#vampire!cas

Which was how they ended up making out in the men’s room. And yes, Cas could have drained him and left him, but the guy’s hands were warm and desperate, clinging and pulling. His lips were insistent. Mouth, too hot. And Cas’s bloodlust fell to the back-burner, replaced with a much different kind of thirst.

The guy had backed off too soon, tucking a note with an address, no name, in Cas’s pocket. “Can’t now,” he said. “Tomorrow night. Midnight.”

And of course its a trap. Did the guy think Cas didn’t feel the wooden stake in his back pocket when he had his hands all over that ass? Or was that part of the game? It almost doesn’t matter. He didn’t try to use it. And maybe he won’t again.

Frankly, for another chance at those lips, Cas’s willing to risk it.

Now, midnight, at the address.

Cas knocks, and the door swings open before he can even lower his hand. The guy stands there, green eyes wild like an overgrown forest. His posture’s tense. Arms and shoulders back, legs apart. Behind him, the rooms of the house are empty, dust-covered wooden floorboards with a single set of footprints.

Cas smells this man’s anticipation, see the sweat on his brow. There’s no fear there - only readiness. He should be afraid, maybe. Cas looks at the guy’s lips, and he licks them. Or perhaps not.

The threshold lies between them, an impossible border Cas can’t cross without permission. Though he doubts anyone lives in this house, let alone this man, he’s a gentlemanly vampire who likes to follow the rules.

Some rules.

The guy notices him glancing and glances too. Then he takes a step back, waves his hand, and invites, “Come on.”

Cas takes a step. The guy grabs his arm, yanks. Cas could fight it, but doesn’t. He lets himself be manhandled against the wall, slamming into it with a thud. Warm lips find his. A wooden stake lines up over his heart, sliding between the buttons of his dress shirt. Burns a bit at his skin.

Again the man pulls his mouth away too soon. Cas gives chase, as far as he can without staking himself.

“Looks like this mistake’s on you,” the guy says. His blood thunders through his veins so loudly Cas nearly forgets about the warmth of the hand on his shoulder and the heat of that mouth. But then the guy smiles, and Cas’s bloodlust subsides again.

“Self-preservation was never a strong suit,” Cas admits.

“How’d you make it this far?” the guy says. He could have killed Cas twenty times over by now, hasn’t.

Cas laughs a little. “Sheer dumb luck.”

The guy laughs too - once, loud - then stops. His eyes widen like he surprised himself.

“I have no intention of hurting you,” Cas says, somewhat startled that he means it. Guess they’re both out of their element.

“That makes one of us.”

Cas frowns. “I will defend myself, if necessary.”

The guy snorts. “You haven’t so far.”

Cas moves, and in the next instant, their positions are reversed, Cas holding the man against the wall. The wooden stake clatters across the floor. There’s another one in the guy’s front pocket. Two in his boots, Cas suspects, and certainly more hidden in the house. A problem for a different moment, he decides, and kisses him.

The mouth beneath his opens. A hand slides into his hair, tugging. The guy reaches his other hand into his leather jacket.

Never breaking the kiss, Cas grabs his wrist and twists a new wooden stake from his hand. It, too, clatters down the hall.

The man growls and bites Cas’s bottom lip. Cas presses him harder against the wall, pining him there.

“I’m going... to kill... you...” It doesn’t sound very threatening like that, breath panting. The man’s chest heaves beneath Cas’s. His fingers claw at Cas’s shirt, ripping open buttons.

“Okay,” Cas says. “If after is an option, I would prefer it.”

The guy looks at Cas’s eyes, his mouth, his collar. “Yeah, okay. After.”

The guy’s name is Dean. He learns it at Dean’s insistence, during. Cas repeats it like a prayer, also at Dean’s insistence. Though Cas, too, finds he likes it.

After, as they lay naked on the floor of what surely must be an unfurnished bedroom, surrounded by discarded wooden stakes, Cas pretends to be asleep. Dean, if he’s any kind of hunter, has to know he’s faking it. But he doesn’t seem keen on calling Cas out. Instead, he’s quietly collecting his clothes. Dressing. Kicking wooden stakes out of the way. And cursing a little. A lot.

A quiet moment. The soft scratch of a pencil against paper. Then Dean places a note on Cas’s chest, right over his heart, and, cursing again, leaves.

Cas opens his eyes.

Kill someone and I’ll be back to kill you. Don’t, and I’ll be back for more.

Under the words, a number.

Cas has to eat, but he supposes, he doesn’t have to kill.

He finds his jacket across the room and fishes out his cell phone. He’s slow on the touch-screen keyboard, but eventually manages a text.

——

Castiel wakes up a few days later, when the fever breaks. 

Dean’s preparing his sermon at the kitchen table when he hears footsteps; his hand instinctively goes for the weapon concealed on his belt, but lowers his defenses when he sees it’s just Castiel, standing at the doorway, sleepily rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey, you’re awake,” Dean says, grinning. “It was touch and go with that fever you had for a while.” 

“I feel much better,” Castiel agrees. He looks small, hesitant. “Thank you for your help.” 

“Sure, uh—” Dean stands, his knees knocking against the table. “Do you want tea or water? Or food? I bet you’re starving.” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on Cas’s lips. “Tea would be lovely.” 

After boiling the water and giving him a teabag, Dean sits at the table across from Castiel. “So. Why were you in that forest? Who attacked you?” 

Castiel dunks the teabag in and out of the water. His lips twist into a frown. “I was robbed. And stabbed. In that order.” 

“Wow. Sorry, dude,” Dean says with a sympathetic grimace. 

“It’s of no consequence. What is, is.” Castiel gestures to Dean’s attire. “I see you are a priest.”

“Uh, yeah. I have a sermon in a few hours.” Dean pulls at his collar. “If I had it my way, though, I’d wear a tanktop. Church is always hot, even in the fall.” 

Castiel raises the teacup to his lips. “I’m sure that would be a distraction to much of your flock,” he says. 

Dean barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose it would.” 

They sit in companionable silence. Dean fiddles with the pen by his papers. “Uh, listen. There’s rumors going around—well, there’s been a lot of murders in this town, and a lot of people are saying it’s a vampire. The guy that attacked you—do you have any reason to believe that he was one?” 

Castiel’s face goes blank. He sets his tea onto the table with a soft thud. “No. No blood sucking. Just a desperate man wanting my wallet.” 

Dean nods. “Okay.” He taps the pen on the table. “You know, you can stay as long as you want. Until you heal. Or longer, if you need to find a job or money or… whatever.” 

“Oh.” Castiel raises his hands. “I couldn’t put you out—”

“No, listen, it’s fine. It’s my job as a priest, anyway, you know? Take in the wounded, help the poor.” Dean shifts in his chair. “Besides, it’s kinda lonely around here. Wouldn’t mind the company or… whatever.”

Castiel blinks; smiles. “Thank you, Dean. I would love to stay.” 

——

It turns out that Castiel—Cas, as Dean was beginning to call him—is better than simply company. He’s great company. 

Dean now looks forward to going home and finding Cas in the garden, or the kitchen baking something that always smells amazing, or sitting in a chair reading. He doesn’t blink an eye when Dean is gone for long periods of time, or get suspicious when Dean says he’s going to the church but is actually looking for leads on the vampire instead. 

When he’s more healed, he begins to accompany Dean on his nightly walks. They even create their own traditions, like Dean making dinner for them nightly (which Cas never finishes eating, but always seems to enjoy) or Cas making Dean tea while he works on his sermons. And at the end of a long day, without fail, Cas always deposits his gardening gloves on the porch and joins Dean for tea as they soak in the sunset. 

The murders have stopped in town, and the trail to the vampire responsible grows colder, but Dean can’t even seem to mind when he comes home to find Cas sleeping on the couch, book in hand, or when Cas flashes him those infrequent but brilliant smiles across the room.

Domesticity is making you soft, his father would say. Dean can’t even bring himself to care.

Of course, it’s because it’s going so well, that it all has to come crashing down. 

It’s two weeks after he finds Cas that he gets an eyewitness description from a local about the vampire: black hair, piercing blue eyes, a strong build. 

“You’re sure?” Dean asks the man. 

“Positive. I saw him standing over my daughter. She fought back, too; I saw that he had a stab wound in his stomach as he was running away.” The man wipes errant tears off his cheek. “She was a fighter.” 

Dean feels wooden; his heart feels like it’s slowing to a crawl. “Thank you.” 

He gets into his car, and slams his hands against the steering wheel. “Fuck.” 

——

A vampire hunter inviting a vampire to stay in his own house. It’s almost a cliche. 

Dean pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine. He looks at the bright windows of his house. Cas is probably in there, dozing off already because it’s 9 pm and he’s an old grandpa, waiting for Dean to come home. 

Why hasn’t he just killed me? Dean thinks. He must know I’m a hunter. He found my weapons collection. 

Not killing him means something… doesn’t it? 

Dean shakes his head to clear it. He moves the short wooden stake from his boot to tuck into his belt. 

A vampire is a vampire. He learned that a long time ago.

The house is warm from the fireplace; the wood is charred, so Cas must have made it a while ago. Cas is sitting on the couch as he always is, back to Dean, a book in hand. Cas cranes to look over his shoulder and smile at Dean as he comes through the door. “Hello, Dean.” 

Dean nods, standing awkwardly in the foyer. 

Cas’s smile fades. “What’s wrong?” 

Dean’s hand goes to where the stake is; he can feel the outline of it. He squeezes his eyes shut, heart rate going a mile a minute. “Cas. Are you—” He huffs out a sharp breath. 

Standing, Cas takes a step toward him. “Dean, you’re scaring me.” 

Dean clenches a fist, stares at the floor. He can’t get the words past his lips.

Cas reaches out. “Dean…” 

“Were you the one murdering all those people?” Dean spits out.

Cas stops in his tracks. “What are you—”

“The vampire that was murdering all those people. That was you, wasn’t it?” 

Cas stares at him. His falls falls. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says softly. 

“And to think I fucking trusted you.” Dean whips out his stake, holds it aloft. “You act all innocent, but you’re nothing more than a goddamn monster.” 

“Dean… please, let me explain—”

“No. You had your chance to explain. Two weeks of it.” Dean wills the stake not to shake in his hand. “Unlucky for you, you were living with a vampire hunter the whole time.” 

“I know what you are,” Cas says. He matches Dean’s steps as they make a wide circle around each other, like a caged animal. “I knew that you’re a hunter within days of knowing you.” 

“Oh, yeah? Then why the innocent act?” Dean snaps. He lunges at Cas; his stake catches air. Cas scrambles backward and crashes into a lamp, falling against the wall. Dean shouts, “Fight back, you bastard!” 

“I’m not going to fight you,” Cas says, calmly, although Dean can see his teeth poking through his gums, pointed and sharp. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“A vampire that doesn’t want to hurt someone?” Dean scoffs. “That’s fresh. You’ve probably been looking for an opportunity to suck all the blood out of me since you came here.” 

“I haven’t eaten human blood for years,” Cas says. His hands slightly lower, his eyes downcast. He adds, softer, “And the last thing I would want to do is hurt you.” 

Dean clenches the stake harder. “How the hell am I supposed to believe you?” he demands. 

“My brother was the one murdering the people in town,” Cas says. “He stabbed me when I was trying to help that woman, but then I killed him. Haven’t you noticed that the murders have stopped since you found me that night? That no one else has died?” 

Dean swallows hard. He says, hoarsely, “I don’t know what to think, Cas.” 

Cas’s eyes soften. He tentatively takes a step forward. 

Dean stiffens and holds his weapon higher. It doesn’t deter Cas, and he just keeps walking forward, hands outstretched. He walks into Dean’s space, past the stake; cups Dean’s cheek in his hand. Dean can feel his warmth, unusual for a vampire, unusual for anyone’s skin to be this warm. 

“You know me,” Cas says. “These past few weeks haven’t been fake, Dean. I’ve grown to care about you. How could I care about a human if all I saw them as was a blood bag?” 

Dean closes his eyes. “Cas…” 

“Believe me,” Cas whispers. “Despite what I was born as, what you think I am. Believe me.” 

Something in Dean’s chest loosens. He leans into Cas’s touch. Weapon lowering, Dean says, “I believe you.” 

——

They drink tea on the porch, because it’s their tradition, and because they’re not sure of what else to do.

Cas is curled into his wicker chair, tea in his hands. Dean is squinting into the setting sun, tea untouched on the small table beside him. 

“So,” Dean says, finally, when the crickets begin to chorus around them. “What now?”

Cas shifts in his chair and takes a sip of tea. “Well. If you are all right with it… I’d like to stay. Or travel with you on your hunts. Help you.” 

Dean grins. “A vampire helping me hunt vampires? That would be helpful.” 

Cas shrugs. “If you need it.”

“You’re not uncomfortable hunting your own kind?”

Shaking his head, Cas says, “I resolved to go against my brothers and sisters from the first day I decided not to kill anymore innocent humans for my hunger. Vampires have grown selfish, violent, and unncessarily gluttinous over the centuries. The decision is an easy one.” Cas tilts his head toward Dean. “Did you know that vampires only need to feed once every couple of decades? And yet some keep humans imprisoned for years, drinking them every day.”

Dean clicks his tongue. “Damn. You’re helpful already.” 

Cas smiles. “I endeavour to be.” His face falls into an uncertain expression. “I would love to stay by your side, Dean. If you’ll have me.”

Dean chews at his lip; frowns into the twilight. Holding out his hand, he takes Cas’s tentatively, his calloused thumb running against Cas’s smooth pale skin. “I think that’d be alright,” he says. 

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

.

.

.

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.