It wasn't all bad, living with Father Desmond instead of the Winchesters. The first week passed in a blur of homesickness mixed with excitement as Castiel slowly discovered himself to be far more capable as a human than he had ever thought he could be.
The strict regimen of a priest's day appealed to him vastly. Rising early to bathe and grab a quick breakfast. Early morning Mass, followed by several hours in a classroom teaching and interacting with children that he came to care for more and more each day. Their quick minds and ready laughter made each lesson an adventure in learning not only for the students, but for the teacher as well.
Of course, there were down sides too. His first lunch in the school cafeteria was terrifying. The choice of foods, the hustle and bustle and constant noise, confused him to the point that he froze in line, the flow of people parting around him, until one of the students took pity on the bewildered priest and walked him down the counter, suggesting certain items and warning him off from others. In gratitude, Castiel pulled some cash from his pocket and, over the boy's protests, paid for both their lunches.
Later, sitting alone at a corner table, Castiel picked at his meal and made careful study of his fellow diners. Many of the faces looked as lost and lonely as he felt. Perhaps such feelings were not unique to him? Perhaps, he was indeed simply human.
Evenings passed pleasantly with soft classical music playing in the background as Castiel prepared the next day's lessons or corrected papers, while Father Desmond wrote sermons and made plans for upcoming events. Their meals were simple, but filling. Sometimes, if other duties were not more pressing, the two men would watch television, or talk for hours about places and things they had seen, or argue amicably about obscure translations of various religious tracts. Father Desmond even taught Castiel how to play chess and was much chagrined to find how quickly the pupil surpassed the teacher.
Nighttimes were the worst...
Alone in his tiny room, Castiel's mind inevitably turned to Dean. Time after time, he withdrew the photo strip from his pocket to stare at the hunter's face, tucked it away, only to draw it out again. When the ache in his heart became too much to bear, he would creep downstairs and seek out Milly's company. Stroking the tabby's soft fur and pouring his secret anguish into her sympathetic ears, Castiel prayed that the endless nights would end. They didn't, but they became more bearable with time, partly because Milly took it upon herself to mend Castiel's broken heart. Instead of waiting for him to come to her, she accompanied him up the stairs when he retired and spent her nights curled on the pillow next to his head. Her purr was the last thing he heard before sleep overtook him and the first sound to greet his ears when his eyes opened with the morning light.
The first weekend threw him for a loop. Without a routine to follow, Castiel looked at the empty hours stretching before him and felt a wave of despair so profound that he almost wept. Fortunately, Father Desmond gave him no time to sit and mope.
"Can you swing a hammer, Castiel?" he said, clattering down the stairs in tattered jeans and a well-worn pair of work boots. Only the collar peeking from beneath his dark shirt betrayed him as a priest.
"Swing a hammer?" Castiel parroted. "I do not understand."
"No matter," Father Desmond laughed. "You have a good, strong back. We'll find something for you to do. Go change your clothes."
"Where are we going?" Castiel asked a few minutes later, climbing into the passenger seat of an old Ford truck that had definitely seen better days. His jeans and boots were new, but he was eager to break them in. He had briefly considered wearing one of his new blue T-shirts as well but, in the end, he followed Father Desmond's example and left his dark shirt and Roman collar in place. After all, it was important to stay in character. He had learned that from observing Dean down through the years, and he could think of no better role model to follow.
"Have you ever heard of Habitat for Humanity?" Father Desmond replied. "I'm on the board of directors for the Sioux Falls Chapter, but I like to do hands-on work whenever I can. We're putting up three houses. We can use all the help we can get."
"Jesus was a carpenter," Castiel murmured, a sweet and gentle smile curving his lips.
"And he tended to the poor and needy," Father Desmond said. "Which reminds me, we're desperately short-handed at the soup kitchen. And the Ladies Auxiliary would love to get their hands on a handsome young man like you – someone to do all the heavy work at the church bazaar and drink gallons of tea while they complain about their husbands. "
Castiel's smile widened. Suddenly, there didn't seem to be enough hours in a day.
These kids may be rich and pampered, but they're a bunch of pigs, Dean thought, unhappily mopping up a trail of muddy footprints. Two weeks of cleaning up one disgusting mess after another had proven that to be painfully true. If I see one more puddle of puke, I'm going to be the next in line to hurl.
A few doors further down the hall, Sam finished changing a burnt out fluorescent bulb and climbed back down the ladder. He might as well have not been there for all the notice a passing gaggle of students gave him. Who needed Frodo's magic cloak bestowing the power of invisibility? Obviously, khaki-coloured coveralls and a matching baseball cap served the same purpose. Sam folded up the ladder and winked at Dean as he passed him, heading for a nearby utility closet. Dean snorted in amusement. How anyone could miss the Sasquatch lumbering in their midst was anybody's guess.
A bell rang, signalling the end of one period and the start of the next, and Dean drew back against the wall to let the crowd sweep past him unimpeded. Intently, he scanned the faces of the passers-by, trying to spot something off in someone's demeanour. But, as far as he could tell, they were all just normal kids.
Maybe they were going about this the wrong way. Maybe it wasn't a student or one of the teaching staff. Hell, maybe it was the old priest.
Maybe I should mention that to Cas, Dean fretted.
As if conjured up by the thought, Castiel appeared in the corridor, exiting his classroom. A smile was on his face as he spoke with one of his students: a tall, green-eyed brunette who wore too much makeup and a skirt which thumbed its nose at the length prescribed by the school's dress code. She began to trot down the hall in heels that were, like Barbie's, too high to be practical. Castiel slowed his steps to match her pace.
"Angie! Father Novak! Wait up!" a voice called, and the brunette and Castiel turned to face the speaker. Seconds later, almost a dozen girls swarmed around them: bright, multicoloured tropical birds circling a jet black crow, each vying for his attention. Preening. Posing. Chirping mindlessly.
Dean couldn't tear his eyes from the strange sight. Cas had groupies? Luscious-lipped, nubile, fawning groupies? And Cas... He didn't seem to mind at all! He just stood there, a bemused half smile on his face as he followed their various conversations, responding at appropriate moments and so intent on their inane chatter that he didn't even notice Dean standing there, not six feet away.
"Jail bait, Dean," Sam's voice whispered in his ear. "Stop drooling."
I wasn't looking at the girls, Dean almost answered, managing to bite the words back at the last second.
"Jail bait," Sam repeated, a touch of desperation in his voice. "Christ, look at the legs on that blonde – I mean, no. Don't look!"
I didn't, Dean thought absentmindedly. I was looking at Cas.
And that was when it hit him. He wasn't looking at the girls? All those hot little numbers on parade and his eyes were on a dude dressed as a priest?
Castiel's blue eyes sparkled as he replied in French to something Angie – or was it Susie or Tiffany or fucking Jezebel? – said in the same language. The girls giggled and one handed him her notebook. Castiel drew a pen from his pocket and wrote something down before handing the notebook back. Another flurry of excited twittering ensued.
Dean was in motion before his brain knew what his feet were doing.
"Excuse me," he said, ignoring the plethora of surprised eyes that were suddenly trained upon him, his focus narrowed down to Castiel's familiar, questioning head tilt and his deep blue stare. "Father Novak... May I speak with you in private?"
"Yes, of course," Castiel said easily. His eyes flicked to the name tag sewn on Dean's uniform. "Mr. Bonham. If you would excuse us, ladies?" His hands made shooing motions and the girls, despite their obvious annoyance, swiftly disbanded. "I was just heading for my office. If you would care to join me, I – "
"We'll use my office instead," Dean growled, grabbing Castiel by the arm and hustling him the few steps necessary to reach the utility closet. The door slammed shut behind them.
"Uh..." Sam said uncertainly. He tapped lightly on the closet door. "Dean?"
"Go away, Sam," Dean bellowed.
Sam shrugged, picked up Dean's abandoned mop and began to swipe it back and forth across the floor.
It was the first time Dean and Castiel had been in the same room since that disastrous morning at Bobby's. Hell, five minutes ago was the first they had even spoken in all that time. Sam had served as the point of contact – not that there had been much information to impart. This hunt was going nowhere fast.
Castiel gazed silently at Dean, patiently waiting to hear whatever it was he thought was so important that it couldn't wait. It was hard to tell in the dimly lit closet, but it appeared dark shadows once again resided beneath the hunter's eyes. Castiel frowned in concern. Misreading the ex-angel's expression, Dean's heart sank and the sound of his nervous breathing filled the enclosed space.
"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean said finally, ending a seeming eon of silent staring and internal debate. He wet his lips and stepped closer.
"Sorry?" Castiel said blankly. "You have done nothing to be sorry for. It was I who – "
"Call it an apology in advance," Dean sighed. His hands shot out to firmly anchor Castiel's head in place as he surged forward and mashed their lips together.
For a moment – for an awful, eternal moment – Castiel went utterly rigid in Dean's grasp, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth frozen in a tight line. And then, with a little mewl of surrender, he melted against Dean's chest, his arms coming up to wrap Dean in a hug that left him breathless – or maybe it was Castiel's mouth springing to life beneath his that stole Dean's breath away.
Castiel kissed the same way he fought: pouring all he was into the endeavour, giving everything he had, holding nothing back.
Dean moaned, and Castiel's mouth opened wider: drawing him further in, deepening the kiss, holding him closer, tighter, as if in fear Dean would vanish if his grip slackened for a moment.
There was little chance of that. Dean was exactly where he'd longed to be. His hands slid down Castiel's cheeks and caressed his jaw, moved up to ruffle through his already unruly hair and trailed down his neck until they bumped against his clerical collar. And there they halted. Dean opened eyes he didn't remember closing, and stared at Castiel's flushed, blissed-out face.
Unwillingly, he drew his mouth away, Castiel swaying forward with a low growl of protest as he followed Dean's retreat. "Cas," Dean whispered, voice hoarse and trembling slightly from the effort of reining in his runaway desire.
Castiel managed to entice him into several more long and deliciously sloppy kisses.
"Cas!" Dean begged. "Stop. We have to stop."
"Why?" Castiel groaned, sounding utterly and completely wrecked, and for a few seconds Dean's mind went blank.
Why indeed? His thumb stroked the pulse point just above the Roman collar, feeling the blood leap up to meet his touch, hot and eager...
Priest! His brain screamed. Priest, you idiot! The job!
Oh. Yeah.
Dean's lips trailed a line of kisses from Castiel's left ear down to the collar, sucking lightly on the heated flesh, but not hard enough to leave a mark. Later. Later he would mark this man as his.
"Dean..." Castiel's low voice rumbled. "Don't stop." His eyes were half-closed, his nostrils flared and his mouth parted on a gasp that was equally a sigh as he angled his head back to encourage further ravishment. "Please, Dean... I want... I need... more..."
"Not here," Dean whispered. "Not like this. Your first time isn't going to be a quick, rough tumble in a broom closet. I have plans..."
"Oh..." Castiel said weakly, torn between disappointment and anticipation. "What kind of plans?"
"Good plans." Dean smiled and kissed Castiel's pouting lips, stilling further questions. "But first we have a coven to disband, Father Novak. Which means we need another plan before we implement the first..."
"Plans are good," Castiel murmured, nuzzling his way down Dean's neck. He was not at all cautious about leaving a mark behind.
Dean gasped, tilting his head back wantonly. "Cas... Fuck, Cas, I can't think when you do that."
A low laugh rumbled in Castiel's chest. With a final sharp nip and a quick lick of apology, he drew back enough that there was a bit of space between them. "Heaven forbid I should impede your thinking process," he teased.
"Heaven!" Dean exclaimed. "That's it! What if we rev up your mojo? Maybe you can zero in on the witches and we can..." He blushed. "We can find more interesting things to do with our time."
"It's worth a try," Castiel agreed. "Purely in the interests of solving this case, of course."
"Of course." Dean grinned and began to unbutton the top of his long-sleeved shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulder to give Castiel better access to his brand. "Are you ready?"
Castiel's warm hand slotted into place and he nodded expectantly.
"Oh, God," Dean intoned. "Oh, God... Oh, God..."
Castiel kissed him.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" Dean moaned and threw himself into the kiss.
And the world dissolved into a radiant wash of light.
The floor was spotless and not a single smudge of dirt remained on the windows up and down the hall in the vicinity of the utility closet. Sam was running out of reasons to linger and thus stand guard.
Should I knock? he wondered. They've been in there a long time...
He raised his hand to strike the door and lowered it uncertainly. Five more minutes, he thought. Ten minutes tops. What harm could come from that?
And that is when brilliant rays of light shot out from cracks all around the door frame.
"Holy shit!" Sam exclaimed, backing away. He'd never seen blue and green streaks mixed in with the white like that before. What the hell were they doing in there? It looked as if the aurora borealis had exploded.
"What's going on here?" a shocked voice cried. Sam turned to see a teacher and several students standing behind him.
"Uh... bug zapper," he said. "We're fumigating the closet. There was this really big nest of cockroaches and we didn't want it to infest the whole school."
"Oh... I see," the teacher said uncertainly. "All right then... I guess. You're sure we shouldn't call the fire department?"
"No, no, it's supposed to do that. It's the latest thing. The Exterminator 2000."
The light began to fade.
"See?" Sam babbled. "It's entering its next phase. We just need to keep that door shut and let it do its job."
Casting suspicious looks over her shoulder, the teacher motioned for her class to follow and they vanished around a corner.
Sam slumped against the wall and glared at the utility closet. And then he quickly stepped across the hall and started hammering on the door.
Castiel slowly and reluctantly drew his lips away from Dean's and brushed his fingers across the hunter's bare chest as he removed his hand from his shoulder. Dean blinked, his eyes glazed and heavy-lidded, and Castiel smiled, knowing a very similar look must be on his own face.
"Whoa... That was... that was incredible," Dean murmured, obviously still dazed.
Castiel nodded and clumsily began to button up Dean's shirt.
"I mean, seriously, dude. That was..." He gestured helplessly.
"Incredible?" Castiel said, leaning in to kiss him again.
The handprint on Dean's shoulder pulsed in rhythm with the slow and tender movement of Castiel's clever mouth...
Dean was seriously beginning to consider modifying his plan to wait when the echoes of Grace throbbing in his head suddenly resolved into a pounding sound on the closet door.
Sam...
Once again, Dean and Castiel's lips reluctantly parted and they simply stood there for a moment, foreheads touching, breathing in each other's breath until their galloping heartbeats slowed to a less frantic pace.
"Would you like me to take care of this for you?" Castiel offered, running a fingertip across the vivid bruise he'd left on Dean's neck.
"No," Dean said. "I want to keep it. To remind me..." He smiled shyly.
Castiel smiled back.
Sam kept pounding away on the door.
Dean pulled a face and turned to open the door part way, poking his head outside. "Is the coast clear?" he asked, cautiously peering around.
"It is now," Sam sighed. "God, Dean, I never thought I'd have to say this to you, but... it's time to come out of the closet."
"Ha ha," Dean said, and drew his head back inside.
Sam heard the rustle of clothing sliding against clothing, followed by wet smacking sounds and indistinct whispering.
"Be careful," Dean murmured.
"I will," Castiel replied.
The door opened fully and a tousled-looking priest stepped from the closet, straightening his crooked collar. Dean sidled out behind him and closed the door.
"I'll be in touch," Castiel murmured, and strode off down the hall without a backwards glance.
"I think you already have been," Sam muttered under his breath, eyeing the huge hickey which adorned Dean's neck. He wasn't the least bit surprised when his red-faced brother punched him in the arm. Hard. Twice.
Castiel's feet might have seemed firmly planted on the tiled floor as he walked briskly down the corridor towards his office, but his body was trembling, shaken to the very core. His calm, detached demeanour was pure illusion. His pulse was racing, his palms were sweaty, and his lungs could not seem to keep up with a sudden, desperate need for extra oxygen. Every nerve cell from head to toe was tingling and painfully aware that each step he took led him further away from where he longed to be: with Dean. Pressed as close to him as it was possible for two separate entities to get. How he longed to turn around and let his feet lead him back where his heart commanded.
First things first, though.
Find the witches.
Stop the witches.
Find Dean.
And then... and then...
Castiel wasn't really sure what would happen next. That it might involve more kissing was his fervent hope. That it might also involve touching and eventual nudity was not outside the realm of possibility. But, beyond that, he had no concrete expectations. After all, his only point of reference was a sleazy porno movie – which really did not seem to apply to his situation as no females or pizza men were involved. Hopefully, Dean would know the solution to this dilemma...
Castiel's head abruptly lifted and he scented the air. Evil. There was evil in this building. And it was close by.
An outraged surge of Grace crackled through his veins like electricity though a wire. With a thought, he sent tendrils of it questing out in search of his quarry.
There. That way.
Quick footsteps carried Castiel down a flight of stairs. Sparing the little 'Nurse's Office – Room 106' plaque no more than a cursory glance, he flung open the door and stepped inside.
Janice Purvis looked up from the injury she was bandaging and smiled warmly. "Father Novak," she said. "I'll be right with you." She patted a wan-faced student on his shoulder. "There you go, Eric," she soothed. "Next time try to cut just the cardboard, not your hand."
Eric nodded and slipped out through the door.
"What can I do for you, Father?"
"I know what you are," Castiel growled.
"I am many things," came the swift reply. "Wife, mother, nurse, concerned citizen..."
"Witch."
"That too," Janice admitted quietly.
"You do not bother to deny it?"
"Why should I?" Janice shrugged. "Not all witches are evil." She quietly moved to close the door before turning back towards Castiel. "But those of us who are, are very good at it."
The last thing Castiel saw before his world faded to black was Janice Purvis's hand shooting up from her uniform's pocket to toss a noxious cloud of dust in his face.
Castiel was nowhere to be found, and Sam was going to be forced to sedate his brother if they didn't find him soon. Dean had left frantic far behind him at the end of the first hour. Now, three hours into Castiel's disappearance, he was ready to tear the school apart brick by brick with his bare hands. God help the fool that tried to stop him. He had already made poor Father Desmond cry and scared his cat out of one of her nine lives.
Dean's janitor uniform lay crumpled on the floor of the utility closet where he and Castiel had – well, where they had done whatever it was they'd decided to do. Sam's brain didn't want to delve too deeply into the mystery of what exactly had transpired between them. It was enough to know that Castiel was all mojoed up. Not that he had achieved anything close to angel status, but Dean estimated his mojo tank was at least a quarter full. Maybe closer to a third. That should have been more than adequate to defend himself against a few simple spells and potions. That it obviously had not been was further proof that they were not up against one of your run of the mill witches. It spoke of power. Vast and ancient power.
"Damn." Sam sighed and began to shed his own uniform in favour of the dark suit and tie Bobby had delivered to the school. With no Superman in sight to save the day, this looked like a job for the FBI...
Federal Agent Dean Jagger prowled the halls of the O'Gorman Catholic High School with a scowl on his face and cold fury in his heart. Sam and Bobby were conducting 'official' interviews, slowly and surely accumulating evidence – he had no patience with that. Castiel had to be here. No one had seen him leave. A quick check at the principal's office showed no one – staff or student – had signed out early. Not that he could take that roster as gospel. There were many exits to this school, not all of them closely monitored.
Only an hour remained before the final bell of the day signalled dismissal. Then the floodgates would open and both the innocent and the guilty would be free to leave. Instead of the narrow confines of the school, all of Sioux Falls would become the witches' playing field. Hell, the whole state, the whole damned country would open up to them...
I have to find Cas... now! Dean thought desperately, trotting down a set of stairs leading from the second level to the first.
A tinkle of breaking glass in a room off to the left of the staircase captured his attention just as the handprint on his left arm began to gently tingle. Dean crept down the hall towards a room marked 'Nurse's Office'. A second crash sounded from behind the closed door, followed by a woman's cry of either fear or anger. Dean's money was on the latter. That voice sounded royally pissed. A third resounding crash and a most un-ladylike string of curses confirmed his suspicion.
Dean eased open the door and peered inside just in time to see a desk lamp go sailing past to smash against the wall.
"That fucking bitch!" a tall brunette cried as she upended a desk drawer on the floor and stomped on its contents.
"What's going on here?" Dean demanded.
"Who the fuck are you?" Startled green eyes met an answering green glower.
"Federal Agent Dean Jagger," Dean barked. "And you are? Wait. I know you. Angie. You're Angie."
Angie backed away until Mrs. Purvis's ergonomic office chair stood between her and Dean. "How does the FBI know about me?" she whispered. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"We both know that's a lie," Dean said, stepping closer. "What have you done with Cas?"
"Cass? I don't know anyone called Cass. Who is she?"
"He," Dean spat. "Castiel. Father Novak. Where is he?"
"You're not FBI," Angie said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously and then opening wide as she recognized Dean in turn. "You're that janitor. What's Father Novak to you?"
"He's my – "
My what? Dean thought, his heart pounding in his breast and the handprint throbbing in rhythm with its frantic beat. My angel... my boyfriend... my soon to be lover...
"My friend," he finished lamely, blushing as Angie's eyes swept to the hickey on his neck.
Yeah, so what? He did that. Not that it's any of your business.
He's mine... and I am his.
"I have no idea where you misplaced him," Angie coolly replied.
Dean growled and lunged forward. Angie shrieked and shrank back against the wall as he seized the heavy chair and casually tossed it through the window in a most satisfying explosion of glass and noise.
"I'll ask you one more time, and then you're going to follow that chair," Dean said. "Where is Cas?"
"You wouldn't dare..."
"Try me."
Angie wilted beneath the force of his glare and burst into tears, all her bravado gone.
"It was Mrs. Purvis," Angie sobbed, "She recruited a select few of us, promised us whatever dreams we had would come true. Whatever boy we wanted. Whatever university. All we had to do was chant a few silly words and dance around in a circle now and then. Dumb B-grade movie stuff. But what she said was true. Good things came our way."
"But that wasn't enough, was it?" Dean said softly. "She wanted more. You all wanted more."
Angie nodded. "She said we needed to perform a human sacrifice in order to achieve the ultimate in power. A virgin sacrifice... and we'd be unstoppable. And it had to happen on the new moon."
"That's tonight," Dean said, glancing at a wall calendar with 'October 26' circled twice in red. "I would have expected her to favour All Hallows Eve. That's when all the other crazies come out."
"Not for this spell," Angie said. "New moon, new beginnings. Dark night, dark deeds. We were going to use Sarah Marie, but the stupid skank went and fucked the captain of the football team last week. Mrs. Purvis said the older the virgin, the stronger the blood sacrifice would be. We couldn't take a chance on the other seniors, because we didn't have time to wade through their bullshit. Father D was out, because he was married a long time ago, but his wife died in a horrible car accident. Then Father Novak came along... and he was, like, perfect. He blushed if you so much as mentioned sex. What a waste that he's a priest! He's seriously hot – as if you haven't already figured that out. But whatever, right? Anyway... Mrs. Purvis drugged him and some of her disciples carried him away. Then, just before she left, the bitch said she didn't need us any more – he was all she needed. She could sense the power rolling off him in waves. Her master would be pleased..."
Perfect. Oh, yes, Cas was that and more. Purvis's master would be fucking ecstatic.
"Where did they take him?" Dean begged, trying hard to swallow around the lump of fear caught in his throat. His hand grasped Angie's arm, his fingers digging into the flesh.
"I don't know," Angie whined. "I only know where they'll be tonight. Sertoma Park. Somewhere just off the bike trail at the south end of the lake. You know, where it's shaped like a crooked bell? The pointy part, down by the river."
Dean fought the urge to shake her as a terrier shakes a rat. Instead, he slowly drew his hand away and gave the shivering teen the most fierce glare he could muster, a look that had once made Hell's foulest demons cower back in terror. "Consider yourself lucky that you won't be there," he snarled. "Tell your little friends that they'd best not show up either. And if you breathe a word of warning to that witch... or have anything further to do with the dark arts..."
"I won't," Angie whimpered. "I won't, I won't! I promise! I'm through with that."
Dean nodded and turned to leave.
"Mr. Jagger?" Angie called softly. "I hope you find Father Novak. I hope that he's okay."
"I hope so too," Dean said.
Sam, Dean and Bobby were lying in wait for the coven long before the sun's last rays crept below the horizon. The stars came out and the hours crawled by, but not a murmur of approaching voices was to be heard. Not a footstep rustled. Midnight – the witching hour – was but minutes away. Time was ticking out for Castiel.
"I think we're in the wrong place, Dean," Sam whispered. "Either Angie lied, or the witch misled her."
"Cas is here," Dean replied. Unconsciously, his hand reached up to rub at his left arm where the handprint was once again lightly throbbing. "He's near by. I feel it."
"He ain't here, son," Bobby said gently. "You're imagining things."
"No, I'm not," Dean said stubbornly, casting a hopeful gaze left and right. Slowly, he began to walk in a small circle, widening his search pattern. As he faced south a sudden sharp pain shot down his left arm, and he gasped and staggered slightly.
"Dean?" Sam rested a concerned hand on his brother's shoulder, spinning him around to face him. Instantly, the pain receded.
Ignoring Sam's worried frown, Dean turned south again. The pain returned. He stepped west... it lessened. He stepped east... it intensified. As if something – or someone – was roughly tugging him in that direction by the arm.
"I know where he is," Dean blurted. "Or, at least, I know which way we have to go."
"And how the hell do you know that?" Bobby grumbled, disbelief obvious in his voice.
"Because Cas is telling me," Dean answered quietly.
"That's a load of crap, boy," Bobby scoffed. "You're letting your imagination run away with you. We've been suckered into a wild goose chase. My best guess is they're holding their little soirée back at the school – and that's where we should be."
"You do what you have to, Bobby," Dean said. "I'm heading that way." He jerked his thumb to the east. "Sammy?"
But Sam was spared the effort of having to make a decision as a blast of light erupted in the east, bathing the forest with an eerie glow and sending leaves and debris whirling past as if a twister was passing through the park. Simultaneously with the blast, the tingly feeling in Dean's arm vanished, the connection severed. The scar was just a scar.
"Cas!" Dean hollered, and took off at a dead run, Sam and Bobby hard pressed to keep him in sight as they hastened down the path he'd taken, and without a prayer of catching up with his desperate, headlong flight.
It looks likes an A-bomb went off here, was the first thing to cross Dean's mind as he burst into the newly created clearing half a mile from where they had thought the coven would meet. It looks like my grave site, was his second thought. Except, instead of a grave at the epicentre, there was an inclined platform. And on this make-shift altar rested a man-sized, inverted cross. And laid out on the cross, immobilized by ropes tied around his wrists and ankles, was...
"Cas!"
Blue eyes turned a weary gaze his way as several quick strides brought Dean to Castiel's side.
"De – " he started to say, as Dean dropped to his knees beside the altar and ran trembling fingers through Castiel's sweat-matted hair. But before the ex-angel's lips could fully shape the name, the hunter's mouth was firmly pressed against his and Castiel found himself eagerly returning Dean's hungry kiss, a heartfelt response in a language that required no words, just an easy two-way flow of relief and profound devotion.
"What part of 'be careful' didn't you understand?" Dean chided, putting the lie to his annoyance with an even more passionate follow-up kiss, a kiss so deep and dirty that it made Castiel's back arch up away from the cross, his body shamelessly begging for Dean's touch, offering himself to the hunter to do with as he willed.
"Dean? Dean?"
His brother's frantic voice and the sound of Sam and Bobby crashing through the forest pulled Dean back from the brink of divine madness to a semblance of reason.
"Here, Sam," he called, shaking his head to clear it. "We're over here."
"Is everything all right?" Sam asked, stepping up to the altar and giving his kneeling brother and Castiel's swollen lips a speculative glance.
"Just peachy, Sam," Dean said. "We're all good here. Why don't you and Bobby have a look around while Cas and I... uh... talk."
"Sure," Sam agreed easily, and he and Bobby began to sift through the rubble, taking careful note of charred bodies and any remaining artifacts. If they wondered why Castiel had not yet been unbound, they made no mention of it.
"A little assistance, if you please, Dean," Castiel said calmly from his head down, tilted angle. "It would appear that I have expended all of my Grace and I am unable to free myself from these restraints."
"What were you going to do if I didn't show up to rescue you?" Dean asked, clambering to his feet and pulling a knife from his pocket.
"I know you will always come for me."
Dean raised an eyebrow, uncertain whether he should take Castiel's reply as an expression of faith... or as innuendo, given the kisses they had just shared. Once was probably a co-incidence, but twice...
God help me if the tricky bastard starts making a habit of using double entendre...
Sam's snort of amusement left little doubt as to his interpretation.
Castiel's face betrayed no clue as to his intent.
"Aren't virgins supposed to wear frilly white dresses?" Dean teased as he cut the ropes binding Castiel's arms and legs to the cross and helped him stand.
"Apparently there is a greater significance attached to these clerical garments," Castiel replied, rubbing his arms to restore circulation. "The desecration of a man of the cloth is not to be taken lightly."
A man of the cloth, Dean thought angrily. That Purvis bitch had no idea. Cas is as far above a priest as I am above an ant.
"She said she was going to slit my throat and bleed out my purity while she... rode me like a broomstick... I do not understand that reference."
And, oh yes, Dean's mind instantly went there. Only instead of Castiel being bound upon a cross, he was lying on a soft white cloud of silken sheets and fluffy pillows. And instead of the witch, it was Dean kneeling astride him...
"Dean?"
I'm so going back to Hell, the thought flashed through Dean's mind and he stifled a whimper, his pupils dilating as a shiver travelled up his spine. But I think he might be worth it.
"What did she mean, Dean? Dean?"
"Uh... it's a common misconception that witches fly around on brooms. But, in this case, she meant she was going to fuck you six ways from Sunday."
"Why do you humans find it necessary to employ so many euphemisms for the act of coitus?" Castiel said, more than a hint of exasperation colouring his words.
"Variety's the spice of life, Cas," Dean said weakly, the lingering image of himself riding Castiel slow to fade from his mind.
"Fortunately she required me to be conscious if I were to actively participate. That was her mistake."
"You woke up in time to smite her ass to kingdom come." Dean grinned.
"I did indeed," Castiel said proudly, looking around the devastated, smouldering crater which was all that remained of a once pristine forest.
Sam and Bobby continued to prowl the site, flashlights bobbing this way and that as the glow from the conflagration slowly began to fade, returning the clearing to the cover of the night. Now that Castiel had been set free, Sam turned his attention from the perimeters to the altar. His finger traced the outlines of several deeply carved sigils, and a frown creased his forehead.
"Dean. Cas," he called. "You might want to take a look at this. I hope I'm wrong... but I think this sigil is a name."
Dean and Castiel leaned in to peer at the carving, their shoulders touching and the backs of their hands surreptitiously caressing each other.
Castiel drew a sharp breath, and his hand suddenly clenched into a fist.
"Crowley," he said.