other man has seen anything weird tonight, then sends him off and like the times before, dark-and-handsome goes off with slumped shoulders.

Dean definitely has a preference in here – tall, lean and dark haired – and it's so obvious that Sam doesn't know whether to laugh or bang his head on the counter in tears.

Before he can say anything, though, the smoke machines are firing up and suddenly they both tense. If anything supernatural is going on, this would be the moment to strike.

Sam keeps his eyes open for black smoke or any other shade of the substance that's moving with a purpose.

"There!" Sam shouts over the loud beat of the music, pointing towards a cloud of pale smoke making its way to a couple on the dance floor. The smaller one, red haired with a green t-shirt that's sticking to his body, breathes it in, coughs but then seems fine, doesn't even cease his movements.

Then both men are on the move, Sam and Dean hot on their heels and following them into the back where a black door separates the club from something that Sam assumes to be a hallway.

"I got this, little brother," Dean says, stopping Sam with a hand on his chest.

"Why wouldn't I –" That's when the door swings open and Sam realizes what the door leads to. "Yeah, good luck."

He's nervous while he waits, poised to help as soon as he hears a ruckus or a scream but nothing happens. Dean returns some twenty-minutes later, a pensive expression on his face.

"New lead: Little Red's eyes turned red, but when the other guy came and now that one's complaining that he's feeling weak."

Sam blinks, unsure where to start. Fortunately, Dean decides for him.

"Time for more research, come on Sammy."

xXx

Castiel is glad he didn't have to fight Gabriel for the task of informing the Winchesters of the progress being made. The archangel just told him to go and he was happy to accept an excuse to see the brothers.

The past two days have been filled with thoughts of blades and fluid motions, so much power underneath freckled skin –

Yet Castiel doesn't think about this. Not actively, that is, since he can't seem to keep his subconscious under control. He has never been more grateful that angels neither sleep nor dream for he shudders to think what form his dreams might take at the moment.

At the bunker door Castiel retrieves his phone, about to call when the door swings open as Sam and Dean step out.

Castiel intends to greet them but the words catch in his throat as he takes in their attire. Sam's clothes are unusual yet what strikes Castiel more is Dean (always Dean). The dark jeans are hugging his thighs and a white t-shirt stretches taunt across his chest, covering parts of his arms and thus drawing attention to his biceps.

Castiel swallows, trying to remember what it is he came here for.

"Hey Cas, any news on Metatron?" Sam asks pointedly and it all rushes back as his head slowly clears.

"Yes, that is why I'm here." Castiel focuses on the younger brother who is more beneficial for his concentration. "Is seems like Metatron's plans haven't changed, except now he has cast Gabriel as his foremost enemy. Metatron is gathering his forces and will attempt to reclaim Heaven soon."

"Anything we can do to help?"

Castiel shakes his head. "Not at the moment."

"You wanna help us?" Dean chimes in, speaking for the first time since Castiel laid eyes on him tonight.

"You are in need of assistance?" Castiel narrows his eyes. To him it looked more like the brothers were… on the prowl, he believes is the right expression.

"We're ganking a demon we've never encountered before, sure some angel mojo won't hurt."

Dean's explanation is not as forthcoming as Castiel hoped so he glances at Sam who adds, "Right, get this: There's a Chacan in town, basically a sex demon. They take over someone's body, which turns them into a walking aphrodisiac. They live off orgasmic energy, this one book said and it's not harmful – most of the time anyway – but this one must be getting out of control because victims have collapsed."

"And where is this Chacan active?"

"A club," Sam explains mysteriously. "You should come; we could use an extra pair of eyes."

Castiel checks with Dean who is smirking enthusiastically, so he nods.

"But Cas, you can't go dressed like that. At least loose the trench coat and the tie, man."

Before Castiel can react, there are hands, strong calloused hands, opening the knot of his tie and pulling it off, then Dean motions impatiently to his coat. Castiel shrugs it off… he always feels somehow naked without it and now is no different, but he hands it over to Dean without hesitation.

"Be right back."

With that Dean teleports away, presumably to stash his clothes somewhere, Castiel blinking after him.

xXx

Dragging Cas with them on the case is the best idea Dean had all day. Better even than using hooks in the dungeon last night, and that was a blast.

The angel is looking around with wide eyes, taking in the bright lights, the dancing, the kissing, the drag queens and shirtless men and grinding women, so obviously out of place and just so Cas that it leaves Dean's throat dry.

His newfound balance means his feelings aren't so distant anymore and suddenly he wishes they were. Dean's brain and body associate this club with blowjobs and warm bodies pressed against his, regular humans looking for a good time – not with an angel who should have left Dean's sorry ass as soon as he saw the black eyes.

Fuck, he sounds like a stupid teenage girl inside his head. Focus on the case.

Of course that's when Cas wonders, "Is it socially acceptable for this couple to fornicate on the dance floor?" and Sam raises an eyebrow at Dean too, waiting for an explanation.

Dean shrugs. "Pretty much." He doesn't correct Cas that it's just a blow job so it's barely a big deal since he fears that'll just lead to more questions that force Dean to think about sex in Cas' presence.

Sam and he have a plan, so when the fog machines start they get in position. Sam filled Cas in and he's watching out as well and three pairs of eyes are definitely better than two 'cause they find the Chacan in under a minute. The thing possesses a woman this time and she and her girlfriend are gone from the dance floor soon thereafter.

"Wait for my signal, Sam!" Dean confirms as he follows inconspicuously, barely catching Cas' question where he is off to.

Thing is, the Chacan looses its ability to think clearly the closer its victim is to orgasm, which is why Dean's spying on the girls like some perv. It'd be hot as fuck too if this weren't a hunt. He sends the pre-written text when the girl's breath grows ragged and her thighs quiver.

The fire alarm is perfectly timed, loud noise filling every corner. The back room clears incredibly fast except for Dean – and the woman with the long, brown curls. Her pants are still undone as the Chacan tries to orient itself but Dean winds the iron chains around it quickly and drags it out where there's still chaos.

One guy rams into Dean, apologizes hurriedly and is off again but the brief moment of Dean's grip slacking was enough to give the creature an opening. It wriggles out of the chains before Dean can stop it but Sammy's there with a spell, making sure the thing can't escape the building. Well, small victories.

Everyone else is scrambling for the doors and it's impossible to find anyone in the chaos but once the floor clears there it is, holding a bar knife to another girl's throat.

"Please," she whimpers but the Chacan only tightens its grip.

Dean's not having any of that. He blinks out of existence only to reappear behind it and slams the handle of his blade into her head. She lets go of the girl but the knife slips and draws blood. Shit happens, she'll be okay, Dean reasons and runs after the demon.

xXx

"Fuck," Sam exhales as he kneels beside the bleeding woman.

Castiel moves without giving it a second thought, reaching out to touch his fingers to the woman's forehead. Her wound closes gradually, the blood flow staunched. She has lost too much already, however, and slips into unconsciousness.

"You need to get her out, Sam," Castiel urges him. Sam nods, picks up the woman like she weighs nothing and hurries outside. Castiel bolts the doors with an angelic sigil just to make sure nothing comes in or out. The spell should hold but he doesn't want to risk the demon escaping prosecution. Besides, strangers entering would put them in danger as well.

Chacans are powerful, Sam told Castiel on the way over here, powerful and fast. Castiel lets his angel blade fall into his hand as he runs into a different area of the club, another room but dominated by a large bar and lined with sofas and chairs. He hears noises and follows them, discovering Dean and the possessed woman mid-fight. She slams Dean against a wall hard, effectively knocking the breath out of him.

Castiel is ready. He attacks swiftly and takes the Chacan by surprise. A scream tears from her throat, livid with fury, and she lunges at him with renewed force.

She is still armed with the bar knife and makes use of it, but Castiel blocks her jabs without trying to inflict damage himself. The woman is innocent after all; it is the demon inside her who is his target.

She kicks him in the chest with her foot and sends Castiel stumbling backwards. A split-second of inattentiveness is all the Chacan needs to slam Castiel against the wall and crush his wrist, forcing him to drop the angel blade and then there is a knife against his throat.

xXx

Dean sees red. He's never felt a rage so pure and hot, almost burning a hole in his chest and curling painfully in the pit of his stomach.

The bitch has Castiel up against the wall and Dean sees the bar knife's blade glint in the spotlight as she raises it but her arm never comes down because the first blade is wedged too deep in her spine.

An agonized scream, deep red light and the body goes limp but Dean is way beyond caring. He shoves her to the side, blade still buried in her back and shoves Castiel who's looking at him with those wide eyes of his.

"What the fuck was that?!" Dean shouts at him, doesn't let him answer, just presses close, hands fisted into Cas' shirt. "Never fucking to that again, you hear me?"

Cas' pupils are wide, there's blood on his lips from where that bitch hit him and Dean doesn't think, doesn't care, all he cares about is that Cas is alive and not bleeding out on the floor but right there, open-mouthed and dark eyed with dilated pupils and fuck it, Dean presses in closer and claims Cas' lips with his own.

A shocked gasp registers faintly but the next second Dean swipes his tongue over Cas's lower lip and sucks the blood away before licking his way inside. Cas' mouth is hot and responsive and Dean explores every corner of it, the movement of Cas' tongue against his own sending hot shivers down Dean's spine.

His hands are still gripping the shirt but Dean presses closer, pushing their groins together, rubbing his growing erection and feeling the same happening through layers of fabric.

Neither of them strictly needs to break for air, which is glorious 'cause they just keep on kissing, hungrily and more feral than anything Dean's ever experienced. Never in all his life would he have imagined it like this. He claws at Cas' shirt and ends up ripping it open, revealing the bare skin underneath it.

Cas shudders when Dean skates his hands over every inch of of him he can reach, pinching a nipple just for kicks and relishing the gasp his action draws from Castiel's throat.

Suddenly it's all not enough, the lack of something making Dean's skin itch and he pulls the angel off the wall, walking them backwards. He knows the room, knows there's a leather sofa somewhere behind him so he spins them around and pushes Cas down. He doesn't let go of Dean's arm, pulls him with him so that Dean's in his lap, his now almost painful boner straining against the fly of his jeans.

With sudden clarity, Dean knows what he needs. He shuffles back, off the sofa, tears his pants off with inhuman speed and is back in Cas' lap before the angel knows what's happening. Dean's fingers work open the buttons of his dress pants 'cause of course Cas's wearing pants with buttons and more than one pops off and falls to the floor before Dean's done opening them all.

Then, finally, there's Cas' cock, hard and beading precome and the sight alone makes Dean's dick twitch between their bodies.

"Dean," Cas pants, voice husky and broken.

"I got you," Dean positively growls. There's lube in the back pocket of his jeans, which he summons into his hand, the display of his powers causing Cas' eyes to darken impossibly more.

Dean's impatient, makes quick work of the prep while Cas slips his hands underneath Dean's t-shirt, lets his hands roam until Dean drizzles the rest of the lube over Cas' erection. He draws a guttural moan from the angel when his hands first touch his cock and he gives him a few strokes, watching Cas' eyelids flutter and the muscles in his stomach contract. By now Dean can't wait, not even a second longer. He pushes himself up, positions his ass over Cas' crotch and guides his cock to his entrance.

He's in no mood to tease so he doesn't rub the crown against the rim for a bit, doesn't wait until Cas' hips jerk upwards, doesn't smirk maliciously. Instead he sinks down, takes Cas in as fast as his body allows. It burns, hurts even but Dean welcomes the pain, enjoys it as his fingernail dig deep into Cas' chest and the angel's hands grip his hips as he throws his head back at the sensation.

Dean's pretty sure Cas has never done this with a man, and the thought fuels Dean's movements. He sets a quick rhythm, lifting his hips and sinking back down, waiting for Cas to get with the program. He does, matching Dean's pace with his thrusts as he pushes Dean's head down with a hand on the nape of his neck.

This kiss is more teeth than tongue with Dean biting down on Cas' bottom lip when the angle is just right there.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," Dean pants and suddenly Cas takes over, sitting up straighter and winding his arms around Dean's torso while never once breaking their rhythm. Cas' thrusts are harder now and with every single one Dean's cock rubs against Cas' abdomen, glorious friction and toe-curling pain mixed with pleasure that leaves Dean dizzy until he hurls over the edge, "Fuck, Cas!" spilling from his lips as he spills between their bodies.

He can feel his eyes grow black, nothing he can do about it as pleasure courses through him, but Cas groans, his hips snapping once, twice more before the angel stills, burying his face in the crook of Dean's neck as he shakes with orgasm, Dean's name whispered breathlessly.

Dean comes down slowly. It takes ages till his brain's not hazy anymore from probably the most intense orgasm of his life. When his thoughts clear he breathes in, the scent of Cas filling his nose and Dean's head snaps up as his body goes rigid.

His blood turns into ice as the reality of what he just did hits him like a freight train.

Fuck.

xXx

End Notes: *fans-herself* So that happened.

I hope you liked it and it makes sense. It did while I was writing it – oh, and I'm still grinning at the image of Dean impaling a demon in a female host with a very phallus-like object shortly before ravaging Cas for the first time. I could imagine that would work well on television.

Regarding future smut, though: I won't "fade out" like the show probably would (I mean every other sex scene so far has been very tame), but I won't shift the focus of this story from plot to porn either. Soooo, there will be additional chapters that are pure porn (one of these exists so far) Stay tuned for that^^

PS: "Chacan" means "making love" in a Peruvian Indian language.