Angel Strain
Not quite sure I believe this day has come.
I've been living with this fic for months, and whilst I'm ignoring the fact that there are still two more parts to edit, to have something of it finished is very satisfying. Satisfying like Crunchie. Oh yes.
So, for my flist, I present epic Supernatural fic of the Dean/Cas variety.
Title: A Vague Memory of Wisdom (1/4)
Rating: R probably
Word Count: This part 9,328
Summary: Dean/Castiel. H/C. A library, demons, and fire.
Warnings: Some demons-made-them-do-it. Set between 5x3 and 5x4, I think. This fic is less esoteric than the name suggests. But, and some of you would agree, thankfully a lot more porny.
Notes: This started as a PWP that got out of control. Complete at around 33K but in the throes of editing. Thanks to my dearest bad son, ontogenesis for her immensely hard work waging war against commas and Britishisms and of course to cienna for the regular beatings, coercion and bribary. All remaining mistakes my own. Hope you like the finished product!
.A Vague Memory of Wisdom.
1. The Library of a Son Who Collected His Father’s Works
It's dark and crypt-like and spooky and all Dean can think of are cheap black-and-white horror movies and the very real possibility of getting buried alive down here.
Cas doesn’t seem to notice the atmosphere at all.
"I have heard," he says, and Dean wants to shush him because he's too loud in the narrow space and his voice echoes off the low, curved ceiling. "That there are books here that are to be found nowhere else on Earth."
In the dim light from his flashlight Dean can see Cas is trailing his hands along one of the shelves, head titled down and eyes scanning over the lines of books like he's reading the titles that Dean can't even begin to make out.
Dean follows him around the end of one stack and past two more before Cas stops, looks around then strides up along an aisle, nodding to himself like he knows where they're going. He's taking them deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of books and Dean is kind of worried he won't be able to find his way out anymore. There's no indication on the stack ends, no numbers or letters like in a normal library to let you know what's stored there that Dean can see and he's been in enough to know.
He can't even see the light from the entrance they came in through anymore either and Cas just keeps leading them further and further in, sometimes running his fingers along the spines, sometimes along the blackened wood shelves themselves. It smells musty and rotten and Dean's a bit afraid the shelves will just disintegrate at his touch and the books will just turn to a mess of wet, bug-eaten ancient paper mush. Dean's certainly not going to touch anything.
"You know what book we're looking for?" Dean asks. He keeps his voice low wondering if just breathing on the shelves too much will break them. And he kind of feels like there are things down here that shouldn’t be disturbed, which is ridiculous because he's a hunter and anything that's lingering down here he should definitely be able to get rid of.
Cas looks back at him, his hand still resting against the shelf and his eyes look weirdly shiny and empty in the glare from the flashlight. Dean can just about make out a frown.
"No. But we'll find it, if it is here," he says, still not bothering to lower his voice at all.
"Y'know that doesn't actually make sense, right?" Dean whispers pointedly, and Dean can just tell Cas thinks he's an idiot because he almost-smiles, and his frown deepens, and he looks away and tells him,
"Whatever creatures exist in this place will already be aware of our presence, Dean. Whispering is pointless."
"I don't like to hear myself five times over from the echo, thanks," Dean replies, which is sort of true. Though how you get echoes in a place so packed with rows upon rows of smelly old books is beyond him. Also, "And exactly what lives down here? You never mentioned anything about anything living down here."
He sees Cas shift, reach his hand to run along the opposite shelf, and Dean absolutely fucking hates it when Cas doesn't bother to tell him shit like this.
"They are of no concern," is all he says, in his loud I'm-an-angel-and-therefore-indestructible tone.
"They are to me," Dean grinds out prissily. Cas just shakes his head a bit and picks up the pace and they walk and walk and all the time all Dean can hear is the sound of their shoes against the stone floor and his own breathing, heavy with the movement and the mustiness, and the slip and slide of the material of Cas's coat and the soft shushing of Cas's fingers running through thick dust.
The deeper in they go the hotter it seems to get, which is weird because he remembers it being really cold when they first arrived, entering through a steep, worn staircase made of thick heavy stone that had felt a little claustrophobic and a lot like it was about to collapse in on itself. But now it's so hot, and kind of dry, enough that Dean is starting to think about taking his jacket off when Cas stops abruptly.
Dean tenses automatically, thinking that maybe Cas has sensed something dangerous nearby and how much he is going to give Cas shit for not warning him about crap like this beforehand later on but all Cas does is turn fully to his left and reaches out both hands to lie flat against the rows of books in front of him.
"What is it?" Dean asks, quietly, just to be sure, his hand wrapping around his gun, eyes scanning what he can in the poor light. There are no windows and there's nothing to see by other than his flashlight and there's really not that much air Dean notices.
For a moment Cas holds completely still, doesn't even seem to be breathing, before he's mumbling something under his breath and slowly he bends his knees and his hands fall to the next shelf down. Then Cas bends further and Dean hears his knees hit the stone hard, not that he seems to notice. His hands follow, past the shelf to the tall books on the lowest level. In the flashlight Dean can see the dust Cas has disturbed with all this movement, swirling and twisting, and it's weird because it doesn’t actually seem to actually touch Cas anywhere unlike the way Dean can see it falling against his own hand and arm.
"What?" Dean asks again.
He wants to move the flashlight away, look up and down the aisle, and above and through the books -just to make sure- because he can't see anything beyond this pool of light, and it's not like Cas needs it. It's obvious he can see even in this dark, which should be reassuring but is actually more unnerving.
Yet, he doesn't want to not be able to see Cas. Doesn't want to take his eyes off his stupid hair and his stupid coat like he might just disappear, which Dean consoles himself with knowing is a pretty well-founded concern. Cas's eyes are closed and there is concentration on his face. Cas shifts in a way that makes Dean think might just be excitement and Dean wonders at why he would think that. Cas never seems to get excited about anything at all. It's then that Dean thinks of Sam and how he would cream his pants just seeing this place. Sam would be asking questions and being annoying and Dean finds himself wishing Sam was there with them.
Dean almost misses it when Cas turns to look at him, a glance, before he turns away.
"This is it," he says, bending forward slowly and both hands coming to rest on one book.
It's tall and slim, heavy brown leather bound and as Cas draws it out Dean thinks that the edges of the paper might once have been gold except now they're blackened and thick with dust.
Cas is careful. Too careful, like the book might bite him, and he's back to mumbling under his breath. Dean wants to ask if he's praying except he's already pretty certain that Cas is and there's something wrong, something that makes him feel empty in his stomach and on edge. The sound of the book's leather against the crumbling wood of the shelf and the sides of its neighbours is too much like a groan or a door creaking open and it's so loud. Cas's shoulders tense like he's straining and fuck, Dean thinks, the book is probably cursed six ways from Sunday and he really, really wants Cas to stop. Except what he does is shift the flashlight to his other hand, holds the light higher, as though it'll help, and puts his hand on Cas's shoulder.
Under his coat Dean can feel the seams of his jacket and below that human muscles taut, pulling, and if this is hard work for an angel then Dean really doesn't want to think what kind of heavy shit has been laid on this book.
"It doesn't want to leave," Cas says, sounding frustrated and a little bit pissed off.
He's glaring at the book and Dean can't help but suggest, "Maybe you should ask it nicely?"
Cas huffs what Dean thinks is a laugh and he can feel the movement under his hand, warm and light in the fear and dark and Dean is glad that he didn't have to come alone.
"Some books," Cas tells him, changing his grip on the book, fingers almost stroking at the leather. He tries pulling on it again and there's another groan and creak and Dean is relieved when Cas carries on speaking, sounding as though this is all perfectly normal, like he might talk about the weather. "Some books," he says again, "That are ancient and filled with knowledge that should never have been written down become stubborn and proud."
"Cas," Dean says, disbelievingly. "You do realise you're talking about bits of old paper? You saying that's got a personality?" He waves the flashlight at it and in the better light Dean sees that Cas's fingers have turned white from grasping so forcefully.
"It is an idea," is all Cas says, like that explains anything at all. Dean wonders if Cas even understands the concept of a straight answer, but he feels oddly amused more than annoyed.
"Move over," he says, straightening up and balancing the flashlight on the low shelf to point towards the book. He shoves at Cas's shoulder so there's room for him to get his hands on the book too.
"You're taking forever," he explains. Cas is looking at him with a half-expression that looks almost amused. "Yeah, yeah," Dean agrees, "Puny human." He shrugs. "But you never know."
Cas nods once, shuffles over on his knees and Dean feels tingling, like static, almost scalding heat, unnatural smoothness when he touches the book. He's fairly positive though that Cas would never have let him help if it had been dangerous to him, so Dean grips tightly, pulls when he feels Cas beside him tense and strain. It's then that Dean realises just how damn close they are. Out the corner of his eye, Cas looks pale, washed out in the shadows cast by the flashlight. He's not sweating like Dean knows he is, even though Dean can feel how warm his body is where their shoulders are pressed together, where their legs meet. It's kind of cosy.
It's just to get this stupid book out, Dean tells himself. It's just practical, and Dean can feel now how much the book is resisting, the stupid fucking thing.
"Move you piece of shit book," Dean growls. Cas rises up on his knees a bit higher, shakes his head.
"Bullying it won't work, Dean," Cas says, sounding amused again. Dean thinks he likes it when Cas sounds like that. Like maybe he's got some feelings after all and he's not just pretending or emotionally retarded or just doesn't actually care.
"Hey," Dean argues, "You're the one who said it was alive." He scowls at the book. "Maybe we could threaten it; 'We're gonna burn you if you don't cut it out, you little bitch', or something."
"We need it more than it needs physical form," Cas tells him seriously, to which all Dean can do is roll his eyes because seriously, what the hell?
"You're insane," Dean says, because no freaking book is gonna get the better of Dean Winchester. He decides, "Right. On three we'll yank it together. And it'd better come out or I swear I will start kicking this bookshelf down to get to it."
Cas is sort-of smiling as he nods and agrees, then Dean counts up to three and pulls as hard as he can and beside him Cas pushes back on his knees, lending his weight to the effort and after a second, suddenly, the book comes free and they both fall back hard against the shelving behind them.
They've thrown up a tonne of dust in the effort and it makes Dean cough and damn the air tastes like crap. He blinks crap out of his eyes and sits there for a moment staring at the bastard book and if Dean didn't think it would make him sound crazy, he could've sworn the book did that on purpose.
Then he feels movement against his side and realises he's half sprawled on top of Cas and both of them are still gripping the book tightly, like it might run away at any moment.
"Sorry," Dean says, releasing his hold on the book and extracting himself from Castiel. He heaves himself to his feet, dust clinging to his clothes and his skin. When he turns to Castiel the angel is frowning and looking a bit dazed.
"Hey," Dean says. He leans forward, offering Cas a hand up. "Didn't squash you too bad, did I?"
Cas blinks before turning to look at Dean, his eyes going wide and sort of glassy looking. It's just the light, Dean tells himself.
"No," Cas says, but he doesn't sound that convinced. "It's not that."
He looks down at the book he's still grasping tightly, shakes his head then looks back up at Dean.
Dean wiggles his fingers. "Come on."
Cas looks at his hand curiously and Dean sees that it's kind of dirty and covered in god knows what and Dean has the sudden urge to wipe his hands on his jeans to clean them. Which is ridiculous. Cas takes his hand anyway though, letting Dean haul his not-very-heavy ass off the ground and then they're standing so close they're almost chest-to-chest and Dean knows he should back away, except he doesn't want to.
This is different, Dean thinks, from all the times Cas has invaded his space before. Dean doesn't want Cas to move away so he just stays where he is, looking at Cas's eyes up-close. Looking at those really, painfully dry looking lips. Cas's skin is so clean even though Dean knows it should be covered in dust and sweat.
It's hot.
Cas starts to say, "We should," and Dean watches his mouth form the words and is kind of disappointed when Cas stops talking, his lips pressing together, mouth turned unhappily down.
He backs away then, slowly, and Dean almost follows, liking the proximity. But as soon as Cas isn't there anymore, up in his face, Dean wonders why the hell he thought that.
They weren't arguing, and it's not like he had any good reason to get so close to Cas. To stay so close to him.
"Dean," Cas says, sounding like he's trying to get his attention, which is weird because it's not like he needs to. It's not like there's anything else interesting to look at what with the being in a freaking library. "Dean," Cas says again, louder this time, and holds up the book between them.
Dean knew he hated that book.
He glares at it, suspicious, wondering if it's secretly evil, a follower of Lucifer, and is going to attack them any second.
"Bring over your flashlight," Cas says, tilting his head towards the bookshelf it's still balanced on.
"You don't need it," Dean shrugs, not really wanting to get any further away from Cas, who frowns and shifts his shoulders, standing up taller.
"No, but bring it anyway."
Which is definitely weird but Dean supposes Cas must have his reasons. He just doesn't feel like moving.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Cas says, like he just read Dean's mind. Which he probably did, but whatever.
Dean's starting to think something is wrong here. He can't remember ever being afraid to take a couple of steps away from anyone before, let alone Cas.
There's something in Cas's eyes too, concern or doubt, as he watches Dean turn a little to the side, walk over to retrieve the flashlight and then walk back again. Dean can feel it; his gaze on him. Something uncertain. It's kind of twisted, Dean thinks, but he likes it.
He likes it even more when he's back at Cas's side.
Cas narrows his eyes at Dean for a moment before looking behind him into the pitch black just inches away and Dean wonders what he can see back there. Then he looks down at the book.
"I don't think we should take this from here," he says. He's looking at the cover, at the embossed symbols, running his thumb over them slowly, thoughtfully. Dean thinks he looks sad.
"Why not?" Dean asks, angling the flashlight down towards the book to get a better look. He frowns. "Those look kind of familiar."
"It is our language -the language of the angels," Cas tells him. "This shouldn't be here." He looks up at Dean again. "I should not read this. It is forbidden."
Dean scoffs. "Bit late for that now."
He kind of wishes he'd kept his mouth shut then because Cas looks for a second like that actually hurt and he draws away, face carefully blank.
"I suppose you're right," he says. Dean watches as Cas balances the book on his arm and carefully pulls open the cover and pages his way quickly through it, apparently knowing precisely what he's looking for and where to find it. For some kind of massive angel secret, Dean thinks, it really doesn't seem to be all that unfamiliar to Castiel.
"So we have to stay down here?" Dean can see gold letters, vivid blues and reds, as pages are turned. The paper looks crisp and new and Dean thinks that's the creepiest thing he's seen so far.
"I won't risk taking this out into the world," Cas says without looking up, his eyes scanning quickly.
Dean follows Cas's fingers, the pull of tendons in Cas's hands, and thinks they're pretty cool to watch.
"Then what's it doing here?" Dean asks. "If it's so dangerous." Not that the library seems to be in danger of getting raided anytime soon. No human knows it's here anymore, Cas told him, and the entrance was sealed with layers of demon traps and something that looked a lot like concrete. No one has stood here in centuries, Dean thinks, Dean knows. No one will ever find them here.
The thought makes his shift closer to Cas.
"There was a man," Cas begins, then stops abruptly. The book falls open in his hands and Cas just stares.
"This is," Castiel says, and Dean puts a hand on Cas's shoulder to bring him closer to see for himself, but all he can discern are rows of meticulously drawn symbols in black ink and a couple of weird diagrams made up of lots of straight lines. This close, he notices that Cas smells kind of nice. Not sweaty at all. Dean really wants to shrug off his jacket.
"They're like the symbols you carved into us," Dean realises.
Cas turns his body slightly towards him. "They are of the same language," he affirms.
Dean nods. "Your language."
He swaps the hand his flashlight is in so it's at Cas's shoulder. With his free hand Dean reaches to touch the page and finds himself tracing the patterns with a finger.
The writing is cool to the touch and he thinks he can hear sound and breath as his skin passes over lines and curves and Dean is a bit freaked out that he's not afraid.
"It's awesome," he says, fingers following the straight line of what looks like a k.
Cas doesn’t say anything but Dean can feel warm breath against his cheek where Cas has turned his head to look at him. Dean thinks, if he just turned his head now they would be close enough to kiss.
Which is a new thought (though it isn't) and so suddenly appearing in his mind from nowhere (except not) that then it's all Dean can think about.
His hands follow the curve of the symbol down and he wants to look at Cas and he wants to touch more than just Cas's side as they stand close. Dean wants to feel more than just the material of Cas's jacket under his hand.
This, Dean thinks, must be some kind of screwed up angel thing, because he can't ever remember wanting to get his hands up Cas's shirt and his mouth on Cas's skin before. He can't actually remember ever wanting to fuck somebody quite as much as he does Cas right now - angel of the Lord in a man's body or not - and that's really saying something where Dean is concerned.
He can smell Cas, and he likes it, even though he knows there is a shit load of ancient not-pleasant-fragranced dust up his nose, but all he can smell is Cas; clean like rain, sweet like grass. Also, he shouldn't care.
"What is this, Cas?"
Fuck he wants to turn his head, but this isn't right. Something isn't right.
Instead, he watches his own hand as it follows patterns down the page to the warm skin of Cas's wrist where he's holding the book and Dean can feel Cas's borrowed pulse.
Cas shifts beside him, his shoulder pressing closer. Dean imagines that Cas tilts his head, frowning. The silence lengthens so that all Dean can hear is the whispering, quiet in his ears, blood pounding through his head because he's hot, and the slide of his own fingers pushing further up Cas's wrists, under his coat and his jacket and his shirt.
"There are so many," Cas starts to say, but Dean can feel every puff of air as he can see Cas's lips moving at the edge of his vision and just can't bear it, can't stop it, has to turn and taste them.
Cas just stands stock still for a moment but his lips are soft and dry and warm and Dean doesn't really care. He licks, and presses closer and finally Cas opens his mouth and Dean feels like he's just won the fucking universe.
He spreads fingers around Cas's wrist, pushes his hand up under his sleeves and Dean can feel hair and Cas's skin is not as smooth as he thought it would be.
Because he's a dude, Dean reminds himself, but the thought doesn't put him off at all. Covering Cas's mouth with his own and teasing Cas's tongue is so fucking good. Dean wants to touch more and it's not like he needs the light of the flashlight anymore so he thinks, fuck it, and lets it fall to the floor. His fingers stretch free and his hand curves around Cas's neck, smoothing over the hair there. Dean tries to pull Cas closer, except there's a damn book in the way, and then there's a smashing sound that startles them apart.
Dean gasps in air because apparently he forgot to breathe when he was sucking face with Cas and in the absolute darkness he can hear that Cas is winded too.
"The fuck?" Dean says, or more like pants because kissing Cas was apparently more urgent than breathing.
"The flashlight," Cas tells him. They're still close enough that Dean can feel Cas's breath on his face and Dean's not letting go of his grip on Cas's wrist or his neck.
"I know that," Dean hisses. He can't understand it. He's pissed off but he's not. He wants to fucking hump at Cas until he comes, and he doesn't, because they're supposed to be working and this is a creepy old crypt of a library. And this is Cas.
Dean knows his eyes are wide. He can feel the stretch but it's so dark he wouldn't be able to tell if they were open or closed otherwise. "Why the fuck did I drop the flashlight?"
"I can still see," Cas assures him, and he sounds comforting. Dean wishes he could see his face, or at least his face and then Cas says, "I won't leave you here," and Dean realises he's gripping Cas's arm even more tightly than before. And that's just freaking embarrassing for a hunter.
"I didn't mean that," he tries to explain. "I didn't care about it." He shakes his head, trying to clear some of the heat and confusion, and something that feels a lot like lust. "I don't know what the hell I'm..."
He just can't say it and anyway, Cas is right there so instead Dean swears under his breath and leans forward and it's not far to Cas's lips, thank fuck.
For a moment Cas goes rigid, tries to pull his head back and away but Dean holds his head tightly, tilting it back so he can kiss along Cas's chin and it's weird, the prickle of stubble against his tongue but damn if it doesn’t make him hornier than he already was. He knows, though, how strong Cas is and if he really wanted to, really didn't want Dean licking at his neck and kissing at his ears, then he could push Dean off like he was an annoying insect.
Instead, Dean feels Cas's breath speed up and Cas lifts his chin when Dean kissed along the line of his throat like he wants more too.
But he says, "There are many things that reside in this place." He takes a breath and Dean can feel that he is trying to hold himself still but Cas shivers when Dean's fingers trail up his arm to his elbow. "I believe something is affecting you."
"Us," Dean says against Cas's skin, wanting to stop and wanting to see Cas naked and he hates that he can't decide if this lust and need and want are fake or if they were there all along.
"Us," Cas agrees. "We should stop. The book..."
Cas suddenly looks down and Dean has to move away from Cas's neck. Dean won't let go though. He won't let go of Cas's arm, his other hand slides along the collar of Cas's coat to grip at his shoulder and Dean knows he can't move far. It's like he needs Cas close or he won't be able to breathe.
Dean closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference, but he's trying. He's trying to stop himself, trying to work out what's going on. There's a heat in him that wants Cas, wants him here and now, wants to break his infuriating calm and quiet. He wants to see Cas whimper and squirm and rut and touch him, fuck Dean wants Cas to just touch him. His brain kind of gets stuck on that thought and then Dean can't remember if he's ever thought about this before. Dean can't remember if he's ever watched Cas and wanted him to take off his stupid, ugly coat so he could see the lines of that body better. Dean knows he's looked at those eyes before and liked them. He knows he's seen Cas smile and it's made him weirdly pleased. But this. But this.
And when Dean opens his eyes he still can't see anything, and it's all the excuse Dean needs to push his hand up into Cas's hair and it feels fucking awesome. He's just trying to see what Cas is doing, Dean tells himself, even as his other hand strokes down the length of Cas's forearm, then Dean reaches up to touch at Cas's face and it's an accident that his fingers find the edge of Cas's lips. It really is.
Cas is tense and warm and he's looking down -at the book, Dean supposes- and it takes all of Dean's self-control to ask, "Can you get us out of here, Cas?"
There's a long, long pause, and Dean traces the edges of Cas's cheek and combs through his hair and really doesn't give a shit what the answer is.
Then Cas says, his voice low and heavy and sounding so wasted it makes Dean even hotter, "I can, but I don't..."
He trails off and Dean thinks he hears the "want to" anyway because then Cas drops the book from his hands. There's a dull thud, the line of the book is gone from Dean's stomach and Dean can't stop himself from pushing himself up against Cas and pushing their bodies together until Cas's back hits what Dean supposes is a bookshelf. There's a noise like books falling, a dull scraping as books are pressed back and fall to the floor and Dean coughs at the dust Cas has thrown up. Then Cas's hands are gripping at his arms and Dean is so relieved he almost comes right there. And wouldn't that be just the most embarrassing thing ever.
Dean gets a leg between Cas's thighs, presses forward and up and Cas hisses and arches into the touch and it's pretty damn amazing because it's right then that Dean remembers this is an angel who not so long ago had seemed really pretty fucking terrified of even the idea of sex.
It makes Dean grin and wish he could see Cas's face.
"Tell me," Dean demands, placing his hands at Cas's waist and sliding them up along his sides, feeling the cool cotton underneath his skin. "Tell me what you want."
Cas's reply is fingers in his hair pulling him down and putting his lips on Dean's and licking at his mouth with his tongue. Which is a pretty awesome idea, Dean decides, and meets Cas's tongue with his own and shoves up harder against him. He kind of feels like a teenager, dry humping at girls in dark broom cupboards, except Cas is no girl and this is no cupboard. Dean can feel Cas hard against his leg, and his quiet, inhuman strength under layers of clothes that aren’t his own and Dean wants that. He works his hands up under his shirt and Cas's skin is so hot, nothing like what he's used to; hard where there is usually soft flesh, thickness and muscle and Dean's not sure he's ever been this hard in his entire life.
This close with his mouth on Cas's cheek Dean realises his eyes are open and he can actually see something of Cas. Dean can see Cas's eyes staring back at him, wide and bright and so old. Dean can see Cas there and he wants to see more so he presses kisses to Cas's nose and lets his hands find their way to Cas's belt and possibly for the first time ever thinks that Cas's weird staring thing isn't disconcerting at all.
Maybe, actually a little bit hot, because Dean gets to watch Cas's eyes go impossibly wider, looking glassy or something, and his breath stutters when Dean's hands brush against Cas's groin.
There's a moment when Dean can't quite believe what he's doing; what he's doing to Cas, who last time he checked was an angel, more or less male, and terrified at the very idea of sex. And Cas. And Cas pushing his hips forward like Dean just isn't giving him enough, and his thumbs stroke at the back of Dean's neck, pulling him in to pretty much fuck his mouth with his tongue in a very un-angelic but absolutely genius display of kissing technique.
"Quick learner," Dean breaths into Cas's mouth, grappling with the buttons of both of their trousers because Cas is going to get his hands on Dean's dick too if he has to shove the angel's virgin-ass hands down his pants himself.
Cas pulls away, panting, hands kneading at Dean's shoulders, "I shouldn't know this." He lets out a long breath and Dean wants his lips back, because he can't see anything again and all he has is the feel of Cas's stomach under his fingers and Cas's legs and cock against his thigh. Yeah, okay, that's pretty good, but he wants those eyes and he wants that tongue. Cas pushes at his shoulders even as he pushes himself up against Dean's hands. "I don't know this, Dean."
Whatever that's supposed to mean.
"Cas," he says, or maybe groans, leaning towards where he guesses Cas's face must be. His chin hits Cas's cheek and Dean rubs against Cas's stubble, for the feel and the proximity, his lips brushing lightly down to Cas's ear. "Cas," he says again, rocking himself up against Cas's body. "Help me out here, man."
In case Cas is in any doubt what he wants, Dean slides the material of Cas's trousers and underwear down so he get his hands on his cock, wrapping his hands around it, grinding his own against Cas's hip.
At the first touch Cas hisses in a way that doesn't sound entirely human, let alone English, and yeah, fast learner, because then Cas is thrusting his hands into Dean's underwear and grabs hold of Dean like he's a fucking broom or something.
Not that Dean really gives a shit because hands are hands and Cas has gone back to sucking his face off and doing dirty, dirty things with that tongue of his.
They're a mess of arms and hands and it's pretty much impossible to get up a good rhythm with legs and fists in the way but Dean is so hot, and all he wants is more, his balls tight and there's that familiar, unfamiliar burn and chill running down his back, down his calves, pooling in his toes. Cas is really giving it all he's got and Dean's pretty much loving how he did that. How he made an angel lose it; made him hump and rut like a human, pressing against Dean, kissing him like his life depends on it. Dean can hear Castiel panting, can feel the heat and sweat on his skin and wishes, really wishes he could see Cas like this.
"Stop," Cas is saying, sighing, copying Dean's movements, learning things angels aren’t supposed to. He says, "Dean," like Dean should be able to let him go now, should know how.
Suddenly Dean remembers the flashlight and realises he doesn’t know what he's doing. Cas is hissing like he's in pain and his body feels taut like it's trying to resist something. Dean remembers that he should want to stop this. He doesn't know the consequences for Cas, didn't even care, and that thought scares him more than his hands on another man (sort of)'s cock. More than the way he wants to fuck Cas, and kiss him, and not let him go.
But the heat is so fucking good and all Dean wants is to come.
The thought that Cas doesn't want this though makes Dean's hand lose its rhythm, makes the lust lose its urgency. He turns his head away to try and breathe and feels Cas do the same, the movements of Cas's hands stuttering on Dean's dick. It's almost enough to push Cas even harder against the shelves and just hump against him but then Cas says with relief and urgency in his voice, "It's a demon." And, well, if that isn’t an instant libido-killer then Dean doesn’t know what is.
"Trying to get us to fuck each other to death?" Dean grits out. He feels Cas huff what might be a laugh and Dean turns his head back to slide lips against Cas's cheek -so he can talk to him better- Dean tells himself. Dean feels himself smile when Cas turns into the touch.
His breath is warm against Dean's ear. "In a way."
Their hands are still then and Dean can feel Cas trying to pull his fingers from Dean's cock. They're both still so freaking hard and Dean has to use every tiny last shred of self-control he has not to push into Cas's hands again. Cas's twitching fingers are not helping.
"Trying to deter us," Cas whispers.
Dean grits his teeth, manages to pull his hands away. As far away as Cas's hips, anyway. "Succeeding," Dean pretty much groans because it's just not fair as Cas's fingers finally, finally pry themselves off Dean.
"I dropped the book," Cas agrees. He's almost breathless. His hands splay against Dean's chest, fist in his shirt.
Dean wants so bad to go back to the kissing and the jerking off that it hurts, and it's not like Cas is pushing him away or smiting his ass like Dean knows he can. But this isn't them and there's a demon and Dean wants this over.
"You know where the demon is?" Dean asks because he can't see shit and he can't actually concentrate on much more than not trying to hump Cas into next week and the feel of Cas's prickly chin against his cheek, his warm breath against Dean's skin.
"If I," Cas starts, pauses, turns his head so Dean gets a face full of hair. Then, "Concentrate," he finishes, so quietly Dean wonders if Cas said it in his head.
Suddenly, Cas is hugging Dean close, arms around his neck and for a second Dean thinks they're going to get back to the fun. But then he's whispering urgently in Dean's ear and Dean has to try very very hard not to be desperately disappointed and bitter.
"I'm going to destroy it," Cas says, and he sounds pissed. His fingers are pressed tightly against the muscles of Dean's shoulders. "Dean, you must not move," he says anxiously.
"I can't fucking see, Cas," Dean thinks he should remind Cas and if he clutches at Cas's hips it's not at all because he's afraid of being left alone in the pitch black, creepy-ass library. "I'm not going anywhere."
He feels Cas's nod but then neither of them move and Dean doesn't know what possesses him -except maybe a demon- but if this is going to be his last chance then fuck it, so he slides his hands around Cas's waist, under his shirt and over soft, hot skin, and pushes his lips against Cas's. It's pretty awesome because Cas kisses back, sighing and leaning into him like he wanted this all along. Cas's fingers tighten for a moment on Dean's collarbone and then he is just gone. Dean falls forward into the empty space where Cas used to be, where Cas should fucking be, Dean thinks, and winds up banging against the edges of the bookshelves. He grasps hold, feeling his eyes are open but not seeing a damn thing and suddenly he's cold and hot all over like he's got a fever and he wants to curse and hate the fucking world.
There's screeching then somewhere to his right that makes Dean's teeth ache and Dean's pretty sure Cas wouldn't make a sound like that so he supposes that's a good sign. Even so, he feels useless, just hanging onto a mouldy old bookcase because there's nothing else he can do, and it pisses him off.
Then there's a flare of light that burns across Dean's vision and it hurts for a moment, Dean shielding his eyes with his arm. When the sting subsides, Dean looks up and finally he can see something, except he kind of wishes he couldn't.
It's impossible to tell how far away but somewhere there's fire. Dean can smell burning paper, can see the red glow creeping across the ceiling, and it can't be far because he can feel the heat on his face. And shit but his pants are still undone and he does them up hastily, trying not to think about what he'd been doing with Cas.
Dean's pretty sure the Demon's influence is gone though because he doesn't feel as though he needs to fuck or die. And if he kind of wants Cas to come back right now it's because he's worried about the idiot getting into fights under the influence of Demon fairy dust, or whatever it was.
Dean hears hissing and spitting and can't work out if it's the demon or damp leather burning. There's smoke and ash that's starting to make Dean's throat itch and scuffling sounds that must be Cas fighting the demon then there's an almighty creaking, crashing, fire flaring up and ash and dust thrown up into the close air of the library and Dean knows a stack has gone over.
His eyes are starting to water from the heat and the smoke and Dean thinks, fuck it, he's not just going to wait around for Cas to save him. He's not going to leave Cas to some crazy perverted demon either. And Dean is definitely not going to think about what just happened either. Nor is he going to think about how he still wants that. This is neither the time nor the place and Cas is his friend. He is going to find that demon son of a bitch and kill it for making him suck Cas’s face. Which he is not thinking about. It's just that for all the idiot might be an angel, from what Dean's seen he can be a piss poor fighter at times.
There are really ominous creaking sounds now like the whole place is going to collapse and Dean doesn't think Cas and the demon are helping with that; he hears a body slamming into something which Dean supposes must be a stack, then the sound of wood cracking and breaking and heavy books thudding to the ground. The fire flares brighter and Dean hopes that wasn't Cas.
Whatever it was, Dean quickly part-feels his way along the row Cas left him in towards the sounds of the fight. He draws out his knife and brings his sleeve up to his mouth because the air is getting uncomfortably thick and his eyes are starting to prickle uncomfortably.
The shadows cast from the fire onto the stacks and the ceiling and the floor make it kind of difficult to tell exactly where the fight is but Dean's got a lifetime of experience hunting things so he follows his instincts, hurrying past shelves and shelves, fire growing hotter and sound louder.
He hears a crack like bone and flinches because he's close enough to hear someone cry out, and there's only one thing other than him that's human-like enough to make a sound like that. Dean breaks into a run coughing and rubbing smoke out of his eyes because he is not going to let some bitch demons kill Cas down here. Or anywhere.
Really, he should wonder what the hell he thinks he's going to be able to do if the demon bitches are kicking Cas's ass but fighting monsters way more powerful than him seems to be pretty much standard operating procedure these days.
There's a scream, which Dean is relieved to hear sounds a lot more like a demon, followed by more crashing. Dean watches as the stack in front of him collapses, books tumbling, slamming into each other, engulfed in flames and a grey and red creature flailing about at the centre of the mess.
Rounding the corner, Dean sees Cas lunge at the creature, ignoring the flames like they're nothing but Dean can see his clothes are singed and his face is covered in black soot.
The creature hisses and claws at Cas as he presses fingers to its forehead. The demon writhes, scratching desperately at Cas's arms before gurgling and falling still.
Cas looks up, half-closed eyes frowning when he spots Dean, who waves back amiably and is about to ask what the fuck that thing was when there's a screeching howl and another creature is hurling itself towards Cas.
Running towards Castiel like that, bathed in the yellow and red light of the flames the creature really does look like something straight out of one of those old paintings of hell; wrinkly black skin like heavy tar, creepy red eyes deep set in round, dead-looking sockets. Its limbs are long, bony, with arching claws that clasp out towards Cas. Its teeth are the grossest thing Dean has ever seen, so yellow they're orange, chipped and set deep in slimy-looking black gums.
Dean knows that Cas won't be able to turn around in time. He's only just standing up straight, moving to turn, and the demon thing looks so pleased with itself that all Dean wants is to wipe that smugness and glee off its ugly face. He doesn't even think really, just reacts, lobs the knife at the thing and he's so damn angry. No way something as twisted as that should ever get anywhere near Cas. And the little shit had the nerve to make him molest an angel. If he wasn't already going back to hell Dean's pretty sure he is now, but it's satisfying to watch the demon stumble back as the knife slices into its chest and make a sort of startled gargling noise that sounds like pain and surprise. It reaches up for the knife with sharp, angled arms as something like electricity crackles through its body, tries to take a step forward but its legs give out and it falls forward and Dean is so pleased he thinks he even smiles.
Then Cas says, "There are more of them," sounding unbalanced and breathless. He's staring at Dean with that slightly annoyed frown but he doesn't say anything else. That might have pissed Dean off any other day because hello, he just saved the bastard's life but then he really looks at Cas and Cas does not look all that healthy.
There's blood on his face, his lips -crap, not thinking about lips- and staining the collar of his shirt. He's hunched over, holding his left arm awkwardly away from his body like it's broken. Dean remembers the sound he heard, like bone snapping, and really hopes it wasn't that.
"Let's get out of here then," Dean says, or more wheezes because, shit, the air is really thin and nasty. He won't be able to survive long in this and Cas doesn't look up to fighting any more demons today so a tactical retreat seems the way to go.
He reclaims the knife, grimacing as the blade slides out of the demon covered in thick, black gooey blood, and he sure as hell isn't putting that back in his jeans so he shoves it down into his boots before moving to take Cas's more normal-looking arm. The idiot isn't to be moving at all. More like, looking around dazedly as though he's forgotten where he is and it makes Dean want to ask if he's okay, even though clearly there's something not right here. All the more reason to get out and away and then never ever think about what exactly happened against that bookshelf ever again.
Fuck, but it's hot and smothering and if they don't get out of this tomb of a library soon they're both going to end up burnt to crispy wholesomeness.
Even distracted though and not at his best Cas is strong and stands his ground, immovable when Dean tugs at his wrist, trying to touch skin as little as possible.
Which is really fucking annoying when Cas says, "We have to go back for the book," and it's only the memory of nearly breaking his fist on Cas's face that stops Dean from punching him.
"The hell?" Dean is incredulous, and pissed. . "Today's lesson, Cas: Life is more important than books."
"That book could save this world," Cas argues. "We must go back." Which, okay, is a pretty good argument but it's not like the book is going to be of any use to them if they're dead.
"You said we shouldn't take it out of here, anyway," Dean throws back.
Cas pauses, thinking. "We shouldn't, but..." He frowns. "It's an opportunity I can't ignore."
Dean wonders at just what shit that book's got in it at the conflicted look on Cas's face.
It's not like he knows which way to go to get back to it anyway.
Cas seems to though, nodding to his right then moving off quickly as though he's come to a decision, which Dean supposes is good enough for him.
Dean keeps hold of Cas's wrist because his eyes are streaming so bad in the smoke he's half blind and he's coughing like a bitch.
He feels it then, past the heat and the heavy air; that prickly feeling of wrongness that you always get with demons. Or maybe it's the smell of hell fire and sulphur even stronger than burning leather and paper and old wood. Dean knows Cas feels it too because he draws Dean closer, speeding up and it's all Dean can do to breathe and not fall over his own feet.
They round a corner. They're moving away from the fire and Dean is glad for that but it's spreading rapidly and there's hot ash everywhere, filling Dean's nose and making his throat hurt.
It almost startles Dean when Cas actually coughs too and he's about to ask what the hell that's about but then there's the invasive, uncomfortable presence of demons so close Dean thinks he can taste it and two of them crawl their way over the stack to their right like some of those creepy ghosts out of a Japanese horror movie. They're the same creatures Dean saw before, with their emaciated black limbs and hollow eyes and Dean's pretty sure they're going to be featuring in his nightmares if he gets out of here alive.
One launches itself at Cas, knocking him to the floor with a smack, his wrist torn from Dean's grip. He actually cries out in what sounds like pain and Dean wants to rip the fucking demon to pieces with his bare hands for that and he really would have tried but the other demon is suddenly in his face and Dean didn't even see it move.
Gagging as the smell of rotting and putridity hits him, Dean feels his flesh burn even through his jacket when the demon grips at his arm with bony, long fingers. He tries backhanding it, which seems to throw it off at least, but his own hand comes away hot and itchy like it's been scalded. Which, Dean thinks, is clearly unfair.
The fires are getting uncomfortably close again and the demon is snarling at him and snapping at his face with those long, really unhygienic-looking nails again. Dean looks around desperately for anything he can use to defend himself with because he sure as fuck can't get to the knife in his boot and why the hell did he ever think that was a great place to stash it? He can't take his eyes off his thing, can barely keep out of its snap-happy range, and all he comes up with is one of the big ass books from the bottom shelf of a still mostly standing stack. And, well, it's better than nothing so he hefts it up and shit but it's heavy.
The thing lunges suddenly and Dean uses the book to bat away its claws, feels smug when the demon recoils.
"Broke a nail?" Dean just can't stop himself from taunting, which he really shouldn't have because the demon looks really pissed now and comes at him again.
Dean swings the book as hard as he can, upsides the demon on the side of the head. He's pretty damn shocked when it screams and is knocked a really long way away. Dean looks at the book, looks back at the demon and it's not moving.
He says, "Huh," and really wishes the book wasn't so enormous or he'd take it everywhere with him if it did that to all demons.
Then Cas is shouting Dean's name, half lunging and half falling towards him and as soon as he's near enough, grabs the book one-handed from Dean's hold and turns, actually throwing it at the demon he was fighting.
It's ridiculous, the way the scary murderous demon howls like they've just ripped out its guts when the book hits it full in the chest and the creature is sent hurtling to the floor. It doesn't get up again.
"The hell is that book?" Dean asks, incredulous. Dean moves to retrieve it, because it's not like he's got anything else to defend himself with and he can hear a scratching, shuffling sound behind them that really does not sound good at all. It's probably too big, and too heavy, and it's laying on top of an ugly, shrivelled demonic being so Dean snatches it as quickly as he can and retreats back to stand beside Cas.
Cas says, "A bible," which makes Dean laugh.
"You serious?" Looking at the book it doesn't look like much at all. Dean can't even see a title anywhere and its brown leather bindings are frayed and scratched. Though, the scratches might have been from the demons.
"I am," Cas affirms, then adds, "We must hurry."
Dean nods in agreement. He's sweating heavily and breathing is taking real effort and Dean can see that there are fires breaking out all over the place as hot ash sparks the aged paper to burn. The fires cast weird patches of red shadow on the ceiling that Dean can see now is curved brickwork.
He turns to Cas, thinking to ask if he can't just mojo them out of the library, Cas's precious world-saving books be damned because he really doesn't want to be burnt alive but he pauses when he sees Cas. Gingerly holding his arm, Cas's shoulders are hunched over and he's grimacing, looking confused too like he's not quite sure what's going on. Dean can just about make out bruises on his face and there's blood still seeping from cuts along his brow and cheek.
"Why aren't you healing?" Dean asks, or more like demands because this is a complication they really do not need right now.
Cas looks up at him so miserably then that Dean moves closer, putting his free hand on Cas's shoulder lightly. As soon as he's done it he feels weird because this close Dean can't stop remembering what it's like to have his mouth on Cas's neck and his hands down his pants. Christ. Fuck. He knows. He knows it was some weird demon influence and it's not like Cas is making a big deal out of it. He neither moves away nor leans into Dean's touch, just stands there concentrating on his arm as though he's really really trying to fix it. Which Dean supposes he is. Looking at Cas's arm, it really does look horribly bent out of shape, even through the layers of his jacket and coat. There are more important things to think about right now, Dean decides, and he'll worry about the fact that he still kind of wants and he doesn't want to let go of Cas later.
Cas just says, "There is something here that is... making it difficult."
Dean frowns. "So you can't just get us out of here."
Cas takes a breath, as though he's steeling himself for something, shakes his head then turns away sharply. "We must get that book."
Pulling away from Dean, Cas weaves his way through the fallen stacks, giving the demons a sour look as he passes and Dean follows. Moving is better than staying still he supposes and they are at least heading away from the fires and that scuffling and scratching that Dean imagines is more nasty beastie things.
"It will be impossible to leave the way we came in any case," Cas says, nodding in some general direction to his left. There's fire there too. Cas hesitates before admitting, "There's another way out of here we can take."
And if there is apprehension in his voice then Dean chooses to ignore it.
***
| Part 2 >>
Comments and concrit welcome and appreciated as always!
I've been living with this fic for months, and whilst I'm ignoring the fact that there are still two more parts to edit, to have something of it finished is very satisfying. Satisfying like Crunchie. Oh yes.
So, for my flist, I present epic Supernatural fic of the Dean/Cas variety.
Title: A Vague Memory of Wisdom (1/4)
Rating: R probably
Word Count: This part 9,328
Summary: Dean/Castiel. H/C. A library, demons, and fire.
Warnings: Some demons-made-them-do-it. Set between 5x3 and 5x4, I think. This fic is less esoteric than the name suggests. But, and some of you would agree, thankfully a lot more porny.
Notes: This started as a PWP that got out of control. Complete at around 33K but in the throes of editing. Thanks to my dearest bad son, ontogenesis for her immensely hard work waging war against commas and Britishisms and of course to cienna for the regular beatings, coercion and bribary. All remaining mistakes my own. Hope you like the finished product!
.A Vague Memory of Wisdom.
1. The Library of a Son Who Collected His Father’s Works
It's dark and crypt-like and spooky and all Dean can think of are cheap black-and-white horror movies and the very real possibility of getting buried alive down here.
Cas doesn’t seem to notice the atmosphere at all.
"I have heard," he says, and Dean wants to shush him because he's too loud in the narrow space and his voice echoes off the low, curved ceiling. "That there are books here that are to be found nowhere else on Earth."
In the dim light from his flashlight Dean can see Cas is trailing his hands along one of the shelves, head titled down and eyes scanning over the lines of books like he's reading the titles that Dean can't even begin to make out.
Dean follows him around the end of one stack and past two more before Cas stops, looks around then strides up along an aisle, nodding to himself like he knows where they're going. He's taking them deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of books and Dean is kind of worried he won't be able to find his way out anymore. There's no indication on the stack ends, no numbers or letters like in a normal library to let you know what's stored there that Dean can see and he's been in enough to know.
He can't even see the light from the entrance they came in through anymore either and Cas just keeps leading them further and further in, sometimes running his fingers along the spines, sometimes along the blackened wood shelves themselves. It smells musty and rotten and Dean's a bit afraid the shelves will just disintegrate at his touch and the books will just turn to a mess of wet, bug-eaten ancient paper mush. Dean's certainly not going to touch anything.
"You know what book we're looking for?" Dean asks. He keeps his voice low wondering if just breathing on the shelves too much will break them. And he kind of feels like there are things down here that shouldn’t be disturbed, which is ridiculous because he's a hunter and anything that's lingering down here he should definitely be able to get rid of.
Cas looks back at him, his hand still resting against the shelf and his eyes look weirdly shiny and empty in the glare from the flashlight. Dean can just about make out a frown.
"No. But we'll find it, if it is here," he says, still not bothering to lower his voice at all.
"Y'know that doesn't actually make sense, right?" Dean whispers pointedly, and Dean can just tell Cas thinks he's an idiot because he almost-smiles, and his frown deepens, and he looks away and tells him,
"Whatever creatures exist in this place will already be aware of our presence, Dean. Whispering is pointless."
"I don't like to hear myself five times over from the echo, thanks," Dean replies, which is sort of true. Though how you get echoes in a place so packed with rows upon rows of smelly old books is beyond him. Also, "And exactly what lives down here? You never mentioned anything about anything living down here."
He sees Cas shift, reach his hand to run along the opposite shelf, and Dean absolutely fucking hates it when Cas doesn't bother to tell him shit like this.
"They are of no concern," is all he says, in his loud I'm-an-angel-and-therefore-indestructible tone.
"They are to me," Dean grinds out prissily. Cas just shakes his head a bit and picks up the pace and they walk and walk and all the time all Dean can hear is the sound of their shoes against the stone floor and his own breathing, heavy with the movement and the mustiness, and the slip and slide of the material of Cas's coat and the soft shushing of Cas's fingers running through thick dust.
The deeper in they go the hotter it seems to get, which is weird because he remembers it being really cold when they first arrived, entering through a steep, worn staircase made of thick heavy stone that had felt a little claustrophobic and a lot like it was about to collapse in on itself. But now it's so hot, and kind of dry, enough that Dean is starting to think about taking his jacket off when Cas stops abruptly.
Dean tenses automatically, thinking that maybe Cas has sensed something dangerous nearby and how much he is going to give Cas shit for not warning him about crap like this beforehand later on but all Cas does is turn fully to his left and reaches out both hands to lie flat against the rows of books in front of him.
"What is it?" Dean asks, quietly, just to be sure, his hand wrapping around his gun, eyes scanning what he can in the poor light. There are no windows and there's nothing to see by other than his flashlight and there's really not that much air Dean notices.
For a moment Cas holds completely still, doesn't even seem to be breathing, before he's mumbling something under his breath and slowly he bends his knees and his hands fall to the next shelf down. Then Cas bends further and Dean hears his knees hit the stone hard, not that he seems to notice. His hands follow, past the shelf to the tall books on the lowest level. In the flashlight Dean can see the dust Cas has disturbed with all this movement, swirling and twisting, and it's weird because it doesn’t actually seem to actually touch Cas anywhere unlike the way Dean can see it falling against his own hand and arm.
"What?" Dean asks again.
He wants to move the flashlight away, look up and down the aisle, and above and through the books -just to make sure- because he can't see anything beyond this pool of light, and it's not like Cas needs it. It's obvious he can see even in this dark, which should be reassuring but is actually more unnerving.
Yet, he doesn't want to not be able to see Cas. Doesn't want to take his eyes off his stupid hair and his stupid coat like he might just disappear, which Dean consoles himself with knowing is a pretty well-founded concern. Cas's eyes are closed and there is concentration on his face. Cas shifts in a way that makes Dean think might just be excitement and Dean wonders at why he would think that. Cas never seems to get excited about anything at all. It's then that Dean thinks of Sam and how he would cream his pants just seeing this place. Sam would be asking questions and being annoying and Dean finds himself wishing Sam was there with them.
Dean almost misses it when Cas turns to look at him, a glance, before he turns away.
"This is it," he says, bending forward slowly and both hands coming to rest on one book.
It's tall and slim, heavy brown leather bound and as Cas draws it out Dean thinks that the edges of the paper might once have been gold except now they're blackened and thick with dust.
Cas is careful. Too careful, like the book might bite him, and he's back to mumbling under his breath. Dean wants to ask if he's praying except he's already pretty certain that Cas is and there's something wrong, something that makes him feel empty in his stomach and on edge. The sound of the book's leather against the crumbling wood of the shelf and the sides of its neighbours is too much like a groan or a door creaking open and it's so loud. Cas's shoulders tense like he's straining and fuck, Dean thinks, the book is probably cursed six ways from Sunday and he really, really wants Cas to stop. Except what he does is shift the flashlight to his other hand, holds the light higher, as though it'll help, and puts his hand on Cas's shoulder.
Under his coat Dean can feel the seams of his jacket and below that human muscles taut, pulling, and if this is hard work for an angel then Dean really doesn't want to think what kind of heavy shit has been laid on this book.
"It doesn't want to leave," Cas says, sounding frustrated and a little bit pissed off.
He's glaring at the book and Dean can't help but suggest, "Maybe you should ask it nicely?"
Cas huffs what Dean thinks is a laugh and he can feel the movement under his hand, warm and light in the fear and dark and Dean is glad that he didn't have to come alone.
"Some books," Cas tells him, changing his grip on the book, fingers almost stroking at the leather. He tries pulling on it again and there's another groan and creak and Dean is relieved when Cas carries on speaking, sounding as though this is all perfectly normal, like he might talk about the weather. "Some books," he says again, "That are ancient and filled with knowledge that should never have been written down become stubborn and proud."
"Cas," Dean says, disbelievingly. "You do realise you're talking about bits of old paper? You saying that's got a personality?" He waves the flashlight at it and in the better light Dean sees that Cas's fingers have turned white from grasping so forcefully.
"It is an idea," is all Cas says, like that explains anything at all. Dean wonders if Cas even understands the concept of a straight answer, but he feels oddly amused more than annoyed.
"Move over," he says, straightening up and balancing the flashlight on the low shelf to point towards the book. He shoves at Cas's shoulder so there's room for him to get his hands on the book too.
"You're taking forever," he explains. Cas is looking at him with a half-expression that looks almost amused. "Yeah, yeah," Dean agrees, "Puny human." He shrugs. "But you never know."
Cas nods once, shuffles over on his knees and Dean feels tingling, like static, almost scalding heat, unnatural smoothness when he touches the book. He's fairly positive though that Cas would never have let him help if it had been dangerous to him, so Dean grips tightly, pulls when he feels Cas beside him tense and strain. It's then that Dean realises just how damn close they are. Out the corner of his eye, Cas looks pale, washed out in the shadows cast by the flashlight. He's not sweating like Dean knows he is, even though Dean can feel how warm his body is where their shoulders are pressed together, where their legs meet. It's kind of cosy.
It's just to get this stupid book out, Dean tells himself. It's just practical, and Dean can feel now how much the book is resisting, the stupid fucking thing.
"Move you piece of shit book," Dean growls. Cas rises up on his knees a bit higher, shakes his head.
"Bullying it won't work, Dean," Cas says, sounding amused again. Dean thinks he likes it when Cas sounds like that. Like maybe he's got some feelings after all and he's not just pretending or emotionally retarded or just doesn't actually care.
"Hey," Dean argues, "You're the one who said it was alive." He scowls at the book. "Maybe we could threaten it; 'We're gonna burn you if you don't cut it out, you little bitch', or something."
"We need it more than it needs physical form," Cas tells him seriously, to which all Dean can do is roll his eyes because seriously, what the hell?
"You're insane," Dean says, because no freaking book is gonna get the better of Dean Winchester. He decides, "Right. On three we'll yank it together. And it'd better come out or I swear I will start kicking this bookshelf down to get to it."
Cas is sort-of smiling as he nods and agrees, then Dean counts up to three and pulls as hard as he can and beside him Cas pushes back on his knees, lending his weight to the effort and after a second, suddenly, the book comes free and they both fall back hard against the shelving behind them.
They've thrown up a tonne of dust in the effort and it makes Dean cough and damn the air tastes like crap. He blinks crap out of his eyes and sits there for a moment staring at the bastard book and if Dean didn't think it would make him sound crazy, he could've sworn the book did that on purpose.
Then he feels movement against his side and realises he's half sprawled on top of Cas and both of them are still gripping the book tightly, like it might run away at any moment.
"Sorry," Dean says, releasing his hold on the book and extracting himself from Castiel. He heaves himself to his feet, dust clinging to his clothes and his skin. When he turns to Castiel the angel is frowning and looking a bit dazed.
"Hey," Dean says. He leans forward, offering Cas a hand up. "Didn't squash you too bad, did I?"
Cas blinks before turning to look at Dean, his eyes going wide and sort of glassy looking. It's just the light, Dean tells himself.
"No," Cas says, but he doesn't sound that convinced. "It's not that."
He looks down at the book he's still grasping tightly, shakes his head then looks back up at Dean.
Dean wiggles his fingers. "Come on."
Cas looks at his hand curiously and Dean sees that it's kind of dirty and covered in god knows what and Dean has the sudden urge to wipe his hands on his jeans to clean them. Which is ridiculous. Cas takes his hand anyway though, letting Dean haul his not-very-heavy ass off the ground and then they're standing so close they're almost chest-to-chest and Dean knows he should back away, except he doesn't want to.
This is different, Dean thinks, from all the times Cas has invaded his space before. Dean doesn't want Cas to move away so he just stays where he is, looking at Cas's eyes up-close. Looking at those really, painfully dry looking lips. Cas's skin is so clean even though Dean knows it should be covered in dust and sweat.
It's hot.
Cas starts to say, "We should," and Dean watches his mouth form the words and is kind of disappointed when Cas stops talking, his lips pressing together, mouth turned unhappily down.
He backs away then, slowly, and Dean almost follows, liking the proximity. But as soon as Cas isn't there anymore, up in his face, Dean wonders why the hell he thought that.
They weren't arguing, and it's not like he had any good reason to get so close to Cas. To stay so close to him.
"Dean," Cas says, sounding like he's trying to get his attention, which is weird because it's not like he needs to. It's not like there's anything else interesting to look at what with the being in a freaking library. "Dean," Cas says again, louder this time, and holds up the book between them.
Dean knew he hated that book.
He glares at it, suspicious, wondering if it's secretly evil, a follower of Lucifer, and is going to attack them any second.
"Bring over your flashlight," Cas says, tilting his head towards the bookshelf it's still balanced on.
"You don't need it," Dean shrugs, not really wanting to get any further away from Cas, who frowns and shifts his shoulders, standing up taller.
"No, but bring it anyway."
Which is definitely weird but Dean supposes Cas must have his reasons. He just doesn't feel like moving.
"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," Cas says, like he just read Dean's mind. Which he probably did, but whatever.
Dean's starting to think something is wrong here. He can't remember ever being afraid to take a couple of steps away from anyone before, let alone Cas.
There's something in Cas's eyes too, concern or doubt, as he watches Dean turn a little to the side, walk over to retrieve the flashlight and then walk back again. Dean can feel it; his gaze on him. Something uncertain. It's kind of twisted, Dean thinks, but he likes it.
He likes it even more when he's back at Cas's side.
Cas narrows his eyes at Dean for a moment before looking behind him into the pitch black just inches away and Dean wonders what he can see back there. Then he looks down at the book.
"I don't think we should take this from here," he says. He's looking at the cover, at the embossed symbols, running his thumb over them slowly, thoughtfully. Dean thinks he looks sad.
"Why not?" Dean asks, angling the flashlight down towards the book to get a better look. He frowns. "Those look kind of familiar."
"It is our language -the language of the angels," Cas tells him. "This shouldn't be here." He looks up at Dean again. "I should not read this. It is forbidden."
Dean scoffs. "Bit late for that now."
He kind of wishes he'd kept his mouth shut then because Cas looks for a second like that actually hurt and he draws away, face carefully blank.
"I suppose you're right," he says. Dean watches as Cas balances the book on his arm and carefully pulls open the cover and pages his way quickly through it, apparently knowing precisely what he's looking for and where to find it. For some kind of massive angel secret, Dean thinks, it really doesn't seem to be all that unfamiliar to Castiel.
"So we have to stay down here?" Dean can see gold letters, vivid blues and reds, as pages are turned. The paper looks crisp and new and Dean thinks that's the creepiest thing he's seen so far.
"I won't risk taking this out into the world," Cas says without looking up, his eyes scanning quickly.
Dean follows Cas's fingers, the pull of tendons in Cas's hands, and thinks they're pretty cool to watch.
"Then what's it doing here?" Dean asks. "If it's so dangerous." Not that the library seems to be in danger of getting raided anytime soon. No human knows it's here anymore, Cas told him, and the entrance was sealed with layers of demon traps and something that looked a lot like concrete. No one has stood here in centuries, Dean thinks, Dean knows. No one will ever find them here.
The thought makes his shift closer to Cas.
"There was a man," Cas begins, then stops abruptly. The book falls open in his hands and Cas just stares.
"This is," Castiel says, and Dean puts a hand on Cas's shoulder to bring him closer to see for himself, but all he can discern are rows of meticulously drawn symbols in black ink and a couple of weird diagrams made up of lots of straight lines. This close, he notices that Cas smells kind of nice. Not sweaty at all. Dean really wants to shrug off his jacket.
"They're like the symbols you carved into us," Dean realises.
Cas turns his body slightly towards him. "They are of the same language," he affirms.
Dean nods. "Your language."
He swaps the hand his flashlight is in so it's at Cas's shoulder. With his free hand Dean reaches to touch the page and finds himself tracing the patterns with a finger.
The writing is cool to the touch and he thinks he can hear sound and breath as his skin passes over lines and curves and Dean is a bit freaked out that he's not afraid.
"It's awesome," he says, fingers following the straight line of what looks like a k.
Cas doesn’t say anything but Dean can feel warm breath against his cheek where Cas has turned his head to look at him. Dean thinks, if he just turned his head now they would be close enough to kiss.
Which is a new thought (though it isn't) and so suddenly appearing in his mind from nowhere (except not) that then it's all Dean can think about.
His hands follow the curve of the symbol down and he wants to look at Cas and he wants to touch more than just Cas's side as they stand close. Dean wants to feel more than just the material of Cas's jacket under his hand.
This, Dean thinks, must be some kind of screwed up angel thing, because he can't ever remember wanting to get his hands up Cas's shirt and his mouth on Cas's skin before. He can't actually remember ever wanting to fuck somebody quite as much as he does Cas right now - angel of the Lord in a man's body or not - and that's really saying something where Dean is concerned.
He can smell Cas, and he likes it, even though he knows there is a shit load of ancient not-pleasant-fragranced dust up his nose, but all he can smell is Cas; clean like rain, sweet like grass. Also, he shouldn't care.
"What is this, Cas?"
Fuck he wants to turn his head, but this isn't right. Something isn't right.
Instead, he watches his own hand as it follows patterns down the page to the warm skin of Cas's wrist where he's holding the book and Dean can feel Cas's borrowed pulse.
Cas shifts beside him, his shoulder pressing closer. Dean imagines that Cas tilts his head, frowning. The silence lengthens so that all Dean can hear is the whispering, quiet in his ears, blood pounding through his head because he's hot, and the slide of his own fingers pushing further up Cas's wrists, under his coat and his jacket and his shirt.
"There are so many," Cas starts to say, but Dean can feel every puff of air as he can see Cas's lips moving at the edge of his vision and just can't bear it, can't stop it, has to turn and taste them.
Cas just stands stock still for a moment but his lips are soft and dry and warm and Dean doesn't really care. He licks, and presses closer and finally Cas opens his mouth and Dean feels like he's just won the fucking universe.
He spreads fingers around Cas's wrist, pushes his hand up under his sleeves and Dean can feel hair and Cas's skin is not as smooth as he thought it would be.
Because he's a dude, Dean reminds himself, but the thought doesn't put him off at all. Covering Cas's mouth with his own and teasing Cas's tongue is so fucking good. Dean wants to touch more and it's not like he needs the light of the flashlight anymore so he thinks, fuck it, and lets it fall to the floor. His fingers stretch free and his hand curves around Cas's neck, smoothing over the hair there. Dean tries to pull Cas closer, except there's a damn book in the way, and then there's a smashing sound that startles them apart.
Dean gasps in air because apparently he forgot to breathe when he was sucking face with Cas and in the absolute darkness he can hear that Cas is winded too.
"The fuck?" Dean says, or more like pants because kissing Cas was apparently more urgent than breathing.
"The flashlight," Cas tells him. They're still close enough that Dean can feel Cas's breath on his face and Dean's not letting go of his grip on Cas's wrist or his neck.
"I know that," Dean hisses. He can't understand it. He's pissed off but he's not. He wants to fucking hump at Cas until he comes, and he doesn't, because they're supposed to be working and this is a creepy old crypt of a library. And this is Cas.
Dean knows his eyes are wide. He can feel the stretch but it's so dark he wouldn't be able to tell if they were open or closed otherwise. "Why the fuck did I drop the flashlight?"
"I can still see," Cas assures him, and he sounds comforting. Dean wishes he could see his face, or at least his face and then Cas says, "I won't leave you here," and Dean realises he's gripping Cas's arm even more tightly than before. And that's just freaking embarrassing for a hunter.
"I didn't mean that," he tries to explain. "I didn't care about it." He shakes his head, trying to clear some of the heat and confusion, and something that feels a lot like lust. "I don't know what the hell I'm..."
He just can't say it and anyway, Cas is right there so instead Dean swears under his breath and leans forward and it's not far to Cas's lips, thank fuck.
For a moment Cas goes rigid, tries to pull his head back and away but Dean holds his head tightly, tilting it back so he can kiss along Cas's chin and it's weird, the prickle of stubble against his tongue but damn if it doesn’t make him hornier than he already was. He knows, though, how strong Cas is and if he really wanted to, really didn't want Dean licking at his neck and kissing at his ears, then he could push Dean off like he was an annoying insect.
Instead, Dean feels Cas's breath speed up and Cas lifts his chin when Dean kissed along the line of his throat like he wants more too.
But he says, "There are many things that reside in this place." He takes a breath and Dean can feel that he is trying to hold himself still but Cas shivers when Dean's fingers trail up his arm to his elbow. "I believe something is affecting you."
"Us," Dean says against Cas's skin, wanting to stop and wanting to see Cas naked and he hates that he can't decide if this lust and need and want are fake or if they were there all along.
"Us," Cas agrees. "We should stop. The book..."
Cas suddenly looks down and Dean has to move away from Cas's neck. Dean won't let go though. He won't let go of Cas's arm, his other hand slides along the collar of Cas's coat to grip at his shoulder and Dean knows he can't move far. It's like he needs Cas close or he won't be able to breathe.
Dean closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference, but he's trying. He's trying to stop himself, trying to work out what's going on. There's a heat in him that wants Cas, wants him here and now, wants to break his infuriating calm and quiet. He wants to see Cas whimper and squirm and rut and touch him, fuck Dean wants Cas to just touch him. His brain kind of gets stuck on that thought and then Dean can't remember if he's ever thought about this before. Dean can't remember if he's ever watched Cas and wanted him to take off his stupid, ugly coat so he could see the lines of that body better. Dean knows he's looked at those eyes before and liked them. He knows he's seen Cas smile and it's made him weirdly pleased. But this. But this.
And when Dean opens his eyes he still can't see anything, and it's all the excuse Dean needs to push his hand up into Cas's hair and it feels fucking awesome. He's just trying to see what Cas is doing, Dean tells himself, even as his other hand strokes down the length of Cas's forearm, then Dean reaches up to touch at Cas's face and it's an accident that his fingers find the edge of Cas's lips. It really is.
Cas is tense and warm and he's looking down -at the book, Dean supposes- and it takes all of Dean's self-control to ask, "Can you get us out of here, Cas?"
There's a long, long pause, and Dean traces the edges of Cas's cheek and combs through his hair and really doesn't give a shit what the answer is.
Then Cas says, his voice low and heavy and sounding so wasted it makes Dean even hotter, "I can, but I don't..."
He trails off and Dean thinks he hears the "want to" anyway because then Cas drops the book from his hands. There's a dull thud, the line of the book is gone from Dean's stomach and Dean can't stop himself from pushing himself up against Cas and pushing their bodies together until Cas's back hits what Dean supposes is a bookshelf. There's a noise like books falling, a dull scraping as books are pressed back and fall to the floor and Dean coughs at the dust Cas has thrown up. Then Cas's hands are gripping at his arms and Dean is so relieved he almost comes right there. And wouldn't that be just the most embarrassing thing ever.
Dean gets a leg between Cas's thighs, presses forward and up and Cas hisses and arches into the touch and it's pretty damn amazing because it's right then that Dean remembers this is an angel who not so long ago had seemed really pretty fucking terrified of even the idea of sex.
It makes Dean grin and wish he could see Cas's face.
"Tell me," Dean demands, placing his hands at Cas's waist and sliding them up along his sides, feeling the cool cotton underneath his skin. "Tell me what you want."
Cas's reply is fingers in his hair pulling him down and putting his lips on Dean's and licking at his mouth with his tongue. Which is a pretty awesome idea, Dean decides, and meets Cas's tongue with his own and shoves up harder against him. He kind of feels like a teenager, dry humping at girls in dark broom cupboards, except Cas is no girl and this is no cupboard. Dean can feel Cas hard against his leg, and his quiet, inhuman strength under layers of clothes that aren’t his own and Dean wants that. He works his hands up under his shirt and Cas's skin is so hot, nothing like what he's used to; hard where there is usually soft flesh, thickness and muscle and Dean's not sure he's ever been this hard in his entire life.
This close with his mouth on Cas's cheek Dean realises his eyes are open and he can actually see something of Cas. Dean can see Cas's eyes staring back at him, wide and bright and so old. Dean can see Cas there and he wants to see more so he presses kisses to Cas's nose and lets his hands find their way to Cas's belt and possibly for the first time ever thinks that Cas's weird staring thing isn't disconcerting at all.
Maybe, actually a little bit hot, because Dean gets to watch Cas's eyes go impossibly wider, looking glassy or something, and his breath stutters when Dean's hands brush against Cas's groin.
There's a moment when Dean can't quite believe what he's doing; what he's doing to Cas, who last time he checked was an angel, more or less male, and terrified at the very idea of sex. And Cas. And Cas pushing his hips forward like Dean just isn't giving him enough, and his thumbs stroke at the back of Dean's neck, pulling him in to pretty much fuck his mouth with his tongue in a very un-angelic but absolutely genius display of kissing technique.
"Quick learner," Dean breaths into Cas's mouth, grappling with the buttons of both of their trousers because Cas is going to get his hands on Dean's dick too if he has to shove the angel's virgin-ass hands down his pants himself.
Cas pulls away, panting, hands kneading at Dean's shoulders, "I shouldn't know this." He lets out a long breath and Dean wants his lips back, because he can't see anything again and all he has is the feel of Cas's stomach under his fingers and Cas's legs and cock against his thigh. Yeah, okay, that's pretty good, but he wants those eyes and he wants that tongue. Cas pushes at his shoulders even as he pushes himself up against Dean's hands. "I don't know this, Dean."
Whatever that's supposed to mean.
"Cas," he says, or maybe groans, leaning towards where he guesses Cas's face must be. His chin hits Cas's cheek and Dean rubs against Cas's stubble, for the feel and the proximity, his lips brushing lightly down to Cas's ear. "Cas," he says again, rocking himself up against Cas's body. "Help me out here, man."
In case Cas is in any doubt what he wants, Dean slides the material of Cas's trousers and underwear down so he get his hands on his cock, wrapping his hands around it, grinding his own against Cas's hip.
At the first touch Cas hisses in a way that doesn't sound entirely human, let alone English, and yeah, fast learner, because then Cas is thrusting his hands into Dean's underwear and grabs hold of Dean like he's a fucking broom or something.
Not that Dean really gives a shit because hands are hands and Cas has gone back to sucking his face off and doing dirty, dirty things with that tongue of his.
They're a mess of arms and hands and it's pretty much impossible to get up a good rhythm with legs and fists in the way but Dean is so hot, and all he wants is more, his balls tight and there's that familiar, unfamiliar burn and chill running down his back, down his calves, pooling in his toes. Cas is really giving it all he's got and Dean's pretty much loving how he did that. How he made an angel lose it; made him hump and rut like a human, pressing against Dean, kissing him like his life depends on it. Dean can hear Castiel panting, can feel the heat and sweat on his skin and wishes, really wishes he could see Cas like this.
"Stop," Cas is saying, sighing, copying Dean's movements, learning things angels aren’t supposed to. He says, "Dean," like Dean should be able to let him go now, should know how.
Suddenly Dean remembers the flashlight and realises he doesn’t know what he's doing. Cas is hissing like he's in pain and his body feels taut like it's trying to resist something. Dean remembers that he should want to stop this. He doesn't know the consequences for Cas, didn't even care, and that thought scares him more than his hands on another man (sort of)'s cock. More than the way he wants to fuck Cas, and kiss him, and not let him go.
But the heat is so fucking good and all Dean wants is to come.
The thought that Cas doesn't want this though makes Dean's hand lose its rhythm, makes the lust lose its urgency. He turns his head away to try and breathe and feels Cas do the same, the movements of Cas's hands stuttering on Dean's dick. It's almost enough to push Cas even harder against the shelves and just hump against him but then Cas says with relief and urgency in his voice, "It's a demon." And, well, if that isn’t an instant libido-killer then Dean doesn’t know what is.
"Trying to get us to fuck each other to death?" Dean grits out. He feels Cas huff what might be a laugh and Dean turns his head back to slide lips against Cas's cheek -so he can talk to him better- Dean tells himself. Dean feels himself smile when Cas turns into the touch.
His breath is warm against Dean's ear. "In a way."
Their hands are still then and Dean can feel Cas trying to pull his fingers from Dean's cock. They're both still so freaking hard and Dean has to use every tiny last shred of self-control he has not to push into Cas's hands again. Cas's twitching fingers are not helping.
"Trying to deter us," Cas whispers.
Dean grits his teeth, manages to pull his hands away. As far away as Cas's hips, anyway. "Succeeding," Dean pretty much groans because it's just not fair as Cas's fingers finally, finally pry themselves off Dean.
"I dropped the book," Cas agrees. He's almost breathless. His hands splay against Dean's chest, fist in his shirt.
Dean wants so bad to go back to the kissing and the jerking off that it hurts, and it's not like Cas is pushing him away or smiting his ass like Dean knows he can. But this isn't them and there's a demon and Dean wants this over.
"You know where the demon is?" Dean asks because he can't see shit and he can't actually concentrate on much more than not trying to hump Cas into next week and the feel of Cas's prickly chin against his cheek, his warm breath against Dean's skin.
"If I," Cas starts, pauses, turns his head so Dean gets a face full of hair. Then, "Concentrate," he finishes, so quietly Dean wonders if Cas said it in his head.
Suddenly, Cas is hugging Dean close, arms around his neck and for a second Dean thinks they're going to get back to the fun. But then he's whispering urgently in Dean's ear and Dean has to try very very hard not to be desperately disappointed and bitter.
"I'm going to destroy it," Cas says, and he sounds pissed. His fingers are pressed tightly against the muscles of Dean's shoulders. "Dean, you must not move," he says anxiously.
"I can't fucking see, Cas," Dean thinks he should remind Cas and if he clutches at Cas's hips it's not at all because he's afraid of being left alone in the pitch black, creepy-ass library. "I'm not going anywhere."
He feels Cas's nod but then neither of them move and Dean doesn't know what possesses him -except maybe a demon- but if this is going to be his last chance then fuck it, so he slides his hands around Cas's waist, under his shirt and over soft, hot skin, and pushes his lips against Cas's. It's pretty awesome because Cas kisses back, sighing and leaning into him like he wanted this all along. Cas's fingers tighten for a moment on Dean's collarbone and then he is just gone. Dean falls forward into the empty space where Cas used to be, where Cas should fucking be, Dean thinks, and winds up banging against the edges of the bookshelves. He grasps hold, feeling his eyes are open but not seeing a damn thing and suddenly he's cold and hot all over like he's got a fever and he wants to curse and hate the fucking world.
There's screeching then somewhere to his right that makes Dean's teeth ache and Dean's pretty sure Cas wouldn't make a sound like that so he supposes that's a good sign. Even so, he feels useless, just hanging onto a mouldy old bookcase because there's nothing else he can do, and it pisses him off.
Then there's a flare of light that burns across Dean's vision and it hurts for a moment, Dean shielding his eyes with his arm. When the sting subsides, Dean looks up and finally he can see something, except he kind of wishes he couldn't.
It's impossible to tell how far away but somewhere there's fire. Dean can smell burning paper, can see the red glow creeping across the ceiling, and it can't be far because he can feel the heat on his face. And shit but his pants are still undone and he does them up hastily, trying not to think about what he'd been doing with Cas.
Dean's pretty sure the Demon's influence is gone though because he doesn't feel as though he needs to fuck or die. And if he kind of wants Cas to come back right now it's because he's worried about the idiot getting into fights under the influence of Demon fairy dust, or whatever it was.
Dean hears hissing and spitting and can't work out if it's the demon or damp leather burning. There's smoke and ash that's starting to make Dean's throat itch and scuffling sounds that must be Cas fighting the demon then there's an almighty creaking, crashing, fire flaring up and ash and dust thrown up into the close air of the library and Dean knows a stack has gone over.
His eyes are starting to water from the heat and the smoke and Dean thinks, fuck it, he's not just going to wait around for Cas to save him. He's not going to leave Cas to some crazy perverted demon either. And Dean is definitely not going to think about what just happened either. Nor is he going to think about how he still wants that. This is neither the time nor the place and Cas is his friend. He is going to find that demon son of a bitch and kill it for making him suck Cas’s face. Which he is not thinking about. It's just that for all the idiot might be an angel, from what Dean's seen he can be a piss poor fighter at times.
There are really ominous creaking sounds now like the whole place is going to collapse and Dean doesn't think Cas and the demon are helping with that; he hears a body slamming into something which Dean supposes must be a stack, then the sound of wood cracking and breaking and heavy books thudding to the ground. The fire flares brighter and Dean hopes that wasn't Cas.
Whatever it was, Dean quickly part-feels his way along the row Cas left him in towards the sounds of the fight. He draws out his knife and brings his sleeve up to his mouth because the air is getting uncomfortably thick and his eyes are starting to prickle uncomfortably.
The shadows cast from the fire onto the stacks and the ceiling and the floor make it kind of difficult to tell exactly where the fight is but Dean's got a lifetime of experience hunting things so he follows his instincts, hurrying past shelves and shelves, fire growing hotter and sound louder.
He hears a crack like bone and flinches because he's close enough to hear someone cry out, and there's only one thing other than him that's human-like enough to make a sound like that. Dean breaks into a run coughing and rubbing smoke out of his eyes because he is not going to let some bitch demons kill Cas down here. Or anywhere.
Really, he should wonder what the hell he thinks he's going to be able to do if the demon bitches are kicking Cas's ass but fighting monsters way more powerful than him seems to be pretty much standard operating procedure these days.
There's a scream, which Dean is relieved to hear sounds a lot more like a demon, followed by more crashing. Dean watches as the stack in front of him collapses, books tumbling, slamming into each other, engulfed in flames and a grey and red creature flailing about at the centre of the mess.
Rounding the corner, Dean sees Cas lunge at the creature, ignoring the flames like they're nothing but Dean can see his clothes are singed and his face is covered in black soot.
The creature hisses and claws at Cas as he presses fingers to its forehead. The demon writhes, scratching desperately at Cas's arms before gurgling and falling still.
Cas looks up, half-closed eyes frowning when he spots Dean, who waves back amiably and is about to ask what the fuck that thing was when there's a screeching howl and another creature is hurling itself towards Cas.
Running towards Castiel like that, bathed in the yellow and red light of the flames the creature really does look like something straight out of one of those old paintings of hell; wrinkly black skin like heavy tar, creepy red eyes deep set in round, dead-looking sockets. Its limbs are long, bony, with arching claws that clasp out towards Cas. Its teeth are the grossest thing Dean has ever seen, so yellow they're orange, chipped and set deep in slimy-looking black gums.
Dean knows that Cas won't be able to turn around in time. He's only just standing up straight, moving to turn, and the demon thing looks so pleased with itself that all Dean wants is to wipe that smugness and glee off its ugly face. He doesn't even think really, just reacts, lobs the knife at the thing and he's so damn angry. No way something as twisted as that should ever get anywhere near Cas. And the little shit had the nerve to make him molest an angel. If he wasn't already going back to hell Dean's pretty sure he is now, but it's satisfying to watch the demon stumble back as the knife slices into its chest and make a sort of startled gargling noise that sounds like pain and surprise. It reaches up for the knife with sharp, angled arms as something like electricity crackles through its body, tries to take a step forward but its legs give out and it falls forward and Dean is so pleased he thinks he even smiles.
Then Cas says, "There are more of them," sounding unbalanced and breathless. He's staring at Dean with that slightly annoyed frown but he doesn't say anything else. That might have pissed Dean off any other day because hello, he just saved the bastard's life but then he really looks at Cas and Cas does not look all that healthy.
There's blood on his face, his lips -crap, not thinking about lips- and staining the collar of his shirt. He's hunched over, holding his left arm awkwardly away from his body like it's broken. Dean remembers the sound he heard, like bone snapping, and really hopes it wasn't that.
"Let's get out of here then," Dean says, or more wheezes because, shit, the air is really thin and nasty. He won't be able to survive long in this and Cas doesn't look up to fighting any more demons today so a tactical retreat seems the way to go.
He reclaims the knife, grimacing as the blade slides out of the demon covered in thick, black gooey blood, and he sure as hell isn't putting that back in his jeans so he shoves it down into his boots before moving to take Cas's more normal-looking arm. The idiot isn't to be moving at all. More like, looking around dazedly as though he's forgotten where he is and it makes Dean want to ask if he's okay, even though clearly there's something not right here. All the more reason to get out and away and then never ever think about what exactly happened against that bookshelf ever again.
Fuck, but it's hot and smothering and if they don't get out of this tomb of a library soon they're both going to end up burnt to crispy wholesomeness.
Even distracted though and not at his best Cas is strong and stands his ground, immovable when Dean tugs at his wrist, trying to touch skin as little as possible.
Which is really fucking annoying when Cas says, "We have to go back for the book," and it's only the memory of nearly breaking his fist on Cas's face that stops Dean from punching him.
"The hell?" Dean is incredulous, and pissed. . "Today's lesson, Cas: Life is more important than books."
"That book could save this world," Cas argues. "We must go back." Which, okay, is a pretty good argument but it's not like the book is going to be of any use to them if they're dead.
"You said we shouldn't take it out of here, anyway," Dean throws back.
Cas pauses, thinking. "We shouldn't, but..." He frowns. "It's an opportunity I can't ignore."
Dean wonders at just what shit that book's got in it at the conflicted look on Cas's face.
It's not like he knows which way to go to get back to it anyway.
Cas seems to though, nodding to his right then moving off quickly as though he's come to a decision, which Dean supposes is good enough for him.
Dean keeps hold of Cas's wrist because his eyes are streaming so bad in the smoke he's half blind and he's coughing like a bitch.
He feels it then, past the heat and the heavy air; that prickly feeling of wrongness that you always get with demons. Or maybe it's the smell of hell fire and sulphur even stronger than burning leather and paper and old wood. Dean knows Cas feels it too because he draws Dean closer, speeding up and it's all Dean can do to breathe and not fall over his own feet.
They round a corner. They're moving away from the fire and Dean is glad for that but it's spreading rapidly and there's hot ash everywhere, filling Dean's nose and making his throat hurt.
It almost startles Dean when Cas actually coughs too and he's about to ask what the hell that's about but then there's the invasive, uncomfortable presence of demons so close Dean thinks he can taste it and two of them crawl their way over the stack to their right like some of those creepy ghosts out of a Japanese horror movie. They're the same creatures Dean saw before, with their emaciated black limbs and hollow eyes and Dean's pretty sure they're going to be featuring in his nightmares if he gets out of here alive.
One launches itself at Cas, knocking him to the floor with a smack, his wrist torn from Dean's grip. He actually cries out in what sounds like pain and Dean wants to rip the fucking demon to pieces with his bare hands for that and he really would have tried but the other demon is suddenly in his face and Dean didn't even see it move.
Gagging as the smell of rotting and putridity hits him, Dean feels his flesh burn even through his jacket when the demon grips at his arm with bony, long fingers. He tries backhanding it, which seems to throw it off at least, but his own hand comes away hot and itchy like it's been scalded. Which, Dean thinks, is clearly unfair.
The fires are getting uncomfortably close again and the demon is snarling at him and snapping at his face with those long, really unhygienic-looking nails again. Dean looks around desperately for anything he can use to defend himself with because he sure as fuck can't get to the knife in his boot and why the hell did he ever think that was a great place to stash it? He can't take his eyes off his thing, can barely keep out of its snap-happy range, and all he comes up with is one of the big ass books from the bottom shelf of a still mostly standing stack. And, well, it's better than nothing so he hefts it up and shit but it's heavy.
The thing lunges suddenly and Dean uses the book to bat away its claws, feels smug when the demon recoils.
"Broke a nail?" Dean just can't stop himself from taunting, which he really shouldn't have because the demon looks really pissed now and comes at him again.
Dean swings the book as hard as he can, upsides the demon on the side of the head. He's pretty damn shocked when it screams and is knocked a really long way away. Dean looks at the book, looks back at the demon and it's not moving.
He says, "Huh," and really wishes the book wasn't so enormous or he'd take it everywhere with him if it did that to all demons.
Then Cas is shouting Dean's name, half lunging and half falling towards him and as soon as he's near enough, grabs the book one-handed from Dean's hold and turns, actually throwing it at the demon he was fighting.
It's ridiculous, the way the scary murderous demon howls like they've just ripped out its guts when the book hits it full in the chest and the creature is sent hurtling to the floor. It doesn't get up again.
"The hell is that book?" Dean asks, incredulous. Dean moves to retrieve it, because it's not like he's got anything else to defend himself with and he can hear a scratching, shuffling sound behind them that really does not sound good at all. It's probably too big, and too heavy, and it's laying on top of an ugly, shrivelled demonic being so Dean snatches it as quickly as he can and retreats back to stand beside Cas.
Cas says, "A bible," which makes Dean laugh.
"You serious?" Looking at the book it doesn't look like much at all. Dean can't even see a title anywhere and its brown leather bindings are frayed and scratched. Though, the scratches might have been from the demons.
"I am," Cas affirms, then adds, "We must hurry."
Dean nods in agreement. He's sweating heavily and breathing is taking real effort and Dean can see that there are fires breaking out all over the place as hot ash sparks the aged paper to burn. The fires cast weird patches of red shadow on the ceiling that Dean can see now is curved brickwork.
He turns to Cas, thinking to ask if he can't just mojo them out of the library, Cas's precious world-saving books be damned because he really doesn't want to be burnt alive but he pauses when he sees Cas. Gingerly holding his arm, Cas's shoulders are hunched over and he's grimacing, looking confused too like he's not quite sure what's going on. Dean can just about make out bruises on his face and there's blood still seeping from cuts along his brow and cheek.
"Why aren't you healing?" Dean asks, or more like demands because this is a complication they really do not need right now.
Cas looks up at him so miserably then that Dean moves closer, putting his free hand on Cas's shoulder lightly. As soon as he's done it he feels weird because this close Dean can't stop remembering what it's like to have his mouth on Cas's neck and his hands down his pants. Christ. Fuck. He knows. He knows it was some weird demon influence and it's not like Cas is making a big deal out of it. He neither moves away nor leans into Dean's touch, just stands there concentrating on his arm as though he's really really trying to fix it. Which Dean supposes he is. Looking at Cas's arm, it really does look horribly bent out of shape, even through the layers of his jacket and coat. There are more important things to think about right now, Dean decides, and he'll worry about the fact that he still kind of wants and he doesn't want to let go of Cas later.
Cas just says, "There is something here that is... making it difficult."
Dean frowns. "So you can't just get us out of here."
Cas takes a breath, as though he's steeling himself for something, shakes his head then turns away sharply. "We must get that book."
Pulling away from Dean, Cas weaves his way through the fallen stacks, giving the demons a sour look as he passes and Dean follows. Moving is better than staying still he supposes and they are at least heading away from the fires and that scuffling and scratching that Dean imagines is more nasty beastie things.
"It will be impossible to leave the way we came in any case," Cas says, nodding in some general direction to his left. There's fire there too. Cas hesitates before admitting, "There's another way out of here we can take."
And if there is apprehension in his voice then Dean chooses to ignore it.
***
| Part 2 >>
Comments and concrit welcome and appreciated as always!