Savin' Me
Savin’ Me
Chapter 3
Chapter Wordcount: 2976
It had almost been an hour and Dean was contemplating how many bullets it would take to successfully obliterate all the fake plants and centerpieces they had scattered across the waiting room.
If he stood over in that corner, he could line up a shot and take out two, but that didn’t mean they’d be completely destroyed…
The sudden touch on his shoulder caused him to jerk, muscles going tense before he shot a look at Casey, whose hand refused to move.
He rolled his shoulder, trying to shrug off her hand only to have it knead into the tight muscle, and unwillingly his eyes fluttered closed at how good it felt.
“I’m not gonna tell you to calm down, I ain’t that stupid, but I can practically feel how tense you are,” she said, manhandling him sideways in his chair until she could reach his whole back.
His head sagged forward as she started at his neck, working her way across his shoulders.
Her knuckles rolled across his backbone, right between his shoulder blades when she spoke.
“You don’t deserve it.”
Dean’s eyes popped open, locking onto pink and teal nondescript painting that hung on the wall opposite from him, his head rocking with her ministrations.
“I’ve been there,” she inhaled, “In Hell…you don’t deserve that.”
He stayed silent, at a loss for words.
“I will follow you Dean,” she said softly, recalling their earlier conversation. “When the fat lady sings and the curtains go down, if there’s no exit for this show…I’ll follow you. I’m not going to be much help, everyone down there’s gonna wanna piece of you. But I’m high enough on the food chain that I can stop some, fight the others, keep them away from you as long as I can.”
He couldn’t feel her hands anymore, his whole body going numb in an instant, still rocking softly with her movements.
He shifted and turned, catching her eyes as she folded her hands into her lap.
The stared at each other in silence before the tense moment was cut with a knock on the door by the Doctor, dressed in pale blue scrubs.
“Sam Johnson’s family?”
Dean nodded, shooting up from his seat, “Brian Johnson, his brother, and…Casey, a family friend,” he added, motioning to Casey who stood behind him.
“He’s doing fine, he’s still out of it due to the anesthesia, and he’ll probably just sleep through the night, he had lost quite a bit of blood.”
“Is he okay?” Dean asked, voice breaking unwillingly.
“Yes, he’s fine, we patched him up the best we could, we’ll wait till the swelling goes down to fit him with a cast tomorrow. We gave him a pint of blood directly after the wounds had been closed and he’s being infused with another as we speak. When that one’s done, well do a check up, take all his vitals and we might give him a third just to be safe. But given how well he is doing, he should be able to go home sometime before tomorrow night.”
“Can we see him?”
“Sure,” the Doctor smiled, turning and leading them down the hallway. “He’s still in post-op, but he’ll be moved to a private room within the hour. Unfortunately because he’s still in post-op, I can’t let you stay more than a few minutes.”
Dean just nodded absentmindedly as the Doctor keyed in his code to open the automatic doors, he was through them before they had even swung open fully.
The Doctor smiled at Casey as he left them to visit and went to finish paperwork.
Casey hung back, watching Dean as he grabbed Sam’s hand, his other ghosting over his brother’s body, checking for any wounds as if the Doctor’s had missed any.
“Dea?”
“Hey, I’m right here Sammy,” Dean whispered, squeezing his hand as Sam slited his eyes open.
“God…wha…what happened?”
“That uh, gator,” he said catching Sam’s eyes and seeing the recognization, “He got you pretty good, looks like you get to spend a night with the nurses.”
Sam’s arm waviered as he picked it up long enough to squint and see the I.V. buried in the crook of his elbow before letting it flop back down on the bed.
“Man, I feel like I was hit by a truck.”
Dean laughed softly, “Listen man, they’re not gonna be able to get you a room for at least an hour, and it’s already past midnight…they’re gonna kick me out of here in a couple minutes.”
“Go.”
“Sam…”
“It’s alright Dean, you look worse than me,” he said, smiling lopsidedly, “Go get some rest man, can’t make any moves on the nurses with you hanging off me.”
Dean grinned and nodded, squeezing his hand one more time before standing back up, seeing the Doctor out of the corner of his eye, motioning to tell him that his time was up.
“We’ll post your bond tomorrow man, I’ll be here in the morning…bring you some real food,” he whispered, leaning down to Sam’s ear.
“Sounds good man,” Sam slurred, waving his hand, slapping Dean’s arm softly, “See ya in the mornin.’”
Casey followed Dean out to the parking lot, unsure as to what she should do.
When he slipped his key in the passenger door, unlocking it with a twist of his wrist before walking around to the other side, she got in silently.
Dean pulled into a ABC Liquor a couple miles down the road and Casey laid a hand on his arm before he could get out.
“Bartender, remember?”
Dean just sighed and handed over his wad of cash, leaning his head back on the seat and waited for her.
She returned with a large paper bag and he just started up the car without a word, threw it in reverse and left.
He pulled into the first dive motel he found, paying for a room before pulling the car around.
The door took a kick and lifting up a bit on the handle before it opened and he went inside.
Casey pulled her shirt down over her belt and stood next to the Impala.
Dean’s form silouetted itself against the soft light inside when he came back to the doorway.
“You comin’ or not?”
She sighed, picking up the bag of booze and followed him in.
He grabbed the box of salt from his bag and froze. If he laid the lines like normal he would locking Casey in the room. But then again, did he really want her going out unsupervised? Despite what she had said and they way he did trust her?
She saw the container, but didn’t say anything, just made her way over to the counter by the sink and began unpacking the bag.
Dean laid the salt lines, out of habit more than anything else. He figured if she had a problem with it she’d make some smart ass comment.
By the time he was done she had a plastic cup held in front of his face.
He took the drink and chugged it without thinking, welcoming the burn and alcholic fuzz to help drown out the fact that he was in a motel room willingly with a demon and Sam was doped up on morphine in a friggin’ hospital.
He gasped and coughed past a rough throat once the first couple swallows went down.
“What the Hell is this?”
“A Four Horseman.”
“A wha?”
“Four Horseman…Jim, Jack, Johnny and Jose.”
His eyebrow arched, before he looked down at the liquid with a face that had Casey stifeling a laugh.
“I don’t have to mix them if you don’t want.”
“No, it’s…no, it’s okay,” he said, sipping the drink carefully before going for it again. “Just keep ‘em coming.”
She just nodded with a sad smile before returning to her makeshift bar.
Two hours later and the only thing that the alchohol had accomplished was to turn the cold lead that had settled in Dean’s stomach into a molten churning mess that was tearing him up from the inside out.
Anger boiled through his veins, burning hot and bright. He wasn’t even sure what he was angry at.
Sam being in the hospital. The close call. Casey…so much to do with Casey.
And none of it he could explain.
He had already cleaned, oiled and repacked every weapon they owned. Gone through his laundry and sorted out the clothes into piles of clean, clean enough to wear again, and so dirty you need to wash it in holy water.
Casey had stayed silent the entire time, watching infomercials and talk shows with the volume down low.
Even that was grating on Dean’s nerves, although it really had no reason to.
Who the Hell was she to just show up, tell him she would follow him…follow his ass into Hell for god’s sake. And she had saved them! Maybe that pissed him off more than anything else, the fact that he had been in the process of failing so specatacularly, watching Sam get ripped apart just to have his life and Sam’s saved by a freaking demon he thought was dead.
That point was only driven home by the jagged chasm cut into the shape of Sam that was looming like a black hole on the second bed in the room. The bed that should have Sam’s lanky, oversized, snoring frame spralled across it but instead held a compact, rounded, freaking demon on it.
The newly sorted clothes got shoved back into a bag in anger. He heard a seam rip somewhere but really couldn’t give a flying fuck. It just caused his anger to bubble and burn up his throat and the bag was tossed into the window, the cheap plexi-glass rattling in its frame as the bag tumbled, smacked the arm of the chair and rolled off the side to land in an undignified whump on the floor.
His hands clenched in fists so tight he could feel the cresents of his fingernails burning hot into the palms of his hands, and he caught Casey out of the corner of his eye, slipping her legs over the edge of the bed.
“You want another drink?” she asked softly, not waiting for an answer as she walked back towards the counter and bottles.
Looking back Dean could have sworn he heard something crack inside him.
He crossed the room in a blur, wrenched on her shoulder and had her slammed against the wall before she had even made it to the booze.
He saw her eyes widen in surprise for a split second before seeming to come to hesitant but accepting glaze.
Fucking accepting.
Dean slammed his mouth on hers, the sharp metallic taste of blood snaking between their lips from one or both being split open at the force.
He felt more than heard her soft gasp for breath. Could feel her throat constrict under his fever-hot palm, trying and succeeding in stopping the small noise from escaping, trying and succeeding to just give in, let him have his way.
He growled low in his throat, biting at her jaw, her neck, pulling a sick satisfaction from the bright red marks he left behind as his hand snatched at the belt around her waist, yanking her hips from the wall a good few inches before hearing the metal buckle pop open.
His hand skidded underneath the rough denim, roughly pushing it down over the swell of her ass, gripping and squeezing hard, pulling her roughly against him, only to slam forward with his own hips, pinning her between himself and the equally as hard wall.
His free hand buried itself in her hair, yanking back. He bit and sucked a purple bloom onto her throat, making himself sick at the way the heat coiled and pooled in his groin at the way he marked her skin.
Her hands stuttered before laying across his shoulders, and the sheer tenderness and soft touch that flitted across his skin pissed him off and had him pinwheeling his arm, grabbing her wrists and slamming them into the wall above her head.
Frustrated and downright pissed off, at himself more than anything, he ran his hand down the split of her shirt, ripping the buttons from the fabric and baring her to him.
He viciously yanked her bra out of the way, not even bothering to unhook it and bit down on her nipple.
She hissed, arching into the abuse and something snapped in his head. He wanted her to make some freaking kind of protest as he sucked hard, the bud turning bright red as blood rushed to the surface before practically gnawing on it.
He felt the rumble in her chest as she held back her groan and he yanked her away from the wall, wrenching her arm around behind her, pushing her wrist up towards her shoulder and putting her elbow into a joint lock.
Pushing her towards the bed, he opened his own jeans, pushing them down off his hips and he roughly pushed her onto the bed. She didn’t even bother to catch herself, just let her cheek be pushed into the rough blanket as he kneeled behind her.
She turned and buried her face into the bed when he jammed two fingers inside her, slicking up his hand before jerking himself, only to return and bury himself to the hilt inside her.
He used her still locked arm as a brace, as a handle, pulling her back against him everytime he pulled out, thrusting back into her hard and fast.
He finally felt the ripple of a shiver trail down her spine and he flipped her over, immeadiately filling the space between her legs and grabbing her wrists, pinning them above her head again, before plunging back inside her, barely losing his pace or rhythm.
Her neck was corded, head thrown back, eyes clenched shut, wild waves of ebony hair washed across the cheap pillow and he stuttered, clenched his hand down around her hip and felt the shiver spike start in his back, rushing up like a tidal wave.
Her eyes shot open, inky solid black catching his and he shuddered, the dam inside him breaking and the white hot torrent of his release rushing forward and pushing past any restraint he might have even tried to hold on to.
When he finally opened his eyes again, muscles still quivering with stagnant adrenaline they were desperatly trying to burn off, her eyes were back to their chocolate brown human counterpart and they stared at each other in silence. She never once tried to break his hold on her.
It was like his release had created a vacuum inside him and all of a sudden his senses came rushing back times ten.
He could smell the sex and sweat between them, hear her breathing, that was a little too calm considering what they had just done, could see the sweat on her skin as if it was radioactive. He could still taste the copper sharp blood from their kiss and could feel the flutter of her pulse under his hand.
His eyes skidded off hers, fluttering up to where his hand was still holding her wrists and his fingers jerked, almost not wanting to release after the force and time he had had them clenched and he could see the deep red marks around her wrists.
Once he had released her his eyes found hers again, the overwheming oh god, what have I done washed over him in a hot wet gust, causing his stomach to roll and pitch.
He slipped out of her, her body still stretched out, arms above her head. He clutched nervously at his jeans, still around his thighs, before rushing off to the bathroom, slamming the door and turning on the cold faucet in the shower as far as it could go before collapsing in front of the toliet and heaving up evey ounce of alcohol that had gotten him into this mess.
It had been almost a half hour after Dean had finished his cold shower and he was still sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.
His ears had been pricked, trying in vain to hear something coming from the outer room. He knew Casey was still out there, the salt lines would prevent her from leaving even if she wanted to. And why wouldn’t she want to?
Cautiously, he cracked open the door, noteing that the T.V. was off. He peered around the door and saw her, sleeping on the same bed he had forced her onto.
“Case?”
There was no answer, for which he was forever grateful and he silently made his way out of the bathroom.
He stopped at the foot of her bed. She had taken off her jeans and bra, folded them neatly and set them in the chair next to the wall. She left her shirt on, although unbuttoned and had the blanket pulled up over her waist.
She looked so calm, so downright peaceful his stomach threatened to stage a revolt again.
He collapsed onto his own bed, running a hand over his face and up through his hair before looking at her again.
Dean heaved a sigh, seeing the marks on her wrists, her neck, the swell of her hip. Marks that he had made and he clenched his jaw in anger, pissed at himself at how he had let his control slip, how he had let it go too far, how he had snapped so spectacularly. He stared at her for several more silent minutes, trying to ride the raging waves inside his own head.
Swallowing past the sudden bile that had risen in his throat he sighed again, before snapping off the light and curling into a ball in his own bed.
Chapter Notes: Brian Johnson, the name Dean gives to the doctor is the lead singer of AC/DC from 1980-now. From here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AC/DC
The Four Horsemen is a real drink, I didn't make it up, although normally it's a shot. From here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Horsemen_%28drink%29
As for the rest, that's prolly the darkest, most non-fluffy thing I've ever written...and well, I'm a bit nervous about it.
Previous: Chapter Two | Next: Chapter Four
Chapter 3
Chapter Wordcount: 2976
It had almost been an hour and Dean was contemplating how many bullets it would take to successfully obliterate all the fake plants and centerpieces they had scattered across the waiting room.
If he stood over in that corner, he could line up a shot and take out two, but that didn’t mean they’d be completely destroyed…
The sudden touch on his shoulder caused him to jerk, muscles going tense before he shot a look at Casey, whose hand refused to move.
He rolled his shoulder, trying to shrug off her hand only to have it knead into the tight muscle, and unwillingly his eyes fluttered closed at how good it felt.
“I’m not gonna tell you to calm down, I ain’t that stupid, but I can practically feel how tense you are,” she said, manhandling him sideways in his chair until she could reach his whole back.
His head sagged forward as she started at his neck, working her way across his shoulders.
Her knuckles rolled across his backbone, right between his shoulder blades when she spoke.
“You don’t deserve it.”
Dean’s eyes popped open, locking onto pink and teal nondescript painting that hung on the wall opposite from him, his head rocking with her ministrations.
“I’ve been there,” she inhaled, “In Hell…you don’t deserve that.”
He stayed silent, at a loss for words.
“I will follow you Dean,” she said softly, recalling their earlier conversation. “When the fat lady sings and the curtains go down, if there’s no exit for this show…I’ll follow you. I’m not going to be much help, everyone down there’s gonna wanna piece of you. But I’m high enough on the food chain that I can stop some, fight the others, keep them away from you as long as I can.”
He couldn’t feel her hands anymore, his whole body going numb in an instant, still rocking softly with her movements.
He shifted and turned, catching her eyes as she folded her hands into her lap.
The stared at each other in silence before the tense moment was cut with a knock on the door by the Doctor, dressed in pale blue scrubs.
“Sam Johnson’s family?”
Dean nodded, shooting up from his seat, “Brian Johnson, his brother, and…Casey, a family friend,” he added, motioning to Casey who stood behind him.
“He’s doing fine, he’s still out of it due to the anesthesia, and he’ll probably just sleep through the night, he had lost quite a bit of blood.”
“Is he okay?” Dean asked, voice breaking unwillingly.
“Yes, he’s fine, we patched him up the best we could, we’ll wait till the swelling goes down to fit him with a cast tomorrow. We gave him a pint of blood directly after the wounds had been closed and he’s being infused with another as we speak. When that one’s done, well do a check up, take all his vitals and we might give him a third just to be safe. But given how well he is doing, he should be able to go home sometime before tomorrow night.”
“Can we see him?”
“Sure,” the Doctor smiled, turning and leading them down the hallway. “He’s still in post-op, but he’ll be moved to a private room within the hour. Unfortunately because he’s still in post-op, I can’t let you stay more than a few minutes.”
Dean just nodded absentmindedly as the Doctor keyed in his code to open the automatic doors, he was through them before they had even swung open fully.
The Doctor smiled at Casey as he left them to visit and went to finish paperwork.
Casey hung back, watching Dean as he grabbed Sam’s hand, his other ghosting over his brother’s body, checking for any wounds as if the Doctor’s had missed any.
“Dea?”
“Hey, I’m right here Sammy,” Dean whispered, squeezing his hand as Sam slited his eyes open.
“God…wha…what happened?”
“That uh, gator,” he said catching Sam’s eyes and seeing the recognization, “He got you pretty good, looks like you get to spend a night with the nurses.”
Sam’s arm waviered as he picked it up long enough to squint and see the I.V. buried in the crook of his elbow before letting it flop back down on the bed.
“Man, I feel like I was hit by a truck.”
Dean laughed softly, “Listen man, they’re not gonna be able to get you a room for at least an hour, and it’s already past midnight…they’re gonna kick me out of here in a couple minutes.”
“Go.”
“Sam…”
“It’s alright Dean, you look worse than me,” he said, smiling lopsidedly, “Go get some rest man, can’t make any moves on the nurses with you hanging off me.”
Dean grinned and nodded, squeezing his hand one more time before standing back up, seeing the Doctor out of the corner of his eye, motioning to tell him that his time was up.
“We’ll post your bond tomorrow man, I’ll be here in the morning…bring you some real food,” he whispered, leaning down to Sam’s ear.
“Sounds good man,” Sam slurred, waving his hand, slapping Dean’s arm softly, “See ya in the mornin.’”
Casey followed Dean out to the parking lot, unsure as to what she should do.
When he slipped his key in the passenger door, unlocking it with a twist of his wrist before walking around to the other side, she got in silently.
Dean pulled into a ABC Liquor a couple miles down the road and Casey laid a hand on his arm before he could get out.
“Bartender, remember?”
Dean just sighed and handed over his wad of cash, leaning his head back on the seat and waited for her.
She returned with a large paper bag and he just started up the car without a word, threw it in reverse and left.
He pulled into the first dive motel he found, paying for a room before pulling the car around.
The door took a kick and lifting up a bit on the handle before it opened and he went inside.
Casey pulled her shirt down over her belt and stood next to the Impala.
Dean’s form silouetted itself against the soft light inside when he came back to the doorway.
“You comin’ or not?”
She sighed, picking up the bag of booze and followed him in.
He grabbed the box of salt from his bag and froze. If he laid the lines like normal he would locking Casey in the room. But then again, did he really want her going out unsupervised? Despite what she had said and they way he did trust her?
She saw the container, but didn’t say anything, just made her way over to the counter by the sink and began unpacking the bag.
Dean laid the salt lines, out of habit more than anything else. He figured if she had a problem with it she’d make some smart ass comment.
By the time he was done she had a plastic cup held in front of his face.
He took the drink and chugged it without thinking, welcoming the burn and alcholic fuzz to help drown out the fact that he was in a motel room willingly with a demon and Sam was doped up on morphine in a friggin’ hospital.
He gasped and coughed past a rough throat once the first couple swallows went down.
“What the Hell is this?”
“A Four Horseman.”
“A wha?”
“Four Horseman…Jim, Jack, Johnny and Jose.”
His eyebrow arched, before he looked down at the liquid with a face that had Casey stifeling a laugh.
“I don’t have to mix them if you don’t want.”
“No, it’s…no, it’s okay,” he said, sipping the drink carefully before going for it again. “Just keep ‘em coming.”
She just nodded with a sad smile before returning to her makeshift bar.
Two hours later and the only thing that the alchohol had accomplished was to turn the cold lead that had settled in Dean’s stomach into a molten churning mess that was tearing him up from the inside out.
Anger boiled through his veins, burning hot and bright. He wasn’t even sure what he was angry at.
Sam being in the hospital. The close call. Casey…so much to do with Casey.
And none of it he could explain.
He had already cleaned, oiled and repacked every weapon they owned. Gone through his laundry and sorted out the clothes into piles of clean, clean enough to wear again, and so dirty you need to wash it in holy water.
Casey had stayed silent the entire time, watching infomercials and talk shows with the volume down low.
Even that was grating on Dean’s nerves, although it really had no reason to.
Who the Hell was she to just show up, tell him she would follow him…follow his ass into Hell for god’s sake. And she had saved them! Maybe that pissed him off more than anything else, the fact that he had been in the process of failing so specatacularly, watching Sam get ripped apart just to have his life and Sam’s saved by a freaking demon he thought was dead.
That point was only driven home by the jagged chasm cut into the shape of Sam that was looming like a black hole on the second bed in the room. The bed that should have Sam’s lanky, oversized, snoring frame spralled across it but instead held a compact, rounded, freaking demon on it.
The newly sorted clothes got shoved back into a bag in anger. He heard a seam rip somewhere but really couldn’t give a flying fuck. It just caused his anger to bubble and burn up his throat and the bag was tossed into the window, the cheap plexi-glass rattling in its frame as the bag tumbled, smacked the arm of the chair and rolled off the side to land in an undignified whump on the floor.
His hands clenched in fists so tight he could feel the cresents of his fingernails burning hot into the palms of his hands, and he caught Casey out of the corner of his eye, slipping her legs over the edge of the bed.
“You want another drink?” she asked softly, not waiting for an answer as she walked back towards the counter and bottles.
Looking back Dean could have sworn he heard something crack inside him.
He crossed the room in a blur, wrenched on her shoulder and had her slammed against the wall before she had even made it to the booze.
He saw her eyes widen in surprise for a split second before seeming to come to hesitant but accepting glaze.
Fucking accepting.
Dean slammed his mouth on hers, the sharp metallic taste of blood snaking between their lips from one or both being split open at the force.
He felt more than heard her soft gasp for breath. Could feel her throat constrict under his fever-hot palm, trying and succeeding in stopping the small noise from escaping, trying and succeeding to just give in, let him have his way.
He growled low in his throat, biting at her jaw, her neck, pulling a sick satisfaction from the bright red marks he left behind as his hand snatched at the belt around her waist, yanking her hips from the wall a good few inches before hearing the metal buckle pop open.
His hand skidded underneath the rough denim, roughly pushing it down over the swell of her ass, gripping and squeezing hard, pulling her roughly against him, only to slam forward with his own hips, pinning her between himself and the equally as hard wall.
His free hand buried itself in her hair, yanking back. He bit and sucked a purple bloom onto her throat, making himself sick at the way the heat coiled and pooled in his groin at the way he marked her skin.
Her hands stuttered before laying across his shoulders, and the sheer tenderness and soft touch that flitted across his skin pissed him off and had him pinwheeling his arm, grabbing her wrists and slamming them into the wall above her head.
Frustrated and downright pissed off, at himself more than anything, he ran his hand down the split of her shirt, ripping the buttons from the fabric and baring her to him.
He viciously yanked her bra out of the way, not even bothering to unhook it and bit down on her nipple.
She hissed, arching into the abuse and something snapped in his head. He wanted her to make some freaking kind of protest as he sucked hard, the bud turning bright red as blood rushed to the surface before practically gnawing on it.
He felt the rumble in her chest as she held back her groan and he yanked her away from the wall, wrenching her arm around behind her, pushing her wrist up towards her shoulder and putting her elbow into a joint lock.
Pushing her towards the bed, he opened his own jeans, pushing them down off his hips and he roughly pushed her onto the bed. She didn’t even bother to catch herself, just let her cheek be pushed into the rough blanket as he kneeled behind her.
She turned and buried her face into the bed when he jammed two fingers inside her, slicking up his hand before jerking himself, only to return and bury himself to the hilt inside her.
He used her still locked arm as a brace, as a handle, pulling her back against him everytime he pulled out, thrusting back into her hard and fast.
He finally felt the ripple of a shiver trail down her spine and he flipped her over, immeadiately filling the space between her legs and grabbing her wrists, pinning them above her head again, before plunging back inside her, barely losing his pace or rhythm.
Her neck was corded, head thrown back, eyes clenched shut, wild waves of ebony hair washed across the cheap pillow and he stuttered, clenched his hand down around her hip and felt the shiver spike start in his back, rushing up like a tidal wave.
Her eyes shot open, inky solid black catching his and he shuddered, the dam inside him breaking and the white hot torrent of his release rushing forward and pushing past any restraint he might have even tried to hold on to.
When he finally opened his eyes again, muscles still quivering with stagnant adrenaline they were desperatly trying to burn off, her eyes were back to their chocolate brown human counterpart and they stared at each other in silence. She never once tried to break his hold on her.
It was like his release had created a vacuum inside him and all of a sudden his senses came rushing back times ten.
He could smell the sex and sweat between them, hear her breathing, that was a little too calm considering what they had just done, could see the sweat on her skin as if it was radioactive. He could still taste the copper sharp blood from their kiss and could feel the flutter of her pulse under his hand.
His eyes skidded off hers, fluttering up to where his hand was still holding her wrists and his fingers jerked, almost not wanting to release after the force and time he had had them clenched and he could see the deep red marks around her wrists.
Once he had released her his eyes found hers again, the overwheming oh god, what have I done washed over him in a hot wet gust, causing his stomach to roll and pitch.
He slipped out of her, her body still stretched out, arms above her head. He clutched nervously at his jeans, still around his thighs, before rushing off to the bathroom, slamming the door and turning on the cold faucet in the shower as far as it could go before collapsing in front of the toliet and heaving up evey ounce of alcohol that had gotten him into this mess.
It had been almost a half hour after Dean had finished his cold shower and he was still sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.
His ears had been pricked, trying in vain to hear something coming from the outer room. He knew Casey was still out there, the salt lines would prevent her from leaving even if she wanted to. And why wouldn’t she want to?
Cautiously, he cracked open the door, noteing that the T.V. was off. He peered around the door and saw her, sleeping on the same bed he had forced her onto.
“Case?”
There was no answer, for which he was forever grateful and he silently made his way out of the bathroom.
He stopped at the foot of her bed. She had taken off her jeans and bra, folded them neatly and set them in the chair next to the wall. She left her shirt on, although unbuttoned and had the blanket pulled up over her waist.
She looked so calm, so downright peaceful his stomach threatened to stage a revolt again.
He collapsed onto his own bed, running a hand over his face and up through his hair before looking at her again.
Dean heaved a sigh, seeing the marks on her wrists, her neck, the swell of her hip. Marks that he had made and he clenched his jaw in anger, pissed at himself at how he had let his control slip, how he had let it go too far, how he had snapped so spectacularly. He stared at her for several more silent minutes, trying to ride the raging waves inside his own head.
Swallowing past the sudden bile that had risen in his throat he sighed again, before snapping off the light and curling into a ball in his own bed.
Chapter Notes: Brian Johnson, the name Dean gives to the doctor is the lead singer of AC/DC from 1980-now. From here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AC/DC
The Four Horsemen is a real drink, I didn't make it up, although normally it's a shot. From here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Horsemen_%28drink%29
As for the rest, that's prolly the darkest, most non-fluffy thing I've ever written...and well, I'm a bit nervous about it.
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