Primary World: Part 4
The thunder had been shaking the house and startling Sam for the last hour, it had gotten so much worse for a few minutes and then suddenly stopped. Like it hadn't been there at all, or someone upstairs said 'oops, didn't mean to turn on the lightning over there' and flipped a switch. Regardless, it was too abrupt to be natural, like the switch was turned off halfway through a clap of thunder.
But that wasn't the worst of it, after it all quieted down for a few seconds and Sam managed to calm his nerves, he let the idea that maybe it was over drift through his head. The peace didn't last long, his body shuddered and he curled in on himself, a sense of panic rushing up to his mind. Sam gripped the couch and closed his eyes, he had no idea what was going on but everything felt like it was shaking and spinning. Jet had shown up half an hour ago, stuck by him and tried to calm him down though it wasn't working as well as Sam had hoped. He did feel better with someone there but that didn't stop the world from spinning. Whatever this was that he was feeling, he didn't like it. Extreme anxiety? He hadn't felt something like that since the days he'd been ill.
"Hey, you're okay." Jet rubbed his shoulder, "Just a crazy little storm, alright? Nothing to freak out over." He kept his voice gentle, soothing for Sam to lessen the stress. The kid never did know how to keep his nerves at bay; though Jet hadn't thought it'd ever been this bad. 'Better make a note to mention this to Dean.' He decided with a quick little nod to himself.
Sam glanced out the window at where the lightning had been flashing; he still didn't know why it had stopped so suddenly or why a chill ran down his spine. But Jet was right; it was just a weird storm, like all the other weird happenings around town lately. "You think Dean's okay?" The thought nagged him and forced its way out of his mouth despite him wanting to keep a lid on it.
"I think he's fine, Dean's a tough guy and not as stupid as people think. He probably just waited out the lightning somewhere." Jet gave Sam's shoulder a few pats before he looked out the window, noticing a pair of headlights tearing up the driveway. "See? Speak of the devil, there he is."
"Dean." Sam pulled himself from the table and hurried to the door, he could hear Dean out there and from the sound of it he was in a hurry too. He heard the quick slam of the door, Dean's footfalls darting around the car, but not up to the front door where Sam was waiting for it to open. He furrowed his brow and impatiently opened it himself, revealing Dean lifting what he could discern as a body from the back seat of his car. "Dean!?" Sam wasn't sure if he was relieved his brother wasn't the one being hauled out in a bloody heap, or freaked out that his brother was doing exactly that with someone else. The chill from before was back, or it was just the cold night air nipping at his exposed skin. Regardless, a shiver ran down his spine and it was far from comfortable. "What the hell is going on? What did you do-"
"Wasn't me, Sam. I found him like this." Dean's tone was calm though his face betrayed every ounce of that. "I don't have a damn clue what to do with him."
"Dude." Jet was speechless, eyes glued to the pale face of the strange, the same face that creeped him out on his commute to work.
"Hospital would be one option! Why the hell did you bring him here?" Sam shouted in protest of the whole situation, all the while moving things off the couch and making a place for the stranger. Who he now took the time to notice was wrapped in a plastic tarp, "Got enough time to wrap him up at least."
"Sam!" Dean turned on his brother as soon as he'd put the man down, letting Jet take over and check his wounds, "I'm freaking out too, okay? Sarcasm isn't appreciated."
"Guys," Jet tried to interrupt as he lifted the tarp.
"Well excuse me!" Sam chittered right back, "I'm not the one bringing half dead people home and expecting it all to work out nicely. I think I'm entitled to a little sarcasm!"
"Guys."
"Exactly!" Dean chose to ignore Sam's usual entitlement, knowing that could open a whole other argument. "He's half dead and needs help! What was I supposed to do?!"
"GUYS!" Jet boomed over the both of them, finally getting their attention. "He's not half dead."
Both Winchesters paled a little, their gazes drifting over to the couch where they could see pale skin. "Oh god…" Sam covered his mouth slowly, eyes widening in shock. "He's… he's not…"
"Don't tell me he just died!?" Dean hadn't calmed down from his freaking out yet, voice strained and expression just as tight as before.
"No," The brunette shrugged and turned his gaze back to the couch, "I mean his wounds are just scars now."
And again, both Winchesters reacted simultaneously, leaning over the back of their sofa to peer down at their guest. Jet had lifted up the man's arm to show that the once deep gashes leading to his wrists were nothing more than red indents in the skin. "Holy shit…" Dean gaped, unable to come up with anything more intelligent to say.
"But all that blood…" Sam motioned toward the tarp that had been stained with it, as well as the stranger's own clothing. "What… how could… are there any other wounds on him?"
"His head was bleeding pretty bad." Dean reached down and carefully lifted the man's head, cringing at the faint wetness that was left over in the dark hair. "But… it's not fresh."
Jet raised an eyebrow and glanced up at the brothers with a slight smirk, "I have no idea what's going on here, but I get the feeling this guy wasn't sitting on the statue for weeks for no reason."
"Don't even go there." Dean warned with a glare.
"Hey Cas?" A familiar voice, soft, gentle, and something he'd been starving to hear. It had a way of clearing his mind of anxieties. When he heard that voice everything would be okay.
"Yes?" Castiel answered quietly, not wanting to strain his throat. It was sore, he had noted, all of him was sore but his throat felt exceptionally so.
"Would you look at me?"
Castiel shifted and rolled his head to the side, it felt heavy and lopsided but he ignored that, brushing it off as a side effect of exhaustion. He could feel the touch of cool grass on his cheek, a breeze sweeping over his face and slowly relaxing him. He was safe, so why did he hesitate to open his eyes? 'Don't do it.' His mind screamed against the rest of the evidence, 'Don't look. Don't look at him.'
He didn't listen. Heavy eyelids pulled up, at first he just saw Dean's face and it wasn't so bad, until he focused and realized what he was staring at. They were both lying on the front lawn, Dean's body destroyed. Ruined by Castiel's hand. Tears stung at the back of his eyes but he held them, no sound coming from his mouth, nothing. He remained completely still, unable to look away from his beloved's unmoving face. It had been centuries since he'd last seen his partner alive, and he'd always told himself he was over it, that he would no longer mourn Dean's passing. But despite what he'd always told himself, the tears still waited behind his eyes, the lump in his throat never grew any smaller.
At least he'd stopped screaming when he saw this face. Castiel's hand flinched as he lifted it up, fingers brushing over the cold skin of the man lying across from him. "I still love you." He whispered hoarsely.
It was suddenly dark. Again it felt like the world was spinning, if it had ever stopped. Castiel could feel his limbs, heavy as they were, and knew at least that he still had them. He was awake, he could tell that much. His eyelids were closed again with the real sensation of heaviness; he knew he had muscle control over them. It was a small comfort but he appreciated it nonetheless. Opening his eyes wouldn't be any fun, he was aware of that already. Getting his bearings, finding out what happened, where the demoni was-
Where was it?
He hadn't killed it.
Castiel threw himself upright, everything aching all at once, he felt like his muscles were being torn in half, that awful strain like he'd pulled every last one of them. He managed to keep a scream swallowed down, the sound turned into a muffled whine, he could deal with that. "Fuck." The first word out of his mouth since falling unconscious, "Where is it?" His voice was shaky, his body was weary, and his legs hardly listened to his brain's demands. 'What did I…' He had to force himself to recall the last few moments before passing out, to remember that he'd actually blasted a hole through the town, through the demoni. And most would be happy with that, except as he passed out he could see it; watched it evaporate into the air.
That's not how those damn things died. They screamed and flailed and made a huge mess, that was the normal way. Evaporating? That was just bad news. He knew what that meant far too well and it explained the nightmare he'd had but that wasn't necessarily a good thing.
Castiel groaned as he pulled himself to the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the noises he was making all the way. It was embarrassing, the kinds of whimpers his body would still make. He wasn't like that anymore; he shouldn't be capable of such sounds. And yet here he was, pathetically trying to get up. 'Maybe I should rest.' He only thought it briefly as his feet touched the cold hardwood floor below. What kind of masochist didn't have a throw rug by their bedside? Cold feet first thing in the morning, nothing more refreshing than that.
"Dean, would you check on the stranger, please?" A voice called from somewhere in the building and Castiel found himself sitting very still, as if that would help him in not being detected.
"Dean?" He muttered, furrowing his brow now, wondering if he'd actually woken from his dream. That voice could only belong to Sam, Dean's little brother, and then obviously 'Dean' could only be his Dean, couldn't it? He had to be dreaming. Or maybe those non-corporeal bastards had thrown him into a nightmarish world where the man who looked like his beloved also sounded like him and even had the same name and family. Yep, that sounded like them. 'Fucking hate alternate realities.' Castiel thought dismally, lowering his head as the door swung open.
"Oh!" That voice again, as soothing as it had been in the past, it only brought agitation to his system now. "You're up."
"Dean, I presume." Castiel looked up, his expression stiff as he did his best to keep the pain from registering there. Every muscle in his body was hurting and he wasn't sure if half of them were ready to be used yet.
"Yeah," Dean's face was slightly scrunched in a mixture of confused questions he desperately needed to ask, relief to see Castiel up, and a strange anxiety that Castiel couldn't quite place. "You uh… You gave us quite a scare back there."
"Back where?" He refused to let Dean's face get to him, regardless of how perfect it was. He looked just like his lover, sounded exactly like him. It was maddening and it was all Castiel could do to stop himself, stop himself from throwing a fit, from falling against the familiar body and curling against him. All he could do was bite back his words and turn his once adoring glances into a glare. This was not his Dean and so he had no reason to be friendly.
Dean made a face at the near snarl in the strangers voice but didn't address it, "In town, I don't know what you were doing but-"
"Where did it go?" Castiel's eyes widened as he leaned forward, Dean had been there. He might have seen it. "The thing I was fighting, what happened to it? Which way did it go?"
"I didn't see any-" Dean stopped when Sam poked his head inside, the younger Winchester's face lighting up at seeing Castiel upright.
"You're okay, thank god." He exclaimed, moving past his brother and closer to Castiel's side.
"Yeah, thank god…" He rolled his eyes, his right hand unconscious running over the back of his left. His fingers grazed over the remains of a scar, drawing his eyes closer. He remembered the spell he'd used, something he didn't often resort to and whenever he did he normally give it a little more time to work. It wasn't something to just launch like that, no preparation for his body at all, he was lucky it was only this bad.
Sam, in the meantime, had taken to checking the rest of him, making sure that the rest of the injuries were gone. Dean crossed his arms and frowned deeply at them, "So if you were going to check anyway why'd you send me?"
"I wasn't going to check, but I heard you talking up here. Since Jet went home I figured it could only have been to him." Sam glanced at Dean with the 'duh, don't be stupid' expression that he hated.
"What's your name, anyway?" Dean looked at their guest again, continuing his act to remain unfazed by the intense glare of those blue eyes.
"Castiel."
"Fancy, your parents were kind of nerdy, huh?"
"Religious, actually." Castiel stated matter-of-factly, bordering on insulted. "I was born on a Thursday."
"What's that got to do with it?" Dean's nose twitched upward on one side as he squinted at Castiel's already annoyed face.
"Castiel is the angel of Thursday." Sam informed him calmly.
Dean opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself from saying anything, mostly because none of it was any good and he'd rather stick to the 'don't say anything at all' part of that phrase when it came to first impressions. As much as he pretended it was nothing, he had to admire what this Castiel looked like up close. From far away he just looked like a pale face in dark clothing, creepy even. But seeing the details, those eyes that had struck his core before, Castiel was gorgeous. But Dean couldn't possibly admit that out loud.
"Cute." Was his response. It could have been taken as a reference toward Sam's usual knowledge on things, or maybe a sarcastic quip. But his tone didn't give that impression at all. In fact, he had been looking at Castiel when he said it.
Sam smirked over at his brother, that smile that meant he knew something about Dean that even he didn't know. It would have been kind of funny if not for the way Castiel reacted, the injured man pulled himself up and slammed himself against Dean. They fell back into the hallway, neither having proper balance to begin with, and landed on the floor, Castiel perched on top of Dean with a fist clenched in his shirt.
"You listen to me," he snarled low; bodies flush, their faces nearly touching, "My name is Castiel, I am not anything to you and you are not anything to me, understand?"
Dean swallowed and nodded, for some reason he wasn't angry. Normally he'd be throwing punches by now.
"Good." Castiel released him and moved to get up though his strength was still nonexistent if there at all. His arms buckled under his weight as he tried to rise up, slipping right back down and back to Dean's face. In this kind of scenario many would romanticize the outcome, that their lips connected and there was a first and possible memorable kiss that could be referred back to beautifully. But it was much more like reality where their faces cracked together and both rolled to opposite sides, hands pressed to the sore spots while they cursed under their breath and out loud in turn.
Sam ran a hand into his hair and shook his head. Whoever this Castiel was he seemed like he'd fit in rather well for the time being.
Author's Note:
Hey guys, thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think so far, things have been rather rough around here lately and I would appreciate to hear from you. Thanks again, hope you're enjoying it so far.