Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13791636.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean
  Character:
      Castiel, Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Jo_Harvelle
  Additional Tags:
      Destiel_-_Freeform, adopted_cas, Voodoo, Santeria, Vodou, Rituals, The
      Three_Beggars, Hidebehind, Angels, Bobby_SInger_-_Freeform, Matriarchy,
      missouri_moseley_-_Freeform, trouble_magnet, California, Deities, Fluff,
      Mild_and_Severe_Injury, Violence, Demons, Road_Trip, Curious_Dean, Oral
      Sex, Anal_Sex, Top_Dean, Bottom_Cas, Falling_In_Love, Power_Bottom,
      rough, Public_Sex, Heavy_Drinking, Recreational_Drug_Use, Blood,
      Domination, Pansexual_Cas, Original_Male_Character(s)_-_Freeform,
      Original_Female_Character(s)_-_Freeform, Halloween, Homophobia, Monsters,
      Eschaton, Abandonment_Issues, power_trip, Genderqueer_OMC, crowley_-
      Freeform, Jody_Mills_-_Freeform, Child_Abuse, Trauma
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-02-25 Updated: 2018-03-13 Chapters: 3/? Words: 17916
****** Vessel & Monolith ******
by caligulaII
Summary
     During a wild encounter while on a walk alone on a mountain trail,
     Dean Winchester is an image of raw beauty and deadly precision that
     throttles Castiel's heart, and saves his life on more than one
     occasion.
     Neither man knows that their meeting is the catalyst for the violent
     uprising of all things with claws and teeth, and the fickle musings
     of a demigod that thrives on human pain and pleasure caused in his
     name.
     The death of something vicious can make way for the beginning of
     something fantastical.
Notes
     I'm not so good at this sort of thing, but if you take the time to
     read this and enjoy it, or hate it, or feel indifferently about it,
     thank you.
     --
     I don't have the words to express how grateful I am for BenLMoore.
     You are absolutely one of my favorite people on this planet and I owe
     you enough coffee ice cream to last a lifetime. Much love.
***** Twice *****
There are only so many times you can be poked, prodded and begged to do
something before the dam breaks. At a certain point, you may find yourself
halfway regretting acquiescence before something happens. It will either
inspire renewed belief in taking chances, or causes the regret to compound and
consume.
After parking at the main clearing and ensuring I'm well-stocked with bottles
of water and Luna bars, I tighten my boot strings and stretch my arms up
languidly, stalking toward a trail on the well-sunned eastern slope. Life and
limb may not be at risk while trudging up a cool, lonely mountain trail at 7:30
in the morning, abandoned by the close friend that conjured the idea of this
hike in the first place.
With that in mind, any sense of good will toward men is sleeping soundly in a
box with all the other fucks I'm currently failing to give while only half-
awake and forced to make the ascent alone. But tenacity and stubborn pride
prompt me to stay true the course, if only to prove that I can brave it
unaccompanied.
Time to nut up, Cas.
A quiet rush of footsteps and I turn just in time to a flash of gangly, black
limbs about ten feet away before they vanish. I stumble backward, nearly
oblivious to the sounds of yet another set of feet approaching from behind
slowly.
Getting into the great outdoors for once seemed like a novel idea yesterday,
and here I am: already feeling like I'm somehow up a creek. I turn to
investigate a faint tinkling sound and trip over a fallen branch. I watch from
the ground as a pair of strong, denim-clad bowlegs make a cautious approach. A
silver necklace dangles from a large fist.
“Stay there or we’re both fucked.” Gritty baritone brooks no room for argument,
as if the pistol in the man’s right hand would have allowed it in the first
place.
I promptly freeze, watching while the man stops and rolls the long silver chain
between his fingers. It seems like he’s waiting, but for something I've yet to
figure out. Almost instantly, a shadowy figure peeks out from behind a redwood.
However, in what seems like a fraction of the time the tall fucker takes to let
its curiosity get the best of it, an ear-splitting gunshot rings out around us,
and I jump, halfway expecting to be looking down the barrel of that pistol.
Over the rapid timbre of my pulse, I hear a thump from the direction of tall-
fucker. “What the fuck...” I mutter, breathing as if I’d been running up that
mountainside.
The tall blond gunslinger promptly ceases fire and drops his arm. A deep sigh
settles between his shoulders before he tucks the necklace into his jeans
pocket. A part of me is thrilled that I wasn’t on the receiving end of this
Billy Badass’s wrath, but the bigger part is worried about a phase two.
It may be a thought driven primarily by hysteria, but I silently hope that red
flannel isn’t a calling card of the wildly murderous.
My reverie ends at the click of a safety and the man settling the pistol in his
low waistband.
“Jesus, these things are getting uglier... ‘lipstick on a pig’ is right.”
I immediately home in on the pistol before it disappears under the flannel. The
blond glares at tall-fucker for a moment, presumably to ensure no surprises.
Then he takes a couple slow steps in my direction, with his large hands up in a
placating gesture. I distantly hope this is him trying to convey that his job
is done. I’m trying my damnedest to steady my breath, feeling completely out of
my element, twofold. Out in the middle of the woods, with a now-dead seven-foot
nightmare thrown in for the hell of it. I glance at the black mound before
locking eyes with the man.
Despite the caution in his approach, all I can think to do is blink rapidly,
tensing up and scooting back a bit as he stops and holds his hands up higher in
supplication.
“It’s okay, I’m done. It’s put away, I swear.” Even though he’s stopped a few
feet away, he quickly realizes how imposing he must look standing over me,
given the show he just put on, so he takes a knee and I finally get a good look
at his face.
My eyes widen as I take in the bright orbs of jade, then the dusting of
freckles surrounding them. It seems impossible that I can read the genuine
concern in those eyes, considering the militant efficiency of his kill just
moments ago. Despite my better judgment, I relax fractionally and exhale for
what feels like the first time in 10 minutes. His lips quicken up at one
corner. Regardless of my shell-shock, it’s clear that this isn’t the first time
he’s done this song and dance.
I’m coming back to myself now, but have not quite arrived. After god knows how
long, a big hand swipes across my field of view, and I blink again, thanking
my... savior with a, “Holy shit.”
Billy Badass huffs a laugh and plants his elbow back on his upright knee.
“Welcome back, man...” The grit in that voice takes me aback. Like rough stone
wrapped in distressed velvet.
“Sorry you got shaken up by all that shit,” he says. “I swear, I’m not here to
do anything to you, or... you know...”
He gestures at me vaguely and offers a weak grin that’s charmingly crooked. It
would be sweet, if the possibility of things taking a turn was a non-issue.
Then again, if I were next on the shit list, posturing as if he were concerned
wouldn’t be a priority, unless he's completely fucked in the head more than is
already likely. The prone figure up ahead didn’t look remotely like any person
I’d ever seen, but I hesitate to assume that he doesn't discriminate.
I nod once, sitting up a bit straighter, and fighting a wince as the deep cuts
on my forearms rub against the dirt and twigs I fell on. Naturally, I’d break
the fall in a way that still fucked me up. Planting a foot under me to begin to
stand, I stop as the man rises first and offers his not-shooting hand, nodding
after I glance at it then at him. It’s not likely that I’d get more than two
steps away if I try to run, so not pissing him off seems wise, even if he still
isn’t reading as deadly at the moment. I give a grin of my own and take his
hand, standing easily as he lifts with strength that isn’t surprising.
“Thank you,” I mutter, glancing at the black thing on the ground.
The man follows my gaze, his eyes narrowing as if that had been a closer call
than I was aware of.
“No problem.” He lets my hand go and maintains a respectful distance, shuffling
his feet as if to gear up to say something important. “I can explain what
happened with that thing back there, but you probably won’t buy what I got to
say immediately, if I’m... reading things right.”
My reticence of trusting him in general must be painfully obvious. He looks
almost guilty and tired already as he gives me a cursory once-over. I’d feel
bad about it if we weren’t knee-deep in BFE with only a loaded gun and a corpse
for company. Dusting off my slightly bloodied shirt and wiping sweat off my
forehead just for something to do to diffuse the growing tension, I decide that
knowing is better than guessing. Fuck, he’s so tall.
I take a grounding breath and shift my weight on my feet, too. “Try me.”
As far as first impressions go, this Winchester guy’s made one that runs
parallel with my indoctrination into hiking. This day has opened my eyes to a
horror that would be inexplicable if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes.
Though I’m feeling a bit more comfortable in his presence, albeit with a good
arm’s length between us as we approach tall-fucker, I can’t entirely shake the
feeling that there may be other things just as venomous beneath the surface of
what at first seemed pure and innocuous. Whether it’s a vast expanse of
redwoods, or a pretty yet tired face.
Winchester stays ahead of me, posture more relaxed than when I first saw him,
but he continues eyeing our surroundings in a way that seems entirely second
nature. Once we get closer, he stops, so I follow his lead. He glances back at
me over his shoulder and beckons silently, holding his arm out to keep me
behind him. Idly, I detect a funny scent; muted tobacco, maybe vanilla. My brow
furrows at the thought, but I move on to glance around his left shoulder as he
drops his arm, and my stomach flips.
Tall-fucker looks like H.G. Wells and Freddy Krueger had a baby that never
developed properly: skin like faded black leather. Long, disproportionate limbs
with knobby joints, a slack mouth housing jagged, off-yellow teeth, and an
oozing bullet hole between lifeless, pupil-less white eyes.
“What the fuck is that thing,” I grit out, fractionally stepping back as if it
will suddenly spring up and greet us properly.
Winchester nods sagely and sighs. “Hidebehind. These guys like to sneak around
in the shadows and look for just about anything to eat, from farm animals to
roadkill, to... other stuff.” He nudges the head with the toe of his boot.
Nothing happens. Seemingly satisfied, he steps away from it.
I turn to follow as he walks back toward the trail I was on.
“Fast as fuck, like you saw.”
If I hadn’t seen the thing dart around the trees like lightning myself, I don’t
even know what I’d think in that moment. “How- How the hell is this even
possible? It’s like nightmare fuel, with those teeth...”
Winchester hums in agreement and bends where I fell, grabbing my backpack I
dropped and handing it over.
“Thanks.” I heave it over my shoulder and Winchester smiles wanly in response.
The non-verbal communication doesn’t read as unkind.
“You know, I hate that this happened to you, and happens to a lot of people.
There’s so much out there that I don’t know where to start.”
We arrive at the trail, wide open and forking either uphill or downhill. He
stops and looks around again, listening before he asks, “Are you parked
somewhere nearby?”
I check my watch and fail to fight the wince this time, biting my lower lip and
groaning. It’s 7:45, so it’s been about an hour since I set off. The sun is
getting higher now. The increased visibility allows Winchester to release some
of the tension in his shoulders.
“Kind of. I parked way down near the camping ground.”
I struggle with how much information to reveal. This guy saved my ass. Being
shady is no way to thank him, but I’m on edge in a way that I’ve never been
before.
Winchester peers at me and scratches at the stubble on his jaw pensively, as if
he can read the roiling of my thoughts. His eyes widen at the two deep cuts in
my forearm.
“Well, I know the circumstances are kind of... well, way fuckin’ out there
right now, but if you don’t feel like going on your own, I can drive you back
down,” Winchester says. “My car is up the hill at the summit. It’s maybe
fifteen minutes if you want a ride.” He stops and cuffs the back of his neck,
blinking. “It’s up to you. I can wrap that for now until you can get stitched.”
Now that we are further into the day, there are likely to be more people in the
mountains, which simultaneously makes me relax, knowing that we won’t be alone,
yet tense up at the thought that others might see some shit they’ll never
forget either.
“Sure, yeah... we can walk down.” I shift the bag on my shoulder and plaster on
a grin.
He smiles back gently and gestures down the trail.
“Don’t mention it.”
In the beginning, we are silent save for the scrape of our boots on the ground
or a muted hiss from me as sweat collects in the deepest cut on my right bicep.
Dean (he finally decides to give me his first name; the cynical part of me
thought 'Winchester' was a nod to the gun show he put on) whips a dirty bandana
out of his back pocket and starts to reach out. He seems to think better of
helping to tie it on and hands it to me instead.
With thanks, I take it but can't quite manage on my own.
Dean apparently senses my hesitation diminishing, turns, stops, and silently
offers to tie the band. This time I don't flinch away when his gentle grip
wraps almost all the way around my arm. His thumb brushes over the wound,
clearing away as much blood as possible before he ties the rag in place. I bite
my lip against the ache, but this day is glowing in a dream-like way too early
in the morning, so the pain isn't unwelcome. But then it turns to nothing at
the ministrations of callused hands. For just a moment, my gaze trails across
Dean's thick veins and the sparse, nearly invisible hairs on his arms. I look
back up once he's done. The thin rings of gold around his pupils are perfection
before he pulls away and we trudge on.
We continue on a ways, and I try to stay focused on the neatly carved path
downward. Occasionally, though, I steal a cursory glance from my new companion.
A feeling like molasses weaves its way through me as our eyes meet finally, if
only briefly. He looks almost expectant. I don't feel as concerned about that
as I probably should.
“So, uh... that thing back there. I'm guessing it's not a one-of-a-kind,
otherwise it'd be worth too much to leave behind and it probably wouldn't have
a name,” I inquire casually, trying to assess the situation as rationally as I
can amongst the new revelations.
Dean raises a brow and his expression would be unreadable if it weren't for the
slight quirk of his lips.
“No. No, it isn't. I mean, it's not like they're littering the streets, or
there'd be textbooks detailing their B.S.,” Dean quips.
“Big and ugly and likes jewelry? I'm not sure how well sterling silver would
help. Maybe rose gold.” I joke to battle the unease the color green is suddenly
inspiring.
Dean actually laughs, a deep rumble accompanied by a parting of lips. He
somehow looks younger like that, though he can't be much older than me.
“Yeah, maybe some fuck-me pumps to really seal the deal.”
It's my turn to huff a laugh, and it's strange that it's actually helping
everything feel more real. Dean isn't so alien now that there aren't vermin to
kill.
“You noticed that, huh? Attention to detail like that is good.” His eyebrows
furrow and plush lips stretch thin as he continues, “It seems like when you
first see something like that, all the other nasties out there know it. I don't
want to traumatize you any more than you probably are, man, but I swear... when
you see them, they see you, and I'd feel like shit if I didn't at least warn
you about it.”
My heart quickens. “What do you mean?”
“Usually those things don't come out during the day. Even this early in the
morning was really pushing it.” The furrow deepens and a breeze swirls around
us that rustles the trees. “I don't like it. That wasn't the first one I've
seen since I came into the area and it's only been a couple of days since I set
up camp at the summit.”
The knot in my throat tightens in a way that's almost audible, but I swallow it
down and notice something Dean didn't elaborate on. “There was more than just
that one? Are there other... things out there?”
Dean's response may confirm truths that have been hovering around the periphery
of my belief for a long time. Memories of sounds in a dead neighbor's abandoned
house. Moments when I was alone in a room, yet I felt choked and cold. Dark,
misshapen figures on billowy, snow-obscured streets.
Dean hesitates and even from the side, his expression goes distant. "You can't
even imagine,” he says. “But, I guess now you don't have to."
The trees are beginning to thin out. Other people are showing up late to the
party. Yuppies making their appearances on the mountainside, brandishing their
earbuds, trudging in the opposite direction, radiating bliss. A pair of them
strolls past us as we cross into the landing with the crossroad sign indicating
which path leads where. I can't help but wonder if they'll make any new friends
this morning, too.
Yuppie #1 assesses Dean as she passes, eyes traveling the span of the broad
chest, down toward the flannel now tied around his waist. I'm next in line for
a casual glance that grows into a wide-eyed stare at my blood-stained tank top
before her attention snaps back to the front.
Dean appears oblivious, though I'm sure he notices, and is accustomed to the
attention. He doesn't acknowledge the woman's interest, either out of respect
for Yuppie #2, or due to the profuse sweat soaking his own tank top in the
growing heat. I choose not to let my eyes to linger.
“Thanks for walking down with me,” I say. “I don't mean to be a dick or
anything, you did save my ass back there, but...”
Dean shakes his head and shrugs. “It's nothing, really. Just wish I had the
chance to dress for the occasion, too.”
A trickle run from my lower back to the leg of my nearly too-short shorts.
Feels gross, but it's roomy enough to let the heat escape. I catch his hint of
a smirk.
I chew my bottom lip out of habit and chuckle. “Well, I figure in case you
decided to go all Dirty Harry on me, I'd somehow stand a better chance with my
own wheels.”
A deep-belly laugh. My smile widens in earnest.
“I can respect that,” he says, glancing around subtly. A few people linger,
deciding which path will deliver them to enlightenment and oneness with nature.
“You're taking this pretty well. Better than others I've seen. Some just shove
this shit away so they don't sound crazy.”
“I'm tempted to, but... I don't know, something tells me it isn't always that
easy.”
Dean says nothing, but something like appraisal is in his expression.
I nod toward my Sonata, parked in the shade and stalk toward it with Dean in
tow. Something occurs to me as other hikers blaze along. “I hope no one runs
into that thing if they happen to go off-road. Or any others still on two legs.
Was it a good idea to just leave it there?”
“I don't usually to leave things unfinished, but they love the night for a
reason.” Dean flings sweat from his forehead and I scratch my stubble
nervously; I doubt escorting a helpless menu item down the hill was on today's
agenda. “The sun may as well be an incinerator. It'll be a pile of ash by now.”
We arrive at my car and he hesitates just as I do, shoving his hands in his
pockets, presumably awaiting a dismissal I'm not ready to dole out.
He pokes a thumb at the car. “Nice ride. If you're a try-hard.”
There's mirth dancing on his features that I haven't seen to this point, and I
know it's a dig. A warmth like the sunny-gold rings in his eyes curls in my
belly at it. I snort in mock derision, fishing in my bag's side pocket for my
key fob. I can see myself doing some silly shit to see that smile and feel that
warmth. I jab back: “I'm sure you'll stow all that lip when the AC cuts on.”
“Hey! HEY! Over there!”
I turn as an unfamiliar young guy jogs toward us. Dean's tension is palpable,
although this is just Yuppie #3. All long legs, solid biceps, just as tall as
Dean with sandy curls flopping charmingly as he approaches and stops. The neck
of his skin-tight athletic shirt is ringed dark with sweat and a flush creeps
up his thick neck from under it.
“I'm sorry, I really don't mean to bother you, man, but I can't get my freaking
car started.” He's speaking directly to me, eyeing the keys in my hand. “Pretty
sure the battery just took a shit. Is there any possible way I could get a
jump? I'll owe you one, I swear.”
His demeanor isn't lost in translation. Icy blue eyes run up my legs quickly
before meeting mine. That smile alone could serve to melt the panties off of
most anyone he chose to have.
Dean's stance shifts as the new guy nears. Something dark flickers in the guy's
eyes, reminding me of that black thing we left lying up the mountain.
“Move on,” Dean murmurs before his lips tighten back into that firm line. His
jaw is nearly perfectly square as it sets. Pretty Man's smile falters, to, but
only for a moment.
“What?” he asks, arms wide in the universal gesture for harmless. “What's your
problem, man? It'd only take a second and there's no one else around to help.”
Giving the clearing one more cursory glance, Dean takes a step towards Pretty
Man, his hand looks to be itching for his holster. My sweat doubles in
production. Something out of nightmares is one thing, but this is just some
guy.
I move to rescue the guy from Dean's madness. “Uh, I don't--”
“No. Step back!” Dean flings an arm, shoving me against the driver's side door.
I drop my keys with a curse and a hiss as my bad arm hits the car. What Dean
needs is a swift elbow in the meat of his neck. Pain lances its way to my
shoulder.
“Fuck off, man,” Dean growls. “King Dickwad want you showing your asses in
public?”
Pretty Man looks bemused for a second before his grin twists even further. My
jaw drops as icy blue becomes shiny jet black. Even his voice is slick as fresh
tar.
“What he doesn't know won't hurt him, Winchester. Besides,” Pretty Man stares
over Dean's shoulder at me, expression revealing primal hunger unlike anything
I've ever seen, “How could I pass up the chance to tear through this lovely
little thing like Kleenex while you watch? So, what's the situation, Dean?
Already taken a crack at him?”
Completely nonplussed, the stranger swipes a hand over his own lower jaw as if
the thought compels him enough to risk trying. The inkiness in his eyes recedes
back to blue. “I bet he mewls like a kitten when you wriggle around in that
tight little ass just right. Makes me want to rip open every other hole he's
got just thinking about it.”
Dean blanches but makes no move to draw his gun. This fiesta of a morning just
escalated even further within the hour. I don't even know what we're dealing
with at this point. Then again I'm not the jack-of-all-trades of evil shit.
Moving as quickly as if he were gearing up to put a bullet in the guy's head,
Dean flings what looks like water in his face instead from a little glass
bottle.
A maelstrom of a scream erupts from this new monster, and he reels backward as
a plume of impossible black streams out of his mouth like an angry furnace.
Before I can even register what's happening, Dean grabs my arm and swings me
around the front of the car, yanking open the passenger door and practically
throwing me into the seat, slamming it shut before whipping back around to the
driver's side and getting in himself. The car starts up just as the plume of
living smoke whirls up and swoops down over the passenger window.
My eyes are like globes and things are moving too quickly for me too react
instinctively. I've never seen someone peel out so quickly yet so in control.
We careen down the driving path to the clearing marking the exit, flying past a
shiny new Prius that veers out of the way just in time.
“What the hell even was that?” I choke out, gripping the handle as we shoot
down toward the desert highway and merge into growing traffic. We're forced to
slow down a bit, but Dean's knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
“I had a feeling something was up with you, but Jesus Christ.” His tone isn't
accusatory, but he's definitely more wary now, the warmth from earlier
evaporating into paranoia and a tone like sandpaper.
“I don't even know what the fuck's going on. What do I have to do with this?”
Dean glances over at me, just as bewildered as I am. “That hidebehind hunting
in broad daylight. That demon showing up out of nowhere and trying to fuck with
you right after... it smells like a set-up.”
Bemused, I resign myself to sit on that for a second. What the hell do I even
do now?
“Hey.” I snap to and the scrutiny has softened. “It may sound crazy, but we
gotta hunker down somewhere. Do you live nearby?”
I distantly remember not trusting this guy as far as I could throw him two
hours ago.
“Yeah, over in Riverside,” I answer. “But what about your car?”
“Don't sweat it. I'll call in a favor or go back later.” Dean switches lanes,
heading east on highway 142. “These fuckers have your number for whatever
reason, and we need to get way the hell away.”
My apartment has never felt so pressurized and uncanny before.
The space isn't incredibly compelling, and while it took effort to make it feel
like a home, today the plush furniture only makes me feel like a sitting duck
for the nightmares circling the skies and the woods.
I drop my backpack near the front door and kick off my dusty sneakers.
Dean leaves his shoes on and ensures the one entrance is dead-bolted right
away. He secures all of the windows and the balcony door. I'm on the second
floor, but it looks like that hardly matters at this point.
At the sink I splash some cold water on my face to rinse the dust and sweat,
guzzling some down and grabbing a fresh bottle from the fridge for Dean, who's
busy rifling through the contents of my desk drawer.
“What are you even doing?”
“Keeping anything ugly out.” He uncaps a Sharpie and stalks back to the front
door where he draws a large ornate symbol on the fiberglass surface. then doing
the same on the glass of the balcony and the windows. The windows and sliding
glass door receive the same treatment. I'm in over my head as it is, so I can't
even pretend to be scandalized.
“I think one uninvited guest is enough,” Dean quips, recapping the pen and
placing it back in the drawer. He exhales deeply, swiping his hands up his face
and fingering through his hair. Dean nods his thanks before draining the entire
thing.
“You know better than me,” I concede, recycling both bottles back in the
kitchen, then leaning over the counter to rest my elbows on its surface.
“You've saved my ass again. I don't even know what to say. The least I can do
is offer you food.”
“I'd be rude as hell to turn that down,” Dean takes my place at the counter as
I prop open the fridge.
Water, blueberries, hummus, cheese, condiments, and beer. Shit.
Working with what I've got, I grab the dozen mini wheels of cheese and both six
packs of beer. Dean lights up at my wares.
“Man after my own heart.”
A full stomach and mild giddiness thanks to cheap ale is taking the edge off of
this entire day in a way that feels almost deserved.
It may only serve as a distraction, but the conversation flows as easily as the
beer. It says a lot about the two of us that we can still find some silly,
innocuous shit to laugh about even with some otherworldly foulness on our
heels.
Warmth makes its way down my neck and chest slowly, curling around in my belly
once I catch a whiff of that same smell from the woods, coming from Dean. When
he tells stories about day-long joyrides in his Chevy Impala down highways that
have collected dust from disuse, or bedding the girl of his dreams, the
graceful curve of his mouth has me wriggling in a way that may be acceptable
under less deathly circumstances. After my third beer and Dean's fifth, he hops
up as soon as he sees who's calling.
“I know, dammit, Bobby, I know... well, I didn't have much a choice. The guy
came out of fucking nowhere.”
Dean grumbles after a moment of listening and looks at me briefly. The small
space offers no privacy, but the subject is pretty clear. Pretending not to
listen, I recline in my armchair and turn the TV on with low volume while paces
in front of the balcony.
“Two hidebehinds in a night... yeah. No. There's something up going on here,
definitely didn't see this coming when I went to camp up in Carbon Canyon. All
my shit's still up there with my car. Uh-huh. Mason's free? Still in Temecula?
Sure. Not a scratch better be on it and he keeps out of the trunk.”
I truly tune out at this point, not sure I even want to know the arsenal of god
knows what this guy has at the ready. Dean ends the call, settling back on the
couch next to me and reclaiming his beer.
The knot of anxiety in my chest is unfurling even further with my fourth.
“Got that settled, then?” I take a swig and lean back further, resting my feet
on the coffee table.
Dean grunts his assent as he guzzles down number six.
“Yeah, a couple of old hunting buddies are gonna swing by the campground for
me,” he says, voice seeming to drop another gravelly octave now that his
business is handled.
“I still feel like a dick for asking you to walk me down.” I pick the label off
my beer, avoiding looking at Dean.
“I don't blame you for being cautious,” Dean says. “Fuck, I'd have been worried
if you hadn't been.”
“All this shit just happened so fast. I still don't know what to make of it.
Demons? Hide-aways or whatever they are? God knows what else? My fucking head's
spinning.” I close my eyes and exhale, that low warmth spreading further south.
“I know the feeling. It seems like every other day, there's something big and
ugly waiting to take a chunk out of me or someone else.” He takes another swig,
his stubbly Adam's apple bobbing like a metronome.
“How do you even live? Like a normal person?” The words seem harsh in the
moment, and if I could, I'd snatch them back.
Dean pops his eyebrows and huffs a humorless laugh. “Business as usual.” He
sets his empty bottle down and leans back, rubbing his face with his as his
belly flexes with a deep sigh.
The warmth stretches and purrs within, looking at him like this. It's almost
laughable the direction my thoughts are taking. Gratitude doesn't even touch it
at this point. Maybe a remnant of that creature made of smoke wormed its way
into me and is resting comfortably while the rest of me is prickly and keening
for something a little more brazenly sought. I lean up and rest my elbows on my
knees, capturing my lip in my teeth and releasing it right as Dean looks over.
“I can't imagine having to shut down all the time like that.”
Dean's expression darkens in a brand new way, and he leans up onto his own
elbows. “It's something, all right.”
As good an invitation as any.
Praying that we are volleying the same ball here, my eyes never leave Dean's. I
find my way onto my bare knees in a show of pliancy that only this man of all
men can inspire. I move around the coffee table into the space between his long
legs. My hands perch on his denim clad knees and spread them further. That
wicked smirk is inspirational.
“I hope you don't think I'm all quid pro quo here, but...”
My hands slide up firm muscle and kneed gently. A barely-there growl escapes
Dean's parted lips. Damn near alight, I move in closer until my chest is barely
touching the place of greatest interest to me. The heat emanating from there
seeps through his jeans and into my skin. My hands travel up under his black
tank top and I drag my nails slightly down taut abs to draw more of those
growls.
“Goddamn,” Dean murmurs, licking his lips in a way that simultaneously seems
unconscious and deliberate.
His shirt slides up once my fingers trail up and over his pecs, where he seems
to be very responsive. His golden belly compliments my warm paleness
beautifully.
Emboldened further, I nudge my nose and jaw into the growing mound in Dean's
pants, eliciting another groan. My stubble scratches audibly against it and I
can smell the musk collecting there. The girth of Dean alone is almost enough
elicits my own set of sounds. It feels like the biggest cock I've ever
encountered and my own gives a desperate twitch, neglected in my shorts and
stretching them uncomfortably.
My impatience wins out and I unclasp Dean's belt quickly, tugging on the
waistband as Dean lifts his ass so I can peel them off his jeans, with some
difficulty. Dean shakes his head and chuckles at my clumsiness, and I roll my
eyes until they widen.
“Holy fuck...” I murmur as yet another monster makes its presence known this
day.
“'Holy fuck' is right. You don't have to, oh...” Dean trails off with a shaky
moan and leans back more once I take him in hand through black boxer briefs.
Only once do I allow myself some pressure relief, rolling my hips into the
front of the couch.
It's a marvel. My mouth finds the apex of his dick through the fabric and
ghosts hot breath over it at a pace that would break me if our roles were
reversed. Not ruling out that possibility, but banking it for now. If possible,
his cock swells even further and Dean's subtle hip rolls make me want to say
fuck all the pretense and sink down onto him in a way that's probably
dangerous.
“What are your thoughts on worship?” I punctuate the question by peeling Dean's
briefs until he's fully exposed and rosy pink at the tip. I lean down and lap
at the cloudy pearl leaking from him, then engulf as much of him as I can in
one deliberately slow motion. I make it just past halfway down his length
before the stretch is nearly unbearable, but just sharp enough to send a bolt
of satisfaction down my spine, straight to my own cock which throbs
appreciatively.
“Fuck... fuck, fuck...”
Dean's thigh muscles strain to contain the urge to thrust his hips upward,
likely picking up on how much of a struggle my handling of his size must be.
Bobbing down once, I hollow out my cheeks and inhale through my nose on my
ascent back up, looking up at him through my lashes and humming deep in my
throat as he exits it. Something deliciously violent, and very promising, is
lurking behind his restraint.
I release him with a soft pop and a kiss to the most sensitive nerves on the
backside of his swollen head before lavishing the veined underside with my
tongue, stretching it out as far as I can. This just as pleasurable for me as I
hope to make it for Dean, and the second hum I release around him as I plunge
back down again and again grants me some reassurance.
Dean’s left leg bounces up and down as the filthy slurping reaches a fever
pitch.
“Oh, god, slow, slow... fucking fuck, you’re incredible.”
Following orders, I slow down and grip him at the base. My lips barely touch
the web of flesh between my index finger and thumb as I let him enter the back
of my throat with a repressed gag.
Finally, I release him from my wet grip and take a few cleansing breaths. The
slick spit coating the entire lower half of my face is oddly satisfying, but I
wipe it onto my shoulder.
Once he’s glowing pink and slick from the head all the way down to his heavy
balls, I relinquish the control I had until this point. Crawling up as slowly
as before, my painfully neglected cock drags along the entire solid length of
Dean’s body. I perch in his lap and roll my hips forward once, maneuvering so
that his monster prods at the crease of my ass. The pressure between my legs
increases tenfold in this position and I clutch the back of the couch. My eyes
screw shut as huge, powerful hands smooth up my legs and over the swell of my
ass, pressing the monster more firmly against it, and giving my cheeks a
squeeze.
“Jesus, that thing is deadly,” I murmur, settling down comfortably and relaxing
into Dean's unyielding grip.
He exhales sharply and the red creeping down his cheeks into his neck is at
once endearing and stirring.
“I’ve never, fuck... never done this... with a guy... might need a little
guidance, man.” Dean’s hips heave upward to meet my own and he lifts me up with
his efforts.
Though this revelation marks Dean as a flight risk at the first sign of
affection, I take the leap and meet his gaze, pressing our foreheads together
and sharing breath soaked in beer and desperation. Our thrusts meet in a way
that is absolutely perfect, my dick squeezed tight between our bellies and I
purr like a cougar before leaning down a bit further and smoothing my lips
gently against his.
Just testing the waters, his stubble scratches against my bare cheeks and is
like a neurotoxin. Sparing the tongue lashing and biting I expected, Dean eases
up into kiss and sucks at my bottom lip, releasing it without pulling away,
letting his warm breath crest over my spit soaked jaw. Stars fill my vision.
An indulgent grin curls against Dean's lips before I dive back in for my turn.
I grasp the hem of my tank top, yanking it off and flinging it away. I tear
Dean's off and the heat radiating off of his fair-haired, heaving chest draws
in my own. Our sweat-slick skin cleaves and sticks together as my arms wrap
around his neck.
Dean's enormous hands clasp around my behind even more firmly and he utters
gravelly filth against my wet collarbone.
“I'm gonna break you from the inside out, I swear to God...”
The vow stirs something oozing and primal that remained untapped until today.
My whole lower half throbs with anticipation. Dean's hands run up my ass and
back down into the waistband of my running shorts and dig blunt nails into the
soft flesh there, kneading and pushing down the band with the backs of his
wrists. My breaths come shorter and shorter, and I wiggle in his grasp to lean
my elbows on the back of the couch on either side of his head so he can rip the
fuckers off. An arm curls around my waist, grasping tight, and my shorts are
discarded before I reclaim my seat. My toes curl once our cocks are rejoined
unencumbered.
“Fuck, do it, please... fuck...” I'm whimpering as if I were in heat, and the
change in power is not lost on Dean, which is confirmed fully after my next
utterance: “Hit me.”
Almost right away, Dean's hand leaves and reconnects with my right ass cheek
with a crack that yanks a low moan from me. I grip his short hair and pull his
head back to kiss him again, this time allowing my tongue to run the length of
his, and behind his perfect teeth. A long rumble of a growl fills my mouth and
I swallow it down as I'm delivered another harder slap.
“Yeah?” Yet another slap blesses the same spot as before.
Then a fourth on the other cheek higher up. The pain from the contact is a live
wire directly to my cock, squeezed against Dean's flat belly, which blurts
appreciatively and leaves a slick trail around the head.
“I need... need it... please, fuck me. Fucking turn me inside out,” I murmur
against plush, rosy lips.
Even though my dick is so hard it burns, and is screaming for me to touch it,
I'll come on Dean's dick, or not at all.
He needs no more coaxing and brings his right hand back between us, stroking
his reddened index and middle fingers against my trembling bottom lip. Our eyes
lock and are unwavering as the digits trace around my mouth and over my cupid's
bow before he pushes them between my lips. A thin ring of green is eclipsed by
black.
“You know what to do, baby.”
My tongue rolls around the fingers, between, and up the length of them. While I
produce the filthiest wet sounds as I prep his callused fingers to the knuckle,
Dean bites his own lip and pushes further until he's satisfied, pulling them
out with a pop and a groan. Dean could manhandle me into any configuration he
pleased, whether it would also please me or not, but he traces the pair of
fingers up the crease of my ass away from my perineum, finally landing where it
needs to go. I clench instinctively but try to relax as Dean leans up to kiss
me again, his other hand gripping my waist tight.
The larger finger is the first to breach the ultra-sensitive ring of flesh and
a half-scream punches its way out at the quick intrusion. Dean sucks the
subsequent moans and groans out of me until I'm breathless. The finger slips in
to the knuckle along with the index finger's introduction, and my toes curl
until they feel like they'll break. Dean seems naturally tuned to the precise
amount of pain to make it perfect.
“Breathe. Breathe for me,” Dean whispers against my soaked lips once both
fingers are settled deeply inside and my walls are clenching around them
angrily.
My hips gyrate of their own accord to accommodate Dean in any way. Inhale deep
in the nose, and out through the mouth.
As my eyes shut tight, I start to wonder if I bit off more than I can chew. But
then again, some lessons are worth learning the hard way.
My hips rise and sink on Dean's fingers once. He thrusts them in to meet my
efforts and soon enough, they slide in and out more easily as the pain fizzles
to the edge of growing pleasure. My eyes crack open and I hum happily, grinning
down like a fool at this beautiful man. Dean does that smirk again, but it's
softer this time.
“I'm ready now,” I whimper as Dean's fingers strike gold over and over again.
“Fucking shit...”
Dean grunts his agreement and removes his fingers slowly, leaning up to spit
into his hand copiously. Raising an eyebrow at me as to ask permission. I nod
once, granting him a Mona Lisa smile of my own before shifting up to allow Dean
to reach behind me and plant his hand on himself. The obscene, wet sounds are
to live and die for. Dean's eyes roll back briefly but he relents in favor of
something better awaiting.
“Steady now, kid. Don't want to hurt you, okay?”
Words of wisdom if I've ever heard them, so I breathe deeply again through my
nose as the wide crown of Dean's cock meets my spit-soaked hole.
The pressure is almost too much and the breath I was holding is snatched away
in a silent groan. I'm almost split in half and I nearly tap out until the head
breaks my first defenses and my head falls on Dean's shoulder. He rubs the base
of my spine, which relaxes the tension a bit, but Dean's cock swells along the
shaft and I'm just beginning to settle down on it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...” My nails burrow into the skin of Dean's shoulders,
sure to leave red marks.
He makes no complaint. In fact, this spurs him along if the growl in my ear is
any indication.
The pain eases as I finally adjust to his massive girth. I choke out a moan,
fully seated with a patch of coarse hair scratching the underside of my sack.
Dean prods at every organ inside me. I could sing his praises and curse his
name at the same time and it's beyond anything I've ever felt.
Dean's brow furrows and his mouth drops open once I've claimed all nine or ten
inches of him. His hands take their place on my ass again and push the cheeks
together, clenching my body tighter around him and allows him to nudge at
places inside that are indescribable, though he hasn't started to really move.
We groan in tandem and I swivel my hips a few times, stretching my hole to
allow for more vigor.
“Oh, god... so fucking good...” Dean rolls his hips up and my eyes roll back.
He's barely thrusting but with each second the discomfort subsides. After a
couple of minutes, I lean up on my knees slightly before plunging back down on
his cock with a loud slap that rocks us both and the couch. This time I do
scream, Dean's grip tightening on my hips to steady me.
He throws his hips up in a way that is both brutal, yet agonizingly slow. His
hips smacking against the back of my thighs is musical; my chorus of
profanities does nothing but urge him to continue. The couch creaks in protest
but stops after Dean takes control from me and slams me down on his dick with
abandon.
The pace is unbearable and there's no getting enough of it. I try to meet him
on the downswing and each time we collide perfectly, the ear-splitting slap of
flesh is almost too much. Dean grasps my hips, slams me down and holds me
there, biting his lip and glaring at me with hooded eyes like a big cat on the
hunt.
“Wrap your legs around me.”
Dean sits up and grasps my waist with the full length of one arm, holding tight
to my ass with the other. He scoots gingerly down the couch. Kicking my legs
around to rest on his hips, my arms grip his neck so he can easily stand and
remain nestled tight inside. I may as well be made of construction paper; Dean
plunders my mouth sloppily and fondles the place where we're joined together,
walking us over to my full bed at the opposite end of the room next to the big
windows. The setting sun is starting to fill the room with fiery light.
Without releasing me, he leans forward and is able to hunker down even deeper
into my ravaged opening as my legs cling to his waist for dear life. He plows
into me even more angrily than before, using all six gears on those hips to
shred me from the inside. This angle allows little participation from me, but
he's able to nail my sweet spot like a bullseye and I'm seeing stars once again
and tasting blood from biting my lip through the screams I try to stifle.
A staccato stream of “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is all I’m able to muster between
shaky, whimpering inhaled breaths. Dean grunts as if in a wild rut each time he
barrels into me from above. He has no qualms about twisting my legs into any
configuration he sees fit, now opting to flip my legs from hanging loosely
around his waist and up onto his shoulders. My knees dig into my collarbones at
his relentless assault of my ravaged entrance; the maiming he manages to deal
out is nothing short of exquisite.
“So... goddamn... tight... gonna... break... you... in... half,” Dean
punctuates his declaration with a near-lethal snap of his hips that has me
clawing at his back desperately and sends me careening over the edge. I spill
on my belly between us and the spunk he wrings out of me blends into our joined
chests. My mouth drops open in a silent scream of wonderful agony. Every nerve
ending from the waist down clenches with my release and my toes go numb as Dean
continues to pummel into me even more rapidly.
“Oh, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop! Another! There’s another!”
Trailing after my first orgasm caused by friction between our writhing bellies,
a second more powerful one crests up and overtakes me. This time I don’t bother
to hold back the cry as tears run down my cheeks and my hands claw at the bed
to my sides.
Dean does as instructed, and kisses the broken sighs out of me before leaning
back and yanking me up with him, settling back on his haunches and replacing my
legs around his sweaty waist. Not losing his pace for one second, Dean’s iron
grip snaps back around me at my ass and he begins to lift and drop me back
down. He barrels in just as deeply as before, but he slows his stroke as he
chases his own release.
He kisses even more sloppily with every sopping inch of his acrobatic tongue. A
large part of me wants him to swallow me entirely and carry me with him always.
Dean’s shoulders glow red and the muscles throb each time he hoists me up only
to drop me back onto his cock as it throbs against every wall I have.
Husky moans morph into ragged, heaving breaths as Dean begins to approach the
apex. The stars fade to dark spots, my arms folding entirely around his neck,
and I moan through the pain into the thick veins standing out in stark relief
there. The overstimulation claws at my very core, and draws out the haze of
coming twice within seconds. Comparable to falling off of a steep cliff, only
to hit another sloping ledge and fall yet again.
The sounds he makes are the sexiest I’ve ever heard once Dean grips hard enough
to bruise and yanks me back down and holds me there. A set of teeth clamp down
on my shoulder hard enough to break the skin and he keens in a higher pitch. I
can feel each pump of him into me and the warm slick trickling out around his
spent cock. Dean exhales shakily but doesn’t let me go, and every fiber of my
being hopes that he won’t.
A stain of sweat settling into the white sheets under us is the first thing I
see once I can blink my eyes open and gulp for air across Dean’s soaked skin. I
lean back up just as he does and reclaim his wet lips, tasting salt and copper
and pure Dean just underneath all the filthy dilution.
He looks even more like a dream in the yellows and reds of evening. This close,
his breath mixes with mine and something shines brightly from behind his post-
orgasmic, glazed over expression. Seconds or hours pass as our hearts settle
down and find their rhythms in tandem. I can’t help but stroke his scratchy jaw
reverently and drag a thumb across his weakly smiling lips.
“What are you?” Dean whispers with something like awe in his words, but I’m
silently begging him the same question.
My shyness grows. I lose his gaze and glance down for a moment at the elegant
curls of his chest hair perverted by my come. I compose myself, and look back
up, kissing the corner of his mouth as it quirks up adorably immediately after.
“Thank you,” I whisper, closing my eyes and breathing in vanilla and tobacco.
For saving me. For eradicating and expelling the things outside of this place
that would tear me apart just as soon as they'd wish me a wonderful day. For
breaking me apart and putting me back together into something new. For being
exactly what I dreamed of without knowing it. For showing me that the death of
something vicious can make way for the beginning of something fantastical.
***** Driftwood *****
Chapter Notes
     Recommended listening if you're a masochist like I am: "He Hit Me
     (And It Felt Like A Kiss)" -- Grizzly Bear
The first thing I notice when I wake up is a dull, aching throb that runs from
my ass up to my waist, then back down my stiff legs. The second thing is the
hard arms wrapped tightly around my waist. The faint snore of the man who
caused all the pain in the first place is painfully endearing.
I give my chapped lips a lick and hum sleepily. Dean stirs behind me and his
arms tighten. He must be an even lighter sleeper than I am.
“Mornin',” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.
A huge hand splays across my belly.
“Hey there,” I mumble and crack an eye open at the red numbers of my alarm
clock and groan. “Shit... it's six in the morning.”
Dean chuckles gruffly. “Not a morning person either, then.”
I grunt my assent and shift around under the covers to face him. Quashing any
fear about morning breath, I lean in to kiss him. The hand moves from my
stomach to my lower back and presses us together at the waist. Mornings never
sit quite right with me until I've had coffee, but Dean's tongue wraps around
mine and draws out a vestige of energy that didn't manage to die out last
night.
He drags the hand around my waist down my leg, hoisting it up onto his hip. My
right leg curls under him and wraps around his left. Lazy rolling of his hips
causes my breath to come sharply and a moan tumbles into his lovely lips. His
stubble has to have grown a bit overnight and scrapes at my raw lips. His
waking scent is so good, it's almost unfair how it affects me; early morning
light is painting his hair and body gold.
“What the fuck are you doing to me? Making me hate this time of day a little
less, at least so far.” I hiss as our cocks reconvene and grow in tandem.
Dean's relentless grip on my abused ass-cheek burns splendidly.
I forfeit to my greed and suck in his sweet taste.
“Gonna gimme a damn heart attack, man,” he murmurs shakily.
Feeling Dean's heart pump against mine, I almost believe it. My teeth clench
softly on his lower lip just as his cock rises to full attention, and he rolls
his hips down just right, letting it flop back up against my sore, come-slick
crack. My fist in his hair tightens, which is the go-ahead to let him to shove
right back home in one long, smooth thrust.
“Oh, fuck.” I sigh, releasing my grip on his hair and wrapping an arm around
his neck to pull us completely flush together.
Dean's movements are relaxed and fluid, and he angles up to drag his cock
against my sweetest spot with each of them. A pink flush paints his cheeks and
he moans like a sleepy bear, his pace increasing and the fingers on my ass
digging in hard. His waist claps softly against my trunk as he chases release.
“Yeah.. yeah...” he mutters while softly slapping my abused ass near where
we're joined.
I bite into his shoulder and let out a high-pitched curse before we come at the
same time, sharing languid kisses. He yanks me back down on his spent cock
which allows his fluid to ooze out of my wrecked hole and down my leg.
“Jesus, Cas,” Dean whispers against my lips before kissing them. “You're gonna
be the death of me.”
I'm almost afraid to acknowledge the thrum of joy hearing him say my name like
that.
Hours later, freshly showered and dressed, I step out of the bathroom to the
sight of Dean, dressed back up in his jeans and tank. He rifles through the
crate full of vinyls next to my bed, having cleaned up quickly at the sink
after we shared some of my best coffee. I finish doing up the top button of my
cardigan as he turns to me with a Jeff Buckley EP in one hand and The Wall in
the other. His lips quirk with approval at my selection.
“Good shit, Cas,” he says, giving me a once-over upon my approach. “Knew there
were other reasons not to think of you as a total choirboy.”
He smirks as his gaze drops to my cardigan.
My head cocks to the right and I narrow my eyes conspiratorially. I'm finding
more and more that this guy shows affection to people by giving them a healthy
dose of shit. Emboldened, and hoping to keep my momentum against Dean's sass, I
grab his flannel up from the bed and tie the arms around my waist.
“You'll get this back when you stop being a dick,” I tease, snatching my albums
and a kiss.
The sass recedes and is replaced by that gentleness, which is becoming
familiar. I turn to place the albums back in the crate. “Since I don't see that
happening anytime soon, consider your influence on my sense of style welcome.”
Dean chuckles. “Looks good on that little waist of yours anyway,” he says
against the shell of my ear.
A sharp tingle runs down my spine, then once more at the sensation of a soft
kiss at the nape of my neck.
“S'not that little,” I whisper.
Dean's fingertips slip up my sweater and tread lightly across my belly,
igniting little sparks that travel south to my cock and north to my
heartstrings. They find fresh bruises on either side of me and glide over them
as gentle reminders of what those hands are capable of. His breath is a ray of
sunlight.
I'm a little alarmed at the surge of affection I'm feeling for him within 24
hours of meeting. The thought of all of this being a fleeting encounter is a
storm cloud that I cast away for the moment.
“Both my hands almost fit around it,” Dean continues to tease.
I laugh breathily, then halt as his phone chirps and usurps the moment from us.
Dean sighs and withdraws to answer. “Yeah?”
Inaudible chatter from the other end of the line. I step away to rake my
fingers through my hair and sit on the bed. Previous experience has shown that
it's best to give Dean his space when it comes to business.
He grunts his responses into the phone in a way that he hasn't done with me
yet. It's fascinating how he can shift gears at the drop of a hat. Suddenly, a
brilliant grin blooms across his face with a piece of information that likely
doesn’t spell doom. I exhale a breath.
“Great. Thanks, Mason,” Dean says before hanging up the phone without a
“goodbye.”
I raise my eyebrows expectantly.
“Well, looks like you'll get the pleasure of meeting Baby today.” My confusion
must be evident, but he makes me thrum with the upturn of his lips. “Come on,”
he continues, “you’ll see what I mean.”
 
The car is as much of a stunner as its owner. Or at least a very close second.
I let out a low whistle as the pristine, shiny black Impala veers into a vacant
parking spot outside my apartment building, just loud enough to ensure that
anyone nearby notices. Not a scuff mars its body, which shows the meticulous
level of care it receives. A battered old Ford pickup pulls in alongside it.
“Hot damn,” I mutter as the car comes to a halt.
Dean beams beautifully.
“Pride and joy right here, Cas,” he says as an older man steps out of the
driver's seat.
 
Wavy silver hair pairs well with the man's paternal smile as he claps Dean on
the back.
“How the hell are you, Winchester? Feels like I haven't seen you since you were
running around biting ankles and whatnot.”
“Hey, Mason. Been a while, right?” Dean responds. “The wife keeping you on a
short leash in your old age?”
Mason claps Dean over the back of the head in a way that would likely draw out
Dean's ire if just about anyone else were to do it. “Watch it, shit-bird.
You're lucky you're basically family.”
Dean cuffs his neck and snorts as Mason tosses him a set of keys. “Thanks for
bringing her back, man. You're a lifesaver.”
“Don't sweat it,” Mason says with a grin. He looks over at me and politely nods
his acknowledgement, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, kid. Mason.” I
notice him eye the flannel around my waist, then glance at Dean only in a tank
top. His expression remains kind but otherwise unreadable.
“Cas. It's a pleasure,” I respond and step back to let Dean reunite with the
love of his life.
Mason's grip is a death trap before he turns to Dean. “I gotta run and check
out a situation over in Temecula, but next time you're in town, I better see
your ass for more reasons than just a favor,” he says, playfully shoving Dean
on the shoulder. “Say hey to your pops for me, yeah?”
Dean darkens for a brief second before he gathers and hums noncommittally.
Mason either doesn't notice his behavior, or chooses not to call him out on it.
“You got it, man,” Dean says. “Keep in touch, and let me or Bobby know if you
need some help. I'll be in California for a bit longer, I think.”
My ears perk up but I don't react otherwise.
“Sure thing. See ya around, kid,” Mason says with a wave as he hops into the
passenger seat of the pickup.
The driver backs out and speeds out of the lot onto the busy street.
Dean tosses and catches his keys, smiling and sauntering over to me now that
things are as they should be. I can't resist smiling back.
“Breakfast?” He glances over at my dirty Sonata. “I'll drive.”
 
Dean eats like a horse. Somehow that's less than surprising. Half of a maple
bar hangs out of his mouth as he pauses eating to glance at my perennials on
the balcony. Neither of us mention the symbol he drew, still on the glass door
once we're on the other side of it, out in the midday sun. Dean leans down to
sniff at a yellow rose; the day is absolutely beautiful.
I lean back against the steel railing and take a bite out of a bear claw.
“Hm. Kinda smells like you,” Dean says as a casual thought while he continues
to devour his breakfast. I can feel my cheeks start to warm, so I stuff my maw
with more donut to avoid saying something stupid. I swallow it down along with
my hesitation.
“Not exactly my pride and joy, but these are nice to take care of,” I say,
draining my second cup of coffee. “Gardening probably isn't your thing. It just
feels good to get my hands dirty.” I nod toward the door before walking
through, licking my thumb clean.
“Hey, don't sell me short,” Dean says around a mouthful of doughnut as he
follows me back inside. “I like a potato or two once in a while.”
I chuckle and pour a third cup from the carafe. “Guess I shouldn't assume
anything, should I?”
“Nope,” Dean says with a playful upturn of his nose. “I can do tomatoes, green
beans, the whole shebang. Been a while, but it's like riding a bike.”
“I'll have to take your word for it,” I deadpan. Dean's eyebrows furrow. “I
don't know how to ride one.”
“You're shitting me,” Dean says incredulously.
“I shit you not,” I admit with a sheepish shrug before I’m able to think the
admission through. It hits me that this is the moment when I'd read as complete
dead weight if Dean hadn't already saved my life twice.
“Dude,” Dean says with a shake of his head, “we've got to fix that. You live in
California and haven't ridden a bike on the beach?”
“Afraid not. My nose was stuffed into every book nearby when I was growing up
and the family tended to pick chaise lounges over days in the park.” I try to
keep any trace of bitterness out my voice.
“Blue blood status?” Dean asks, no longer bewildered.
I scoff and dump the rest of my coffee down the sink. “Something like that.”
Dean prepares to retort but is cut off by his phone once again. He snatches it
out.
“Bobby?”
I don't know what it is about Bobby, but the guy has yet to call to exchange
pleasantries. Dean paces around and stays virtually silent as Bobby's tinny
voice relays something that steals some of the light from Dean's eyes.
“All right. Yeah. Thanks for looking into it. Just wanted to be sure no one's
seen him lurking around anywhere. I'll be in the area still, just hit me up if
anything else pops off.” He's quiet for a second after hanging up, rolling his
phone around in his hand.
“Cas,” he finally says, stuffing the phone in his pocket. Suddenly the light
and airy energy is gone from the room. The look on his face reveals nothing
about what's going on, but I still feel the impact of whatever it is.
Refusing to let anxiety dig its hooks deeply into me, I approach him. As if I
can do anything other than worry about a problem that I probably can't solve.
“What's happened? Can I do anything to help?”
Dean's smile is sad, but it's still there. “Nah. It's nothing for you to worry
about, Cas.” He smooths his hands up my arms onto my shoulders then lets go.
“I've just been looking for someone, and... I guess he’s deep in a dead zone.
Not a peep for months.”
“Oh,” is all I can say, rifling through a mental Rolodex of possibilities.
Another friend like Mason, a lover, a family member.
Dean doesn't disclose anything beyond that, and I try my best not to push him
to supply more information than he's willing to give, fearing he might push
back. “Okay. I mean, I can let all my friends in SoCal know about this if the
person you're looking for was in the area recently. Or if you just need more
eyes and ears.”
Some of the light returns. “I don't want you worrying too much about it. But I
appreciate it, believe me. Not your problem,” he says, tucking some loose hair
behind my ear.
The gesture is sweet, but there's something underscoring all of this news.
“You've gotta go, don’t you?”
Dean looks down briefly and nods. “Here,” he says, gesturing for me to give him
my phone. He takes it and types, then hands it back. “Call anytime if you need
something, will you?”
Shuttering my nerves, I save his contact and pair a smile with a nod.
“Promise?” Dean asks with the narrowing of his eyes. I nod again. He exhales.
“Mason and his boys scouted the area, so there shouldn't be any new friends
like homeboy in the woods yesterday,” he says tentatively. “And you probably
shouldn't go out in the woods on your own again.”
I breathe a laugh, but heed his word, opting to leave the symbols on my doors
as well. “That shouldn't be a problem.” I can feel my face falling before I’m
able to stop it. “Will you... be back in the area sometime?”
Dean's expression warms and he leans in for a soft kiss. I can taste hunger,
but it's not the same kind that urged him to devour every square inch of me the
last night. It lingers, but then Dean backs off and lets a puff of warm breath
graze my wet lips.
“I'll be around.”
That's not the answer I was hoping for, but Dean owes me nothing while I owe
him everything. Smiling wanly, I reach around his neck for a hug that Dean
returns, cracking my back in the embrace. It feels too good to let go, but I do
once he releases his grip. We shuffle to the front door slowly and awkwardly,
and I hope with all my might that this isn’t the last I’ll see of him. Dean
leans down to nudge his nose against mine before opening the door stepping out
into the hallway.
“See you, Cas,” he says with a weak grin.
“Bye, Dean.”
He walks away. I shut the door and latch it, suddenly aware of how quiet things
are in the spacious room. I stare at the symbol drawn on the surface, then look
over at its twin on the glass across the room. The finality of Dean's departure
hits home once I hear the beastly roar of an engine before it fades to nothing.
Anxiety laps at the edges of my mind, so I busy myself right away.
I collect the white comforter and sheets off my bed, tossing them into the
washer with bleach, then I wipe down every stainless steel and glass surface in
the kitchen and living room twice with more bleach. The chemicals burn through
any trace of Dean's scent, and I immediately regret cleaning anything at all,
even my own body. My lip swells from my deep bite into it.
Sitting down on the same spot where I rode Dean's cock straight into my
oblivion, I imagine that his body heat is still there. The fear that coursed
through me when he and I drove away from the mountains is blocked out only by a
void.
An ugly, imposing sense of nothing.
Strolling through your entire life blind as a bat, then waking up one day to
technicolor, only to have it snuffed back out on the next.
Particularly nasty thoughts stride along with thousands of others. The thought
that all of this was a passing fancy for Dean; that I'm not the first to be
subjected to his influence, and that I won't be the last. Or that one of those
nightmares of this brand new world I’ve been exposed to will strike him down,
then drink in my despair before clawing into me next.
I need to do anything but wallow in this miasma.
I won't call Dean after seeing him only twenty minutes ago, so I roam idly
around the apartment and rifle through the contacts on my phone for one that
might be free today. I chew my index fingernail raw as a handwritten birthday
card from months ago grabs my attention from its position on my fridge door.
I hate everyone who isn't you in big, loopy cursive. I smile at the imprint of
a kiss in red lipstick, deliberately positioned sideways, under which is
written: or a vagina.
Clinging to hope, I make a call. Two rings, then a familiar voice, whose
octaves I've worked into higher and higher registers many times over, finally
fills the silence.
“Where in the fuck have you been?”
“I missed you, too, Joanna.”
Jo snorts and I hear the telltale flick of a lighter. “Are you a recent
acquisition of the IRS or something? Stow the government names. Why haven’t I
heard a peep from you for the last few days?”
I tug at my hair and sigh, relaxing marginally with the notion that I’m not
entirely alone. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” I mutter, realizing
too late who I mimic.
Jo exhales and her tone changes so minutely that anyone else would probably
miss it. “You might be surprised. What’s wrong with you?”
My tone shifts, too. “You busy tonight?”
“It’s your lucky day. I almost decided to find some fulfillment in another part
of the ghetto,” Jo says over the din of an engine turning over. I’m starting to
hate that sound.
“I’m glad you didn’t have to scrounge around for that shred of hope.”
Jo’s laugh sounds like home and the void shrinks minutely. “Leave that sass at
home in your hamper with the rest of the skid marks. Meet me at the usual
spot.”
“Are you asking or telling, Jo?” I ask, standing and grabbing my keys from the
bowl by the front door regardless of her answer.
Another long inhale and exhale graces the airwaves. “At the end of the day, is
there really a difference?” Jo muses before the line goes dead.
***** Eschaton *****
Chapter Notes
     If you've stuck around with me thus far with this story, I love you
     more than I love paid bills and roasted garlic hummus. Thank you, and
     do come back.
     This one starts off real heavy, folks, so buckle up if you aren't too
     squeamish. Now to address the bold: bravo. But do take note of the
     updated tags and warnings.
The pool over at Jo's house is so big. The only thing that's bigger is probably
her huge house.
She has a really big fountain in the front yard with a statue of the Virgin
Mary in it. It's weird that there's so many things that hold water at her house
when the beach is right there.
Her mom went crazy when she caught us throwing their puppy's dry turds in the
pool last summer, just to see if the vacuum thing at the bottom would suck them
up. She got so much more mad when Jo said “birds shit in the ocean, but we
still swim in it, don't we?” Grandma almost didn’t let me come over again after
she heard about that.
But there’s no way we're throwing turds in it today. It's so hot outside that
Jo's nose is all red, and her pretty golden hair makes it look even redder. She
does a cannonball into the deep end and splashes me when she pops back up and
laughs like she always does when she’s having fun. I reach in the water and
throw some back at her.
“You jerk!” I yell, laughing until my stomach hurts.
Jo splashes me again by kicking her feet.
“Oh, shut up,” she says. “You never just jump in like me 'cause you say it's
too cold.”
“Do not!” I yell, jumping in after a second and swimming over to throw more
water at her so she can’t say anything back. “I just don't wanna stink like
pool all the time, like you do!”
Jo blows a strawberry at me before smiling and swimming away.
The sliding back door opens and Mr. Harvelle leans out.
The sun is so bright that it makes his head shine like metal.
“Joanna?”
“Hi, Daddy!” Jo swims over to the little ladder and climbs out. She shines even
brighter than her dad, or even her mom, who everyone at school says is really
pretty.
Mr. Harvelle opens the door all the way and smiles real big. He kind of looks
like a tiger sometimes, but he's really nice and buys us pizza and stuff when I
visit.
“Hey, angel,” he says as he picks Jo up and sets her on his hip. “Your mom went
to the city for a while to get food and stuff for dinner, so I'm gonna watch
you two for a while, okay?”
I hold my hand in front of my eyes to block the sun as Mr. Harvelle walks over
to the edge of the pool. He's so tall and his hand looks so big on Jo's butt
where he's holding her up. It's hard to see his face with the sun behind him.
“Well, if it ain’t little Cas! Good to see you again. That hair of yours is
getting pretty long!”
I climb up out of the pool and he ruffles my hair like he always does. I smile
back at him.
“Jo says it's gonna be long like hers, but boys can't grow it like that, can
we?” I ask as Jo sticks her tongue out at me.
Mr. Harvelle laughs and shakes his head, giving the shiny part on the front a
tap.
“Well, I couldn't say, Cas. Don't have a lot to compare it to, myself,” he
says. “But I think it's really nice.”
He's kinda quiet for a second, and I wonder if I said something wrong. He’s a
little sweaty and I can see how big his arms are since Jo is so small in them.
He’s probably really scary when he's mad but I haven't ever seen him like that.
“Daddy, can we have some pink lemonade, please?” Jo's eyes get so big and
pretty when she says “please.”
“You got it, little one,” Mr. Harvelle says, but he’s still looking at me.
He puts Jo down. She runs in the back door and turns back once she's inside.
“C'mon, Cas, or you'll turn into bacon!”
I run in after her and let the water from my new swimming trunks go all over
the nice shiny floor since Mr. Harvelle never gets mad like Ms. Ellen does.
Once I’m in, Mr. Harvelle comes in after me and shuts and locks the door.
 
Jo's bathtub is so cool. It's really wide, so there's lots of room to make
mountains in the big, pink bubbles Mr. Harvelle put in it.
Jo told me he puts bubbles in when he gives her a bath. Grandma never likes to
do nice things like this. She makes Aunt Missy give me baths, but Aunt Missy
just sits on the toilet and reads those dusty, old books. Mr. Harvelle sits on
the toilet at bath time, too, but he is washing Jo's long hair.
Jo is in the other end of the tub, scooping up bubbles in her red bucket and
making a mountain bigger than mine and she's singing a song we learned in
Sunday school.
Mr. Harvelle's huge fingers lift her hair from around her back and squeeze the
shampoo out before he takes the bucket from her and uses it to dump some water
on it.
“I'm glad you and Jo are friends, Cas,” he says and gets up off the toilet to
come squat on the floor next to me.
He takes off his fancy white shirt so it won't get wet and the one he has on
underneath doesn't have sleeves, which is weird.
“Thank you, sir,” I say back.
Mr. Harvelle gets some shampoo in his hands and rubs them over my head real
slow. It feels nice, but funny. I haven’t shared a bath before, or had someone
wash me before.
“So polite, it’s adorable. You’ve always been like that. I wish I had a friend
as sweet as you back then. Or even these days,” Mr. Harvelle says and runs his
soapy hand down my neck and shoulder, and he leans in a little closer to lift
up my arm.
He washes under there, then does it the same for my other arm.
I look at Jo and she is watching me. I can't really tell what her face is
saying, but it reminds me of the times when her mom has to go to the city for a
long time to work.
“But you're really nice! You didn't have friends when you were a kid?” I ask as
Mr. Harvelle puts his hand in the soapy water and uses it to wash my legs.
“Not many,” he says. “I moved around a lot so I wasn't able to get to know
other kids easily.”
He looks kinda sad but is still smiling.
“I did have one really good friend, though,” he says before pouring some water
on me, too. “You two together kind of remind me of how much fun we used to
have. We were maybe a year or so older than you kids when I met him. Second
grade. I haven't seen him in a very long time.”
“If you don't have any friends, I'll be your friend.” Aunt Missy always says to
be polite to adults.
Mr. Harvelle laughs and smooths my hair back on my head. “Thanks, Cas. I'd like
that. Maybe one day we can be best friends, like you and Jo. Best friends are
really something special, you know.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Well, they're a lot closer to you than others are. They make you laugh and
smile more than anyone else. And do things for you that other friends might not
do.”
“Like what?” I ask.
Jo makes me smile more than anyone.
“Hm.” Mr. Harvelle looks over at Jo and holds his hand out to her.
She takes it and scoots up in the tub.
“My best friend and I used to go floating down the river in the woods far away
from our houses,” Mr. Harvelle says. “It was very hot, just like here in
California, so we would take off all our clothes and just let the water carry
us away.” He puts a hand on both of our backs and pushes us closer so our knees
touch.
“Sometimes we would bring popsicles and sit on old logs and feed them to each
other. Then we'd have to clean each other up,” he says as his hand goes up to
my face and his thumb rubs my cheek.
“In the river?” Jo asks.
Mr. Harvelle shakes his head. “No, but it was just as fun as swimming in the
river. I can show you if you wanna see.”
Jo and I look at each other, then I look at him and nod my head, wondering what
would be more fun than swimming with Jo.
Mr. Harvelle's big brown eyes look at my mouth, then he gets closer, real slow.
His lips are really dry on mine, and the hair around them feels funny on my
face. His big, wet tongue opens my lips and feels kinda weird when it rubs on
my teeth. My belly starts to tingle a little, and the parts Aunt Missy won't
wash tingles, too.
Mr. Harvelle leans back and rubs his nose on my neck. “So beautiful. You are so
much like him.” His hand goes down my chest and belly, until it gets lower and
does something that makes me close my legs around it.
I reach up to grab his arm with both of mine and a lot of water splashes up on
his shirt. My eyes shut and I make a weird noise at the even weirder feeling
that goes from between my legs down to my toes.
The huge hand starts to move around down there again, but I can’t feel Mr.
Harvelle’s sweaty face on my neck anymore. I open my eyes just a little, and
his mouth is on Jo’s, just like he did to me. He’s still looking at me, but his
other hand is in the water in front of Jo. Her cheeks are wet and really,
really red.
The bathroom is getting too hot, and it’s almost like I can’t breathe. Mr.
Harvelle’s tongue is long when it touches Jo’s neck, and his teeth bite on her
ear before I close my eyes again and make more noises that I can’t stop making.
The feeling in my belly is like when I’m really tired from running, but I keep
running anyway.
It almost hurts, but doesn't really, and Mr. Harvelle's breath is on my face
before something slimy is in my mouth and moves around like a worm in mud.
Something happens then. My legs go tighter around Mr. Harvelle's hand and I
bite his mouth hard before I can stop myself. I hear Jo making sounds, too,
then the water between my legs gets warmer. Mr. Harvelle’s breath in my mouth
is the last thing I remember before I let his lip go and fall asleep.
 
“Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Oh, no...”
Bad words. At first I think it's Jo, and worry that if her mom hears, she'll
get mad again. But it doesn't sound like her, and I forgot that her mom is
gone. It feels like the nap I took was really long and I don't want to move.
The water is so cold and the skin on the inside of my fingers feels like a
raisin.
“Oh, god, please, no, no, no, no, no...”
Mr. Harvelle sounds really sad. I open my eyes and lean up from the side of the
tub to see what's wrong with him.
He is still right outside of the tub next to Jo, but he’s holding his hand up
and his eyes are bigger than I've ever seen anyone’s go. He's shaking a lot and
his mouth is open like he saw a monster or something. His hand that was in the
water in front of Jo is really, really red.
More red than her face was. It’s going down his arm and kinda looks like watery
paint.
I look over at Jo. She isn’t moving. Her hair is covering a lot of her face and
her head is on the side of the tub like she fell asleep, but her eyes are open
and she’s staring at the bath water. I lean up a little bit, but my body feels
like it really doesn’t want to move any more than that.
“Jo?” I say, trying to get her to look at me.
The bubbles are all gone and the water is a different pink than it was when Mr.
Harvelle put the bubble bath stuff in it. Jo still doesn’t move and she’s
breathing really hard through her nose.
Before I can try again, Mr. Harvelle moves over to me so fast it scares me and
water splashes on the floor as he reaches in to grab my hands and hold them
tight. He’s crying really hard and snot runs from his nose down over his mouth.
My whole body goes tight and I try not to get pulled out of the water, but he
pulls me harder to the side of the tub.
“Cas? I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he says in a voice I haven’t heard from
him before.
My eyes feel really dry from staring. I don’t know what to say. I’m scared,
even though he doesn’t look like he’s mad. He makes a sound like a dog does
sometimes and puts his head down where he’s holding my hands.
“God, I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. It’ll never happen
again, I swear to god. I swear it. We have to pray. Cas, please listen to me,
this can never happen again, okay? Do you hear me?” Mr. Harvelle talks really
fast and looks back up at me, and the same red stuff on our hands is all over
his forehead now. He’s holding on so hard that it hurts.
“Yes, sir,” I say, hoping he won’t get mad.
He closes his eyes and he starts to talk really quietly.
“God, have mercy on me. I’ve roamed the darkest valley but I seek your light
always. I will never touch someone in ways outside of your favor ever again,”
he says. Then he looks up at me. “Repeat it, Cas. Say what I just said.”
He’s still really quiet, and his face is too close. His huge, scary eyes.
I do as he says so that I don’t get in trouble, even though he had to remind me
of what he said a couple of times. I try to listen to everything after that so
I don’t mess it up.
We do this again and again for a really long time until he stops talking.
“Amen,” he says after a while.
Then he lets my hands go and stands up.
“Okay, Cas, uh,” he says, looking around the room but not at Jo at all. “I’m
gonna go see if Ms. Ellen is home and needs help making dinner.”
His smile isn’t nice like it was earlier. He won’t stop moving and picks up his
fancy shirt, then washes his hands and face really hard at the sink. The water
must be hot because his hands and face turn pink.
I don’t move or talk. Mr. Harvelle leaves the bathroom fast, but I can hear him
running down the stairs. Then a door opens and closes really hard.
Jo won’t move or talk, either.
 
“You want that crease to stay in your forehead forever?”
The smartest of all mouths pulls me out of a daze I didn't realize I'd sunk
into. I shake my head and look up from the plate of food that I haven't even
touched yet.
Jo raises an artfully plucked brow and is probably waiting for my own whip to
crack back at her.
“Sorry. Sorry, I'm with you,” I murmur, leaning forward in the booth we're
sharing and stabbing at my greasy, undercooked eggs with a dirty fork.
Waffle House never ceases to impress, setting the stage for us to catch up and
revisit fond memories of hot Latino busboys or finding used condoms frozen to
the asphalt of the parking lot.
“All right,” Jo says as she takes a bite of her hash browns and rests her elbow
on the table. With each tentative bite of food, I carefully avoid direct
contact with x-ray vision. “What's the malfunction, Cas?”
What looks like a high school track team shuffles loudly past our booth, and is
distracting enough to give me a moment to figure out how much of the story to
tell.
“It’s just been a shitty past couple of days.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin
and drop it over the plate, deciding half of this pile of grease is enough.
“Charlie bailed on the hike we were supposed to go on together yesterday, so I
went by myself.”
My stomach lurches at the details I hold back. “Some guy tried to get a little
too close for comfort when I was about to leave, so… I just hightailed it out
of there and went home. I’m alright, though.”
Jo’s eyes widen and her nostrils flair in a way that’s a small comfort, even
though she probably doesn’t realize it.
“What the fuck? Why didn’t you call me, or anyone. Right then, instead of a day
later?” Her voice rises in pitch enough for me to look around and make sure we
don’t stir shit up too much.
The soccer mom at the table to our right aims a pissy scowl at us, then rolls
her eyes and continues to feed her pig-faced toddler more waffle.
“I dunno, I panicked, even though he didn’t touch me or anything. Just wanted
to get away and forget it all happened,” I say quietly.
Jo sighs and breaks off a piece of toast in a fit of pique.
“Please tell me that you didn’t go back to your apartment and spin out thinking
about this,” she says, popping the bite of toast in her mouth.
It’s clear that she has so much more to say, but I’m grateful for her keeping
it under wraps for now.
“Well. No.”
Thinking about Dean forms a lump in my throat, so I sip my water to swallow it.
“Did you go stay with someone?”
The lump resurfaces. I gaze around at the other patrons, noisy and in varying
states of dishevelment, but most of them laughing, smiling, and talking
animatedly. I shake my head and fuss with my shirt sleeve.
“No. I, uh... I met someone that was staying up at the campgrounds. He stepped
in before things got ugly with the other guy and walked me down to my car.”
An implication hangs between us. Jo catches it right away.
“Clear and present danger still does it for you, then, huh?” She nudges my
fidgety hand and manages to wring a smile out of me. I stop fidgeting.
“Shut up,” I mutter and nudge her back. You have no fucking idea.
The worry on Jo’s face fades, and she folds her arms with a soft grin that’s
only gifted to a select few people.
“Honestly. I’m glad you’re good, Cassie,” she says. The pet name makes me smile
more widely. “For the most part, anyway. You still seem a little off, though.
This second guy turn out to be an asshole or something?”
“He was incredible,” I say with a breathy laugh at how dissatisfying of a word
that is to describe Dean. “But he had to leave this afternoon. So once I was
alone, everything that happened kind of hit me all at once. It was just too
much to sit with by myself.”
Jo nods and pulls her wallet out of a Birkin bag. I don’t even bother trying to
talk her out of paying.
“He better not have tried to push you into fucking around with him since he
helped you out,” she says carefully, leaving a $30 tip. We silently acknowledge
the need to wait until the waitress returns before anyone can snipe it. “That’s
only marginally less of a dick move than if he got all grabby with you, too.”
For as crass as she can be at times, Jo is a godsend.
“To be fair, I was the one that started... well, everything.” I shift in my
seat and hum at the dull ache on either side of my waist. “He gave me his
number, but it seemed like he had some deep shit to wade through when he left.”
“You know I’m in your corner, Cas, but you just met the guy, even if you do
already know his sperm count,” she says wryly. I scowl, but we both end up
chuckling. “It’s just too funny that you’re so hung up on him after only one
moon cycle.”
Anyone else would probably take offense. I know better, so the floodgate opens.
“Tell me about it. Jo, he’s gotta be from another planet or something. I’ve
never had anything so close to perfect, and it’s driving me a little crazy.” I
run a hand through my hair absently.
Dean did the same thing right before he left. I quickly suppress the thought,
along with the unwelcome notion of a black-eyed high school track star dragging
me by it into the alley behind the restaurant.
“Well, then,” Jo hoists her purse onto her shoulder right as the waitress
returns to take our plates. “With all that said, I hope you aren’t under the
impression that you’re going off on your own, just so you can spiral in that
shoebox of an apartment.”
She winks as we stand to leave. The flood of relief almost makes me dizzy.
“Was kind of praying that you’d say that.” I drape an arm around Jo’s shoulders
and she pulls a cigarette out of its case, rolling her eyes fondly.
 
Like she always manages to do, Jo finds a readily available option to take my
mind off all the shit that’s threatening to break me down. It remains unspoken
but understood that she’s entitled to the same thing from me. It’s been a long
time, but we’re in our element in a place like this.
Strobe and laser lights are the only things keeping the throng of dancing
people from forming a solid, gyrating black mass that would swallow us entirely
if we didn’t cling to each other. A five-dollar cover after ten tonight was a
call to action that was promising when Jo first mentioned it, and it’s making
good on that promise two extra-filthy whiskey sours later.
Jo is a force to be reckoned with. Changing into the “emergency” crop top she
keeps in her back seat had the effect she was most definitely looking for. That
tiny waist and pert little ass of hers. She’s a constrictor, poised to circle
around an unsuspecting neck in the most perfect way. She doesn’t drink at all,
staying totally lucid while a dozen eyes fondle her from her hips to the look-
at-me swing of her hair. I’m sure she takes stock of the available options in
the room, but still chooses to stick with me. I love her for it.
My fingers skirt the hem of Jo’s skin-tight shirt and I press myself flush to
her. The electronic beat vibrates straight through the boozy fog, then tugs at
my instinct to wrap my body around hers, even as old habits die hard and we
begin scanning the crowd.
Jo’s extended glance to her left is almost imperceptible, but I track her line
of sight and catch the eye of a hulking stranger standing at the sidelines,
sipping slow from his bottle.
His shirt is as tight as Jo’s. He appears to notice me watching, and looks to
his own companion, nodding in our direction before striding over with him.
Shoulders like that have no need to apologize for the way they cleave a path
through a crowd; it should be expected.
His friend is just as imposing as he is and steps a hair nearer to Jo, but it’s
enough to show everyone who their respective choices are. The closer they stalk
toward us, the more we all smolder. Casual shoulder swaying allows the two men
to meld into our space smoothly.
The guy that first caught my attention sidles up behind me and his scent may as
well be an artificial pheromone. Succumbing to that delicious train of thought,
I lift an arm behind me and rest a hand on the back of the guy’s neck.
A steel coil of an arm glides around my front and pulls me just far enough away
from Jo to silently stake claim.
Jo turns on the spot into a pair of arms that handle her with serious care, but
could also bend her into all kinds of interesting shapes. She meets my eyes.
The glint I see there and smirking pink lips are patented approval of the
current situation.
My new dance partner leans in against my neck and his breath is warm, wet and
smells like mint and cinnamon. Even though his midsection is solid as a tree
trunk, it moves against my back fluidly and my body’s response is indelible.
The song playing in the club changes into one that’s more bassy that many of
the other patrons end up cheering at, and in the brief two second interlude,
there’s a whisper in my ear.
“So beautiful.”
The words briefly send a frisson of something ugly cascading down my spine, but
I ignore it in favor of the sensations in my cock stirred by the guy’s scratchy
beard. My eyes drift up to meet Jo’s again, then his friend’s, and he’s already
staring at us with his hand splayed across Jo’s stomach at a mildly respectful
distance from her tits. His green eyes belong to a wolf on the hunt, and once
again something reminds me of Dean for the hundredth time tonight.
The rational part of my brain disengages momentarily at the idea of Dean’s
hands all over someone else. Anyone else. Even if I have no right to feel that
way. The movement between the stranger and I turns a bit stilted as my thoughts
start to spin out, so I actively try to stay present.
Jo doesn’t miss a beat, but having played this game with me and others so many
times, she catches on to what’s happening right away. She nods.
I almost feel guilty, knowing that this guy isn’t doing any harm. And it feels
so fucking good. It would be a sure thing. And an insanely high bar has been
set by Dean, so anything this guy has to offer would suffice, but not break me.
But I can’t fucking do this. Not this. Not with him.
I turn in his arms and run my hands up them. I can barely see his face this
close in the near-dark. One roll of my hips and this guy could be two-hundred
pounds of putty. He could apply layer after layer of fresh hurt, leaving new
splotches of black and blue that cover up the old ones. I stand up on my
tiptoes.
“Need some air for a second,” I murmur back in his ear from behind a poker
face.
The guy eases off and I stroke his beard once before weaving my way through a
gaggle of sweaty, amorphous bodies and peer around for the nearest exit.
 
I suck in a cool gust of air and lean wearily against brick. I can’t tell if
it’s the outside of the club or some other dive on either side of it. It hardly
matters. Reverb from a pulsing house track lets me know I’m not far away.
The realization of what I almost let happen sinks into my gooey bones. Another
steadying breath. I pull my phone from my pocket with unsteady hands, and start
scrolling for a second time today. Just like before, I don’t know what the fuck
I’m looking for. Old habits die hard, but no one said the comfort they provide
does, too.
Dean’s name is a flashing beacon on the LCD. I keep scrolling. Then another one
stands out. The line is ringing before it registers that I’ve already hit
“call.”
“Cas? You alright, sweetie?”
Missy’s sweet voice is melodious and steals some of the cold away.
“Hey, Missy. I’m sorry, I know it’s late as hell,” I say guiltily, looking at
the clock on my phone then holding it back up to my ear.
Missy yawns widely and there’s some shuffling on the other end of the line.
She’s likely in her black dressing gown with her hair wrapped up tight in a
silk scarf, and had fallen asleep while reading. The memory of that getup makes
me ache for simpler times.
“S’alright. You’re forgiven this time,” Missy deadpans. “Ain’t seen your skinny
l’il self since the holidays. Food the only way to your heart?”
I laugh despite the feeling of dread from moments ago. My head rests against
the wall behind me and I close my eyes so they’ll stop seeing double.
“I know, I’m an ass for ghosting on you, it’s just...”
Missy makes a noncommittal sound and I know I’m pushing my luck with how late
it is.
“Granny’s a hateful, old coose.”
I snort a laugh and hear Missy chuckle once, but then she says nothing. I know
she’s waiting for me to quit dancing around the topic I’m hoping to broach, and
I won’t disrespect her by wasting her time. Even if she’d happily spend all
night with me like this, talking about everything and nothing.
“Can I ask you something?” I say hesitantly. I roll one of the sleeves of
Dean’s flannel between my fingers. Almost forgot I still had it around my
waist.
“Shoot.”
Saying the first thing that comes to mind, not caring if it’ll make any real
sense, I take a shot in the dark at explaining how fucked up I am without going
into painful detail.
“What do you do when every inch of you is screaming to go after something good
you had... but it’s so far away that it doesn’t even seem real anymore?”
I hear more shifting around on Missy’s end, but not much else for a second.
Then it sounds like she settles back in bed before she speaks seriously.
“Remember back in elementary school when you’d come home with hives and
headaches and what not, worryin’ so much about this exam or that essay or god
knows what else on any given day?”
My cheeks heat up, but there’s no chance in hell I could deny it.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And then I told you to take the stick outta your behind, take a deep breath,
and you’d be just fine if you tried your best?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well,” Missy continues with a sense of finality. “It could be an A on yet
another test that won’t mean shit ten years after you took it, or if you wanna
find paradise with the one you love. If you truly want somethin’, Cas, no
matter what it is, just open yourself up to it, and let yourself have it.”
 
Missy’s words are a looping track in my spinning head. Long after I stop
feeling like my entire body is constantly swaying, even if when sitting still,
I replay her words in time to the thrumming beat coming from inside the club so
I don’t forget them. As if it’ll serve as some weird mnemonic device.
Sitting on the filthy ground and taking in desert air that’s only getting
colder brings me back to reality, slowly but surely.
It’s only been maybe half an hour max since I stepped out. Thinking about Jo
squeezed up against a man the size of an 18-wheeler is still reason enough for
me to get my shit together and make sure she’s good.
Security is tight, and she’s held her own against even better, but it’s Jo. I
stand up wearily and begin making my way back to the entrance.
The blow lands so swiftly up the side of my head, that my face is smacking the
filthy ground before I fully know what’s happening. My row of upper teeth
pierce the inside of my lip and there’s a soft crack with the collision; my
cheek feels like it was wholloped by a bowling bowl with the force of my
landing.
Oh, fuck. The pain is indescribable, but I scramble to get up as quickly as I
can to either jam my knee into the nearest available soft parts on this fucker,
or run back inside the club. A heavy boot lands on my back and presses down
hard before I can decide one or the other.
“Where’s the fire?”
The boot on my back is making it hard to scream or ask for help or even
breathe. Blood escapes my lips and I grunt raggedly, trying in vain to push up
against this guy’s immobile boot.
“I believe we were having pleasant conversation in the woods yesterday before
we were interrupted,” he says as casually as if we’re meeting in the produce
aisle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him lean down from an imposing height.
The street light nearby illuminates his face just enough for me to make out
eyes black as sin. My fists clench hard enough to break skin once it all dawns
on me.
“That delicate mouth is kinda fucked up now. But it can still be put to one use
or another, don’t you think?”
The guy’s smiling maw opens wide, and a swirling mass of ugly black swarms my
entire field of view. Then there’s nothing.
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