Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Epilogue
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Life goes up, life goes down.
But things are looking pretty ‘up’ for Chuck Shurley, lately.
He’s got a paying job as Castiel Collins’ assistant and general go-to guy. He’s still doing research into Ruby’s family and the remainder of her estate, and while nothing’s turned up yet, he remains hopeful. He stops off at Collinwood three to four times a week and gives Castiel updates. Or sometimes they just chat. About life, death. The rising price of coffee.
Chuck marvels at times that his best friend is a vampire.
With Castiel’s permission and Dean’s grudging acceptance, he expanded on The Inamorato and the Malediction (changing all the names and identifying details) and sold it for money, a fact that still makes him stop in the middle of the street and break out in a little happy dance. When Dean had vociferously objected, Castiel pointed out that it was hardly likely anyone would believe it to be a work of non-fiction and even if they did suspect Dean and Castiel it would add to their je ne sais quois and most people would find it terribly intriguing.
Dean really can’t say no to Castiel when he uses French.
But Chuck makes plans to avoid Dean on the day his book is released on Amazon. Of course, they had to change the name since the publishers decided his original title was too high brow. Chuck really hopes Dean doesn’t find out what it’s called now.
Immortal Beloved: Twice Bitten
Chuck’s in negotiations right now for it to be a series. And a TV show. And maybe a comic book. In a strange twist of fate, Castiel offered to be his agent, and he’s fantastic at it. He doesn’t even have to use his vampire mojo. He stares with his calm blue eyes and people fall all over themselves to make him happy.
Chuck’s got a girlfriend.
He waits patiently in his car, thumbs tapping out the tune on the radio, and when Becky Collins comes around the corner with her bright smile and gigantic purse, he feels his face spread in a matching grin. She looks perpetually cute in her candy-striping uniform and she slides into the passenger seat with care, gently setting her large purse on her lap.
“Any trouble?” he asks.
She rolls her expressive eyes. “Please. They only notice me to bend over backward to be nice. My family’s behind a quarter of the hospital’s funding.” She cracks open her purse to show off the bags from the blood bank. “And they think I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Chuck says warmly, reaching over to squeeze her knee.
“Of course I’m not,” she replies. “But it’s convenient if they think I am. It’s still so exciting. Ever since that day you found my fanpage and Skyped me and told me about Castiel and his ‘little vampire problem,’” she makes finger quotes around the words, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I knew I had to help him. A vampire, all alone in the world, pining for his one lost true love.” She clutches her hand over her heart. “I could still cry about it to this day.” She fans her eyes quickly with her hand, flapping madly at her face. “And now, they’ve been re-united, and your book is going to be published - oh, did you get my re-writes on the sex scenes, because, while your stuff is technically correct, it did lack some oomph, so I wrote up some notes and I left them on your computer.” She completes her sentence by mouthing the words Smoking Hot.
“Um, yeah, about that? Uh, you know you can’t ever tell Dean about that, right? I mean, Dean or Cas but especially Dean,” he says nervously.
“Please, he should be so lucky to get that kind of hotness just dropped in his lap. What I know about gay porn…”
“Danger topic!” Chuck panics, covering his hands with his ears and it’s a good thing the car is still in park. “We agreed, we do not discuss that part of the book. We can talk about anything else in the book and you can leave the notes about the… uh, well, naughty bits, but we can’t ever talk about it.”
“Aw, you’re so cute when you blush!” she coos and leans over to kiss him on the cheek.
He can’t help the stupid grin that spans his face and he leans into the kiss.
Yep, life is pretty good if you’re Chuck Shurley.
***
Dean winces as his foot hits the cold tile of the balcony. He steps outside, pulling his robe on. It’s the coldest part of the night, the part right before the dawn, when the air and ground have had all evening to surrender their warmth.
Collinwood has central heating now, but they haven’t had to use it much yet. With the reconstruction adding in insulation and piping, the estate keeps it’s heat pretty well, but not for much longer.
Winter is coming.
Cas stands on the edge of the balcony, eyes focused on the sliver of horizon that is turning slightly pinkish-orange with the first hint of sunrise. He’s barefoot as well, his long dressing robe almost touching the tops of his feet. He must hear Dean, but he doesn’t turn around.
“It’s cold out here,” Dean states, coming up behind Cas and pressing his chest to the other man’s back as he wraps his arms around him. He rests his nose on the back of Castiel’s neck where the skin is cool and dry.
“Yes.”
“Be sunrise soon.”
“Yes,” Cas replies. “A few more minutes.”
“You’re just as good as the weather channel.”
“Hmmm.”
Dean gives him a little squeeze. “You leave our big, warm bed to come out here and freeze in the dark? A guy’s gonna get a complex, Cas.”
“I was restless. And I enjoy the way the night smells.”
Dean takes in a deep breath and can smell the salty Maine air, that indefinable scent that comes with night; somewhat spicy but not overwhelming. Mixed in is the familiar scent of Cas; safe and grounding.
“And you’re brooding,” Dean adds.
A slight pause. “Perhaps. A little.”
Quietly in the distance, Dean can hear the waves breaking against the shore. It’s fainter now than it was in the 1800s, and if he asked he’s sure some college kid would be able to explain it away by erosion or global warming or something else he’s never heard of.
Sometimes, it still takes Dean by surprise: his extraordinary timeline stretching out into the past and combining with the present. He tried to explain it to Sam, how the memories are all there, but he doesn’t know, doesn’t remember until he stumbles across it. Like the other day when Cas laughed. Cas tossed his head back, his neck exposed and Dean was hit with the memory of their first meeting in 1795, Dean telling a filthy, dirty joke that he had no business repeating out in public and the two of them laughing over it. Or trying to remember where put his keys and trying to trace his steps throughout the day, only to realize he’s picturing himself in his house from the 19th century.
But here, on the balcony of Cas’ bedroom, it’s unimportant and even inconsequential to him. Just another piece of who he is. Who they are.
“Sam will find a cure,” he says finally, knowing what Cas is brooding over.
Cas sighs quietly. “Perhaps.”
Dean tightens his arms again. “He will. Listen, the guy’s no slouch in the brain department,” Dean adds, trying for levity.
“I’m sure he will do his best.”
“He said your numbers from the… abstinence were informative.”
It sounds lame when he says it like that. Dean frowns, glad that Cas can’t see his face.
“I do not doubt that his abilities, simply that there may not be a cure to be found.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s been difficult at times for him to reconcile his memories of the past with the present. He doesn’t know what it’s like for Cas. He knows that it was several years after his… death that Castiel had himself entombed. He’s not sure how many. Castiel is reluctant to talk about anything after Dean’s death and after seeing the look on Cas’ face the few times Dean asked, Dean decided not to bring it up again.
He knows Cas thinks about Dean dying a lot. More than he should. It’s in the way Dean catches him staring at times; focused and intent, but sad. Or at night, he’ll wake up and find himself clutched tightly to Castiel, as if Cas is afraid he’ll lose Dean while they sleep.
How do you comfort someone about the inevitability of death?
He knows Castiel won’t turn him, won’t subject him to what he considers horrific and abhorrent, which leaves them with the sole solution of finding a cure. While Sam’s working on the medical angle, Chuck and Castiel are pursuing the occult and some of the books and other items Chuck has procured. Castiel spends hours pouring over satanic books and artifacts, Christian mythology and ancient scripts in foreign or dead languages.
Surely, Dean thinks, there must be a cure, somewhere.
They just have to find it.
But it won’t be tonight, while they are standing outside on a cold Maine morning. Dean tugs at Castiel.
“Come on,” he says against Castiel’s neck. “Let’s go back to bed. I’ll even let you start a fire for me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Castiel’s lips curl upward. “How generous of you.”
“I’m all heart.”
Once back inside, Castiel starts to head for the small fireplace when Dean stops him with a sharp tug on his hand, pulling him close for a kiss. It’s quick and fierce, Dean’s hand on the back of Castiel’s neck tightly, Castiel surprised and grabbing Dean’s shoulders for balance.
“Was that additional bribery? For my, what did you call them, ‘boy scout’ skills?” Castiel asks.
“Naw, just felt like it,” Dean says with a grin. He leans forward again and licks his way into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel pushes him away with humor.
“Get into bed before you catch more of a chill.”
“You know, studies have shown that the best way to warm up is to get into bed with someone else. Naked.”
“Modern science at its best, I take it.”
“It’s my duty to help you catch up on these things. Scientific stuff,” Dean teases as he pulls Castiel toward the large bed.
“Mmmhmmm,” replies Castiel, letting himself be led. “I speak six languages, studied cartography, mathematics and philosophy. I’ve also learned to navigate the internet, deciphered the stock market, and Charles tells me I ‘have the hang’ of the espresso machine he purchased. I’m hardly a Philistine.”
Dean rolls his eyes, forgetting for a brief moment that Castiel can see him just fine in the dark. “Yes, your brain is huge and impressive. So why aren’t we naked yet?”
Castiel gives him a light push that sends Dean sprawling backward on the bed. Dean makes quick work out of shucking his robe and getting under the covers, hissing slightly at the cold sheets.
“If you’d stayed in bed, it would still be warm,” Castiel chides fondly, disrobing gracefully and climbing in under the covers.
“If you’d stop wandering off to brood, I wouldn’t have to leave.” He pulls Cas over on top of him.
“Is this going to be your solution every time I do? Coax me to bed?”
“Jesus, I’ll never get any work done,” Dean laments.
Castiel barks in laughter and Dean thinks There it is again; the full laugh. Head back slightly, eyes crinkled, nose scrunched. How could I ever have forgotten?
It’s Dean’s favorite thing.
“I could make you my kept man,” Castiel suggests, eyebrows raised.
“Keep me in beer and pretzels, with action movies on the TV all day?”
One of Castiel’s legs slides between his own, and he shifts slightly to accommodate it. “Perhaps,” Castiel replies, leaning down to suck at Dean’s collarbone. It’s an entirely different sensation from when he drank from Dean; focused and intent. This is playful and haphazard.
Dean tilts his head to one side to give him better access. “I’d get fat.” He sighs as Cas moves down toward his chest. “And lazy, really lazy.”
Castiel suddenly stills, his head turning slightly toward the balcony doors, eyes shuttered and alert.
“Sunrise?” Dean asks carefully.
“Sunrise.”
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Life goes up, life goes down.
But things are looking pretty ‘up’ for Chuck Shurley, lately.
He’s got a paying job as Castiel Collins’ assistant and general go-to guy. He’s still doing research into Ruby’s family and the remainder of her estate, and while nothing’s turned up yet, he remains hopeful. He stops off at Collinwood three to four times a week and gives Castiel updates. Or sometimes they just chat. About life, death. The rising price of coffee.
Chuck marvels at times that his best friend is a vampire.
With Castiel’s permission and Dean’s grudging acceptance, he expanded on The Inamorato and the Malediction (changing all the names and identifying details) and sold it for money, a fact that still makes him stop in the middle of the street and break out in a little happy dance. When Dean had vociferously objected, Castiel pointed out that it was hardly likely anyone would believe it to be a work of non-fiction and even if they did suspect Dean and Castiel it would add to their je ne sais quois and most people would find it terribly intriguing.
Dean really can’t say no to Castiel when he uses French.
But Chuck makes plans to avoid Dean on the day his book is released on Amazon. Of course, they had to change the name since the publishers decided his original title was too high brow. Chuck really hopes Dean doesn’t find out what it’s called now.
Immortal Beloved: Twice Bitten
Chuck’s in negotiations right now for it to be a series. And a TV show. And maybe a comic book. In a strange twist of fate, Castiel offered to be his agent, and he’s fantastic at it. He doesn’t even have to use his vampire mojo. He stares with his calm blue eyes and people fall all over themselves to make him happy.
Chuck’s got a girlfriend.
He waits patiently in his car, thumbs tapping out the tune on the radio, and when Becky Collins comes around the corner with her bright smile and gigantic purse, he feels his face spread in a matching grin. She looks perpetually cute in her candy-striping uniform and she slides into the passenger seat with care, gently setting her large purse on her lap.
“Any trouble?” he asks.
She rolls her expressive eyes. “Please. They only notice me to bend over backward to be nice. My family’s behind a quarter of the hospital’s funding.” She cracks open her purse to show off the bags from the blood bank. “And they think I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Chuck says warmly, reaching over to squeeze her knee.
“Of course I’m not,” she replies. “But it’s convenient if they think I am. It’s still so exciting. Ever since that day you found my fanpage and Skyped me and told me about Castiel and his ‘little vampire problem,’” she makes finger quotes around the words, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I knew I had to help him. A vampire, all alone in the world, pining for his one lost true love.” She clutches her hand over her heart. “I could still cry about it to this day.” She fans her eyes quickly with her hand, flapping madly at her face. “And now, they’ve been re-united, and your book is going to be published - oh, did you get my re-writes on the sex scenes, because, while your stuff is technically correct, it did lack some oomph, so I wrote up some notes and I left them on your computer.” She completes her sentence by mouthing the words Smoking Hot.
“Um, yeah, about that? Uh, you know you can’t ever tell Dean about that, right? I mean, Dean or Cas but especially Dean,” he says nervously.
“Please, he should be so lucky to get that kind of hotness just dropped in his lap. What I know about gay porn…”
“Danger topic!” Chuck panics, covering his hands with his ears and it’s a good thing the car is still in park. “We agreed, we do not discuss that part of the book. We can talk about anything else in the book and you can leave the notes about the… uh, well, naughty bits, but we can’t ever talk about it.”
“Aw, you’re so cute when you blush!” she coos and leans over to kiss him on the cheek.
He can’t help the stupid grin that spans his face and he leans into the kiss.
Yep, life is pretty good if you’re Chuck Shurley.
***
Dean winces as his foot hits the cold tile of the balcony. He steps outside, pulling his robe on. It’s the coldest part of the night, the part right before the dawn, when the air and ground have had all evening to surrender their warmth.
Collinwood has central heating now, but they haven’t had to use it much yet. With the reconstruction adding in insulation and piping, the estate keeps it’s heat pretty well, but not for much longer.
Winter is coming.
Cas stands on the edge of the balcony, eyes focused on the sliver of horizon that is turning slightly pinkish-orange with the first hint of sunrise. He’s barefoot as well, his long dressing robe almost touching the tops of his feet. He must hear Dean, but he doesn’t turn around.
“It’s cold out here,” Dean states, coming up behind Cas and pressing his chest to the other man’s back as he wraps his arms around him. He rests his nose on the back of Castiel’s neck where the skin is cool and dry.
“Yes.”
“Be sunrise soon.”
“Yes,” Cas replies. “A few more minutes.”
“You’re just as good as the weather channel.”
“Hmmm.”
Dean gives him a little squeeze. “You leave our big, warm bed to come out here and freeze in the dark? A guy’s gonna get a complex, Cas.”
“I was restless. And I enjoy the way the night smells.”
Dean takes in a deep breath and can smell the salty Maine air, that indefinable scent that comes with night; somewhat spicy but not overwhelming. Mixed in is the familiar scent of Cas; safe and grounding.
“And you’re brooding,” Dean adds.
A slight pause. “Perhaps. A little.”
Quietly in the distance, Dean can hear the waves breaking against the shore. It’s fainter now than it was in the 1800s, and if he asked he’s sure some college kid would be able to explain it away by erosion or global warming or something else he’s never heard of.
Sometimes, it still takes Dean by surprise: his extraordinary timeline stretching out into the past and combining with the present. He tried to explain it to Sam, how the memories are all there, but he doesn’t know, doesn’t remember until he stumbles across it. Like the other day when Cas laughed. Cas tossed his head back, his neck exposed and Dean was hit with the memory of their first meeting in 1795, Dean telling a filthy, dirty joke that he had no business repeating out in public and the two of them laughing over it. Or trying to remember where put his keys and trying to trace his steps throughout the day, only to realize he’s picturing himself in his house from the 19th century.
But here, on the balcony of Cas’ bedroom, it’s unimportant and even inconsequential to him. Just another piece of who he is. Who they are.
“Sam will find a cure,” he says finally, knowing what Cas is brooding over.
Cas sighs quietly. “Perhaps.”
Dean tightens his arms again. “He will. Listen, the guy’s no slouch in the brain department,” Dean adds, trying for levity.
“I’m sure he will do his best.”
“He said your numbers from the… abstinence were informative.”
It sounds lame when he says it like that. Dean frowns, glad that Cas can’t see his face.
“I do not doubt that his abilities, simply that there may not be a cure to be found.”
Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. It’s been difficult at times for him to reconcile his memories of the past with the present. He doesn’t know what it’s like for Cas. He knows that it was several years after his… death that Castiel had himself entombed. He’s not sure how many. Castiel is reluctant to talk about anything after Dean’s death and after seeing the look on Cas’ face the few times Dean asked, Dean decided not to bring it up again.
He knows Cas thinks about Dean dying a lot. More than he should. It’s in the way Dean catches him staring at times; focused and intent, but sad. Or at night, he’ll wake up and find himself clutched tightly to Castiel, as if Cas is afraid he’ll lose Dean while they sleep.
How do you comfort someone about the inevitability of death?
He knows Castiel won’t turn him, won’t subject him to what he considers horrific and abhorrent, which leaves them with the sole solution of finding a cure. While Sam’s working on the medical angle, Chuck and Castiel are pursuing the occult and some of the books and other items Chuck has procured. Castiel spends hours pouring over satanic books and artifacts, Christian mythology and ancient scripts in foreign or dead languages.
Surely, Dean thinks, there must be a cure, somewhere.
They just have to find it.
But it won’t be tonight, while they are standing outside on a cold Maine morning. Dean tugs at Castiel.
“Come on,” he says against Castiel’s neck. “Let’s go back to bed. I’ll even let you start a fire for me.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Castiel’s lips curl upward. “How generous of you.”
“I’m all heart.”
Once back inside, Castiel starts to head for the small fireplace when Dean stops him with a sharp tug on his hand, pulling him close for a kiss. It’s quick and fierce, Dean’s hand on the back of Castiel’s neck tightly, Castiel surprised and grabbing Dean’s shoulders for balance.
“Was that additional bribery? For my, what did you call them, ‘boy scout’ skills?” Castiel asks.
“Naw, just felt like it,” Dean says with a grin. He leans forward again and licks his way into Castiel’s mouth. Castiel pushes him away with humor.
“Get into bed before you catch more of a chill.”
“You know, studies have shown that the best way to warm up is to get into bed with someone else. Naked.”
“Modern science at its best, I take it.”
“It’s my duty to help you catch up on these things. Scientific stuff,” Dean teases as he pulls Castiel toward the large bed.
“Mmmhmmm,” replies Castiel, letting himself be led. “I speak six languages, studied cartography, mathematics and philosophy. I’ve also learned to navigate the internet, deciphered the stock market, and Charles tells me I ‘have the hang’ of the espresso machine he purchased. I’m hardly a Philistine.”
Dean rolls his eyes, forgetting for a brief moment that Castiel can see him just fine in the dark. “Yes, your brain is huge and impressive. So why aren’t we naked yet?”
Castiel gives him a light push that sends Dean sprawling backward on the bed. Dean makes quick work out of shucking his robe and getting under the covers, hissing slightly at the cold sheets.
“If you’d stayed in bed, it would still be warm,” Castiel chides fondly, disrobing gracefully and climbing in under the covers.
“If you’d stop wandering off to brood, I wouldn’t have to leave.” He pulls Cas over on top of him.
“Is this going to be your solution every time I do? Coax me to bed?”
“Jesus, I’ll never get any work done,” Dean laments.
Castiel barks in laughter and Dean thinks There it is again; the full laugh. Head back slightly, eyes crinkled, nose scrunched. How could I ever have forgotten?
It’s Dean’s favorite thing.
“I could make you my kept man,” Castiel suggests, eyebrows raised.
“Keep me in beer and pretzels, with action movies on the TV all day?”
One of Castiel’s legs slides between his own, and he shifts slightly to accommodate it. “Perhaps,” Castiel replies, leaning down to suck at Dean’s collarbone. It’s an entirely different sensation from when he drank from Dean; focused and intent. This is playful and haphazard.
Dean tilts his head to one side to give him better access. “I’d get fat.” He sighs as Cas moves down toward his chest. “And lazy, really lazy.”
Castiel suddenly stills, his head turning slightly toward the balcony doors, eyes shuttered and alert.
“Sunrise?” Dean asks carefully.
“Sunrise.”
Return to Master Post