Dark Shadows - Metaphysical Gravity - Ch. 7 - The Collision of Our Kiss
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Dean is dreaming.
It’s not like his normal dreams, which are generally full of random images and wacky pairings from his everyday life. The kind of dreams where he goes to the pub and finds out he ordered a bucked of striped paint and Ava thinks it’s the wrong color. I told you blue and red are not going to go with the leather on the bar stools. I don’t know what you were thinking, silly. I told you to get yellow and purple. Or the one dream he always has where he’s trying to call Sam and then numbers on his phone keep shifting and changing and so he has to keep hanging up and start dialing again from the beginning.
He also has this one freakishly annoying dream where he is chewing gum and he wants to spit it out but no matter how hard he tries he can’t and the gum just keeps getting stickier and sticker until it’s taking up his whole mouth.
He mentioned it off-handedly to Sam once and he said it was some kind of stress dream. What-the-fuck-ever. A stress dream is when you ordered four times the amount of meat you’re gonna need and you can’t send it back and now it’s gonna go bad and you’re gonna be out of pocket that money and still have to figure out what you’re gonna do with all that meat.
That’s a stress dream. That other one is just about gum.
Tonight’s dream isn’t like that, but it’s not a nightmare either, although he does have those regularly. Dreams of yellow and orange flames snaking forward and licking at his toes, and he’s holding Sammy and Sammy is so heavy, so heavy and he can’t make his legs run fast enough and when he looks down he sees his feet sinking into carpet and he’s drowning into the floor and he’s holding onto Sammy so tight so tight that he hears something snap and he looks down and Sammy’s all black and burned up; dry like old wood, and his mouth is open screaming but no sound is coming out.
He doesn’t tell anyone about those. Not even Sam. It’s not like it takes a genius to figure out what those nightmares are about.
Thankfully, tonight is not a nightmare kind of night. Tonight’s dream is different from any other kind he’s had. Colors stand out more and it’s so tactile. He thinks he might recognize the area. Almost. It’s like the landmarks are the same but he doesn’t see anything else that he would know. He’s in a forest, huge trees bowing up and over the pathway he’s on, creating a peaceful tunnel of greenery. The wind rustles the trees and the sound of all the branches and leaves rubbing against one another is soothing and refreshing.
He’s running.
It’s not the frantic running of a dream where you’re being chased or you’re lost or scared and trying to find something. It’s the pleasant happy running of chasing something you want to catch. Up ahead, fragmented by trees and leaves and shadows, he can see a figure sprinting away from him and he wants to catch it. He feels light, giddy and almost out of breath. The wind is cool and soft on his skin, the ground is somewhat marshy and springy under his feet. In the distance he can hear the waves crashing against the rocks and he knows he must be close to the shoreline. He can taste the ocean spray on his lips, salty and tangy; the special taste of brine that he knows so well and immediately associates with home.
He’s running faster, determined, and he has a strange feeling of vertigo from moving through the trees, all so similar but so different. The figure ahead is slowing down, wanting to be caught. Dean reaches his hand out and feels his hand land on a solid shoulder and slightly scratchy fabric and then legs are tangling and arms are splaying and he’s falling, falling, they are falling, falling and it’s not scary; it’s thrill, anticipation, desire and fun all rolled into one big happy ball of emotion that crushes into his chest and squeezes out everything that was ever weighing his heart down.
There is grass under his head and mud all over his clothes and he doesn’t care. He can feel his smile so big and huge that it’s threatening to crack his cheeks. There’s a satisfying weight on top of him and he’s breathless from running and from catching. His eyes trail over a slightly stubbly jaw, fingers following where his gaze rests and finally he’s looking up into blue. The blue is looking back and the color is everything that makes him think happy.
“Caught you,” he breathes low and quiet.
“I wanted to be caught.”
“How lucky for me.”
His fingers slide through dark hair and pull gently, coaxing lips to meet his. They are only a millimeter apart, sensitive pink skin nearly touching and there is a pause. Breaths mingling, eyes closing, and the moment, this moment… he wants it to be carved into his grey matter, stamped into his heart and preserved for eternity. He hears the wind and the surf, he feels the cool breeze moist with just a hint a ocean spray. The solidity of bone, flesh and muscle weighing on top of him is warm and strong.
Lips meet, gliding over one another in a restless dance. Tongues darting out in quick teases and playful licks and then tangling in a hot slippery slide, fighting for more and yes and please. He moans and hears an answering one, resonating fantastically in his ear and sending thrills down his spine to curl contentedly in his groin and if this moment never ends he will be perfectly happy. If he dies right now, he will be satisfied.
If he dies…
If he dies…
If he dies…
The wind turns mean, angry and cold. The sky goes dark and he’s alone and he doesn’t know how it happened. He’s on his feet and he’s running again but this time it’s frantic and he’s scared. He had something (someone) and he lost it (him) and he needs it (him) back, he needs. The trees are discarding leaves, throwing them down at him spitefully with little branches still attached and they sting his face. It’s raining, cold, hard, brittle rain that cuts through his skin and chills him in seconds. He’s lost and the path is gone and the trees are curling in on him, crowding and crushing, and it’s cold. It hurts. He’s screaming.
He wakes with one word on his mind.
Castiel.
***
He waits for Castiel to come back to the pub.
He waits three days. Castiel doesn’t return.
Which is fine. It’s normal. He has regulars and he has not-so-regulars. People come and go as they please and he can’t say he’s ever really given it any thought until now.
On the fourth day, he has plans with Ben to play some road hockey. They meet regularly with a bunch of Big Brothers and Sisters and their charges and organize a pickup game. They careen around the empty half of the community hall parking lot, the grownups carefully watching to make sure no one skates outside of the pylon barrier they’ve erected. Dean’s not bad on his inline skates but if Ben wasn’t such a great kid it would be really annoying how he’s able to dart in and out of traffic, always faster than the other kids, certainly faster than most of the adults. Ben has never even needed the wrist guards Dean makes him wear, while Dean’s are scuffed up beyond all hope.
The game winds down, sweaty kids stowing their gear and Dean says a silent prayer no one forgets to toss their stuff in the wash. Dean and Ben are hunkered down on a cement parking divider, shucking their skates and yanking off their gear. They didn’t have much chance to talk before the game, but Ben’s all chatter now. All “did you see that shot? Jordy’s got new skates but they suck. April’s got a new game and it’s so sweet, you can pick your player and trick them out and then send them into battle. She’s gonna let me play it next week but I gotta bring my own controller ‘cause her other one got chewed up by her Rottie.”
Dean smirks. April. He’s been hearing a lot about April lately, but he hasn’t pushed, doesn’t want to pry. But if he’s not mistaken, April is kind of Ben’s girlfriend.
Girlfriend in the “Grade Three” sense of the word, which as far as Dean can tell, means that all of Ben and April’s friends know that Ben and April are boyfriend-girlfriend, but Ben and April don’t eat lunch together, don’t talk at school and most certainly do not stand next to each other in line.
But they do talk on the internet and play Pokemon together. Dean can tell you all you want to know about Pokemon.
“… and the staircase is fixed now and Mr. Collins and Chuck said I could go upstairs as long as I stayed out of any rooms that had a yellow x on the door because that means that they need work. Mr. Collins asked me to organize the tile spacers and make sure they are all in the right place at the end of the day. He said he’ll let me help pick out the paint too. I told him blue is nice. He said ‘blue is a very nice color indeed’. He talks funny. They’re doin’ his bedroom first. He’s gonna move in tomorrow.”
Dean’s interest is piqued against his will. “Yeah, he stopped by the pub. He mentioned you hang out up there at the Old Estate.”
“He said I could,” Ben immediately defends.
“And that’s what he told me,” Dean says with a nod and Ben immediately relaxes. “So, it’s, uh, been pretty busy up there?”
“Oh yeah, they got tons of stuff done. There’s people all around doin’ stuff.”
“And Mr. Collins is usually around?” Dean asks and then feels the need to clarify. “You know to make sure you’re doing okay?”
Ben nods vigorously as he stuffs his feet into his shoes. “Yup. ‘Cept when it’s really sunny he has to stay in the house. He’s allergic.”
“To the sun?”
“Yep.”
Dean didn’t even know that was possible.
“You should go see it.”
“See what?”
Ben rolls his eyes dramatically. “The old estate. It’s awesome. There’s secret rooms and hallways and they even have a stupid waiter.”
“Dumb-waiter.”
“That’s what I said.”
“So, Mr. Collins is moving in tomorrow, huh?”
Ben looks at him like he’s an idiot. His eight-year old face clearly says what did I just tell you?
“Maybe I will stop by.”
***
They have gotten a lot done in three days. Dean didn’t think it was possible to get that much done, but he’s standing in front of the Old Estate and seeing the proof.
The outside stucco has been cleared of debris and Dean’s not sure if they painted it or just washed it but it looks good, clean and new. There are workmen and women bustling about with paint cans, tools and materials. Off to one side, under a small canopy is Chuck. He’s standing in front of a slanted table, holding a clip board. He’s talking to a slender woman in a hard hat and a safety vest. Chuck looks up and sees Dean. He doesn’t look surprised and just motions him over with a wave as he continues to chat.
Dean waits, hands shoved into jean pockets until the woman leaves and Chuck turns to him.
“I have no idea what to call her. Foreman? Forewoman? Foreperson? Is there a PC term for it?”
Dean shrugs. “You’re asking me?”
Chuck flashes a smile. “So, uh, what brings you out?”
“I heard you guys were making real progress out here.”
“Oh, yeah? From Ben?”
Dean nods. “Yeah. Thanks, you know. He says you guys have been including him and looking out for him.”
“He’s a good kid. A little weird sometimes.”
“Weird? Why weird?”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s at that age, you know?”
Dean smirks knowingly. “Is this about April?”
“April? No, Sarah.”
“Sarah? Who is Sarah?”
Chuck clears his throat nervously. “Uh, I think she’s his imaginary friend.”
“What?” Dean has not heard anything about a Sarah and certainly not about an imaginary friend. Ben has lots of real friends. He’s not one of those kids that has imaginary ones.
“Yeah, he says that she lives around here, and they hang out. Have been for months.”
Dean’s nodding like he gets it and then he suddenly realizes that nope, he doesn’t. “Seriously?”
“Yep. Sometimes if he doesn't know you’re there, you can catch him talking or listening to her. He doesn’t like to talk about it though. I think he only told Castiel because he’s got a way about him. You know?”
Boy does Dean know. “He told Castiel?”
“Yeah, I think he likes talking to Castiel because Castiel talks to him like he’s a grown up.”
Dean nods again absently. He supposes there’s nothing wrong with Ben having an imaginary friend. And the kid seems pretty well adjusted otherwise. But it’s definitely something he wants to keep an eye on. Maybe he’ll plan a fishing trip for the two of them and they can just hang out on the boat, drink some sodas, shoot the breeze.
“Thanks, man,” he says to Chuck.
“Yeah. No problem.” Chuck taps his pen on the clipboard. “Um. He’s inside.”
“Ben?”
“Castiel.”
“Oh, I didn’t… I, uh, I just thought I’d…”
Chuck ignores his lame protestations like he doesn’t hear them. “I think he’s on the second floor. He’s moving in today.” Chuck turns around and starts walking away. “You can go on in if you like,” he calls over his shoulder.
And that’s kind of weird.
His thought is immediately forgotten as he walks through the open double doors at the front of the house and sees the work that has been completed. The staircase has been magnificently restored, curving upward with ribbons of dark brown railings and spindles. The walls are freshly plastered and the normally damp air is even heavier with the moisture that seeps out of them as they dry. The stairs are well constructed, silent under his feet. There is a large chandelier hanging down in the center of the foyer and the light it gives bounces so brightly off the railing that Dean’s afraid to rest his hand on in case it’s still wet. There are workers inside the house and the sounds of a radio coming from the other end of the building. All of the clatter of hammers and nails, drills and screws, paint-rollers and ladders gets farther away and muffled as he rises up the stairs.
It doesn’t occur to him until he is almost at the door to Castiel’s bedroom that he never asked Chuck which room it was. He just climbed the stairs and knew.
He knows it’s the right room.
It also didn’t occur to him how supremely strange it is of him to just let himself in on Chuck’s say-so and come find Castiel in his bedroom, for god’s sake.
He’s a stalker.
This is awkward.
The door is open and he knows he shouldn’t, but he peaks around the edge.
He’s surprised to see Ben, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor with a fan of paint chips spread out around him. He is studiously regarding each one and Dean’s only seen this kind of focus for Nintendo. Dean hears the shuffle of fabric and if he shifts slightly, he can see Castiel arranging clothes on plastic hangers.
“Have you narrowed down the choices?” Castiel comes out of the large closet and sits cross-legged across from Ben. Castiel is in jeans and a grey t-shirt and it’s a surprising look on him.
Ben sticks his tongue out from in between his lips. “I think so.” He jerks his head to the discard pile. “Those ones won’t be good ‘cause they’re girly. I mean they’re blue, but they have girly names like ‘Robin’s Egg’ and ‘Sky Ballet.’”
“That will not do at all.” Castiel’s tone is grave.
“Sure won’t.” Ben nods sagely. “So I’ve got these three.” He spreads the chips out on the floor between them. “That one’s got a cool name and it’s a nice blue. It’s like the sky. That one,” he points to the second one. “is okay but it’s dark, and the last one has the best name and looks good. It’s Caribbean Sea, like the pirates movie.”
Dean smirks. It’s so obvious that Ben’s favorite is the last one and he can tell that Ben really wants Castiel to pick it.
“These are very good choices indeed.” Castiel rests his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers under his chin. “Which one would you chose, if it were your room?”
“I’d totally pick the pirate one. For sure.”
“I see,” says Castiel thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should let Dean weigh in as well.” He looks up and his eyes instantaneously find Dean’s green ones peaking through the gap in the doorway. Dean should be embarrassed, he should be really fucking embarrassed; not only is he a stalker he’s a creepy peaking stalker, but Castiel’s expression is so amused and fond that Dean can only smile and push the door open.
“Dean!” Ben exclaims. “You came! It’s so cool, right? It’s looking real good. And Castiel said I could pick out the paint color for the bedroom. After we pick this one, we’re gonna go down the hall to all the rooms that are ready for painting and pick. A different color for each room, isn’t that awesome? I think there should be a red room and a green room and a yellow room, but not orange ‘cause no one likes orange.”
Ben’s up on his feet and pushing the three paint chips into his hand. “You gotta pick one of these. All the others got trashed ‘cause they’re no good.”
Dean scrutinizes the samples with an overly serious face, showing Ben he means business. “Well, buddy, I like the pirate one too, but it should probably be Castiel’s choice.” Dean glances over to Castiel who is unfolding himself gracefully from his cross-legged position and standing.
“It seems it is unanimous then, Ben. Why don’t you give that one to Charles and tell him it’s the master bedroom color.”
“So cool. Uh, what about the tv and games?”
“I still see no necessity for a television in my sleeping chambers and I’ve managed to live this long without… what did you call it? Mario Kart?”
Ben looks totally baffled. To an eight-year old the idea that anyone who had the choice would choice not to put a tv with a video game system in their bedroom is unfathomable.
“But I shall have one put in downstairs for when you visit.”
“Cool.” He scampers off, paint-chip getting slightly crushed in his sweaty little hand.
And that leaves Dean. Standing in Castiel’s bedroom. Like the creepy peaking stalker he is.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets just to put them somewhere and rocks slightly on his feet.
“Do you even know what Mario Kart is?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. Although, young Ben says it’s imperative that I have one.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he told you that you can’t live without it.”
Castiel smiles. “Something like that, yes.”
You got a lot done in a really short time,” and Jesus he sounds like an idiot.
Castiel either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind. “Yes, it’s coming along wonderfully.”
“Ben says you’re moving in? Today?”
“That is my intention.”
“Is the place livable? I mean you have water, heat, light?”
“The master bath has water and the kitchen does as well, although I’m not much of a cook. The central heat won’t be operational for a fortnight, but until then, I shall have a fire if I am cold.” Castiel directs his gaze quickly to the fireplace.
“Wow, I guess this place wasn’t set up for heating.”
“No,” replies Castiel with another smile. “It wasn’t built with central heating, water nor electricity in mind. I don’t mind. It is very similar to how I grew up.”
“Jolly old England?”
“Just so,” Castiel murmurs. “The house I grew up in was very similar to this one, and we didn’t have central heating either.” Castiel isn’t really looking at Dean at the moment, he’s looking around the room and Dean gets the impression that he’s seeing something very different. “At night we would take hot bricks into bed with us to keep us warm.” He stops, clearly thinking and then seems to shake his head a little. “But, that was a long time ago. Shall I give you the grand tour?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’d be great.”
“I thought perhaps you would tell me it would be ‘cool.’ Young Ben is particularly fond of that word and uses to describe nearly everything in Collinwood.”
Dean laughs and then falls into step beside Castiel. Castiel takes him back down to the main floor and points out the drawing room, the solarium, the den and then kitchen. Castiel has a short, kind word to say to each person they pass, although he doesn’t stop and linger with anyone.
The kitchen gives way to a massive dining hall and Dean can’t even imagine where Castiel is going to find a table that will take up the space provided. Collinwood is massive. Dean always knew it was big, but he never appreciated how big. He’s been over to the new house many times picking Ben up and dropping him off, and he thought the new estate was large but now that he’s seen the inside of the old estate, he realizes the new house is just a small dwarf sibling.
There’s a ballroom for god’s sake. An honest to god ballroom.
The light in the house is dim and Castiel explains that while the electricity is completed upstairs, the main floor requires extra circuitry and breakers to handle the large load required for the ballroom and the kitchen appliances. It won’t be finished until next week. There are many windows, but they all have dark glass that filters out the majority of the light. It must be due to his allergy and Dean wants to ask but he figures he’s pushed his luck enough by showing up and stalking the guy in the first place.
They are standing in the center of the ballroom and Dean is trying not to be intimidated by the way his footsteps echo around the room. With no furniture, no drapery, no anything there is nothing to absorb the sound of his boots as they track across the floor. It’s unfinished, half lain hardwood in a deep chocolate grain. When it’s done, it’s going to look amazing.
“I’m unsure what to do with this room. It’s unnecessary to have such a large room.”
“You could just throw a really big party and when it’s done, put in a bowling alley.”
Castiel laughs at that and the sound echoes all around Dean coming back at him from different angles and it makes a smile break out on his face. “And if I am unable to sleep I may just come down here and bowl a few lanes?”
Dean shrugs. “If you’ve got nothing else to do when you can’t sleep.”
Dean can think of a few things he’d like to do with Castiel if he can’t sleep and for a second, he feels really awkward again until he realizes that Castiel is staring back at him with much the same look on his face. Even in the darkened light of the room, his eyes are a startling blue.
“Perhaps I shall take your advice and the next time I can’t sleep I will invite you over for a game.” His voice is low, gravelly.
“I’m very good at games.” Dean’s matching his tone and his look.
“I imagine you are.”
They stand there for a minute simply looking at each other. Dean’s disappointed when Castiel finally looks away and offers to show him the rest of the rooms upstairs.
There are several bedrooms upstairs and while many are being turned into guest rooms (although how many guests can you really expect at one time?) Castiel also has plans to knock down the walls between some of them and merge them into larger rooms. Dean wonders what one person will do with all the space. It’s jaw-dropping. If it were him, he would just move from room to room, rotating through the house and never getting bored. They are at one of the last rooms and Castiel has the door pushed open wide but they haven’t gone in. Dean saw the yellow ‘x’ painted on the door, the sign that tells Ben to stay out of a room because it’s unsafe.
“This room was destroyed significantly during a fire many years ago. The fire started downstairs but the heat warped and damaged most of the floor joists so it will have to be completely torn out and re-done. I’m rather fond of this room, however so I’m quite anxious for it to be completed.”
“Yeah? How come?”
“My room growing up was very similar to this one. A replica actually. And although I’ve taken the master suite here, I have a special desire to see this room completed. There is actually a small door in the closet and a cramped passageway and spiral staircase lead down to the kitchen. As a small boy, I used to sneak downstairs very early in the morning, when Cook was baking, and steal biscuits from his tray. I daresay he knew exactly who was stealing his freshly baked treasures but he never said a word and in fact always left them in easy reach of the door that led out of the passageway.”
As Castiel talked, he had wandered a couple of steps into the room and unconsciously, Dean had followed him. Castiel’s voice was soothing and hypnotic and Dean had the stray thought that he could probably listen to the man read the phone book and enjoy it.
Dean turns in a slow circle surveying the smaller room. He can see how it would be perfect for a boy and how having a secret passageway would be just about the best thing ever for any child. A place to hide your secrets.
The cracking sound he hears is so unfamiliar to him that he doesn’t register it as the floorboard failing until he starts to pinwheel his arms madly as his balance shifts and he is falling (falling, falling) backward. He barely has time to think, Oh shit before one of his wrists is caught in a harsh grip, bones grinding and he’s unceremoniously yanked hard into Castiel and then they’re out in the hallway. It happens so fast, he’s not sure how they ended up outside the room.
He’s pressed flush up against Castiel and one of them should step away, one of them should move a fraction. They should be exchanging awkward looks and nervous laughs at the absurdity of their situation, but neither moves. Dean’s eyes dart quickly down to Castiel’s lips and then back up again. Castiel’s eyes have taken their own wandering trip to gaze at Dean’s features.
“Caught you,” Castiel says finally, low and quiet.
Dean flashes to his dream from other night and without pausing answers, “I wanted to be caught.”
The look on Castiel’s face is painfully happy. Like he can’t believe Dean said those words. “How lucky for me,” Castiel replies, the words barely audible.
Dean’s not sure if one of them moved first or it was both of them at the same time and frankly he does not care. His lips are crushed by Castiel’s and they’re locked in this ungraceful, hungry tangle of teeth, tongues and skin. This is not a ‘middle of the afternoon’ kiss. It’s not a ‘oh hey, it’s our first, so why don’t we try and figure out how we fit’ kiss. And it’s definitely not a ‘hmm, not really sure but heck, I’ll give it a go’ kiss.
This is a ‘I could swallow you whole’ kiss. A ‘I have to get as much of you as possible’ kiss. A ‘you are mine-mine-mine and no one else’s’ kiss. Licking into each other’s mouths and sucking on each other’s tongues, sliding over one another and both of them trying to get closer, closer and they’re both going to have swollen lips and stubble burn and Dean does not care. He’s mapping the inside of Castiel’s mouth, smooth cavity of the roof, hard edges of teeth, hot press of tongue. They’re both breathing hard now and neither one is getting nearly enough oxygen, but they don’t stop, can’t stop. Dean lets Castiel walk him backward two steps until he’s pressing against the wall of the corridor, long strip of crown molding digging into the small of his back. Castiel’s hips push against Dean’s and Dean can’t stop his from snapping back quickly, a delight of desire pulsing down into his groin. Dean runs his tongue over Castiel’s teeth again…
And hisses when the soft muscle is split open. Fuck, that’s a sharp tooth. He tastes blood immediately and for an instant Castiel surges forward and smashes into him hard.
And just as quickly, Castiel has his back to Dean and Dean’s left breathing hard, leaning against the wall for support because frankly, that was a hell of a kiss and his knees are a little weak. Castiel’s shoulders are stiff and controlled, head slightly bowed, fists curled at his sides.
Dean can still taste the salty tang of blood in his mouth. He’s not sure what to say. The only sound for several seconds is the heavy cadence of their lungs trying to catch up on oxygen. Then Dean hears Castiel’s voice.
“I’m sorry… I’m not… I don’t generally…I…”
Dean can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or nervous or what.
“Uh, no need to apologize. I was pretty much as involved as you were.” Dean pushes away from the wall. “Um, are you okay?”
Castiel’s head bobs up and down quickly and Dean will take that as a yes.
“I am…” he pauses as he struggles for a word. “It is… I am slightly overwhelmed.”
“Oh,” says Dean and he thinks he might get it. Maybe stiff upper lip British upbringing doesn’t generally lend itself well to overheated, smoking hot kissing of someone you just met. He’s not sure what he’s doing, and he can’t think of a single person he’s ever tried to comfort before except for Sam, but he steps forward and places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and gives a solid squeeze and then a gentle rub. “That’s cool. That’s okay,” he says lowly, like he’s talking to a wild animal. “How about I see myself out and you can, uh…” What? What’s the right word? Fuck, Sam would know the right word. Collect? “Um, collect yourself.”
“I would appreciate that, thank you.”
He gives Castiel’s shoulder another squeeze and to his surprise, Castiel’s long fingers come up and grasp his hand once firmly and then release. Dean carefully steps away and quietly makes his way down the hall, then the stairs and then out the door.
******
Castiel’s hearing is superb and once he hears Dean leave he rushes back to the master bathroom and locks the door behind him. Although he doesn’t need to see them, he can feel them, he has the absurd need to check them in the mirror.
His fangs are fully out, sharp to a razor point. He hasn’t fed today. He didn’t feel the need to, he only meant to be milling around the estate. During the kiss he felt them slide out, cutting through his gums bloodlessly, and then Dean had run his tongue over one honed edge and that taste, the first taste of Dean’s blood…
He wanted to bite him. He’d never wanted to bite anyone so badly in his existence as vampire as much as he wanted to bite Dean today. He hadn’t lied, he had been overwhelmed, just not the way Dean thought.
He made that mistake once and he can’t make it again.
Next Chapter - 8 - The Prevarication of Ghostly Friends and Lovers
Dean is dreaming.
It’s not like his normal dreams, which are generally full of random images and wacky pairings from his everyday life. The kind of dreams where he goes to the pub and finds out he ordered a bucked of striped paint and Ava thinks it’s the wrong color. I told you blue and red are not going to go with the leather on the bar stools. I don’t know what you were thinking, silly. I told you to get yellow and purple. Or the one dream he always has where he’s trying to call Sam and then numbers on his phone keep shifting and changing and so he has to keep hanging up and start dialing again from the beginning.
He also has this one freakishly annoying dream where he is chewing gum and he wants to spit it out but no matter how hard he tries he can’t and the gum just keeps getting stickier and sticker until it’s taking up his whole mouth.
He mentioned it off-handedly to Sam once and he said it was some kind of stress dream. What-the-fuck-ever. A stress dream is when you ordered four times the amount of meat you’re gonna need and you can’t send it back and now it’s gonna go bad and you’re gonna be out of pocket that money and still have to figure out what you’re gonna do with all that meat.
That’s a stress dream. That other one is just about gum.
Tonight’s dream isn’t like that, but it’s not a nightmare either, although he does have those regularly. Dreams of yellow and orange flames snaking forward and licking at his toes, and he’s holding Sammy and Sammy is so heavy, so heavy and he can’t make his legs run fast enough and when he looks down he sees his feet sinking into carpet and he’s drowning into the floor and he’s holding onto Sammy so tight so tight that he hears something snap and he looks down and Sammy’s all black and burned up; dry like old wood, and his mouth is open screaming but no sound is coming out.
He doesn’t tell anyone about those. Not even Sam. It’s not like it takes a genius to figure out what those nightmares are about.
Thankfully, tonight is not a nightmare kind of night. Tonight’s dream is different from any other kind he’s had. Colors stand out more and it’s so tactile. He thinks he might recognize the area. Almost. It’s like the landmarks are the same but he doesn’t see anything else that he would know. He’s in a forest, huge trees bowing up and over the pathway he’s on, creating a peaceful tunnel of greenery. The wind rustles the trees and the sound of all the branches and leaves rubbing against one another is soothing and refreshing.
He’s running.
It’s not the frantic running of a dream where you’re being chased or you’re lost or scared and trying to find something. It’s the pleasant happy running of chasing something you want to catch. Up ahead, fragmented by trees and leaves and shadows, he can see a figure sprinting away from him and he wants to catch it. He feels light, giddy and almost out of breath. The wind is cool and soft on his skin, the ground is somewhat marshy and springy under his feet. In the distance he can hear the waves crashing against the rocks and he knows he must be close to the shoreline. He can taste the ocean spray on his lips, salty and tangy; the special taste of brine that he knows so well and immediately associates with home.
He’s running faster, determined, and he has a strange feeling of vertigo from moving through the trees, all so similar but so different. The figure ahead is slowing down, wanting to be caught. Dean reaches his hand out and feels his hand land on a solid shoulder and slightly scratchy fabric and then legs are tangling and arms are splaying and he’s falling, falling, they are falling, falling and it’s not scary; it’s thrill, anticipation, desire and fun all rolled into one big happy ball of emotion that crushes into his chest and squeezes out everything that was ever weighing his heart down.
There is grass under his head and mud all over his clothes and he doesn’t care. He can feel his smile so big and huge that it’s threatening to crack his cheeks. There’s a satisfying weight on top of him and he’s breathless from running and from catching. His eyes trail over a slightly stubbly jaw, fingers following where his gaze rests and finally he’s looking up into blue. The blue is looking back and the color is everything that makes him think happy.
“Caught you,” he breathes low and quiet.
“I wanted to be caught.”
“How lucky for me.”
His fingers slide through dark hair and pull gently, coaxing lips to meet his. They are only a millimeter apart, sensitive pink skin nearly touching and there is a pause. Breaths mingling, eyes closing, and the moment, this moment… he wants it to be carved into his grey matter, stamped into his heart and preserved for eternity. He hears the wind and the surf, he feels the cool breeze moist with just a hint a ocean spray. The solidity of bone, flesh and muscle weighing on top of him is warm and strong.
Lips meet, gliding over one another in a restless dance. Tongues darting out in quick teases and playful licks and then tangling in a hot slippery slide, fighting for more and yes and please. He moans and hears an answering one, resonating fantastically in his ear and sending thrills down his spine to curl contentedly in his groin and if this moment never ends he will be perfectly happy. If he dies right now, he will be satisfied.
If he dies…
If he dies…
If he dies…
The wind turns mean, angry and cold. The sky goes dark and he’s alone and he doesn’t know how it happened. He’s on his feet and he’s running again but this time it’s frantic and he’s scared. He had something (someone) and he lost it (him) and he needs it (him) back, he needs. The trees are discarding leaves, throwing them down at him spitefully with little branches still attached and they sting his face. It’s raining, cold, hard, brittle rain that cuts through his skin and chills him in seconds. He’s lost and the path is gone and the trees are curling in on him, crowding and crushing, and it’s cold. It hurts. He’s screaming.
He wakes with one word on his mind.
Castiel.
***
He waits for Castiel to come back to the pub.
He waits three days. Castiel doesn’t return.
Which is fine. It’s normal. He has regulars and he has not-so-regulars. People come and go as they please and he can’t say he’s ever really given it any thought until now.
On the fourth day, he has plans with Ben to play some road hockey. They meet regularly with a bunch of Big Brothers and Sisters and their charges and organize a pickup game. They careen around the empty half of the community hall parking lot, the grownups carefully watching to make sure no one skates outside of the pylon barrier they’ve erected. Dean’s not bad on his inline skates but if Ben wasn’t such a great kid it would be really annoying how he’s able to dart in and out of traffic, always faster than the other kids, certainly faster than most of the adults. Ben has never even needed the wrist guards Dean makes him wear, while Dean’s are scuffed up beyond all hope.
The game winds down, sweaty kids stowing their gear and Dean says a silent prayer no one forgets to toss their stuff in the wash. Dean and Ben are hunkered down on a cement parking divider, shucking their skates and yanking off their gear. They didn’t have much chance to talk before the game, but Ben’s all chatter now. All “did you see that shot? Jordy’s got new skates but they suck. April’s got a new game and it’s so sweet, you can pick your player and trick them out and then send them into battle. She’s gonna let me play it next week but I gotta bring my own controller ‘cause her other one got chewed up by her Rottie.”
Dean smirks. April. He’s been hearing a lot about April lately, but he hasn’t pushed, doesn’t want to pry. But if he’s not mistaken, April is kind of Ben’s girlfriend.
Girlfriend in the “Grade Three” sense of the word, which as far as Dean can tell, means that all of Ben and April’s friends know that Ben and April are boyfriend-girlfriend, but Ben and April don’t eat lunch together, don’t talk at school and most certainly do not stand next to each other in line.
But they do talk on the internet and play Pokemon together. Dean can tell you all you want to know about Pokemon.
“… and the staircase is fixed now and Mr. Collins and Chuck said I could go upstairs as long as I stayed out of any rooms that had a yellow x on the door because that means that they need work. Mr. Collins asked me to organize the tile spacers and make sure they are all in the right place at the end of the day. He said he’ll let me help pick out the paint too. I told him blue is nice. He said ‘blue is a very nice color indeed’. He talks funny. They’re doin’ his bedroom first. He’s gonna move in tomorrow.”
Dean’s interest is piqued against his will. “Yeah, he stopped by the pub. He mentioned you hang out up there at the Old Estate.”
“He said I could,” Ben immediately defends.
“And that’s what he told me,” Dean says with a nod and Ben immediately relaxes. “So, it’s, uh, been pretty busy up there?”
“Oh yeah, they got tons of stuff done. There’s people all around doin’ stuff.”
“And Mr. Collins is usually around?” Dean asks and then feels the need to clarify. “You know to make sure you’re doing okay?”
Ben nods vigorously as he stuffs his feet into his shoes. “Yup. ‘Cept when it’s really sunny he has to stay in the house. He’s allergic.”
“To the sun?”
“Yep.”
Dean didn’t even know that was possible.
“You should go see it.”
“See what?”
Ben rolls his eyes dramatically. “The old estate. It’s awesome. There’s secret rooms and hallways and they even have a stupid waiter.”
“Dumb-waiter.”
“That’s what I said.”
“So, Mr. Collins is moving in tomorrow, huh?”
Ben looks at him like he’s an idiot. His eight-year old face clearly says what did I just tell you?
“Maybe I will stop by.”
***
They have gotten a lot done in three days. Dean didn’t think it was possible to get that much done, but he’s standing in front of the Old Estate and seeing the proof.
The outside stucco has been cleared of debris and Dean’s not sure if they painted it or just washed it but it looks good, clean and new. There are workmen and women bustling about with paint cans, tools and materials. Off to one side, under a small canopy is Chuck. He’s standing in front of a slanted table, holding a clip board. He’s talking to a slender woman in a hard hat and a safety vest. Chuck looks up and sees Dean. He doesn’t look surprised and just motions him over with a wave as he continues to chat.
Dean waits, hands shoved into jean pockets until the woman leaves and Chuck turns to him.
“I have no idea what to call her. Foreman? Forewoman? Foreperson? Is there a PC term for it?”
Dean shrugs. “You’re asking me?”
Chuck flashes a smile. “So, uh, what brings you out?”
“I heard you guys were making real progress out here.”
“Oh, yeah? From Ben?”
Dean nods. “Yeah. Thanks, you know. He says you guys have been including him and looking out for him.”
“He’s a good kid. A little weird sometimes.”
“Weird? Why weird?”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s at that age, you know?”
Dean smirks knowingly. “Is this about April?”
“April? No, Sarah.”
“Sarah? Who is Sarah?”
Chuck clears his throat nervously. “Uh, I think she’s his imaginary friend.”
“What?” Dean has not heard anything about a Sarah and certainly not about an imaginary friend. Ben has lots of real friends. He’s not one of those kids that has imaginary ones.
“Yeah, he says that she lives around here, and they hang out. Have been for months.”
Dean’s nodding like he gets it and then he suddenly realizes that nope, he doesn’t. “Seriously?”
“Yep. Sometimes if he doesn't know you’re there, you can catch him talking or listening to her. He doesn’t like to talk about it though. I think he only told Castiel because he’s got a way about him. You know?”
Boy does Dean know. “He told Castiel?”
“Yeah, I think he likes talking to Castiel because Castiel talks to him like he’s a grown up.”
Dean nods again absently. He supposes there’s nothing wrong with Ben having an imaginary friend. And the kid seems pretty well adjusted otherwise. But it’s definitely something he wants to keep an eye on. Maybe he’ll plan a fishing trip for the two of them and they can just hang out on the boat, drink some sodas, shoot the breeze.
“Thanks, man,” he says to Chuck.
“Yeah. No problem.” Chuck taps his pen on the clipboard. “Um. He’s inside.”
“Ben?”
“Castiel.”
“Oh, I didn’t… I, uh, I just thought I’d…”
Chuck ignores his lame protestations like he doesn’t hear them. “I think he’s on the second floor. He’s moving in today.” Chuck turns around and starts walking away. “You can go on in if you like,” he calls over his shoulder.
And that’s kind of weird.
His thought is immediately forgotten as he walks through the open double doors at the front of the house and sees the work that has been completed. The staircase has been magnificently restored, curving upward with ribbons of dark brown railings and spindles. The walls are freshly plastered and the normally damp air is even heavier with the moisture that seeps out of them as they dry. The stairs are well constructed, silent under his feet. There is a large chandelier hanging down in the center of the foyer and the light it gives bounces so brightly off the railing that Dean’s afraid to rest his hand on in case it’s still wet. There are workers inside the house and the sounds of a radio coming from the other end of the building. All of the clatter of hammers and nails, drills and screws, paint-rollers and ladders gets farther away and muffled as he rises up the stairs.
It doesn’t occur to him until he is almost at the door to Castiel’s bedroom that he never asked Chuck which room it was. He just climbed the stairs and knew.
He knows it’s the right room.
It also didn’t occur to him how supremely strange it is of him to just let himself in on Chuck’s say-so and come find Castiel in his bedroom, for god’s sake.
He’s a stalker.
This is awkward.
The door is open and he knows he shouldn’t, but he peaks around the edge.
He’s surprised to see Ben, sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor with a fan of paint chips spread out around him. He is studiously regarding each one and Dean’s only seen this kind of focus for Nintendo. Dean hears the shuffle of fabric and if he shifts slightly, he can see Castiel arranging clothes on plastic hangers.
“Have you narrowed down the choices?” Castiel comes out of the large closet and sits cross-legged across from Ben. Castiel is in jeans and a grey t-shirt and it’s a surprising look on him.
Ben sticks his tongue out from in between his lips. “I think so.” He jerks his head to the discard pile. “Those ones won’t be good ‘cause they’re girly. I mean they’re blue, but they have girly names like ‘Robin’s Egg’ and ‘Sky Ballet.’”
“That will not do at all.” Castiel’s tone is grave.
“Sure won’t.” Ben nods sagely. “So I’ve got these three.” He spreads the chips out on the floor between them. “That one’s got a cool name and it’s a nice blue. It’s like the sky. That one,” he points to the second one. “is okay but it’s dark, and the last one has the best name and looks good. It’s Caribbean Sea, like the pirates movie.”
Dean smirks. It’s so obvious that Ben’s favorite is the last one and he can tell that Ben really wants Castiel to pick it.
“These are very good choices indeed.” Castiel rests his elbows on his knees and steeples his fingers under his chin. “Which one would you chose, if it were your room?”
“I’d totally pick the pirate one. For sure.”
“I see,” says Castiel thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should let Dean weigh in as well.” He looks up and his eyes instantaneously find Dean’s green ones peaking through the gap in the doorway. Dean should be embarrassed, he should be really fucking embarrassed; not only is he a stalker he’s a creepy peaking stalker, but Castiel’s expression is so amused and fond that Dean can only smile and push the door open.
“Dean!” Ben exclaims. “You came! It’s so cool, right? It’s looking real good. And Castiel said I could pick out the paint color for the bedroom. After we pick this one, we’re gonna go down the hall to all the rooms that are ready for painting and pick. A different color for each room, isn’t that awesome? I think there should be a red room and a green room and a yellow room, but not orange ‘cause no one likes orange.”
Ben’s up on his feet and pushing the three paint chips into his hand. “You gotta pick one of these. All the others got trashed ‘cause they’re no good.”
Dean scrutinizes the samples with an overly serious face, showing Ben he means business. “Well, buddy, I like the pirate one too, but it should probably be Castiel’s choice.” Dean glances over to Castiel who is unfolding himself gracefully from his cross-legged position and standing.
“It seems it is unanimous then, Ben. Why don’t you give that one to Charles and tell him it’s the master bedroom color.”
“So cool. Uh, what about the tv and games?”
“I still see no necessity for a television in my sleeping chambers and I’ve managed to live this long without… what did you call it? Mario Kart?”
Ben looks totally baffled. To an eight-year old the idea that anyone who had the choice would choice not to put a tv with a video game system in their bedroom is unfathomable.
“But I shall have one put in downstairs for when you visit.”
“Cool.” He scampers off, paint-chip getting slightly crushed in his sweaty little hand.
And that leaves Dean. Standing in Castiel’s bedroom. Like the creepy peaking stalker he is.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets just to put them somewhere and rocks slightly on his feet.
“Do you even know what Mario Kart is?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. Although, young Ben says it’s imperative that I have one.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he told you that you can’t live without it.”
Castiel smiles. “Something like that, yes.”
You got a lot done in a really short time,” and Jesus he sounds like an idiot.
Castiel either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind. “Yes, it’s coming along wonderfully.”
“Ben says you’re moving in? Today?”
“That is my intention.”
“Is the place livable? I mean you have water, heat, light?”
“The master bath has water and the kitchen does as well, although I’m not much of a cook. The central heat won’t be operational for a fortnight, but until then, I shall have a fire if I am cold.” Castiel directs his gaze quickly to the fireplace.
“Wow, I guess this place wasn’t set up for heating.”
“No,” replies Castiel with another smile. “It wasn’t built with central heating, water nor electricity in mind. I don’t mind. It is very similar to how I grew up.”
“Jolly old England?”
“Just so,” Castiel murmurs. “The house I grew up in was very similar to this one, and we didn’t have central heating either.” Castiel isn’t really looking at Dean at the moment, he’s looking around the room and Dean gets the impression that he’s seeing something very different. “At night we would take hot bricks into bed with us to keep us warm.” He stops, clearly thinking and then seems to shake his head a little. “But, that was a long time ago. Shall I give you the grand tour?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’d be great.”
“I thought perhaps you would tell me it would be ‘cool.’ Young Ben is particularly fond of that word and uses to describe nearly everything in Collinwood.”
Dean laughs and then falls into step beside Castiel. Castiel takes him back down to the main floor and points out the drawing room, the solarium, the den and then kitchen. Castiel has a short, kind word to say to each person they pass, although he doesn’t stop and linger with anyone.
The kitchen gives way to a massive dining hall and Dean can’t even imagine where Castiel is going to find a table that will take up the space provided. Collinwood is massive. Dean always knew it was big, but he never appreciated how big. He’s been over to the new house many times picking Ben up and dropping him off, and he thought the new estate was large but now that he’s seen the inside of the old estate, he realizes the new house is just a small dwarf sibling.
There’s a ballroom for god’s sake. An honest to god ballroom.
The light in the house is dim and Castiel explains that while the electricity is completed upstairs, the main floor requires extra circuitry and breakers to handle the large load required for the ballroom and the kitchen appliances. It won’t be finished until next week. There are many windows, but they all have dark glass that filters out the majority of the light. It must be due to his allergy and Dean wants to ask but he figures he’s pushed his luck enough by showing up and stalking the guy in the first place.
They are standing in the center of the ballroom and Dean is trying not to be intimidated by the way his footsteps echo around the room. With no furniture, no drapery, no anything there is nothing to absorb the sound of his boots as they track across the floor. It’s unfinished, half lain hardwood in a deep chocolate grain. When it’s done, it’s going to look amazing.
“I’m unsure what to do with this room. It’s unnecessary to have such a large room.”
“You could just throw a really big party and when it’s done, put in a bowling alley.”
Castiel laughs at that and the sound echoes all around Dean coming back at him from different angles and it makes a smile break out on his face. “And if I am unable to sleep I may just come down here and bowl a few lanes?”
Dean shrugs. “If you’ve got nothing else to do when you can’t sleep.”
Dean can think of a few things he’d like to do with Castiel if he can’t sleep and for a second, he feels really awkward again until he realizes that Castiel is staring back at him with much the same look on his face. Even in the darkened light of the room, his eyes are a startling blue.
“Perhaps I shall take your advice and the next time I can’t sleep I will invite you over for a game.” His voice is low, gravelly.
“I’m very good at games.” Dean’s matching his tone and his look.
“I imagine you are.”
They stand there for a minute simply looking at each other. Dean’s disappointed when Castiel finally looks away and offers to show him the rest of the rooms upstairs.
There are several bedrooms upstairs and while many are being turned into guest rooms (although how many guests can you really expect at one time?) Castiel also has plans to knock down the walls between some of them and merge them into larger rooms. Dean wonders what one person will do with all the space. It’s jaw-dropping. If it were him, he would just move from room to room, rotating through the house and never getting bored. They are at one of the last rooms and Castiel has the door pushed open wide but they haven’t gone in. Dean saw the yellow ‘x’ painted on the door, the sign that tells Ben to stay out of a room because it’s unsafe.
“This room was destroyed significantly during a fire many years ago. The fire started downstairs but the heat warped and damaged most of the floor joists so it will have to be completely torn out and re-done. I’m rather fond of this room, however so I’m quite anxious for it to be completed.”
“Yeah? How come?”
“My room growing up was very similar to this one. A replica actually. And although I’ve taken the master suite here, I have a special desire to see this room completed. There is actually a small door in the closet and a cramped passageway and spiral staircase lead down to the kitchen. As a small boy, I used to sneak downstairs very early in the morning, when Cook was baking, and steal biscuits from his tray. I daresay he knew exactly who was stealing his freshly baked treasures but he never said a word and in fact always left them in easy reach of the door that led out of the passageway.”
As Castiel talked, he had wandered a couple of steps into the room and unconsciously, Dean had followed him. Castiel’s voice was soothing and hypnotic and Dean had the stray thought that he could probably listen to the man read the phone book and enjoy it.
Dean turns in a slow circle surveying the smaller room. He can see how it would be perfect for a boy and how having a secret passageway would be just about the best thing ever for any child. A place to hide your secrets.
The cracking sound he hears is so unfamiliar to him that he doesn’t register it as the floorboard failing until he starts to pinwheel his arms madly as his balance shifts and he is falling (falling, falling) backward. He barely has time to think, Oh shit before one of his wrists is caught in a harsh grip, bones grinding and he’s unceremoniously yanked hard into Castiel and then they’re out in the hallway. It happens so fast, he’s not sure how they ended up outside the room.
He’s pressed flush up against Castiel and one of them should step away, one of them should move a fraction. They should be exchanging awkward looks and nervous laughs at the absurdity of their situation, but neither moves. Dean’s eyes dart quickly down to Castiel’s lips and then back up again. Castiel’s eyes have taken their own wandering trip to gaze at Dean’s features.
“Caught you,” Castiel says finally, low and quiet.
Dean flashes to his dream from other night and without pausing answers, “I wanted to be caught.”
The look on Castiel’s face is painfully happy. Like he can’t believe Dean said those words. “How lucky for me,” Castiel replies, the words barely audible.
Dean’s not sure if one of them moved first or it was both of them at the same time and frankly he does not care. His lips are crushed by Castiel’s and they’re locked in this ungraceful, hungry tangle of teeth, tongues and skin. This is not a ‘middle of the afternoon’ kiss. It’s not a ‘oh hey, it’s our first, so why don’t we try and figure out how we fit’ kiss. And it’s definitely not a ‘hmm, not really sure but heck, I’ll give it a go’ kiss.
This is a ‘I could swallow you whole’ kiss. A ‘I have to get as much of you as possible’ kiss. A ‘you are mine-mine-mine and no one else’s’ kiss. Licking into each other’s mouths and sucking on each other’s tongues, sliding over one another and both of them trying to get closer, closer and they’re both going to have swollen lips and stubble burn and Dean does not care. He’s mapping the inside of Castiel’s mouth, smooth cavity of the roof, hard edges of teeth, hot press of tongue. They’re both breathing hard now and neither one is getting nearly enough oxygen, but they don’t stop, can’t stop. Dean lets Castiel walk him backward two steps until he’s pressing against the wall of the corridor, long strip of crown molding digging into the small of his back. Castiel’s hips push against Dean’s and Dean can’t stop his from snapping back quickly, a delight of desire pulsing down into his groin. Dean runs his tongue over Castiel’s teeth again…
And hisses when the soft muscle is split open. Fuck, that’s a sharp tooth. He tastes blood immediately and for an instant Castiel surges forward and smashes into him hard.
And just as quickly, Castiel has his back to Dean and Dean’s left breathing hard, leaning against the wall for support because frankly, that was a hell of a kiss and his knees are a little weak. Castiel’s shoulders are stiff and controlled, head slightly bowed, fists curled at his sides.
Dean can still taste the salty tang of blood in his mouth. He’s not sure what to say. The only sound for several seconds is the heavy cadence of their lungs trying to catch up on oxygen. Then Dean hears Castiel’s voice.
“I’m sorry… I’m not… I don’t generally…I…”
Dean can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or nervous or what.
“Uh, no need to apologize. I was pretty much as involved as you were.” Dean pushes away from the wall. “Um, are you okay?”
Castiel’s head bobs up and down quickly and Dean will take that as a yes.
“I am…” he pauses as he struggles for a word. “It is… I am slightly overwhelmed.”
“Oh,” says Dean and he thinks he might get it. Maybe stiff upper lip British upbringing doesn’t generally lend itself well to overheated, smoking hot kissing of someone you just met. He’s not sure what he’s doing, and he can’t think of a single person he’s ever tried to comfort before except for Sam, but he steps forward and places a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and gives a solid squeeze and then a gentle rub. “That’s cool. That’s okay,” he says lowly, like he’s talking to a wild animal. “How about I see myself out and you can, uh…” What? What’s the right word? Fuck, Sam would know the right word. Collect? “Um, collect yourself.”
“I would appreciate that, thank you.”
He gives Castiel’s shoulder another squeeze and to his surprise, Castiel’s long fingers come up and grasp his hand once firmly and then release. Dean carefully steps away and quietly makes his way down the hall, then the stairs and then out the door.
******
Castiel’s hearing is superb and once he hears Dean leave he rushes back to the master bathroom and locks the door behind him. Although he doesn’t need to see them, he can feel them, he has the absurd need to check them in the mirror.
His fangs are fully out, sharp to a razor point. He hasn’t fed today. He didn’t feel the need to, he only meant to be milling around the estate. During the kiss he felt them slide out, cutting through his gums bloodlessly, and then Dean had run his tongue over one honed edge and that taste, the first taste of Dean’s blood…
He wanted to bite him. He’d never wanted to bite anyone so badly in his existence as vampire as much as he wanted to bite Dean today. He hadn’t lied, he had been overwhelmed, just not the way Dean thought.
He made that mistake once and he can’t make it again.
Next Chapter - 8 - The Prevarication of Ghostly Friends and Lovers