Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Ch. 21 - Black is the Color
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It doesn’t take Dean long to read Chuck’s manuscript. He grits his teeth when he reads the names Dean and Castiel on paper. He feels sick when he reads Ruby. It’s too strange, too intimate to be reading the words spread out before him. He immediately thinks of them as other Dean, other Castiel; separate and distinct.
Once he starts reading he can’t stop, although he’s not sure how much of the manuscript he actually reads, since it seems like he knows everything that will happen nanoseconds before he sees the words and his brain skims over the words in confirmation. It’s like… reading your journal from many years prior and having the memory of what you wrote flood your brain.
He hears the snap of a rope breaking and flinches as the crates fall down. He feels the certainty of death crawling over him, laying down on top of his body like a heavy winter blanket that is chilled. He feels the warm press of fingers against his own. Pain like a hot liquid poured into his body, replacing his blood. Blue eyes staring at him, bloodshot and grief-stricken.
And then he reads parts he doesn’t know. Parts he doesn’t recognize that don’t cause a strange deja vu mixed in with vertigo. Castiel at Ruby’s, Castiel making a promise, Castiel drinking blood and changing. He feels heartbroken at the sight of the text.
He wishes that if he stops reading, it will make it not true. He wants to shut his eyes and stop taking in the tiny black words on stark white paper. He wants to burn the pages as if that will somehow take it back. He reads of other Castiel bent over other Dean’s body and of Castiel’s fangs. Castiel leans over and bites and Dean feels the twinge in his neck.
What he doesn’t read is how other Dean, past Dean would have said yes to anything Castiel offered. He doesn’t read about how the pain had been excruciating for endless hours and he longed for death. He doesn’t read about how other Dean loved Castiel so much, needed him so much that he would have agreed to become the devil himself if it meant he could stay with Castiel.
He doesn’t read those words, but he knows them to be true. He feels them sink into his bones and marrow. Chuck’s words are the catalyst between his soul and his body and in the moment he reads of Ruby’s ultimate betrayal, of Castiel drinking from other Dean and the broken man dying, he becomes the other man. He is him, he has always been him.
The manuscript falls from his hands to the floor. Dean doesn’t move.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there in the dark, unmoving. At some point, he’s vaguely aware that the doorbell is ringing non-stop and that it’s the middle of the night. He stumbles to the door and swings it open.
Pamela stands in front of him, bathed in the moonlight, her pale skin translucent. She gives him a wry smile.
“Reincarnation’s a bitch to wrap your head around, isn’t it?”
“What?”
She bustles her way past his stupefied response, takes off her coat and her shoes and flicks on some lights as she leads him back to the couch. She sits him down, pulls his hands into her lap and eyeballs him.
“Am I gonna need to slap you?” she asks at his dumb-eyed expression.
“What?”
“Pinch you?” she says hopefully, eyebrow raised.
That seems to get him and he shakes his head a bit. “I… no. I just…”
“Found your brain getting overtaken by thirty years of memories from another life?”
He hesitates. Part of him wants to deny it, wants to pretend this isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. It’s too extraordinary, too fanciful, too crazy.
“Yeah,” he finally says. He stares at her for a moment, then at the clock on the wall. “Jesus, it’s five in the morning.”
“Yes, it is,” says Pam and her tone indicates she’s not impressed with the hour either.
“What are you doing here?”
“Apparently, time and tide wait for no man, Dean Winchester, not even you. I’m here to help you get your head around all this -” she makes a wide sweeping gesture with one hand around Dean, “- and then make sure you get to the church on time, so to speak.”
Dean shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t… I can’t… It’s all…”
Pamela makes another hand waving gesture. “Forget all of that.”
“How can I -” he makes a frustrated sound. “Jesus Christ, Pam, everything is fucked up! I mean seriously fucked up. You’ve no idea.”
Pamela makes a low ‘mmm-hmm’ sound and its patronizing tone sets Dean on edge. “Like I said, forget all that. Do you love him?”
“I don’t know what-”
“Cut the crap, Dean. I didn’t drag my ass over here at five in the morning to be spoon fed your bullshit. Do you love him?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Again with the bullshit.”
Dean clenches his jaw. “You don’t know all the details.”
“Do you mean the part where he’s a vampire? Thanks, brought up to speed. Do you love him?”
Dean stutters. “You can’t - How do you know? How is it that everyone seems to fucking know?”
“I know because I was on the receiving end of a very specific phone call from Chuck Shurley at one this morning. I always knew something was… different about Castiel, but I couldn’t tell what. My… gift couldn’t see what he didn’t want me to see. But I saw other things,” she added. “Reading my cards one night, I saw you in danger and I knew I was meant to send him to you. That was the night you found out about him, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Dean breathes, anger and grief jockeying with confusion and disbelief for top billing in his emotions.
“Don’t you feel differently now that you know what happened, now that you remember?”
“I…” Dean struggles, pushing himself to his feet. “He’s a vampire!”
“Yes he is,” Pam states baldly.
“He lied to me.”
“He did.”
Dean shakes his head and runs his hand over his jaw and the back of his neck.
“Can you blame him for either, when you know he did both for you?”
Dean turns on her hotly. “I didn’t fucking ask him to.”
“No, you didn’t. But he did it for you anyway. Most people don’t get one chance at love like that, and you’ve had two. The first time it was stolen from you, but if you lose it this time, it’s because you threw it away.” Pam stands up and clasps Dean’s shoulders. “Stop thinking. Do you love him?”
“I don’t know.”
She jabs him with a finger. “Don’t be an idiot, Dean, because I will slap you. I’m going to ask you again and you better give me an answer. Do you love him?”
His whole body is tense, adrenaline and anxiety running wild through his veins. He wants to scream that he doesn’t know how he feels, that it’s all so fucked up and beyond normal life and he’s tired, so fucking tired of all this drama bullshit. His mouth opens and he just hangs there for what feels like ages, wordless, soundless. His muscles ache from the tension of holding himself so rigid. His stomach burns. He feels sick and for a moment, he thinks he might puke.
“Yes.”
At that one syllable, uttered so quietly he’s sure Pam wouldn’t have heard him if she wasn’t directly in front of him, his entire body relaxes. He feels everything unclench and ease. In that space between his affirmation and his next breath, it all suddenly seems so easy. He loves Cas. Cas loves him. Everything else is just… not as important.
He’s been a fucking idiot.
“Oh, fuck, Pam. I’ve really messed up.”
She smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “I know. And now you’re gonna fix it.”
“I need… I need to go to Collinwood.” Dean starts for the door. “I gotta talk to Cas.”
Pam halts him with a touch. “Before you go, I need to tell you what’s going on over there.”
Dean eyes her warily. “Okay,” he says slowly.
Pamela takes a deep breath. “You’re brother is trying to find a cure for Castiel. He’s been running some tests.”
“I know all this, Pam.” Dean starts to pull away.
“And one of those tests,” Pam continues doggedly, “is how Castiel’s body reacts when he feeds.”
Dean doesn’t flinch at the word. He still feels the strange calmness and acceptance that overcame him earlier. Now the fact that Castiel is a vampire is simply another thing about him. His eyes are blue, he makes Dean smile, he is a vampire.
“And?” Dean prompts.
“And how he reacts when he doesn’t feed,” Pam finishes.
Dean pauses for a second uncomprehendingly. As soon as his brain puts it all together, it’s written all over his face.
“Oh, Jesus, they’re starving him.”
“Yes.”
“Is he - How is he?”
“I don’t know and Chuck didn’t say. He only said I had to tell you before you arrived at Collinwood.”
“Fuck, I have to -” Dean lurches toward the door, realizes he doesn’t have any shoes and then stumbles back into the foyer to stuff his feet in them. He can’t find his keys and starts looking around frantically for them until Pam dangles them in front of his face.
“Thank you,” he says, snatching them out of her hand. He stops and stares at her. “Thank you,” he says again, his expression deep and intense.
“You’re welcome.”
***
The ninth check-in had followed nearly the same format as the eighth. Castiel managed some semblance of coherency for short spurts, able to answer questions about his hunger, his pain level, his state of mind but then would degenerate into hallucinations leaving Sam to try and talk him out of them.
Castiel’s hallucinations center around his family, Dean, and Ruby and Sam does his best to reassure Castiel things are fine, and that nothing is really there.
Sam can’t run the blood work fast enough to know if he’s got what he needs. The tests take time and processing and he’s barely managed to complete the first samples, let alone start looking at samples from the ninth test. If he could be certain he had the data he needs, he could call a halt to the test and they could free Castiel and… feed him.
Sam eyes the small fridge in the corner of the basement. Inside it’s stocked with several bags of blood, newly procured from the blood bank. Chuck Shurley is a god among men, Sam thinks, because he still doesn’t know how Chuck’s getting the blood out from under the noses of increased security at the hospital.
And he doesn’t want to know, so he doesn’t ask.
Sam hears soft footsteps on the stone stairs and looks up to see Chuck coming down. He manages a wan smile which Chuck returns.
“How did it go?” asks Chuck.
“Okay. Fine. Good,” Sam says quietly. Chuck doesn’t bother to lower his voice, and Sam wonders if the sound of them talking just registers as another hallucination to Castiel or if he recognizes them.
“You look pretty rough, man.”
Sam pushes his hair back from his face. “No, I’m fine. I’m just… I just wish we didn’t have to keep doing this, you know? I wish I knew more about the tests.”
“I thought you were processing them here.”
“I am, but it takes time and the mass spectrometer we ordered hasn’t arrived yet. I’ve been using the one at the hospital.”
“So, why don’t you take the samples to the hospital?” asks Chuck.
“It would take me hours to process all of them, and I need to be back here for the next check-in.”
Chuck nods like this is all news to him. His visions are very detailed and he was already pretty sure how he was going to get Sam out of Collinwood, but still it’s bizarre to have it all unfold in front of him so easily. “Why don’t you take the first sample, a median one, and the last one. Could you process the three of them? Then would that give you a general idea?”
Sam pauses as he thinks about it. “Yeah. Yeah it would. That’s a really great idea, Chuck.” Sam starts gathering his notes and stops. “But that leaves you here with Castiel,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Are you…?”
Chuck flaps his hands. “Oh, I’ve still got all of Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi to get through and after that, I was gonna start on the Lord of the Rings. You know, ‘one ring to rule them all,’ Chuck says in parody of a sinister voice. “So, uh, don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Chuck starts hustling Sam up the stairs of the cellar. “Yeah. Of course. Just, uh, you know, take all the time you need and, um, maybe on the way back you could pick up breakfast or something.” Chuck shrugs, his shoulders moving in an effortless display of casualness.
“Thanks, Chuck. If I get the numbers I need, then maybe we can call an end to the test and… well, it’ll just be nice when it’s over.”
“Yeah. For sure.” Chuck fidgets slightly, the only outward sign of his nervousness. “So, uh, have fun, er, I mean, good luck at the hospital and like I said, no rush.”
Sam gives him a look. “You’re sure you’re good.”
Chuck rolls his eyes. “Jesus, we’re fine.” He makes pushing motions with his hands. “See you later. Don’t come back too soon.”
Sam’s nod is somewhat skeptical, but he continues up the stairs. Chuck cranes his neck to watch after him and doesn’t move until he hears the door latch shut. He’s sprints over to the sarcophagus, crouching down and putting his face close to the opening.
“So, uh, just hang in there a little longer. Everything is going fine and it’s gonna all work out, I just know it. Just… when he gets here…” Chuck wrings his hands. “Just remember it’s really him, okay? Don’t… Just be careful. I saw most of what happened but I didn’t see all of it and you just need to be careful.” Chuck doesn’t wait for a response as he stands up and pats the top of the sarcophagus. Above him, he hears the massive front door of Collinwood open and then shut as Sam leaves the building. Chuck stares at the ceiling of the basement.
It should be any time now.
***
Dean doesn’t feel nervous on his drive over to Collinwood. He just feels a sense that things are going to be okay. It sounds cheesy and maybe a little bit hokey and if someone were telling him this story, he would laugh at their simple sentimentality.
He feels right.
He’s surprised when he doesn’t see Sam’s car outside of Collinwood, just Chuck’s sensible four-door sedan by itself.
He’s not sure what to expect when he knocks on the door. He’s been wondering on the car ride over what starvation means for Castiel, what he should expect.
But he’s not afraid.
Chuck answers the door and gives him a ghost of a smile.
“Hey, Dean,” he says.
“Chuck. You don’t look surprised to see me,” Dean replies. His tone is rueful and somewhat apologetic, given the way he treated Chuck the last time he saw him.
Chuck’s head bobs around in a slightly bashful manner. “Prophet,” he says, pointing at his brain.
Dean huffs in amusement. “Right. So, uh, where is he?”
Chuck steps back from the door and his gaze slides down the long hallway. “The cellar.”
“What, like you guys have him locked in there or something?”
“Or something,” Chuck murmurs.
Dean takes a deep breath as he steps into Collinwood, taking in the familiar scent. He sees it now with both sets of memories; as it was and as it is. But mostly it just feels like home.
“Where’s Sam?”
“Hospital, running tests.”
“Anything I need to know before I go down there?’
Chuck hesitates for a second. “No,” he says slowly. “I just…” he shakes his head once. “No.”
“That a ‘prophet’ no or a ‘jeez I hope this doesn’t get fucked up seven ways to Sunday’ no?”
Chuck thinks about the question. “I trust him. And I trust you,” he answers finally.
“All right then.”
Dean heads down the hallway, into the kitchen where he pauses at the sight, remembering his first night at Collinwood. He turns toward the cellar door, off to one side in the kitchen.
“Uh,” says Chuck from behind him, startling him a little. “The thing is, if it does go pear-shaped, which I don’t think it will but if it does…”
“I’m not scared, Chuck,” Dean cuts him off. He opens the door and closes it tight behind him, starting his descent into the cellar.
It’s still as dark as it was before, slightly damp smelling. Like all basements in Maine, it never fully warms up nor gets the chill driven out of it, not even in summer. He gets to the bottom of the stairs, sees the small desk and cot that Sam’s been using.
Then he sees the sarcophagus.
He doesn’t think, he just goes. He reads the inscription more subconsciously than consciously, not taking the time to digest the words. He’s a strong guy, stronger than Chuck, so it’s not as much of an effort for him to push the heavy marble lid off the top. He’s not careful, letting it fall to the floor with a solid thunk and not checking, not caring if it’s damaged or not.
He sees the silver latches on the coffin, the tiny engravings, flicks them all open and lifts the lid.
Castiel immediately latches onto Dean’s arm in a bruising grip, pulling Dean toward himself at the same time that Dean is trying to pull him out of the coffin.
“C’mon Cas, help me out here,” Dean mutters, heaving Cas upright and spilling him over the edge of the coffin. They both land on the floor in a tangle of limbs and Dean sets Cas upright, sitting with his back against the stone sarcophagus while Dean crouches over him.
Castiel’s eyes are feral, locking in on Dean’s warily, studying him, measuring him. Then Castiel is gathering himself, folding his long limbs in, pulling himself into a ball. He shuts his eyes and turns his face from Dean.
“Go away, phantom,” he whispers quietly.
Dean cups Castiel’s chin and tries to get his face centered again, tries to get Cas to look at him.
“I’m here, I’m really here,” he says.
“You always say that.”
Dean tightens his grip on Cas’ chin and the vampire’s eyes open accusingly. He regards him carefully, thoughtfully.
“Dean.”
Dean’s shoulders relax slightly. “Yeah.”
Castiel’s hands come up and grip Dean’s arms. “I’m so hungry.” Castiel drops his head and Dean pulls him closer. “It hurts, I forgot how much it hurts.”
Dean rests his nose in Castiel’s hair, drawing the familiar scent deep into his lungs, making his decision. He wonders if he already made it the moment he answered Pam’s question.
He shifts, settling himself down on the ground. Castiel stretches out his legs and Dean slides closer. He can feel Cas shaking, fine tremors running through his body. Castiel fists his hands in Dean’s shirt, his head resting against Dean’s sternum. Dean pulls himself in even closer, using one hand to tilt Castiel’s head up and off to the side. Until Castiel’s lips are resting against Dean’s neck.
They sit like that, both of them breathing quietly until Castiel realizes their position and tries to jerk away, pushing at Dean.
“No!” he exclaims. “I can’t.”
His vampire strength is diminished by his voluntary starvation and Castiel is currently no match for Dean, who won’t let him pull away.
“You don’t know,” Castiel argues, eyes wild and frantic. “Last time, I… I tried… I tried so hard… I killed you.”
Dean meets his gaze. “I was already dead.” Castiel turns his face away again and Dean forces it back to look at him. “You know it’s true. I was already dead.”
Dean can see the indecision in Castiel’s face. The battle between hunger and what he considers wrong.
“I’m not afraid,” Dean says lowly. He feels Castiel relax slightly and pulls him in closer again. “I want you to.”
Time hangs still, silent and thick. Dean can hear own his heart beating in his ears, steady and even. Castiel’s fingers are clenching and unclenching the fabric of Dean’s shirt. Dean coaxes him infinitesimally closer. Castiel’s lips are against the column of his neck, soft but cool.
He’s not afraid, but Dean’s restless. He’s never been good at waiting.
Castiel noses against the fine skin. Dean tenses slightly and then feels the sharp edges of Castiel’s teeth.
He expected pain, but Castiel’s fangs slide easily through tissue. Dean didn’t expect it to feel so good. He feels deliciously attached to Castiel, moving when he moves, a strange extension of him. Castiel’s fingers release Dean’s shirt and slide around to his back and in an effortless shift, Dean goes from holding Castiel to being cradled by him. Castiel sucks on his neck and each pull shoots down Dean’s spine and pools in his groin, hot and heavy. Dean doesn’t know if it’s Castiel or if it’s him; his neck has always been a hot zone and now, having Castiel latched onto it, the pressure, the closeness, the scent of him in the air… He leans back and Castiel goes with him, climbing on top of Dean even as he drinks. Dean can hear the soft sucking sounds, hot and wet and on Castiel’s next long pull, Dean’s hips jerk up against Cas and a long, drawn out moan leaves his lips.
Dean doesn’t realize immediately when Castiel pulls away, doesn’t feel his fangs slide out of the thin skin of his neck. He does finally register that he’s no longer feeling the deep, sucking pull of Castiel drinking from him, but instead feels the soft glide of Castiel’s tongue against his skin, wet and smooth. Castiel pulls back and Dean stares up at him. His lips are stained red and slightly swollen, his eyes bluer than Dean’s ever seen them, glowing in the half-light. Dean rocks his hips against Castiel who grinds his own down in return. Castiel lowers himself on top of Dean and Dean wants to sigh in relief. The weight of him, the bulk of him, the scent of him so familiar and known. Castiel licks his way into Dean’s mouth, the taste somewhat metallic and sharp. Their tongues slide over each other, hot and wet. Dean hooks one of his legs around Castiel’s waist, his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and tries to pull him closer, claw him closer until they’re melded together. He missed this, fuck he missed his. He missed Castiel’s hand cupping the back of his head, he missed Castiel thrusting his hips against Dean’s, the way his breath hitches when he kisses Dean.
Castiel starts moving downward, licking and sucking at Dean’s neck again, tongue careful and reverent at the spot where he bit. His hands are controlled and precise, his eyes clear and sharp, no longer suffering from the hunger. He rucks up Dean’s shirt, completely focused on Dean’s torso, tonguing around a nipple and Dean arches and threads his hands through Castiel’s dark hair. He’s so fucking hard it hurts. He hasn’t so much as laid one finger on himself since he left Castiel standing in the parking lot of the pub. Every time he tried, all thoughts led to Cas. And now, he’s underneath Cas, he’s breathing hard and he can feel Cas’ cock pressing against his leg and he wants so badly he aches from it.
Castiel flips open the button of Dean’s waistband and Dean is more than happy to lift his hips up slightly so they can be pulled down. He feels a brief second of shock as the cold stone floor connects with his back before Castiel frees his cock and runs his nose up along the smooth skin, and then runs his stubble over the same area. Dean jerks as the sharp texture of Cas’ chin runs the length of him, a gasp escaping him when Castiel flicks his tongue out and touches it to the tip.
“Fuck,” he exclaims on a sigh. He tips his head up and sees Castiel watching him with intent, making sure that Dean is looking as he opens his mouth and takes him down in one swallow. Dean manages a sort of ‘nggh’ sound, his hips jack-knifing against Castiel’s firm grip. All he can think is hot, wet, good. Castiel presses his hips down and sucks. He can hear himself making a long drawn out keening sound, whining and panting, only able to get the first syllable of any word out and Castiel just keeps sucking, tonguing over him with his overly hot mouth and Dean feels the scrap of fangs against the sensitive skin and he can’t even warn Castiel before he’s coming and coming. Cas swallows the length of him down and Dean jerks his hips up hard and then he’s boneless on the floor gasping.
Castiel licks his way off and Dean manages to raise his head up slightly, watches as Castiel runs his tongue over the inside of Dean’s groin, the skin there just as thin as his neck. Castiel’s breath is hot as it ghosts over the area and Dean twitches his fingers in Castiel’s hair. Castiel looks up, eyes blown wide with lust and stares at Dean as he pokes his tongue out and nudges against the crease where leg meets body.
“Do it,” Dean pants. “I want… you can…” he whines trying to flex his groin up.
Castiel drops his head and Dean feels the sharp puncture of teeth sliding in. Dean’s dick, spent and soft gives a dauntless twitch and Dean wants to laugh because, Jesus, he’s not that young anymore. Castiel drinks and the pressure is searing and fantastic. Castiel is rocking his erection against Dean’s lower leg and Dean tugs at his hair again, and then jerks Cas upward and presses his lips against Castiel’s. It’s hard and messy and he should be having some kind of freak out at the number of body fluids involved but all he does is to unbuckle Cas’ pants and shove his hand inside. He grabs the solid hard length and Castiel groans into his mouth, pulling away and burying his face in Dean’s neck again. Dean pulls him hard and fast, pushed on by Cas jerking his hips and licking at Dean’s neck, scraping teeth across the skin, but not biting this time. Castiel stills for a second and then comes hot and thick over Dean’s hand. Dean keeps pumping, slower and softer now, working the slick liquid over his length.
Castiel finally stills and they pant against one another, Dean running one hand over the back of Castiel’s neck, and Castiel trailing his fingers lightly over Dean’s collarbone.
“Next time, bed for sure. This floor sucks,” Dean says finally. His voice carries out loudly in the cellar. He feels Castiel’s lips curl in a smile against his neck. Cas pushes himself up, taking his weight on his arms, and stares down at Dean.
“I didn’t think… I thought…”
“I’m sorry.”
Castiel’s eyes go liquid sorrow. “Don’t be sorry. I should have told you, I wanted to tell you but I didn’t…”
Dean pulls him down into a wet kiss to silence him. Castiel tenses for a moment and then relaxes into it, tongue swirling around with Dean’s. They kiss lazily until Dean goes to shift and remembers that they’re still on a stone floor. He pulls back.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
Castiel smiles and Dean feels the final piece of his life click into place.
Epilogue
It doesn’t take Dean long to read Chuck’s manuscript. He grits his teeth when he reads the names Dean and Castiel on paper. He feels sick when he reads Ruby. It’s too strange, too intimate to be reading the words spread out before him. He immediately thinks of them as other Dean, other Castiel; separate and distinct.
Once he starts reading he can’t stop, although he’s not sure how much of the manuscript he actually reads, since it seems like he knows everything that will happen nanoseconds before he sees the words and his brain skims over the words in confirmation. It’s like… reading your journal from many years prior and having the memory of what you wrote flood your brain.
He hears the snap of a rope breaking and flinches as the crates fall down. He feels the certainty of death crawling over him, laying down on top of his body like a heavy winter blanket that is chilled. He feels the warm press of fingers against his own. Pain like a hot liquid poured into his body, replacing his blood. Blue eyes staring at him, bloodshot and grief-stricken.
And then he reads parts he doesn’t know. Parts he doesn’t recognize that don’t cause a strange deja vu mixed in with vertigo. Castiel at Ruby’s, Castiel making a promise, Castiel drinking blood and changing. He feels heartbroken at the sight of the text.
He wishes that if he stops reading, it will make it not true. He wants to shut his eyes and stop taking in the tiny black words on stark white paper. He wants to burn the pages as if that will somehow take it back. He reads of other Castiel bent over other Dean’s body and of Castiel’s fangs. Castiel leans over and bites and Dean feels the twinge in his neck.
What he doesn’t read is how other Dean, past Dean would have said yes to anything Castiel offered. He doesn’t read about how the pain had been excruciating for endless hours and he longed for death. He doesn’t read about how other Dean loved Castiel so much, needed him so much that he would have agreed to become the devil himself if it meant he could stay with Castiel.
He doesn’t read those words, but he knows them to be true. He feels them sink into his bones and marrow. Chuck’s words are the catalyst between his soul and his body and in the moment he reads of Ruby’s ultimate betrayal, of Castiel drinking from other Dean and the broken man dying, he becomes the other man. He is him, he has always been him.
The manuscript falls from his hands to the floor. Dean doesn’t move.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there in the dark, unmoving. At some point, he’s vaguely aware that the doorbell is ringing non-stop and that it’s the middle of the night. He stumbles to the door and swings it open.
Pamela stands in front of him, bathed in the moonlight, her pale skin translucent. She gives him a wry smile.
“Reincarnation’s a bitch to wrap your head around, isn’t it?”
“What?”
She bustles her way past his stupefied response, takes off her coat and her shoes and flicks on some lights as she leads him back to the couch. She sits him down, pulls his hands into her lap and eyeballs him.
“Am I gonna need to slap you?” she asks at his dumb-eyed expression.
“What?”
“Pinch you?” she says hopefully, eyebrow raised.
That seems to get him and he shakes his head a bit. “I… no. I just…”
“Found your brain getting overtaken by thirty years of memories from another life?”
He hesitates. Part of him wants to deny it, wants to pretend this isn’t happening. It can’t be happening. It’s too extraordinary, too fanciful, too crazy.
“Yeah,” he finally says. He stares at her for a moment, then at the clock on the wall. “Jesus, it’s five in the morning.”
“Yes, it is,” says Pam and her tone indicates she’s not impressed with the hour either.
“What are you doing here?”
“Apparently, time and tide wait for no man, Dean Winchester, not even you. I’m here to help you get your head around all this -” she makes a wide sweeping gesture with one hand around Dean, “- and then make sure you get to the church on time, so to speak.”
Dean shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t… I can’t… It’s all…”
Pamela makes another hand waving gesture. “Forget all of that.”
“How can I -” he makes a frustrated sound. “Jesus Christ, Pam, everything is fucked up! I mean seriously fucked up. You’ve no idea.”
Pamela makes a low ‘mmm-hmm’ sound and its patronizing tone sets Dean on edge. “Like I said, forget all that. Do you love him?”
“I don’t know what-”
“Cut the crap, Dean. I didn’t drag my ass over here at five in the morning to be spoon fed your bullshit. Do you love him?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Again with the bullshit.”
Dean clenches his jaw. “You don’t know all the details.”
“Do you mean the part where he’s a vampire? Thanks, brought up to speed. Do you love him?”
Dean stutters. “You can’t - How do you know? How is it that everyone seems to fucking know?”
“I know because I was on the receiving end of a very specific phone call from Chuck Shurley at one this morning. I always knew something was… different about Castiel, but I couldn’t tell what. My… gift couldn’t see what he didn’t want me to see. But I saw other things,” she added. “Reading my cards one night, I saw you in danger and I knew I was meant to send him to you. That was the night you found out about him, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Dean breathes, anger and grief jockeying with confusion and disbelief for top billing in his emotions.
“Don’t you feel differently now that you know what happened, now that you remember?”
“I…” Dean struggles, pushing himself to his feet. “He’s a vampire!”
“Yes he is,” Pam states baldly.
“He lied to me.”
“He did.”
Dean shakes his head and runs his hand over his jaw and the back of his neck.
“Can you blame him for either, when you know he did both for you?”
Dean turns on her hotly. “I didn’t fucking ask him to.”
“No, you didn’t. But he did it for you anyway. Most people don’t get one chance at love like that, and you’ve had two. The first time it was stolen from you, but if you lose it this time, it’s because you threw it away.” Pam stands up and clasps Dean’s shoulders. “Stop thinking. Do you love him?”
“I don’t know.”
She jabs him with a finger. “Don’t be an idiot, Dean, because I will slap you. I’m going to ask you again and you better give me an answer. Do you love him?”
His whole body is tense, adrenaline and anxiety running wild through his veins. He wants to scream that he doesn’t know how he feels, that it’s all so fucked up and beyond normal life and he’s tired, so fucking tired of all this drama bullshit. His mouth opens and he just hangs there for what feels like ages, wordless, soundless. His muscles ache from the tension of holding himself so rigid. His stomach burns. He feels sick and for a moment, he thinks he might puke.
“Yes.”
At that one syllable, uttered so quietly he’s sure Pam wouldn’t have heard him if she wasn’t directly in front of him, his entire body relaxes. He feels everything unclench and ease. In that space between his affirmation and his next breath, it all suddenly seems so easy. He loves Cas. Cas loves him. Everything else is just… not as important.
He’s been a fucking idiot.
“Oh, fuck, Pam. I’ve really messed up.”
She smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “I know. And now you’re gonna fix it.”
“I need… I need to go to Collinwood.” Dean starts for the door. “I gotta talk to Cas.”
Pam halts him with a touch. “Before you go, I need to tell you what’s going on over there.”
Dean eyes her warily. “Okay,” he says slowly.
Pamela takes a deep breath. “You’re brother is trying to find a cure for Castiel. He’s been running some tests.”
“I know all this, Pam.” Dean starts to pull away.
“And one of those tests,” Pam continues doggedly, “is how Castiel’s body reacts when he feeds.”
Dean doesn’t flinch at the word. He still feels the strange calmness and acceptance that overcame him earlier. Now the fact that Castiel is a vampire is simply another thing about him. His eyes are blue, he makes Dean smile, he is a vampire.
“And?” Dean prompts.
“And how he reacts when he doesn’t feed,” Pam finishes.
Dean pauses for a second uncomprehendingly. As soon as his brain puts it all together, it’s written all over his face.
“Oh, Jesus, they’re starving him.”
“Yes.”
“Is he - How is he?”
“I don’t know and Chuck didn’t say. He only said I had to tell you before you arrived at Collinwood.”
“Fuck, I have to -” Dean lurches toward the door, realizes he doesn’t have any shoes and then stumbles back into the foyer to stuff his feet in them. He can’t find his keys and starts looking around frantically for them until Pam dangles them in front of his face.
“Thank you,” he says, snatching them out of her hand. He stops and stares at her. “Thank you,” he says again, his expression deep and intense.
“You’re welcome.”
***
The ninth check-in had followed nearly the same format as the eighth. Castiel managed some semblance of coherency for short spurts, able to answer questions about his hunger, his pain level, his state of mind but then would degenerate into hallucinations leaving Sam to try and talk him out of them.
Castiel’s hallucinations center around his family, Dean, and Ruby and Sam does his best to reassure Castiel things are fine, and that nothing is really there.
Sam can’t run the blood work fast enough to know if he’s got what he needs. The tests take time and processing and he’s barely managed to complete the first samples, let alone start looking at samples from the ninth test. If he could be certain he had the data he needs, he could call a halt to the test and they could free Castiel and… feed him.
Sam eyes the small fridge in the corner of the basement. Inside it’s stocked with several bags of blood, newly procured from the blood bank. Chuck Shurley is a god among men, Sam thinks, because he still doesn’t know how Chuck’s getting the blood out from under the noses of increased security at the hospital.
And he doesn’t want to know, so he doesn’t ask.
Sam hears soft footsteps on the stone stairs and looks up to see Chuck coming down. He manages a wan smile which Chuck returns.
“How did it go?” asks Chuck.
“Okay. Fine. Good,” Sam says quietly. Chuck doesn’t bother to lower his voice, and Sam wonders if the sound of them talking just registers as another hallucination to Castiel or if he recognizes them.
“You look pretty rough, man.”
Sam pushes his hair back from his face. “No, I’m fine. I’m just… I just wish we didn’t have to keep doing this, you know? I wish I knew more about the tests.”
“I thought you were processing them here.”
“I am, but it takes time and the mass spectrometer we ordered hasn’t arrived yet. I’ve been using the one at the hospital.”
“So, why don’t you take the samples to the hospital?” asks Chuck.
“It would take me hours to process all of them, and I need to be back here for the next check-in.”
Chuck nods like this is all news to him. His visions are very detailed and he was already pretty sure how he was going to get Sam out of Collinwood, but still it’s bizarre to have it all unfold in front of him so easily. “Why don’t you take the first sample, a median one, and the last one. Could you process the three of them? Then would that give you a general idea?”
Sam pauses as he thinks about it. “Yeah. Yeah it would. That’s a really great idea, Chuck.” Sam starts gathering his notes and stops. “But that leaves you here with Castiel,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Are you…?”
Chuck flaps his hands. “Oh, I’ve still got all of Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi to get through and after that, I was gonna start on the Lord of the Rings. You know, ‘one ring to rule them all,’ Chuck says in parody of a sinister voice. “So, uh, don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Chuck starts hustling Sam up the stairs of the cellar. “Yeah. Of course. Just, uh, you know, take all the time you need and, um, maybe on the way back you could pick up breakfast or something.” Chuck shrugs, his shoulders moving in an effortless display of casualness.
“Thanks, Chuck. If I get the numbers I need, then maybe we can call an end to the test and… well, it’ll just be nice when it’s over.”
“Yeah. For sure.” Chuck fidgets slightly, the only outward sign of his nervousness. “So, uh, have fun, er, I mean, good luck at the hospital and like I said, no rush.”
Sam gives him a look. “You’re sure you’re good.”
Chuck rolls his eyes. “Jesus, we’re fine.” He makes pushing motions with his hands. “See you later. Don’t come back too soon.”
Sam’s nod is somewhat skeptical, but he continues up the stairs. Chuck cranes his neck to watch after him and doesn’t move until he hears the door latch shut. He’s sprints over to the sarcophagus, crouching down and putting his face close to the opening.
“So, uh, just hang in there a little longer. Everything is going fine and it’s gonna all work out, I just know it. Just… when he gets here…” Chuck wrings his hands. “Just remember it’s really him, okay? Don’t… Just be careful. I saw most of what happened but I didn’t see all of it and you just need to be careful.” Chuck doesn’t wait for a response as he stands up and pats the top of the sarcophagus. Above him, he hears the massive front door of Collinwood open and then shut as Sam leaves the building. Chuck stares at the ceiling of the basement.
It should be any time now.
***
Dean doesn’t feel nervous on his drive over to Collinwood. He just feels a sense that things are going to be okay. It sounds cheesy and maybe a little bit hokey and if someone were telling him this story, he would laugh at their simple sentimentality.
He feels right.
He’s surprised when he doesn’t see Sam’s car outside of Collinwood, just Chuck’s sensible four-door sedan by itself.
He’s not sure what to expect when he knocks on the door. He’s been wondering on the car ride over what starvation means for Castiel, what he should expect.
But he’s not afraid.
Chuck answers the door and gives him a ghost of a smile.
“Hey, Dean,” he says.
“Chuck. You don’t look surprised to see me,” Dean replies. His tone is rueful and somewhat apologetic, given the way he treated Chuck the last time he saw him.
Chuck’s head bobs around in a slightly bashful manner. “Prophet,” he says, pointing at his brain.
Dean huffs in amusement. “Right. So, uh, where is he?”
Chuck steps back from the door and his gaze slides down the long hallway. “The cellar.”
“What, like you guys have him locked in there or something?”
“Or something,” Chuck murmurs.
Dean takes a deep breath as he steps into Collinwood, taking in the familiar scent. He sees it now with both sets of memories; as it was and as it is. But mostly it just feels like home.
“Where’s Sam?”
“Hospital, running tests.”
“Anything I need to know before I go down there?’
Chuck hesitates for a second. “No,” he says slowly. “I just…” he shakes his head once. “No.”
“That a ‘prophet’ no or a ‘jeez I hope this doesn’t get fucked up seven ways to Sunday’ no?”
Chuck thinks about the question. “I trust him. And I trust you,” he answers finally.
“All right then.”
Dean heads down the hallway, into the kitchen where he pauses at the sight, remembering his first night at Collinwood. He turns toward the cellar door, off to one side in the kitchen.
“Uh,” says Chuck from behind him, startling him a little. “The thing is, if it does go pear-shaped, which I don’t think it will but if it does…”
“I’m not scared, Chuck,” Dean cuts him off. He opens the door and closes it tight behind him, starting his descent into the cellar.
It’s still as dark as it was before, slightly damp smelling. Like all basements in Maine, it never fully warms up nor gets the chill driven out of it, not even in summer. He gets to the bottom of the stairs, sees the small desk and cot that Sam’s been using.
Then he sees the sarcophagus.
He doesn’t think, he just goes. He reads the inscription more subconsciously than consciously, not taking the time to digest the words. He’s a strong guy, stronger than Chuck, so it’s not as much of an effort for him to push the heavy marble lid off the top. He’s not careful, letting it fall to the floor with a solid thunk and not checking, not caring if it’s damaged or not.
He sees the silver latches on the coffin, the tiny engravings, flicks them all open and lifts the lid.
Castiel immediately latches onto Dean’s arm in a bruising grip, pulling Dean toward himself at the same time that Dean is trying to pull him out of the coffin.
“C’mon Cas, help me out here,” Dean mutters, heaving Cas upright and spilling him over the edge of the coffin. They both land on the floor in a tangle of limbs and Dean sets Cas upright, sitting with his back against the stone sarcophagus while Dean crouches over him.
Castiel’s eyes are feral, locking in on Dean’s warily, studying him, measuring him. Then Castiel is gathering himself, folding his long limbs in, pulling himself into a ball. He shuts his eyes and turns his face from Dean.
“Go away, phantom,” he whispers quietly.
Dean cups Castiel’s chin and tries to get his face centered again, tries to get Cas to look at him.
“I’m here, I’m really here,” he says.
“You always say that.”
Dean tightens his grip on Cas’ chin and the vampire’s eyes open accusingly. He regards him carefully, thoughtfully.
“Dean.”
Dean’s shoulders relax slightly. “Yeah.”
Castiel’s hands come up and grip Dean’s arms. “I’m so hungry.” Castiel drops his head and Dean pulls him closer. “It hurts, I forgot how much it hurts.”
Dean rests his nose in Castiel’s hair, drawing the familiar scent deep into his lungs, making his decision. He wonders if he already made it the moment he answered Pam’s question.
He shifts, settling himself down on the ground. Castiel stretches out his legs and Dean slides closer. He can feel Cas shaking, fine tremors running through his body. Castiel fists his hands in Dean’s shirt, his head resting against Dean’s sternum. Dean pulls himself in even closer, using one hand to tilt Castiel’s head up and off to the side. Until Castiel’s lips are resting against Dean’s neck.
They sit like that, both of them breathing quietly until Castiel realizes their position and tries to jerk away, pushing at Dean.
“No!” he exclaims. “I can’t.”
His vampire strength is diminished by his voluntary starvation and Castiel is currently no match for Dean, who won’t let him pull away.
“You don’t know,” Castiel argues, eyes wild and frantic. “Last time, I… I tried… I tried so hard… I killed you.”
Dean meets his gaze. “I was already dead.” Castiel turns his face away again and Dean forces it back to look at him. “You know it’s true. I was already dead.”
Dean can see the indecision in Castiel’s face. The battle between hunger and what he considers wrong.
“I’m not afraid,” Dean says lowly. He feels Castiel relax slightly and pulls him in closer again. “I want you to.”
Time hangs still, silent and thick. Dean can hear own his heart beating in his ears, steady and even. Castiel’s fingers are clenching and unclenching the fabric of Dean’s shirt. Dean coaxes him infinitesimally closer. Castiel’s lips are against the column of his neck, soft but cool.
He’s not afraid, but Dean’s restless. He’s never been good at waiting.
Castiel noses against the fine skin. Dean tenses slightly and then feels the sharp edges of Castiel’s teeth.
He expected pain, but Castiel’s fangs slide easily through tissue. Dean didn’t expect it to feel so good. He feels deliciously attached to Castiel, moving when he moves, a strange extension of him. Castiel’s fingers release Dean’s shirt and slide around to his back and in an effortless shift, Dean goes from holding Castiel to being cradled by him. Castiel sucks on his neck and each pull shoots down Dean’s spine and pools in his groin, hot and heavy. Dean doesn’t know if it’s Castiel or if it’s him; his neck has always been a hot zone and now, having Castiel latched onto it, the pressure, the closeness, the scent of him in the air… He leans back and Castiel goes with him, climbing on top of Dean even as he drinks. Dean can hear the soft sucking sounds, hot and wet and on Castiel’s next long pull, Dean’s hips jerk up against Cas and a long, drawn out moan leaves his lips.
Dean doesn’t realize immediately when Castiel pulls away, doesn’t feel his fangs slide out of the thin skin of his neck. He does finally register that he’s no longer feeling the deep, sucking pull of Castiel drinking from him, but instead feels the soft glide of Castiel’s tongue against his skin, wet and smooth. Castiel pulls back and Dean stares up at him. His lips are stained red and slightly swollen, his eyes bluer than Dean’s ever seen them, glowing in the half-light. Dean rocks his hips against Castiel who grinds his own down in return. Castiel lowers himself on top of Dean and Dean wants to sigh in relief. The weight of him, the bulk of him, the scent of him so familiar and known. Castiel licks his way into Dean’s mouth, the taste somewhat metallic and sharp. Their tongues slide over each other, hot and wet. Dean hooks one of his legs around Castiel’s waist, his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and tries to pull him closer, claw him closer until they’re melded together. He missed this, fuck he missed his. He missed Castiel’s hand cupping the back of his head, he missed Castiel thrusting his hips against Dean’s, the way his breath hitches when he kisses Dean.
Castiel starts moving downward, licking and sucking at Dean’s neck again, tongue careful and reverent at the spot where he bit. His hands are controlled and precise, his eyes clear and sharp, no longer suffering from the hunger. He rucks up Dean’s shirt, completely focused on Dean’s torso, tonguing around a nipple and Dean arches and threads his hands through Castiel’s dark hair. He’s so fucking hard it hurts. He hasn’t so much as laid one finger on himself since he left Castiel standing in the parking lot of the pub. Every time he tried, all thoughts led to Cas. And now, he’s underneath Cas, he’s breathing hard and he can feel Cas’ cock pressing against his leg and he wants so badly he aches from it.
Castiel flips open the button of Dean’s waistband and Dean is more than happy to lift his hips up slightly so they can be pulled down. He feels a brief second of shock as the cold stone floor connects with his back before Castiel frees his cock and runs his nose up along the smooth skin, and then runs his stubble over the same area. Dean jerks as the sharp texture of Cas’ chin runs the length of him, a gasp escaping him when Castiel flicks his tongue out and touches it to the tip.
“Fuck,” he exclaims on a sigh. He tips his head up and sees Castiel watching him with intent, making sure that Dean is looking as he opens his mouth and takes him down in one swallow. Dean manages a sort of ‘nggh’ sound, his hips jack-knifing against Castiel’s firm grip. All he can think is hot, wet, good. Castiel presses his hips down and sucks. He can hear himself making a long drawn out keening sound, whining and panting, only able to get the first syllable of any word out and Castiel just keeps sucking, tonguing over him with his overly hot mouth and Dean feels the scrap of fangs against the sensitive skin and he can’t even warn Castiel before he’s coming and coming. Cas swallows the length of him down and Dean jerks his hips up hard and then he’s boneless on the floor gasping.
Castiel licks his way off and Dean manages to raise his head up slightly, watches as Castiel runs his tongue over the inside of Dean’s groin, the skin there just as thin as his neck. Castiel’s breath is hot as it ghosts over the area and Dean twitches his fingers in Castiel’s hair. Castiel looks up, eyes blown wide with lust and stares at Dean as he pokes his tongue out and nudges against the crease where leg meets body.
“Do it,” Dean pants. “I want… you can…” he whines trying to flex his groin up.
Castiel drops his head and Dean feels the sharp puncture of teeth sliding in. Dean’s dick, spent and soft gives a dauntless twitch and Dean wants to laugh because, Jesus, he’s not that young anymore. Castiel drinks and the pressure is searing and fantastic. Castiel is rocking his erection against Dean’s lower leg and Dean tugs at his hair again, and then jerks Cas upward and presses his lips against Castiel’s. It’s hard and messy and he should be having some kind of freak out at the number of body fluids involved but all he does is to unbuckle Cas’ pants and shove his hand inside. He grabs the solid hard length and Castiel groans into his mouth, pulling away and burying his face in Dean’s neck again. Dean pulls him hard and fast, pushed on by Cas jerking his hips and licking at Dean’s neck, scraping teeth across the skin, but not biting this time. Castiel stills for a second and then comes hot and thick over Dean’s hand. Dean keeps pumping, slower and softer now, working the slick liquid over his length.
Castiel finally stills and they pant against one another, Dean running one hand over the back of Castiel’s neck, and Castiel trailing his fingers lightly over Dean’s collarbone.
“Next time, bed for sure. This floor sucks,” Dean says finally. His voice carries out loudly in the cellar. He feels Castiel’s lips curl in a smile against his neck. Cas pushes himself up, taking his weight on his arms, and stares down at Dean.
“I didn’t think… I thought…”
“I’m sorry.”
Castiel’s eyes go liquid sorrow. “Don’t be sorry. I should have told you, I wanted to tell you but I didn’t…”
Dean pulls him down into a wet kiss to silence him. Castiel tenses for a moment and then relaxes into it, tongue swirling around with Dean’s. They kiss lazily until Dean goes to shift and remembers that they’re still on a stone floor. He pulls back.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
Castiel smiles and Dean feels the final piece of his life click into place.
Epilogue