Three weeks, two days, sixteen hours, and twenty-three minutes.

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The clock on his nightstand blinks, the numbers ever climbing. Three weeks, two days, sixteen hours, and twenty-four minutes since Cas last fed. His stomach twists, a hollow ache expanding in his gut. There is no rest for the wicked. Even as his resolve wears thin and his energy plummets, he pushes on. The next shipment should arrive soon. It has to.

Three weeks, four days, twelve hours, and forty-seven minutes since Cas last fed.

  “New guy starts today,” Benny calls over the low thrum of the club’s music, dragging Cas from his spiraling, red-tinted thoughts. The steady, rhythmic beat from tonight's DJ is some kind of goth-electro shit that Cas will never understand, no matter how many centuries he lives.

  He sniffs, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the stiffness, and lifts a crate of clean pint glasses, setting them out under the bar for the next rush. Limbo is one of those places, a space between worlds, where time and dimensions and realities overlap. Where supernatural beings of all walks of life or, in Castiel’s case, death come to let their glamour fade and, for a while, exist in their skin without prejudice. Whether that skin has horns, or claws, or fangs, in Limbo no one bothers to look twice.

Which is unfortunate for Castiel and his hypersensitive sense of smell, because where there are supernatural creatures, there are supernatural scents. On a good day, it’s an annoyance, something to tolerate as part of his job, but tonight it makes his head hurt. Pressure builds inside his sinuses and expands into a headache that throbs behind his eyes.

“Yah hear me, Cas?” Benny’s voice booms.

“Of course I hear you,” Cas grumbles under his breath, as if Benny doesn’t share his enhanced hearing. As if Benny doesn't know perfectly well that Cas can pick out the twin heartbeats of the strzyga across the club, let alone a shouted conversation a few feet away. Tossing aside the empty crate, Cas starts on the back bars inventory.

“Yeah? I guess it is weird when a boss expects his employee to answer his questions.”

Rolling his eyes, Cas looks up from his task. “You didn’t ask a question, Benny, you made a statement. I don’t understand why I need to care if another new being has been conned into working for this establishment.” Cas forces a harsh breath out of his nose, flighting a sneeze.

A skinwalker smoking a long blue and green cigarette strolls past. The fragrant purple smoke coils like a serpent in the already thickly scented air. If looks could kill, the one Cas gives the offending creature would render it dead. “We should ban smoking in the club,” he mutters.

“Listen, brother,” Benny says, clapping him on the shoulder and drawing Cas’ death glare away from the skinwalker. “I need you to care because you’re the one who’s going to be training him.”

“What? Benny, no!” Cas releases the bottle he’s holding and turns to face his boss. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I trained the last two hires. Make Meg or Garth do it.”

“Sorry man, you’re the most senior employee I’ve got, and because of that you’ve got perks.” Benny’s smile grows as Cas’ scowl deepens. “One of those perks is training the new guys.”

“Shouldn’t one of my perks be telling everyone else what they have to do?” Cas counters and Benny chuckles, shrugging one thick shoulder.

“Look, Cas,” he says slowly, leaning in like he has some dark secret to share. “I know you’re in a bit of a bind, with what’s been going on and all, but I need you.”

Benny is a good guy… at least for a vampire. He has honest eyes and he’s one of the closest things Cas has to a friend. And since Benny’s a vampire himself, he has the decency not to talk about the hiccup in Cas’ feeding schedule. No reason to agitate a festering wound.

“And, ‘cause you take your orders from me, and I take my orders from Gabe,” Benny continues, lifting a shoulder in an ‘I wish I could help you but my hands are tied’ kind of way. “Gabe wants you on the new guy. So that’s where you’re gonna be.” With a final pat on Cas’ shoulder, Benny abandons him.

“But, why me?!” Cas calls. When there is no reply, he stomps back to his abandoned inventory sheet. Every time he drops one of the bottles back into its spot, each subtle clink of glass on glass helps soothe his irritation. Eventually, his agitation fades, and he’s just growling a stream of half-hearted complaints under his breath.

“What was that, Clarence?” Meg’s husky voice drifts over the bar as she sets her tray down. As if his night couldn’t get any worse, now there’s Meg. Her smile spreads, and just as Cas is about to tell her to go straight back to whatever pit of hell she crawled out of, she says, “Almost six hundred and twenty years old and still... what was that last part?” She laughs, leaning farther over the counter, the pale rise of her full breasts dangerously close to spilling over the edge of her low cut top.

The crisp green edge of a bill pokes out from the left side of her shirt. As Cas watches, Meg’s long elegant fingers press into the soft flesh of her chest and slip in alongside her breast to retrieve the bill. Slowly she draws it out over the curve and up her collarbone to flutter next to the bend in her neck, pushing the slightly acrid scent of her vessel’s blood towards him.

Shifting on his feet, Cas feels the tell-tale tingle in his gums as his canine teeth lengthen. He doesn't commonly have a taste for demon blood, not since the last time he caved to his desire. Even animal blood is better than the taste demon blood leaves in his mouth. His eyes flick up from the soft curve of Meg’s throat and the throb of her pulse. A vicious smile curves her full lips, and Cas knows he let her taunt him too far. Hunger pricks like a needle at the back his brain.

“Been a while huh, tiger?” She mocks, leaning closer so Cas can hear the low whoosh of blood pumping through her veins.

Her bright hazel eyes lock on his, and Cas can tell by the blurring at the edges of his vision that his normally ice blue gaze is steadily turning a violent purple. Meg loves to push him, taunt him, tease him with the meal hidden under her skin. Only once had Meg pushed him so far, he snapped and let the feeding frenzy consume him. She had bites and bruises from the encounter for weeks. Not that she complained, boasted about their wild night if anything. Cas ended up regretting his decision even before the rumors started. He is a private person, not just because he’s a vampire, he’s just used to a more solitary life.

Cas pulls his lips back, baring his fangs in warning.

Meg purrs, her eyes flashing black.

“Don’t tease me, Clarence,” She flirts, before leaning away. She tosses her order pad onto the mahogany bar. “I need two Holy Waters, a Dead Man’s Blood, an Angels Tears, and a vodka tonic.”

Moving on autopilot, Cas makes the drinks as she rattles them off. “Does Gabe always put you on when I need to feed, or am I just that unfortunate?” He asks.  

“Just lucky, I guess.” She shrugs, adding the twenty to her wad of cash before slipping the whole bundle back into her apron pocket. “When’s your next feeding scheduled?”

“It’s supposed to be tomorrow,” Cas responds automatically, setting the drinks on her tray. “Who the fuck orders a vodka tonic?”

Her shoulder lifts as she shrugs, sliding an elegant red-tipped nail around the rim of the glass in question. “You know, you could solve all your problems if you just fed like a normal vamp,” she says, popping the p, careful not to meet his eyes as she lifts her tray.

Cas stiffens. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can.” She clicks her tongue. “There are blood bars all over the city, where, for the right price, you can drink directly from the source.” She picks up her notepad and slips it into her apron. “You know those humans are paid really well for letting you parasites feed off them.”

“Meg…” Cas growls again “You are well aware that I am not permitted…”

“I know Clarence.” She winks. “You know, I’m always here if you change your mind.” Adjusting her serving tray, she saunters back into the depths of the club.

Cas watches her go and for a brief moment, he second guesses his decision to turn down her offer of a fresh feeding. Running his tongue over his teeth he finds his gums ache. The glands under his tongue are swollen, sore with need, and still, the scent headache pounds like a drum behind his eyes.

Cas shakes his head. Demon vessel blood always leaves the taste of sulfur in his mouth. Then again, there’s really nothing like a warm body writhing under him as he feeds. He misses hunting. It brings Cas back to his youth when he’d first turned; stalking and seducing his prey.

He blinks, shocked at where his mind had gone. He should not be reminiscing fondly about those days.

Cas tosses the shaker into the well sink, snarling.

“Amateurs, am I right?” The voice draws Cas from his dark thoughts. “The Fairy’s Folly would have been a way better choice than a vodka tonic.”

Cas looks up, scowling at the smiling young man who has taken Meg's place across the bar. He’s handsome, startlingly so. He seems to glow with a health and vitality rarely seen among the patrons of Limbo.

Roughly shaken from his thoughts as he is by the man’s sudden and startling appearance, Cas can’t help but stare. For the first time all night the air smells clean. Like before the plagues, like before he died and was turned. He smells fresh like the flower fields and rolling hills of a home lost to Castiel so many years ago. Memories surge like a tidal wave from the depths of Cas’ mind where they’d been locked away.

Taking stock of the man, eyes flicking over his broad straight-toothed smile, sharp jaw, and full pouty lips, green eyes that shimmer like the first dewy buds of spring. This man, who at least in Castiel’s opinion is far too beautiful to be real––in fact, likely an Incubi––rubs him the wrong way. Cas can’t shake the instant dislike that curls in his gut. This man is Castiel’s exact opposite; it oozes tantalizingly from his sun-kissed and freckled skin. Cas’ lip lifts slightly, flashing one pointed canine tooth but much to his distaste, the man’s green eyes darken as they drop to Cas’ mouth, and he licks his lips.

“D’Ansphiel.” Benny’s voice snaps them out of the staring contest they were having. Cas is quick to jump back into action, orders are coming in, and he doesn’t have the energy to be distracted by Mr. Spring Rain here.

“You must be Benny?” Spring Rain asks, his voice as deep as the ocean. Cas’ gums tingle, his ears burn and he tries to ignore the effect that voice has on him. He needs to feed, and this D’Ansphiel with his bright, clean scent and sun-kissed skin is not helping. "Please, call me Dean.”

“Dean. We're sure glad you could make it on such short notice.” Benny says, and Cas turns away from the pair. He doesn't want to train some brat, and he certainly doesn't have time to stand here and listen to Benny give this D’Ansphiel–‘Call me Dean’–the tour. The pair wanders off into the club, D’Ansphiel taking the clean, fresh air with him as he leaves.