This is WONDERFUL Nonnie, and I am having A LOT of thoughts about it, so.
I have a feeling this is gonna turn into a mini series ahhh
Warning for a little gore and canon typical violence.
Now that Dean thinks about it, deciding to take out a whole nest of vampires only by himself might actually have been a little miscalculation on his part.
He tries to catch his breath while he watches his savior decapitate the last vampire in one effortless movement, the long blade cutting skin and tissue with almost surgical precision.
How the hell he makes it look that easy? Dean has honestly no idea ; he knows from experience that it’s actually a fucking hard thing to do.
And yet, the stranger doesn’t even seem to be out of breath as he looks down on the body laying on the ground, the head motionless right next to it, where it landed with a dull thud.
Dean never saw anyone move like that ; from the moment he walked though the door, dude was like a machine. It was like the machete was not just a tool but simply an extension of his arm.
And it paled in compared to what he did with the knife he pulled out in the middle of the fight.
He sliced the vampire open, from the belly to the base of the throat – how the fuck, there are bones in the way – and yanked the blade out – military, ten inches, sharp as hell – like it was nothing. The creature made a sound, awful and loud and wet, the blood coming out of it’s mouth landing on the man’s face, and then it’s head was off, rolling on the floor.
The hunter didn’t even slow down, grabbing the next vampire’s hair.
Dean would watch longer if he could, but the kick to his thigh successfully directed his whole attention to the sharp teethed monster on his left.
Dean know he’s good – very good – but next to this man he feels like a complete amateur. He winces when his boots make a terrible squelching sound when he moves ( God, did he step on intestines? please don’t let it be intestines ) and suddenly the stranger is looking straight at him.
There are smears of blood on his face and clothes, some still fresh and some already starting to dry. And maybe it’s the red that makes Dean notice it, but the man has incredibly blue eyes, almost unnaturally so, bright even in the dim light of the old naked bulb swinging from the ceiling.
He spits and slowly runs his tongue over his teeth – they look sharp, like everything about him – and then, he asks, „What the fuck were you thinking?”
Dean is part distracted by how low and rough the man’s voice is, part really, really offended, but before he can answer with anything else but a choked out ’what’ , the stranger speaks again.
„That’s what I would like to know, ” he says calmly, looking around and then, finding what he was looking for, he steps over a corpse and grabs a shirt hanging on the leg of an overturned table. He wipes the blade, looks at Dean again and sighs, „ Are you okay?”
Dean wants to say a lot of things – he really does, starting from how he was doing pretty good, thank you very much, it’s not like he asked to be rescued, and also hey, fuck you.
In the end he settles on a simple, „Yeah, I’m good.”
The man nods and then looks around.
„Let’s clean this up.”
The barn bursts into flames, the roar of the fire almost deafening, the heat making Dean take few steps back.
Castiel – getting rid of evidence and dead bodies makes you close enough to exchange names – leans on his car, ankles crossed, and takes out a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. He offers Dean one and he accepts, letting Castiel light it for him and inhaling the smoke; it tastes almost like the air around them, gasoline and fire and death.
They stand in silence, and Dean can’t help but look at the other hunter; there is still dried blood on his clothes and hands and face, his eyes wild and dark as he watches the dancing flames.
Dean can feel a blush creeping up his neck that has nothing to do with the fire when he looks at Castiel’s lips as they close around the cigarette.
He has a strong jawline, sharp cheekbones and straight nose, dark stubble covering his cheeks and neck ; he’s Dean’s height – maybe a little shorter, board shoulders and strong hands, probably in his early thirties.
He’s handsome, in a way Dean is still a little to young to be.
It makes Dean’s heart beat faster, for some reason; how there is nothing of a boy anymore in the man’s features.
He looks up only to see Castiel’s eyes focused on his own.
Dean quickly looks away, his hand trembling as he raises the cigarette to his lips and inhales, slowly letting the smoke curl in his mouth, letting it calm his nerves.
His voice sounds rough when he says, „Thanks for, you know, saving my ass back there,”
Castiel only hums and sends the remaining cigarette butt flying with a flick of fingers. He pushes away from the car and stands in front of Dean, his silhouette completely black against the flames. He looks to the side, to the abandoned house next to the barn and the forest that surrounds it.
„Let’s get away from here.”
That’s how Dean finds himself trailing the Continental, first to a obscure gas station, where they visit the bathroom to wash off the worst of blood and change into clean clothes, and then to a bar.
Dean knows he should probably be more cautious, but there is something exciting about it, about working with someone who isn’t Bobby or John or a friend of theirs.
Castiel orders whisky, straight, and when he looks questioningly at Dean he asks for the same – he needs something stronger to wash out the taste of smoke and blood still lingering in his mouth.
They end up sitting at a table in a corner, far away from the rest of the patrons.
Dean takes a sip of his drink, relishing in the way it burns all the way down, the taste alone making his muscle relax.
It’s a dangerous relationship, he knows, feeling like that about whisky.
If Castiel notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead leaning back on the chair.
„So, Dean,” his voice dips lower, sounding even rougher thanks to the smoke, „What the fuck were you thinking about when you decided that you can take out a whole nest of vampires alone?”
Dean bristles, hand tightening on the glass; he thought they leaved THAT part behind, but apparently not.
„Hey, fuck you,” he snaps, „I knew what I was doing, I’m not an amateur.”
Castiel doesn’t look too bothered by his anger. He also doesn’t look too convinced; he hums, taking a sip from his glass, „ Oh I could see that. It was beautifully accented when those two jumped at you from behind. Did you even know they were there before they had you on the floor?”
Dean clenches his teeth hard enough to feel the muscles of his jaw jump; he knows he fucked up – there is really no need to rub this into his face.
Not now, not when he’s way too aware of what would his dad say about this kind of incompetence.
„Dean, look at me,” the gentle command in Cas’s voice is unmistakable, and after a moment Dean looks up, right into those bright, bright blue eyes.
„ That’s the thing Dean – you are not an amateur. I know. You are good,” Castiel leans a little bit closer, „ But if you won’t be more careful, you will never get the chance to be anything more than that. You will die a stupid death like hundreds before you, before you really learn anything. And you can be very, very good, Dean. The potential is there, but it’s your decision what you will do with it,” he straightens and Dean can finally breathe again; to be the center of Castiel’s attention can be suffocating.
„ If you are only willing to listen I can get us another round,” he nods at their drinks, „ and then we can discuss everything that went wrong tonight and what can you do to make sure it won’t happen again.”
Dean hesitates only for a moment.
„Sounds good to me.”
He could swear the corner of Castiel’s lips turned upward at that.
This is Not a Blog 