Archive of Our Own

At first, he was able onto clutch to that morsel of hope that it wouldn’t last, that a good night’s rest (well, 4 hours was as good as he ever got) would purge it. But, of course it hadn’t, because that was just too much to ask.

Dean hoisted himself up, so he was sat against his pillows. As usual, Sam had woken up first and based on the gentle buzzing coming through the bathroom door, was currently shaving. Cas was nowhere to be seen which, while fairly common, still caused a tugging deep within his chest. He allowed himself a moment to survey the room around him. Last night when they had arrived it had been far too dark and he far too drained to contemplate any kind of judgement of the state of their room. Although now he had the chance, it was substantially more pleasant than he expected from some motel in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

The wash of gentle green across the back wall matched the bed covers and neatly complimented the cream paint of the rest of the room. The bed frames were a deep mahogany and, to his surprise, lacked the array of mystery stains he had got so used to tactfully ignoring. Before the urge to try and gain another 30 minutes of rest swallowed him entirely, he heaved his legs over, letting them hang off the side of the bed.

The first thing that registered was the vague tickling sensation under his feet of a carpet that had been stood on by more people’s feet than Dean ever wanted to consider. But secondly, and more pertinently, was the surge of discomfort that ran through his knees. A crackling heat licking up his thighs. Great, so it was one of these days. Really, it shouldn’t be a surprised to him after all the shit he has been through, that some days all his body would do is complain, but it just had to be today.

‘We need to leave. Now.’

‘Seriously, Cas?’

By this point he was immune to Cas’s feeble attempts to shock him and would usually play along with his little charade, but he simply did not have it in him today.

‘Dean, what’s wrong?’

Awesome, so it had taken the man all of five seconds to read Dean like a fucking book. And the cherry on top of the cake, as he fumbled around in his mind for an answer feeling a flush rising up his neck, was Sam choosing that moment to walk back into the room.

‘Oh, hey Cas.’

Dean was gonna kill him. He was going to ensure his younger brother a slow and painful last few moments for his mastery of awful timing.

‘Hello, Sam. I have a lead; we should get going.’ Dean looked up at Cas with an expression he hoped conveyed his gratitude towards Cas’ decision not to continue his inquiry into Dean’s current state of well-being or rather lack thereof.

‘What’s with the rush?’ Half-heartedly, dean tried slowly to stand up, allowing himself time to adjust to the lightning shooting through his legs as he rose. He faltered for a second, Cas reflexively reaching to steady him.

‘I’m fine. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass!’ His words were short, sharper than he had intended, and guilt filled his marrow as Cas flinched at them. Without allowing himself to open his stupid mouth and fuck up again, Dean walked into the bathroom and closed the door, resting his head against it.

When the walls of dizziness in his head finally subsided, he moved to stand before the mirror, white knuckling the sink to hold himself up. He was far too sober to deal with this and the longer he stared at his face in the mirror, the more pathetic he felt. Dark circles carved deep hollows into his face, and his hair stuck out in odd directions. The overall image it conjured was quite stark; he looked one minor inconvenience away from terrorizing a hotel with an axe. It seemed that all work and no play really did make Dean a dull boy. However, he didn’t have time to worry about that now.

He turned the cold water on letting it run over his hands, the numbness spreading through his fingers a pleasant respite from the sensation of his kneecaps grinding against the bone with every movement he made. After liberally splashing the water over his face, which did wonders for the headache he had acquired in the grand total of five minutes that he had been awake, he left the bathroom.

Luckily, Sam and Cas had both busied themselves with other matters. Sam was sat, glued to his laptop and Cas was… Well, Dean wasn’t entirely sure. It looked like he was hunched over a cabinet removing and then subsequently returning items from the drawers.

Trying his best to act as normally and efficiently as possible, Dean pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and then grabbed a bottle of painkillers he had left on his bedside table. He took a few, four? five? before stuffing the rest into his pocket. He slipped on his jacket as he announced to the room.

‘Seems like we need to hurry, right? So, let’s go.’

Dean had barely taken a breath after finishing his sentence before everything shifted around him. The quaint walls of the room fizzled away and were replaced by bare spindly trees and a crisp winter breeze.

There was an unflattering thud and a loud ‘Fuck!’ as Sam landed on his ass on the concrete just in front of Dean.

‘Thanks for the warning, Cas.’ Dean’s sarcasm was met only with blank eyes. ‘So where are we?’

‘Just outside the house of the latest victim.’

Yeah, right, of course they were.

Sam had now got to his feet and rounded on Cas. ‘And we needed to be here so urgently you had to do your angelic teleportation shit rather than just driving?’

‘I had assumed, considering three people have already gone missing in the last week, that we were in a hurry… Apologies.’ Cas’ brows knitted together tighter as he spoke.

If Dean wasn’t preoccupied with the feeling that his bones were on fire, (he really needed those painkillers to kick in soon) he might have been tempted to linger on how cute that particular expression of Cas’ was. The way his nose scrunched up in concentration. How he was so focused on the knowledge that he had missed some social cue or human convention, replaying the last few minutes to figure out what it was.

Seeing how irritated Sam was by the ordeal, Dean decided to step in.

‘Look, we’re already here so we might as well investigate.’ He watched relief roll over Cas, his face relaxing almost instantly. Yet Sam straightened up and his eye twitched. Since when had Dean become the voice of reason?

The air between the three of them was still souring so he took the initiative and strolled up to the house.

It was evidently newly built. It might as well have been ripped straight from one of those frivolous renovation TV shows (so maybe Dean watched more of them that he cared to admit, but why would he deny himself such a simple guilty pleasure). The building was all sharp edges and long windows. He couldn’t imagine willingly having windows that allowed every Tom, Dick or Harry to peer into his life, observe every action he made, but who was he to judge.

He knocked loudly on the door.

Sounds of hurried scuffling were audible from behind it before it opened a few inches. The face that had appeared was long and pale. They looked like they had had even less sleep that Dean.

‘Can I help you?’ There was a grit to the woman’s voice and she sounded tense, probably still shaken.

Cas pushed passed him unceremoniously, waving an FBI badge vaguely in the woman’s direction.

‘Hello, I am agent Campbell and these are my partners, agents Phillips and Adams. We need to ask you a few questions about your wife, Lia’s disappearance.’

At the mention of her wife, the woman froze, barely managing to open her door to let them inside.

Ok so, sure, that kind of blunt, one-track approach was quintessential Castiel, but he wasn't usually this assertive, this confident on a case and as they walked into the house of a stranger was not the time to have an identity crisis over it. When Dean’s brain had finally rebooted itself and was once again forming full thoughts, they were all gathered in the kitchen where the woman, now noticeably less nervous, was placing a mug of hot coffee in his hands.

‘Oh, thanks.’

‘You look like you need it.’ Rude. But her voice didn’t carry any cruelty, just an insistence. Like a child being told its bedtime, he knew she was right, even if he wasn’t happy about it.

Both to support himself (he was feeling less like his legs might give out but he still wasn’t completely confident) but also to try to appear more relaxed, he leaned against the cool marble counter.

‘Sorry about my partner’s disregard for pleasantries. What’s your name?’

Cas’ eyes frosted over, taking on an almost grey colour. He knew Cas hadn’t done it with any rude intent, he had simply forgotten. Despite being as old as he was, and among humans for many years now, he never could get the hang of the ritual that was meeting a person for the first time. He so often got caught up in the intricacies of that particular social dance that he forgot the simpler steps. And it always caused him more guilt than dean felt it warranted. He had grown used to that specific thought process of Cas’. There had been many occasions where he had to reassure Cas that first impressions really weren’t everything. It they were, imagine what him and Sam would think of Cas.

All it took was Dean placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder, and the man’s muscles relaxed, his eyes regaining their stupidly vibrant blue. Of course Cas had chosen a vessel with eyes that threatened to see right into your synapses and extract your every thought. Dean didn’t notice it so much anymore, but he couldn’t deny that it was a bit fucking creepy.

‘I’m Emma.’ Amusement played across her face as she watched the two men. ‘You remind me of me and my wife.’

Well, he certainly didn’t have time to unpack That right now.

Silence blanketed the room until Sam pushed between Cas and Dean, forcing the two of them apart.

‘I have to ask, was Lia acting strangely in the days before she disappeared?’

Emma paused, returning to a more closed, shrunken posture.

‘Yes…’ She took a slow, controlled breath, ‘It started about three days before she… Well, she came home from work irritated about something. Mumbling about some new manager at the company, I think. And granted, she loves a good complain, but this was different. It was genuine anger. Distilled hatred. I figured that she would calm down if I gave her time, so I just left her alone for the rest of the evening and went to bed. But she never came to join me. I don’t know if she slept at all that night; every few hours I would wake up to heavy footfall and clattering from downstairs. She continued to act in this way until she… disappeared.’ Emma paused on that final word, her mouth forming its shape several timed before she was able to give sound to it.

‘Sorry, I know this is hard. But what can you tell me about when she disappeared?’ Sympathy dripped off Sam as he spoke, cloying and exaggerated in a way that, from anyone else, would come across insincere. Yet, somehow, it suited Sam, always had.

‘Well, there isn’t much to say. I went to sleep as normal and then the next morning when I awoke, she was gone. None of her things were missing. She didn’t leave a note. She just wasn’t there.’ Her voice broke as she finished her sentence and tears fell slowly down her cheeks.
Sam and Cas both turned to look at Dean. It seemed that, as the person stood closest to Emma, he was the chosen sacrifice to console her. Shit.

He reached a tentative arm out and patted her gently on the shoulder. His movement was hesitant and uneven. It reeked of discomfort, which Dean was sure she noticed, but she seemed to at least be ignoring it.

‘I-I know this is difficult but you’ve really helped us out, thanks. We’ll- uh, let you get on with your day now.’

‘Ok, I’m glad I could be of help.’

Taking pity on the three men who were just still standing in her kitchen, none of them sure what to do next, she wandered back towards her door, prompting the trio to follow.

Just before they crossed the threshold, Sam paused, handing Emma a business card.

‘If anything else happens or you see anything out of the ordinary, please contact us.’

And with that they left.

Cas looked like his brain had logged off and travelled to a different realm as the made their way back towards the road.

‘Well, I think it’s safe to say it’s not demonic possession. But I still don’t understand their M.O, it’s strange.’ Concern seeped through Sam’s otherwise flat tone, their utter lack of progress over the last few days was getting to him.

‘Maybe they’re just really lonely? I mean, the only pattern we’ve found so far is that they are impersonating one half of a couple, right?’ Dean could tell Sam was rolling his eyes as he walked on ahead of him, but Dean continued, ‘Maybe they just wanna get laid?’

‘Projecting much?’ Sam called over his shoulder in a voice that was just barely loud enough for Dean to hear him.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Right, I’m gonna go check out the other houses again, see if we missed anything.’

This was more of a last resort than some spur of the moment ingenious idea, but Dean could see the exhaustion in Sam’s eyes, so he had to come up with something.

He made it a whole four steps towards the door before the searing pain started ravaging his muscles once again.

It took everything in him just collapse onto the ground as he doubled over, all too aware of every single place where the fabric of his jeans brushed against his skin, the material grating against it. From either side, he felt hands grip his arms.

‘Dean, what the fuck is going on? You’ve been struggling all day. And I swear if you give me the whole ‘I’m fine, quit with the chick shit’ line I will actually kill you.’

This was the last thing he wanted to be happening. Now he was cornered, he couldn’t escape the inevitable interrogation of his feelings. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of having to admit that the reason he was so off today was because he was, not only in too much pain, but that said pain wasn’t even happening for a good reason. His body was just giving up on him and crumbling to pieces, or at least that’s what it felt like.

Sam and Cas led him back to sit on the edge of his bed, concern written in their stares as the watched him. He might as well have been on his death bed the way they studied his movement, evidently trying to restrain the urge to wrap him up in the covers and force him to rest.

‘I… I don’t know why this is happening. Ok?’ So, maybe his tone was more defensive than he had intended.

‘My legs feel like they’re trying to pull themselves off my bones.’

‘Well, that’s… visceral.’ Words slow and hesitant Sam sat on the bed beside him. ‘So, here’s the plan. Me and Cas are gonna go back to the houses to investigate further. And you are going to stay here and go to bed.’

Even though he knew it was coming, it didn’t piss him off any less.

‘Seriously? No way, man.’

‘Dean, you can barely stand.’ This time it was Cas who piped up. Oh, so now it was two against one.

Dean reached for the pain killers that were still in his pocket, but before he could even open the bottle Sam had snatched them away from him.

‘Stop. How many of these have you already had today? The last thing we need is you ODing on pain meds while we’re gone.’

‘You guys are being ridiculous. There isn’t even anything actually wrong with me. My body is just having a panic attack apparently.’

Vision now unfocused and blurry, Dean watched Sam and Cas as they exchanged equally determined stares and then he swears Sam gave Cas ‘the nod’.

‘I’ll be waiting in the car.’ Sam prompted in a way that indicated at least some level of pre-planning for this particular course of action.

Typically, Dean was not one to ‘let things get to him’. In fact, he was really quite skilled at not giving a fuck or at least he was real good at burying shit in enough alcohol and sex that he couldn’t feel it anymore. He had to be, he had his younger brother to care for and if he hadn’t, everything would have got to him a long time ago.

But something about Sam and Cas’ unwavering patience and care. The way compassion towards him came so effortlessly to them. Somehow always managing to walk that line, the balance between treating him like a charity case and never acknowledging the issue. And although he grumbled and complained about it, he did (mostly) appreciate it. Today though, his temper was even shorter that usual (which was honestly impressive) so he fought back the tears pricking at the edges of his eyes as Cas sat down where Sam had been.

‘Dean.’ Oh fuck. He was using his sad voice; Dean was so fucked.

Cas elongated the ‘ea’ in his name, filling it with sorrow and worry, the gravel in his voice scratching it onto the surface of Dean’s thoughts like a melody that had been sung for thousands of years. It was a sound reserved for Dean’s ears only and he would protect that with everything in him. The gentle flutter it created in the pit of his stomach to the way it flew round and round in his head. He would never let that be taken from him no matter how many more gods or angels try to tear them apart.

‘Dean.’ It was more forceful this time.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just stupid. Sam continued to hunt while those trials were literally killing him and I can’t just because my legs hurt?!’

‘Sure, but that Did nearly kill him and you didn’t want to let him do it, did you?’

‘He was actually sick.’

‘You are actually sick.’ Cas’ hand, now resting lightly on his arm, was warm against Dean’s skin, the sensation a pleasant distraction.

‘Am I?’ His voice cracked as he spoke, ‘Because as far as I can tell, there is nothing physically wrong, nothing you can heal, nothing a doctor could do either.’

‘That doesn’t mean it isn’t real.’ Barely letting Dean finish his sentence before cutting him off, Cas’ words were strong and, despite all his doubts and apprehension, they comforted Dean. An all-encompassing comfort like a heavy duvet or the golden light just before the sun sets.

‘How would you act if this was the other way around. If Sam was in such pain, you would insist he stayed back too.’ Sometimes it was really fucking annoying how pragmatic Cas could be.

‘Fine.’

‘Hmm?’

‘Ok, I’ll stay.’ It wasn’t lost on Dean how much he probably sounded like a stubborn toddler who had just accepted that he wasn’t going to get his way, but he was already embarrassed enough by the situation, a little more didn’t make much difference to him.

‘Thank you.’ Cold flooded Dean’s arm where Cas had just removed his hand. ‘Please try to get some rest.’

Dean totally did not feel dejected at the prospect of Cas leaving him alone for a few hours while he would inevitably just lie there staring at the ceiling, boredom diffusing through his mind. He totally didn’t wish that Cas would lie beside him, talking about random nothingness for hours, hands occasionally brushing against each other, breathing in the simple joy of spending time together. And Dean certainly wasn’t checking out Cas’ ass as he walked out… because that would be… unprofessional. Yeah, sure... Because Dean was so concerned about his professionalism.

Softly the door clicked shut and Cas was gone. Accepting that he didn’t really have any other option, he shuffled underneath the covers lying on his back but not before switching the radio on the bedside table on quietly. Maybe years ago, he was able to sleep alone in silence but not anymore. He had no faith that any actual sleeping would be achieved, however the faint hum of ‘More than a Feeling’ over the radio combined with the unexpectedly soft pillows did at least make for a pleasant experience. And it was doing wonders at distracting him from the still prevalent crackling in his legs.

It took approximately three songs before the itching in his brain started. Like a hamster on a wheel, his brain ran, producing a reel of conscious faster than he knew what to do with. He needed to leave; he needed to get up and do something. He wasn’t exactly a fan of hanging about and waiting to see where his thoughts took him. Experience had taught him it wouldn’t be a fun time.

So, after spending longer than he cared to admit hyping himself up, he shoved the covers off himself, cold air leeching through his jeans (yes, he still refused to wear pyjama pants, regardless of how many times Cas had tried to convince him otherwise). Tentatively placing one foot in front of the other, he stepped towards the door. A brief wave of relief travelled through his body at the realisation that the pain in his legs had reduced to just about bearable. He grabbed his coat and tugged it on clumsily.

Based on the frequency of rumbling coming from his stomach, he determined that food should be his first destination before anything else could possibly be achieved.

It took him about ten minutes to find the local diner. He had barely stepped through the door when a woman with a round face and kind eyes shouted over at him.

‘Hello dearie, take a seat wherever you want. What can I do you for?’ Her voice was homely and had the distinct sing song tone of someone who had spent far too much of their life working in customer service. But Dean appreciated its warmth, nonetheless.

He squinted at the menu before replying, ‘I’ll take the daily special, extra bacon.’

‘No problem, sweetheart. It’ll be right out.’

Quickly he surveyed the tables before taking a seat by the far window. Faux leather squeaked against his jeans, and he folded his arms to avoid touching the table which wore a sheen of permanent stickiness.

There were a few other people sat sporadically around the place, but one in particular caught his eye. A man sat a few tables down was pouring over some kind of journal or notebook. Cover worn, the leather crumbling along the edge of it. The man turned its yellowing pages with a level of care suggesting it held a much higher value than could be gleaned from its appearance. The man himself was, in contrast, dressed in a crisp suit, top button done up with a matching tie. Hair styled carefully, not a single strand out of place as his deep brown eyes scanned the pages. But what was stranger was that Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that he recognised the man.

'Here you go.’

Dean had been so distracted that the waiter caught him off guard as she placed his food on the table and he jumped in his seat.

‘Thanks.’

All his thoughts turned to the food as the sweet smell of maple filled his nostrils. The man was swiftly forgotten as he began wolfing down huge bites of pancakes and bacon. God, he really needed this. Sure, his pain had only been really severe for a day and a half, but it felt so much longer. And maybe it was stupid that something as simple as good food provided him such euphoria. And even though it was brief, it alleviated some of his stress. But he wasn’t going to complain about the simple joys of life.

Once he finished eating, he headed out and, unsure of what to do now, decided to wander around the town a bit. He couldn’t exactly do much since Sam and Cas had taken the car, so he figured the next best thing was just seeing if he could find anything suspicious. Trouble did have a way of finding Dean Winchester after all.

And find him it did.

Barely five minutes had passed before he was falling towards the ground, intense, white hot agony blooming across the back of his head. With a dull thud, he hit the ground inelegantly, his wrist making a disgruntled crunch as it was trapped between his body and the gravel of the road. Vision fuzzy, he heaved himself up to face the person (or thing) that had attacked him. It was the man from the diner. He really should have predicted that one.

‘Are you kidding me, man. Really?’

In apparent response to his comment, the man swung at Dean again with some kind of wooden bat. Rolling to the side, he jumped back to his feet and grabbed his knife switching to holding it in his left hand almost immediately (yeah, so his wrist was definitely broken, awesome).

He lunged forward, fast, blade pointed straight at the man’s heart but was stopped in his tracks when a firm hand gripped his forearm. It was solid and far stronger than any human’s could be. It didn’t matter how hard Dean tried to tug his arm away, the man didn’t budge, it was like he wasn’t even registering Dean’s attempts to free himself. As he continued fruitlessly to pull his hand away, the man’s nails digging into his skin, beads of blood beginning to form around them, the bat came down once more and this time the pain hardly had a chance to blossom before Dean collapsed. Guess the guy wasn’t kidding.

First, he noted a bitter metallic taste in his mouth and then a warm ooze dripping gradually down his forehead. He moved to swipe it away but was unable to. Itchy ropes were wound tightly round his wrists and ankles, catching and nipping at his skin with every movement he made.

Where the bindings rubbed against what Dean assumed was a very swollen broken wrist, the pain radiated out, like blood dropped into water, it spread from the injury site itself almost all the way up to his elbow.

He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of whatever grimy abandoned building he had been thrown into. The walls were tall and covered in at least 30 years of cobwebs and dust, Dean didn’t want to imagine the number of bugs that probably resided in the grooves of the corrugated roof. Judging by the huge mound of hay piled up on the other side of the building, he was in some kind of barn. Which didn’t make things easy. Farms were almost always on the outskirts of towns so it would be all the more difficult for him to make a successful escape or for Sam and Cas to find him anytime soon.

Then he spotted a body. Mouth barely distinguishable from the nose, blood had coagulated in rivulets across the face and had collected in a thick puddle beneath them. Their hair fell in tight curls obscuring their eyes, dirt and viscera matted through it. The rest of their body was difficult to discern in the gloom, clothes torn and shredded revealing a deep wound in their side.

There was a gentle shuffling from beside him, he turned to see a woman. Her makeup was smeared slightly, a streak of black lipstick smudged across her cheek. Her hair, a dark burgundy, was tied back messily, locks of it lying in waves down her neck.

‘Lia?’

Her eyes flicked open, wincing slightly as she turned her head to face Dean.

‘Who are you? How do you know my name?’ she croaked, dehydration palpable in her words.

‘I’m Dean, and I’m gonna get us out of here.’

A pause and then a dry laugh escaped her throat. It had a harsh edge that Dean couldn’t help feeling offended by.

‘And how’s that working out for you, huh?’

‘Ok no need to kick me while I’m down.’

‘I hate to break it to you, kid, but you’re not exactly in the optimal position to stage an escape. It didn’t work out so well for the last person who tried it.’ She nodded towards the body lying in its own blood. Yes, ending up face first in the dirt, sliced open, blood spraying like a human fountain would not be ideal, fair enough.

‘Lucky for you, this isn’t my first rodeo.’

‘You have a thing for being tied up and tortured? Do it often, do you?’ Yeah, ok, fair play.

‘It happens more often than you might think and, unfortunately, not in the fun way.’

Past her, he could see another person lying on the ground. The body of the man who had attacked him. His chest was rising and falling unevenly beneath a thick jacket. There was a wound on his forehead, not dissimilar to the one dean was sure he was sporting after being beaten up so pitifully, only several days older.

Creaking with all the enthusiasm of an old horse, the doors scraped open. Small chips flying off as they were dragged apart, catching and tearing along the concrete. The figure, now silhouetted against the wall of light pouring in, advanced towards them. It was the man lying on the floor. Well, it wasn’t, obviously. But it sure as hell looked like him.

A shape shifter. Fan-fucking-tastic.

‘Well, well. Dean Winchester.’ He leered, the condescension practically dripping from his mouth.

Shit.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet me, I’m sure.’ Pulling his face into the closest to ‘shit eating grin’ as it was possible to in his current state of bruised and bloody, he strained against the binds around his wrists hoping to get some idea of how they had been tied. Meticulously was the answer.

‘I thought you’d be taller.’ Face close enough that Dean could feel each icy breath as it stabbed his skin.

‘No matter.’ A rough hand grabbed Dean’s chin.

‘Woah there buddy, you shouldn’t do that kind of thing without asking. I mean really? Did nobody teach you about consent? And I would definitely save whole the ropes and chains deal until at least the second date.’ He waved his bound ankles in the air, ‘accidentally’ kicking the shifter in the process. ‘You don’t wanna scare ‘em off too soon.’ It was probably blatantly obvious that he was just stalling for time, but it seemed to annoy the guy enough that he didn’t notice.

‘You disgust me.’

‘You’re welcome.’

The shifter scowled as he backed away, an amalgamation of abstract horror plastered across his face. Like a glove the man’s flesh began to slide off him. First his hands landed with a wet thud by his sides, leaving muscle and bone exposed. Then the skin from his face started to peel away, melting from his skull, mouth drooping into a clownish smile and dragging down the edges of his eye sockets, creating a bloody outline of his eyeballs.

He began ripping. Fabric and skin indiscriminately pulled to pieces until the only skin that remained of his chest was an area of his shoulder he was picking at mindlessly, small chunks of meat clumping under his nails.

With all the grace of a dying animal, the shifter stumbled away into some dark corner of the room and out of Dean’s sight. There was silence for a while. Then the shifter re-emerged, now with an entirely new skin, Dean’s skin.

‘How’s the new look?’ It was a feeble attempt to keep the situation light considering the horror that had just unfolded in front of him, but Lia was shaking next to him, and he figured he might as well try to appear calm and collected.

‘It’s passable.’ Harsh.

‘You’re one to talk considering you just went full Hellraiser.’

‘You are wasting my time.’

‘And you think I don’t have anywhere better be?’

‘I couldn’t care less.’

‘Then, why haven’t you just killed us already?’ So, maybe Dean was tempting fate just a bit. And judging by how still Lia had stilled, she had had the same thought.

Almost lifting Dean completely off the ground, the shifter grabbed the lapels of Dean’s jacket yanking him up so the two were at eye level.

‘Don’t you worry. If I wanted to, I could pull you apart before you even blinked.’

‘Don’t threaten me with a good time.’ His words were slower and more jagged than he wanted, punctuated with attempts to breathe.

‘You talk too much.’

A dull crack echoed around the building as Dean was thrown to the ground, his skull colliding with the concrete, and was once again thrust into nothingness.

‘Dean. Dean!’

Groggily Dean returned to consciousness. Cas was crouched over him, hands gripping his shoulders with such caution that Dean was feeling a bit like a wounded puppy. A refreshing chill pierced through his jaw as Cas ran his hand across it, studying each of Dean’s wounds intently. As his fingers traced the outlines of his cuts, they gradually closed, the skin smoothing over, not even a scar remaining in its place. The bones in his wrist also laced themselves up, grinding and scraping back into place.

‘Cas.’

Cas’ eyes flicked up to meet Dean’s and for a moment they stayed like that. Cas’s hand still resting against the side of Dean’s face. He could feel each of his muscles relaxing, the touch permitting him to finally stop, to feel stable in the presence of the other. But he couldn’t just sit there forever.

‘Cas. You can let go of my face now.’

‘Oh, right.’ He retracted his hand quickly, clearing his throat and mumbling something that Dean didn’t catch.

After fumbling with the knots, Cas released Dean’s arms and legs. Dean spent a few seconds just stretching out the cramps in his legs. He was getting too old for this shit. And with a much-appreciated arm from Cas to support him, Dean got to his feet.

‘Thanks.’

Lia wasn’t there anymore. Nor was the man who hadn’t beaten him up. Evidently noting Dean’s confusion, Cas answered his question before he could even ask it.

‘Sam already left with them… You took a while to come to.’

‘Has the shifter showed?’

‘Not yet but he could be back any minute.’ Cas scanned the room as if he was worried that the shifter might actually pop out of the shadows in a fit of perfectly cruel comedic timing. More ironic things have happened to them.

His legs were not exactly functioning brilliantly, so a half limp was the best that he could manage as they headed towards the doors.

A glint of metal caught Dean’s eye through the dingy haze of the barn and he paused. Ignoring Cas’ apprehension, he wandered over to the small table which was more woodworm and rust than furniture.

It was his gun. The barrel shining in a stream of light that had fought its way through a gap in the roof. Perhaps he should have found the comfort it provided him more concerning. Instincts that had been curbed by its absence finally set free, a quiet focus.

‘Here. You’ll need these.’ From within his coat, Cas procured a handful of silver bullets.

‘Didn’t realise you were the bullet man.’

‘I- What?’

‘Never mind.’

Sarcasm was one of those things Cas never could get the hang of. Dean didn’t have the words to describe how endearing he found it. How it made him long for something simpler, something normal.

He took the bullets, loading them absentmindedly into the handgun, feeling the weight of it change in his hand. Dean could sense Cas’ gaze following his movement. He could sense the intensity of it, how Cas’ breathing had slowed almost to a stop as he watched Dean manipulate the weapon.

Not wanting to linger on the warmth he could feel prickling across his cheeks he interjected, ‘Come on, let’s go.’

Then the doors burst open. So, ok fair, Dean had to admit that as comedic timing went, that wasn’t bad.

Dean, well, not Dean, charged towards them colliding with Dean with such force that he sent the two of them toppling over the table, landing in a tangle on the ground behind.

‘Dean!’ Cas’ voice came from somewhere off to the side that Dean couldn’t see.

‘What!?’ The Deans shouted in unison.

‘Oh, absolutely the fuck not.’

Dean’s fist connected with the shifter's ear, a popping sound audible over the usual crunch of bone meeting bone. Twisting himself so he could reach, Dean dragged his body towards where his gun had fallen out of his hand when he was thrown over the desk. Before his fingers could curl around the grip, he was yanked away by his ankles. Then the shifter was on top of him, straddling his stomach, pinning Dean down beneath his weight. Dean’s head lolled side to side as each punch from the shifter hit harder than the last. Then it stopped.

By the time Dean had taken a moment for his brain to unscramble, the room was filled once again with the sounds of combat. The sharp stabbing sensation running through Dean’s knee rendered him incapable of doing much more than watch the two fight. Cas sliced through the air with his angle blade, missing the shifter by mere inches. The shifter landed a blow square to Cas’ stomach. There was a metallic clatter and then a shout from Cas as he fell into the pile of hay bales, his blade now abandoned on the floor.

Managing to acquire his gun once again, from his still half sat position on the ground, Dean fired a couple of shots towards the shifter. At least one of them hit and he immediately hunched over grasping his arm, retreating into the dusty shadows but not before he scooped up angel blade. Unable to follow the shifter’s impressive speed, Dean quickly lost track of him.

‘Cas? Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine.’ There was a clear strain to his voice, but he pulled himself up and began dusting his coat down with fairly effortlessly.

‘I lost him.’ Dean’s breathing was laboured, leaving large pauses between his words.

‘Well, he’s still in here; he can’t have gone far.’

‘I’ll check this side. You go over there.’

The almost silence pressed against him, thickening in the air, it clogged his throat and dried his mouth. Machinery and unused wood was scattered about, haphazardly leaning up along the wall.

And then Dean was flying backwards into said wall, planks of wood crashing to the ground as the wall rattled with the force of Dean slamming into it. A calloused hand wrapped around his throat and Dean’s feet lost contact with the ground. Flailing for a semblance of stability, he grabbed at the shifter’s arms. Air was rapidly depleting from his lungs and his neck ached under the pressure of the shape shifter’s grip.

There was a flash of metal.

A raw agony blossomed from his side. Warm blood soaked through his shirt and tapping rhythmically on the ground as it fell from the angel blade. Cas’ angel blade. Dean cried out. It was hoarse and mangled as it fought its way past his constricted throat. The cold seeped inside him, lapping at exposed blood vessels. It rushed through his arteries as his heart pushed it further icing his limbs, forcing shivers to run through him.

A bang echoed around. The shifter’s hands went limp and Dean to crumpled to the ground. Barely a second later, the shifter crashed down beside him. Several more shots fired and settled themselves deep in his brain, delicate trickles of blood tumbling down his face.

‘Cas! CAS!’

Stood just a few feet away, Cas was still pulling the trigger, the empty gun complaining noisily. Cas’ demeanour was unlike Dean had seen before, his arms were rigid, his elbows locked and he clutched the weapon so intensely that the tendons protruded from the back of his hand.

‘Hey Cas!’

His eyes fixed on Dean before the rest of his body followed suit and he was by his side. Gun discarded on the floor, Cas pulled Dean’s shirt up just enough so he could see the extent of the damage.

‘I’m sorry.’ Cas mumbled.

‘What-’

Hovering a hand over the torn flesh, Cas rebuild Dean’s skin. The feeling of tissue rapidly replacing itself, stretching itself back to what it was, dragged the oxygen from his lungs leaving him spluttering and coughing to regain it. Cas’ hand lingered, fingertips brushing lightly against Dean’s skin.

‘Thanks.’ Dean grabbed the gun, stuffing it into his pocket and hoisted himself onto his feet with a little help from Cas while he found his balance. Cas may have been able to deftly heal all Dean’s cuts and bruises but the painkillers had long since worn off and Dean’s legs were being uncooperative again.

‘Come on, we should go find Sam.’

‘Yeah, right.’ The two fell in step as the headed out the doors.

‘Why did you apologise before?’

‘Huh?’

‘Before you healed me, you apologised. What for?’ Cas shoved his hands into his coat pockets and his shoulder’s tensed.

‘I- uhh. I shouldn’t have allowed the shifter to get my blade. I could have stopped you getting hurt.’

‘Seriously? That wasn’t your fault. And you sure healed me up pretty good, so it doesn’t matter anyway.’ Dean wanted to take Cas by the arms and shake him. He wanted to shout that he was being an idiot, but Cas’ expression fell, staring hard at the ground. ‘Are you doing ok? You emptied a whole gun into that bastard. That’s not usually your style.’

‘I couldn’t stand that it looked like you.’

‘Uhhh, Ok. Little harsh don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t mean like that.’ A swift punch to Dean’s shoulder knocked the grin off his face, ‘I couldn’t stand that monster pretending to be you, thinking it could be anything like you.’

That ended the conversation. For the next few minutes, they walked quietly, the discomfort of such honestly pressing down on them. When they reached Sam, he was leaning against the car and leaped up when he spotted the two men.

‘Hey, Sammy!’ Dean was pulled into a hug, having to prise himself away to rescue his blood circulation from being cut off entirely.

‘I’m glad you’re alright. You weren’t exactly looking too hot when we found you.’

Allowing the urge to ruffle his younger brother’s hair at the snide comment to pass (he didn’t need to sit through another lecture about how long it took Sam to style his hair each morning), he turned to more pressing matters.

‘How are the others?’

‘Shaken, but I called the cops and they took them to the station. They’ll be fine.’

‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’ Dean stepped towards the driver’s side door and pulled it open before he was halted by Sam sliding himself between Dean and his rightful seat in the car.

‘Woah take it easy there, buddy.’

‘I can drive.’

‘Like hell you can.’

Not having the energy to argue, Dean relented. He could have driven, of course he could. But there was something in Sam’s expression. A stubborness that Dean was all too familiar with. He knew that whenever things go awry on a case and Dean gets the short end of the stick, Sam felt solely responsible. And regardless of the irrationality, Dean knew it would ease his mind to just play along.

So he trudged around to the passenger side, making sure to over-exaggerate his (mostly) faux disappointment as he got in the car, slamming the door (only very slightly; he couldn’t risk damaging Baby).

The gentle growl of the car and the bounce of the suspension helped lull Dean out of quite such a heightened state. For a while Dean sat watching the farm shrink into the scenery, and he was fucking grateful when it disappeared completely.

When he glanced into the rear-view mirror, making direct eye contact with Cas’ neglected puppy dog eyes was not what he expected.

‘Cas, you can quit staring at me. I’m not gonna spontaneously combust.’

‘Right, sorry.’ Cas’ eyes shot down to the floor, some crumb or speck of dirt now becoming the most fascinating thing on the planet.

Maybe that had been harsher than he intended, but the day had drained every ounce of patience from him, so he figured it was forgivable. Right?

‘Hey, how about I grab us some take out on the way back?’ Dean silently rejoiced at Sam changing the topic. Sometimes his younger brother really wasn’t so bad.

Sam and Dean hunched over the coffee table eating, various notebooks and journals discarded on the carpet. Cas stole the occasional fry, chewing it for far longer than needed. The motel room lights were dim, and the sun had sunk far below the horizon so a torch propped on a stack of books was the best they could manage. In combination they offered just enough light to read without getting a headache.

‘How’d you figure out that I wasn’t me so fast?’

All Sam did was glance at Cas and he made a stifled noise that could only be described as giggling. Cas was giggling?

‘Care to let me in on your inside joke?’

‘Let’s just say, you didn’t exactly act like yourself.’ There was a mischievous glee as Sam spoke that could only mean bad news for Dean. Cas was now very still, his eyes shifting between Sam and the hem of his trench coat which he was folding into a larger and larger triangle.

‘I’m gonna need you to elaborate but I’m pretty sure I’m gonna immediately regret asking.’

‘Ok so,’ Sam paused and waited for his laughter to pass. ‘You know how the shifter was kidnapping and becoming people who were all in relationships...’

Oh, fucking hell. He was absolutely about to regret asking.

‘It seems they thought you and I were dating.’ Cas’ tone was stable. He had recovered from his strange lapse a moment ago and regained his usual stoic composure.

Dean, however, was anything but composed. A strangled splutter that almost resembled a laugh forced itself free of his throat and he hoped to God that he wasn’t actually blushing as much as it felt like.

‘When we got back to the motel you basically leaped out of bed, beelining straight for Cas and-’

‘OK. That’s enough!’ Apart from literally stuffing his fingers in his ears and shouting ‘lalala I’m not listening’, there wasn’t much Dean could do to escape the shitshow that was devolving before him.

‘Let’s just say you didn’t hold back.’

‘You need to shut up right now.’ His ears burned as he slid down into his chair hoping maybe if he slid far enough, he would just fall right through the floor. But God was too much of a dick to ever be that merciful.

‘The shifter left very soon after they… well. Then we followed them back to the farm and you know the rest.’

Cas rose from his seat, deciding for them that this conversation was over.

‘We, uhh, should probably get some shut eye.’ The attempt to make the situation less uncomfortable was a weak one, but Sam caught on to it.

‘Good plan.’

Without another word between them, they split off and went to bed. Of course, sleep didn’t grace Dean with its serenity. All Dean could do was lie in the semi-darkness with hum of traffic and the occasional shouts from the room above to keep him company.

He needed to apologies to Cas. It was his fault the shifter had misinterpreted their relationship. Totally completely misinterpreted, yeah, uh huh, definitely. Regardless it wasn’t fair that Cas ended up in such an uncomfortable situation all because Dean was so shit at hiding his stupid schoolgirl crush.

But he couldn’t do anything about that yet. Tomorrow. He would find time tomorrow to set things right.

After nagging for almost two hours that Dean pull over, he finally relented, stopping at some random gas station. Sam had headed in to grab some snacks and, as much as he was dreading it, it wasn’t lost on Dean that now was the time to talk to Cas.

Dean turned to face Cas (Sam had insisted that Cas ride shotgun, virtually shoving him into the seat). Cas’ hair was unkempt. It stood on end in some places yet totally flat in others. There was always an urge in Dean’s mind to reach out and fix it, run his hands through it.

‘Hey man, we need to talk about yesterday.’ He spoke loudly and his pace was far too fast. Shit. He would take being stabbed with an angel blade again over this.

‘We do?’ Apparently unable to make eye contact with him, Cas stared off at a point past Dean’s shoulder. It wasn’t doing anything to reduce the shaking of his hands against the wheel. He wasn’t the biggest fan of eye contact but the absence of it from Cas was suffocating.

‘I need to apologise.’

‘Apologise? Dean, what are you talking about?’ Brows drawn together so tightly they were almost indistinguishable, Cas’ eyeline drifted to the dashboard.

He was split in two. The voice in his head screaming to stop as loud as the words that left his mouth. But the phrase ‘grow a pair’ also swam around in his brain, growing louder by the minute.

‘Look, I’m sorry about whatever the shifter did to you.’

‘I don’t understand. You weren’t even there.’

‘But it’s my fault that it thought we were dating.’ His fingers were numbing as he gripped the wheel even tighter. A life jacket as he fought to keep his head above the water.

‘I- What?’ They were both speaking in whispers. Cas’ looking somehow even more worried now.

Dean wasn’t sure if Cas was genuinely as oblivious as he was acting or if he was just being nice. Either way, the uncertainty pulled at his insides. It twisted his intestines into tighter and tighter knots, pushing the nausea higher up his oesophagus.

‘If I wasn’t so shit at hiding my…’ There was no backing out now. ‘My feelings… none of that shit would have happened.’

Well, there it was. He was a rabbit that had wandered onto a road and frozen, unsure how to react to the sudden exposure and unaware of the danger that could be speeding towards him. His life was in the hands of the driver whose car was racing towards his fragile body and Cas was the person behind the wheel.

‘I- Dean.’ Again, Cas was saying his name. His name that didn’t deserve to be voiced by most people, let alone an angel, rumbled gently as it escaped Cas’ lips. After all the things Cas had done for him, all the times he had saved his life, Dean had destroyed years of friendship with one sentence.

‘It’s not just you who can’t hide their feelings.’

Then Cas kissed him. It was quick and light, so hesitant that Dean had to replay it in his mind just to make sure it really happened. Cas had kissed him, actually fucking kissed him.

He blinked slowly, unable to give a fuck that he was probably blushing a deep rouge as Cas wound an arm around his waist, pulling the two of them close. Unlike a moment ago, Cas was now staring intently at Dean. When Dean looked away, his mind was spinning rapidly, Cas stopped him, placing a hand along Dean’s jawline and guiding his face back.

‘What is it you humans say? It takes two to tango, right?’

‘I- You- I… What?’

What??

Cas was slowly tracing the edge of his jaw. This was all incredibly unfair, how was Dean ever supposed to form a coherent sentence again.

‘Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly disappointed when, who I thought was you, grabbed my ass.’

‘CAS!’ His fist connected with Cas’ chest in a half-hearted punch. But he didn’t let his hand fall, instead clutching the lapel of Cas’ coat, holding himself up with it as he let out a laugh. Weightless and free it swirled around the car joined soon by a much lower chuckle from Cas. Together they danced through the air in a duet of glee.

However, their laughter was cut off when Cas closed the distance between them again.

This time the kiss was rougher, more desperate. Hands roamed across Dean’s back until one settled on his upper arm, the other in his hair. There was still so much Dean needed to say but for now, this was a pretty good substitute.

When Cas pushed Dean backwards he gladly obliged, the spike of pain that leeched through his spine lost in the bliss of Cas breaking down the walls that Dean had built up for years. Excuses to stuff down his emotions turned to dust in seconds. They broke apart, Cas peppering Dean’s neck with kisses and nipping at the skin leaving small marks blossoming on the surface of his throat.

‘Hey guys…’ Three sharp knocks on the window followed.

Fuuuuuck, Dean wasn’t sure there was anything more mortifying that could possibly be happening.

Cas jumped away from Dean, hitting his elbow against the dash as he did. Heaving himself back up to a seated position and cursing loudly when he accidentally leaned on the horn, Dean looked out the window at his brother. Sam was stood, bag of snacks in hand, arms folded tightly across his body.

Hurriedly Dean cleared his throat and adjusted his jacket. He turned his collar up hoping that it would cover all the marks he could feel burning hot along his skin.

‘I can come back later if you need more time.’ Sam’s mouth curled into a grin and he swivelled around, sauntering away from the car.

‘Go screw yourself. And get in before I drive off without you.’