Castiel's eyes, Dean notices, are not a solid blue. They're a finger painting of light and dark, unusual shades of sunrise yellow and white's pale flush. They're the sea at night and the sky in the afternoon, a brilliance that lights up for him now, widening almost comically as his last finger, licked clean, slips from between his lips, wet and slightly sticky.
Dean expects something instantaneous, a burst of lightning within to signal the coming change. But he's distracted by the way Castiel is looks at him, the vampire's gaze darkening with hunger Dean doesn't think has anything to do with blood.
"Do you know what you just did?" Castiel's voice is the glass-calm surface of a lake at rest. But Dean knows better, recognizes the balled-heat forming inside, so similar to the crescendo of passion and need that comes just before release.
"That's kind of the point, Cas." His still-sticky fingers glide over the worn-soft cotten of his old comforter, a relic of his parents he keeps at the foot of the bed, pulling it over himself when he's too sick or lonely to care about how pathetic he is. "I made a decision. I did it without being convinced, without you telling me what's right or wrong or good for me. I chose, Cas. I'm choosing you."
The last syllable that crosses his lips is breathed into Castiel's mouth. The vampire is right there, pressing them close, taking advantage of Dean's parted lips. This kiss has no agenda, no mind games or hesitation behind it. It's animal and perfect, human and vampire drinking each other in until they break to breathe, lips still touching, gasped air swirling between them. Castiel's hands cradle Dean's face, framing his strong jaw. The raw intimacy there is terrifying, pure and strange and all Dean knows is that he can't lose this.
"Finish it, Cas."
The vampire's eyelashes are long, curved, and they fall to his cheeks as he looks down and sighs out a breath. "I'm going to drink, Dean. You're going to feel like the room is spinning and you're falling through the floor, but I've got -you. I've got you. And I need you to hold on to me, to hold on to my voice and stay, alright?"
A nod is all he can give, his voice retreating back to the confines of his throat. He eyes the vampire's mouth, taking in the teeth that have glided down and leans in until their foreheads touch. He lingers there, breathing in the quiet scent of lilac soap and faded cologne until he decides the moment needs to come. A small turn of his head is all it takes to arch his neck up, to bare it and invite death and life, the power of both intertwined, to take him.
Castiel's mouth mouth is closed when it touches down, warmth meeting warmth. He's right over a main artery, a jutting beat like a drum, teasing just under the vampire's lips. Dean's mouth quirks up when he feels a kiss that drags down along the length of neck, gasps when Cas' tongue laves at the skin, one, two, three licks and there are hands tightening around his arms as teeth sink through flesh. The sting is piercing, reaches into his chest and squeezes, lungs turning to iron, making everything but the roaring wave of agony a slip-slide stream of static. The relief of its passing is enough to make Dean weep, though he can't isn't sure if he's not already; his body feels far away, a sort of distant shell he has no connection to. Dean waits for the geyser of pleasure Castiel's bite had brought before, but it doesn't come.
A breeze wraps itself around Dean, a gust like humid beach air that brushes his forehead, traces his lips and hums in his ears, a familiar, soothing noise. It settles over him like an ocean he throws himself into, riding the waves as they wash over him, rocking, rocking until he's adrift and falling fast. It's a death sleep that brushes over his cheek now, the slow fade of heart and mind and body, but oh, it's good, peaceful.
I'll see you soon, Sammy. The thought blooms from the darkest part of him, the pit of nothingness that would embrace leaving this life behind, that craves to see the faces of all those who left too early. He's circling something, tumbling down, falling apart when the wind comes back, plucking at him, prodding, insistent. He turns from it, curling away, trying to just let go because it's easy and it feels right.
Dean. Please.
It's not a voice, not even words, really, but the meaning is clear, and it erupts like a firework inside him.
Stay, Dean. You can't leave.
Each letter is an anchor on his soul, weighing it down, pinning it back into his body before he can slip away, ether light, into whatever lies beyond.
Cas.
Stay with me, Dean.
And he wants to, now. He's blind, trying to edge closer to what he'd been running away from, trying to find a way to keep the vampire near. But sleep is pulling at the back of his eyes, running its long fingers over stuttering breaths and a heart that's beginning to trip out of its natural rhythm, the steady human beat he's about to leave behind. But just as the fear of not being able to hang on long enough rolls through him and it feels like he's digging his toes and fingernails into the black hole bent on absorbing him, something changes. Castiel isn't just a taste on the tip of his tongue, a hollow ghost echoing through his mind. He has a foundation now, and every thought that passes through the vampire's consciousness reaches Dean too, a tangle of guilt and love and grey-tinged sadness for a woman he's finally letting go. Dean opens himself to the barrage that pours through him, the entirety that is Castiel, the tormented soul that forgot its own beauty for too long, the man who thought himself a monster and almost let himself become one.
Dean opens his eyes. The world in front of him is blurred and he views it through a film, a solid haze that sends him into a frenzy, neurons firing, ordering his legs and arms to move, to do something, but the limbs remain still, disobedient.
"I can't see," he whispers, the strongest noise his lungs can support, fear bleeding black into each syllable.
"It's ok, Dean." A hand runs over his forehead, smoothing the lines there. Then, a noise, loud like something breaking, snapping. It's close to his ear and then there's pressure on his mouth, and he understands.
"Come back to me," Castiel whispers, free hand on Dean's neck, coaxing him to take what's being offered, the night blood that's being poured down his throat, a gift that's already begun to change him, to shift him from mortal to immortal. Fleeting moments into solid permanence. With each swallow, the world reveals itself again, though this time it's a sharper, clearer place. The details are dizzying; an array of colors and shades he's never seen, each one absorbing as the next, all fascinating to eyes that can't properly process anything yet. So he lets them fall shut, preferring the absorption that is bliss and nirvana and sex trickling down his throat in hot streams, filling his stomach until there's no room but it doesn't matter, he wants more. He's flying, losing himself as the blood overtakes him, the cells of his body changing as Castiel's essence brushes each molecule, leaving nothing untouched.
When the source of perfection is taken away, Dean grunts, a guttural, needy sound that earns him a chuckle, a throaty purr of amusement that hits him low. He's mindless now, hips rocking up, looking for a replacement, something to keep the wave of pleasure going. On any other occasion, he would be ashamed of the desperation driving him, but when a hand wraps around his length and a mouth meets his own, he forgets everything but the quick race to completion. He pants, quick and shallow and Castiel mimics him, their breaths a chorus of silent companionship, though Dean can barely think of anything but what's happening inside him, the slow build of momentum, the first climb of a roller coaster, the drop of a stomach as it remembers gravity. Castiel jerks faster, thumbs Dean's slit and leaves him blind, his orgasm crashing through him, choirs singing and breathless laughter, ripples of toe-curling ecstasy doing their best to make consciousness slip away entirely.
But then Castiel licks his way into Dean's mouth again, slicking his tongue over the former human's lips like he can't get enough of the taste, of the closeness, but Dean just might be alright with that. He moves his lips, a slow dance of reassuring pressure, a response so Castiel knows he's alright. That he's going to make it.
"Why didn't it hurt?"
When he saw Castiel's turning, dirt under the man's fingernails, writhing like a man possessed, limbs jerking this way and that, he had expected the worst. He'd gnashed his teeth together and told himself to man the fuck up, because a moment of torture for a lifetime with someone good? There's no comparison, no doubt. Only trust, only certainty.
"Because I wasn't looking to torture you," Castiel's words waft over Dean's mouth, the scent of the vampire's blood carried with every word.
"He—your—"
"Maker." A hand settles on his hip, thumb tracing circles there. Distracting him. "Open your eyes, Dean."
If Dean hesitates, Cas doesn't call him on it, doesn't even blink when the new vampire eases his eyes open as if they were about to be burnt out. For a moment, his too-perfect sight leaves him breathless, gasping at the clarity of what had been blurry most of his life, corrected by glasses and contacts. But then something shifts and his sight eases into something more natural, and all he sees is Cas.
Cas, who's biting his lips with still-extended fangs, who's looking at Dean with uncertainty, fear of abandonment creeping in at the edges of his mouth, drawing his brows together.
"Your maker tortured you on purpose?"
"He deliberately made my change excruciating, yes."
Anger colors Dean's cheeks, a flush Cas traces, adjusting on the bed, pressing his other hand under his jaw. They're both covered to the waist, sheets rumpled, though far less bloody than Dean expected.
"I would kill him," Dean's a little scared of the rage-slicked brutality he feels, the need to right how badly Castiel had been wronged.
"I know," Cas says. "I know. But it's buried now. And I have you. That's all that matters."
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers, drawing his cheek against the other man's, sighing into the velvet caress of skin against skin, synapses lit up and sparking wildly. "Hope you're ready for forever."
"I think I can handle that."
Dean's peering into the mirror the next night, having showered after falling into a short coma.
"Newborns need their sleep," Castiel had said into his hair, laying a kiss on his forehead and chuckling at Dean's shock over having slept almost twenty hours. He's alone in the house now, Castiel having slipped away to feed, to take sips from anonymous strangers, men and women, all drawn in by the vampire's grace, his too-blue eyes and liquid movements.
It's strange, how normal it all feels. Yesterday, he was human. Today he isn't. And as odd as it is hearing the heartbeats of his neighbors, their whispered secrets and shouted arguments, eye-rolls and 'yes, moms,' he's adjusting. But he wants Castiel, needs his proximity, and apparently, that won't change for a little while. He can't feed yet, can't handle human blood. So he waits for the other vampire's return while looking at himself, examining skin that's pale but not sickly, lips that look kiss-bitten and eyes that hold a depth he doesn't quite recognize yet, their color deeper, a vivid green to counter his lover's lighter shade.
Arms wrap around him from behind. Catiel's pressing his face into Dean's neck, breathing in the scent of his childe, humming his pleasure into his skin.
"Missed you," he says, his grip loosening enough for Dean to turn around. The newborn's lips trace the beginnings of a question, but they die on his lips as he catches the scent of fresh blood pulsing just underneath the other man's skin.
"Oh," startled, his mouth opens, making room for his lengthening teeth. The sensation is like a sigh, something right falling into place and he only pauses for a moment before drawing forward, licking Castiel's neck reverently, the fount of blood just underneath, coating his tongue with the tang of his lover's skin.
"Go on," Cas urges, hands on Dean's hips. "Take what you need."
You're what I need. It's a reflex, the thought, more fact than anything else Dean knows. So he repeats it, out loud, and then bites down, losing himself in his maker. But not before he hears Castiel's whispered words.
"I love you, Dean."
I love you too.