Fic: Wise Man Says 1/1
Title: Wise Man Says. Author: Lopaka Tanu Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Beta: tanihissatsu - The kind of beta every author should cherish and the critic every author needs. Thank You. Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam, Surprise Character. Words: 6154 Prompt: Dean discovers Castiel's vessel is a missing priest. Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Future Dean/Castiel. Rating: Teen Warnings: Language, Religious Intolerance. Summary: On a wild goose chase, Dean finds something unexpected about Castiel's vessel. Author's Note: For goth_clark. Theme Song: "Send Me An Angel" by The Scorpions. ______________________________________
With his back to Sam, Dean watched the streets of Philadelphia pass through the passenger window. Letting Sam drive almost felt like a sin. Which meant they were now way off course. There was a good reason for it this time. Just so long as the guy had something else to focus his attention on, he wouldn't be bothering Dean.
And that was worth any discomfort.
"Hey, Dean, you doin' okay, man?" Between flicking the blinker switch and checking his blind spots, Sam glanced over at his brother. The sight of his brother sulking in the passenger seat did nothing to alleviate his worry. "You've hardly said a word since we hit the road this morning."
Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "That's cause there's been nothing to say." So much for distracting his little sister. "You can pull over at any station, the old girl's running low and I've got to make a deposit of my own."
"That's not what I'm talking about." Still, Sam let it go. There was no dragging it out of his brother. The last emotional revelation had taken three long-ass months.
"Forget about ever driving again, Sammy. The moment we get out, I'm taking the wheel." And he meant it, too. Sam's driving gave new meaning to the term 'old lady'. In fact, he was certain at least five grannies had passed them honking and flashing lights.
If he wasn't watching the road, Sam would have rolled his eyes. Brotherly love was only going to get him so far before he snapped. "There's a station up ahead. I'll pull off there, but you're getting lunch."
"Fine. You pay for the gas." Even with the drop in prices, city gas was still outrageous. Best prices to get were on old highways, also the best place to pick up hunts. With a smirk, he wondered if there was some correlation.
Correlation. Funny word, there was a girl he used to know in...ninth grade was it, that liked to say it and other big words. That is, until he gave her something even bigger to occupy her mouth with. Snickering, he reached up to rub at his upper lip.
Before he knew it, they were pulling up to the pump and Sam was parking his baby. Dean didn't even try to hide his sigh of relief. Leaning forward, he ran a comforting hand over the dash board. "Never again."
"Whatever." Throwing open the driver's side door, Sam pulled his long body from the Impala. As he climbed out, his back popped in several places, making him moan in relief.
Dean didn't care. So long as the emo green giant was out of his hair, he could be content to stew in his own juices. A tap on his window startled him from his thoughts. Looking up, he found Sam already at the pump.
Glaring at his brother through the glass, Sam pointed at the store. "Food!"
"Fine!" He met his brother's glare with one of his own. Pushing his door open, he deliberately tried to hit him with it. Still, he was a little relieved Sam got out of the way. Didn't want any more dents in his baby.
Tugging on his leather jacket, he hunkered deeper in the material. Why the hell did they have to come so far north during the winter? Oh, yeah, it was Sam's fault. "Last time I ever let you pick the direction."
"Just shut up and get lunch already. I want something with vegetables this time, Dean, and fried potatoes and mushrooms don't count." Slamming the door behind his brother, Sam turned around to lean against the Impala. He crossed his arms and watched the fuel gage. "And neither does pie!"
"Don't mock the pie!" Collar turned up against the cold, Dean moved toward the store. He wasn't going fast enough to call it a walk. It was his intention to draw it out long as possible just to annoy Sam.
A low growl from the pump let him know he had succeeded.
Feeling a little better, Dean picked up his pace to a leisurely stroll. There was no hurry, the cold would still be there when he got out. Dean frowned.
What the fuck was he doing taking his time? Picking up his pace, he pulled a hand from his jacket pocket and grasped the door handle. The store was only slightly warmer. Shivering, he glared at the man behind the counter.
Well, he assumed it was a man. Hard to tell with all the piercings, greasy hair, and filthy clothing. If he wasn't certain that the guy was human, he'd go back to the Impala for supplies.
A quick glance about told him where the snack bar was. Well, the sludge pit that called itself a snack bar. Grimacing, he turned to the freezers. At least the food there was steal vacuum sealed, if slightly chemically enhanced. It looked edible with a side of artificial yummy goodness.
There were no vegetables. Sam would be pissed.
As if to mock him, there was no pie. No cake either. He wasn't about to turn around and search the snack bar. That was just not happening, period.
Walking up to the freezer case, he made a quick selection of two burritos and a roast-beef sandwich. Well, something that touted itself as roast-beef. He wouldn't be surprised to find that it had once had a long hairless tail.
Bon appetit, Sammy.
Carrying the burritos over to the microwave next to the register, Dean nodded an acknowledgment to the thing behind the counter. Dude was seriously giving off the recently dead vibe. He might have to give him a few Christos just to make sure the man really wasn't.
A quick slit open on the sides and in the frozen snacks went to the microwave. He tapped out what he figured an appropriate time was and turned it on. That left him with two minutes to kill.
Aside from a quick exorcism on the clerk, nothing else came to mind to pass the time. So, he let his eyes wonder over the rest of the store. There were three aisles of crap. From bright pink Snoballs, to the extreme orange crunchiness of Cheetos, almost every imaginable junk food had a representative.
Those were out. No one was getting Cheeto fingers on the Impala.
He suddenly had a flash back of Sam, age fifteen, stoned out his fucking mind. Cheeto fingers had been left like electric orange scars all over the upholstery. Dean shuddered. That had been one of the few times he had been tempted to exorcize his brother.
Exhaling through clenched teeth, Dean continued his search. A quick glance at the timer told him a minute and a half left. Time must have been moving slowly.
There was more store to see, at least. There were racks of car luxuries and gas caps on the far wall. A couple looked like they had been hanging there for twenty years or better. Probably had, if the state of the rest of the store was to go by.
He was circling back for another check of the clock when his eyes landed on something that drew his attention. At first, Dean wasn't sure what had snagged him. A quick glance about in the general direction of the front window brought him back.
There was something among the plastered fliers and ads.
If the glass ever shattered, there were enough papers to keep it together and provide insulation. He was certain the window hadn't been cleared off once in the past two years. In fact, the band one of those fliers hadn't played in at least five years. Sam's type, not his. Something princessy in their title was all he needed to know they sucked.
No, it was a single white paper among the reds, purples, greens, and gray mat. Plain and dull, the color would have prevented it from being noticed in any other location. Black broken ink lines across the paper spoke of a cheap printing.
Dean frowned. One word at the top kept focusing in his mind's eye, but refused to register. It was the image at the center that held his attention.
He knew that face. Despite the black and white graininess of the printed photo, he knew that face.
"Cas." Once he whispered the name, the words on the paper suddenly came in to focus. Standing out in stark relief, he finally noticed the rest of the flier. The words: Missing, a name, a location, contact information.
And like that, he knew. Dean knew why he was there. Why they were a thousand miles off course.
Stuck in a city during winter, with bad traffic no less.
It wasn't Sam's fault.
"Okay, I understand why you don't want me to drive any more. I'm just surprised it took you this long to whip it out and begin pissing on the wheels." Sam sat watching his brother with a slight frown. The motel wasn't exactly bottom of the list. It had cable. Still. "She's fine, nothing wrong with her."
Checking the ammo clip, Dean's cheek twitched. "That's not what this is about." He slammed the clip home with a slap. The gun went down the back of his pants.
"Then, why, Dean? Why are you leaving me here?" After nearly an hour of fighting, Sam was no longer willing to humor his brother. Sam stood up to block Dean's path. "Answer me, damn it!"
"That's not happening either." Dean tried to move around the taller man. A hand on his arm prevented him from getting far. With a tight expression, he glared up at Sam.
"I'm not letting you go alone. It's stupid and reckless to say the least." That was Sam's final word on the subject.
Too bad for Sam that he wasn't going to listen any more. Shoving the younger man away from him, Dean tugged his jacket back in to a comfortable position. He almost made it to the door this time.
Then Sam was back, now completely pissed. Sam spun Dean to face him and slammed him against the door. He cocked his head to the side, glaring at him in warning. "Enough! What did you see in that store?"
Dean said nothing for several moments. His jaw clenched as he stared up at the ceiling. That changed when fingers started to rifle through his clothes. Scowling, he slapped at Sam's hands. "Hey, unless you're a hotty with large breasts, hands off the merchandise!"
"No. Not until I find it." His fingers trailed along the inner-lining of Dean's jacket. There was nothing in the hidden pockets. Sam figured there was something in the standard inside pocket at least.
Slapping harder, Dean tried to protect the jacket's contents. "Cut that out! I'm not kidding, Sam, stop!" Two fingers slipped by his efforts. The moment he felt the 'missing' poster slide across his skin, his eyes narrowed. "Give it back!"
"Not happening!" Sam danced back in triumph. He held the paper aloft to keep Dean from reaching it as he opened it up.
Jumping up, Dean snatched futilely at the flier. "I'm warning you, Sammy. This isn't going to go unpunished!"
Finally, it came open and Sam froze. He frowned at the image and printed words. "What the hell, man?"
Taking advantage of his brother's distraction, Dean snatched the paper back. He punched him in the gut hard as punishment. "I told you!"
"It's Castiel!" The words came out breathless. That was only partially due to the fact he was stunned. The rest was from the bruise he knew would be forming by tomorrow morning. "He's a..."
"Mind your own business!" After checking the flier to ensure it was still intact, Dean folded it and stuck it back in his coat. He had to be going now. "I'll be back in two hours. Sit here, watch some porn, surf the internet. Just don't follow me."
"Not happening." Sam started to come after him. He snagged his coat on the way to the door. "I'm coming with you. This could be a trap."
"Or it could be a sign from them!" With a growl, Dean stopped at the door. This time, he didn't turn around. "You're already in enough crap with these people. I'm not letting you any where near this one."
Sam stopped a foot away from Dean. "I don't care!"
"That's just it, you don't!" Dean glanced over his shoulder. The air seemed to freeze between them. "This time, it's mine. You have to trust me, I know what I'm doing."
A fine tremor ran through Sam. He wanted to believe Dean. Still, there was something about this he didn't like. "Just a quick recon, Dean. Nothing else."
"That's all I planned." Taking that as confirmation, Dean threw open the door. He slipped through before Sam could find another thing to say.
At first, Dean considered entering the church dressed as a priest. It wouldn't have been the first time. None of his family were innocent in that. Still, given the fact of what he was doing, he figured impersonating a priest was one step too far.
The priest gig out, he figured his next best option was curious searcher. He had seen the man at one time. This might get them to open up a bit before he had to give them information in return. Dean knew the gig enough to bullshit his way through.
Before climbing out of the driver's seat, he glanced about to see if he were being watched. An Impala wasn't exactly normal in this upscale neighborhood. It was old enough to stick out, but no more than any other car bought to show off in. She would be fine left on the street for a few minutes.
Satisfied, Dean threw open the door. He climbed out with a quick look about. There was no one watching him, from alleys or windows.
So far so good.
The church was a Gothic style typical of the old century, complete with a small courtyard; nothing out of the ordinary there. Stone steps led up from the sidewalk to a set of large wooden doors. Dean was willing to bet they were solid.
A passing car distracted him from his gazing. With a start, he realized that he had been standing there staring like a fool. Smiling, he walked up to the steps.
Dean shivered as fear took hold. Would he be allowed in? There was only one way to find out. He cautiously placed one boot on the first step. Then he winced. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. Nothing.
Grinning, he took the next step. He continued all the way to the door. Pulling out a hand, he carefully placed it on the handle. When nothing happened, once again, he clenched it and pushed the door open.
Stepping in the ante chamber was kinda surreal. There were figures and crucifixes on the walls. A few stained glass windows filtered in the dim light. All and all, it seemed pretty ordinary.
Dean wasn't quite sure that was a let down. May be it had something to do with the fact the man was host to an angel. There should have been something extraordinary about his home. Surprisingly, there wasn't.
Stuffing his hand back in his jacket, Dean kicked the door shut behind him. It slapped back in to place with a loud slam that echoed out in to the main hall.
Eyes wide, Dean glanced about for anyone. When no one immediately appeared with a ruler, he grimaced and continued on.
Through a second set of doors, he came in to the main part of the church. The grand hall was as ornate as every other Victorian era Catholic Church: from the gold cherubs over the altar, to the stone saints lining the walls. "Definitely not in Kansas any more," he muttered to himself. At least not his Kansas.
The main part of the hall was laid out pretty standard. Altar, pulpit, all that good stuff to the front. Pews and posts in the center. A little holy-water fountain off to his left bubbled. He found it in poor taste, but if they liked it, who was he to argue?
As he was staring at the gilded sculptures something in black at the foot of the altar drew his attention. Watching it, Dean realized the figure was that of a man. More specifically, the man was a priest.
With a start, he realized the man was praying. It had been so long since he had seen the real act.
Reaching in to his jacket, Dean pulled out the flier. As he began to unfold it, he started towards the man. The image of Castiel soon became visible. Seeing it now startled him a little. The vessel was doing something Castiel never did.
Dean absently ran his thumb over the curved lips.
Before he knew it, Dean had stopped behind the kneeling priest. He wasn't certain his approach had been heard, since the man had yet to react. So, he cleared his throat. "Hey." It came out in almost a croak.
"Just a second, my child." Bowing his head, the priest crossed himself. He stood up with a small groan. After dusting off his robes, he turned to face Dean. "How may I help..." The smile that had started on his face quickly shifted to a frown. "Do I know you?"
That was never a good sign as far as Dean was concerned. Instantly on his guard, he barely kept his hand from going to the gun at the small of his back. He put on his best smile for the man. "Don't think so. I've never been here before."
"No, I'm certain I've seen you before." From the looks of things, the priest didn't like the idea of that very much. He sized Dean up in a quick glance. "You look like trouble."
"I've been told that before." The corner of Dean's lip curled up. It was an old joke, even with holy men. "But not today. I've actually come here because someone else might be in trouble." At this, he held up the flier for the man to see.
A quick look set the man's already thin features to even more strained. Seeming to have smelled something awful, he quickly glanced back up at Dean. "Ah, yes. I remember you now."
"Why don't I like the sound of that?" Dean tried for joking. That quickly fell through at the man's narrowed eyes. Something about him made Dean feel about ten inches tall.
Reaching out, the man snatched the flier from Dean's hand. "Filthy little sodomite!" He started forward. The paper crumpled in his fist. "If you've come to seduce your next victim, you will find no succor here!"
Dean backed away slowly. His hand went to the gun in his waistband. Either this priest really believed his words, or there was something decidedly evil going on here. "Look, Father, I've got no idea what you're talkin' about. I just came because..."
"I know why you came, incubus!" His hand flew to the silver crucifix at his waist. Holding it up, he brandished it towards Dean. "You will not corrupt another soul!"
"Okay!" That decided it! Boots slapping against the thin, red carpet, Dean beat a quick retreat backwards. "Thanks for your time!" With that, he spun and ran for the doors.
"Halt, demon! I command thee!" The priest's cries continued after him. "Foul blasphemer!" They chased him through the ante chamber and passed the vaulted doors.
Jumping in the Impala, Dean didn't bother to settle in for take off. His door was barely closed as he stomped the accelerator.
Dean was still shaking by the time he fell back on a park bench with a groan. The paper bag in his hand crinkled when his fingers clenched. It wasn't much, but this was his idea of stress relief. Being midday, he knew it was a little early to be drinking, but the weather and circumstances were a little more pressing.
'Sides, he deserved to have a little pleasure for himself.
Shaking his head, he exhaled loud enough to turn a few passing heads. What the hell had that been about? Last time he had been chased like that was by an angry father with a shot gun. Well, the real last time had been a spirit with a machete. The last time he had been accused of corrupting someone's soul was the shot gun.
What kinda strange perverts were wearing the cloth these days? That man had been the total opposite of what the news liked to report on. Dean had a feeling more that his soul would have been on fire had he stayed.
After tugging on his collar, he quickly uncapped the bottle in his hand. Before he could take a sip, a weight settled on the bench beside him. Dean took a cautious look, ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. Far as he knew, this entire city might be off their rockers.
Her gray and black hair was frazzle, coming out of the bob at the back of her head. Age had weathered her face and once fare skin. A tiny smile came to her lips as she gestured with a worn glove to Dean's bag. "Care to share?"
With wide eyes, Dean stared down at his bottle. He held it out to her as if it were on fire.
"Thank ya." With a firm grip on the bag, she brought it to her lips. She upended the entire bottle, taking a few swallows before dropping it again. Her sigh of pleasure seemed to echo in the space between them. "Lovely, dear, perfect for a day like this."
"I know." Dean gave his bottle a longing look. Her grip on the neck told him he wasn't getting it back. Now, he could fight her for it, and was pretty sure he would win. Then again, it wasn't really worth the effort.
After taking another drink, she moaned her pleasure. Once done, she wiped her lips. "This is cheap stuff, but very good." She gave the bottle a quick pat. "Been a while since I met a man who likes 'Wild Turkey'."
Dean rolled his eyes. "It's an acquired taste." He started to get up. There was no way in hell he was going to sit here and discuss his stolen bottle of whiskey.
"Sit!" Her tone was pleasant, yet commanding. She patted the bench beside her. "I'm drinking your whiskey, the least I can do is offer you a story in return." She patted the bench once more.
He opened his mouth to tell her where she could stick the bottle, buy a pain between his eyes stopped him. Pinching his nose, he dropped back in his seat. "All right, just one."
"Good lad." Frowning, she cleared her throat. The heaviness of her own jowls seemed to strain her cheeks. "Let's see. One you might like." Putting a gloved finger to her lips, she nodded. "Yes. That's it."
He wasn't in a mood to listen, yet he couldn't leave. The pain in his forehead increased every time he tried to get up.
"About eight months ago, there was this man. A good and pious man, he dedicated everything he was to his god." Her words came out a little stilted, her breath tinged with drink strong enough to singe. "For fifteen years, he had practiced with the church, ministering to those who sought him out. Devout to a fault, he prayed every day. Never did he stray.
"Then, a little over seven months ago, something changed." The woman frowned. Her already lined brow creased in deep furrows. "This man of god, he started to dream. These were not ordinary dreams, for they inspired. They stirred emotions long denied by his vows. He soon became tormented by the images he saw."
Opening his eyes, Dean turned slowly to stare at her.
"This man of god felt himself weak, unable to with stand their hold. Temptation he could fight, but these were stronger. Carnal and violent in nature, they wormed their way to consume even his waking thoughts." She snickered at this, as if the idea amused her. "At first, he suffered in silence, taking to writing his dreams down. Then, he began to draw the images he saw.
"They were innocent enough by themselves. It wasn't until one looked at them as a whole that the true nature was to be revealed." She paused to take a long swig of the whiskey.
This gave Dean time to consider her words. They could be just any old rambling, but he felt there was a special meaning behind them. What, he didn't want to know just yet. There was more to hear before he allowed himself to consider that.
She thumped her chest twice, then opened her mouth to release ear splitting belch. Snickering, she put the bottle down on the bench beside her without releasing it. "After months of fighting this, his ministry and faith began to suffer. Others quickly took notice and brought him before the Bishop. They had found his journals, his drawings."
Dean shivered. This was not going to end well.
"What the Bishop saw horrified him. Drawings of sheer wanton acts, lustily drawn images of figures in sexual poses. Not just any figures, but of the priest and, the most damning, another man." Her dark cackle was the only sound as it seemed the world around them faded away. "The Bishop demanded to know the truth. The priest could not explain himself. So, they sequestered him in his priestly cell."
She turned to look directly at Dean for the first time. Her eyes held none of the effects of the alcohol she had consumed. "That was almost four months ago. That night, as he prayed for deliverance in his locked room, a brilliant light shown. By the time they unlocked his door, the priest was gone."
Swallowing, Dean barely kept himself from shivering. It was just a story. She was crazy. There was no truth to what she was saying. Right?
Reaching out, she placed her palm upon Dean's shoulder. Her fingers tightened over the mark under his clothes. "That night, he prayed not for himself, but for the man in his dreams. He prayed for you, Dean Winchester."
Dean jerked himself free of her grasp. Glaring at her with wide eyes, he stood up. His hand automatically went to the gun under his jacket. "Who the hell are you?"
"Wrong side." She grinned, licking her lips. "Come now, it hasn't been that long ago since we knew each other, Dean. You seemed to know my body better than I did."
His horror quickly turned to disgust. Staring at the vessel hard, Dean took a step back. "What are you doing here?"
"Playing the cat to your mouse." Tilting the vessel's head to the side, she reached in to the bag at her side with a free hand. Pulling out a thick, leather binder, she held it up for him. "You made it through the maze, here's your cheese."
He made no move to reach for it. The expectant look on her face gave him pause. "Why are you doing this, Anna?"
"Because He owes me a favor, and I, in turn, owe you one." When he still made no move to accept it, she sighed. With a roll of her vessel's eyes, Anna groaned and thrust the binder out to him. "It's nothing bad, at least, not from my perspective."
"I don't want it." Dean found his eyes drawn to the binder. His mind whispered the words she had told him. He knew what was in there.
A shaking hand appeared to reach for them. With a shock, Dean realized those were his fingers closing around the soft leather. Once it was firmly grasped in his hand, she let go.
Standing up, the vessel smacked her lips. "Thanks for the bottle, Dean. Delilah here hasn't had the money to afford a good drink in a while."
He could only nod numbly. From the corner of his eye, he watched her walk away. At the edge of his field of vision, she seemed to disappear.
Then he was alone. With the binder and the horrible images inside.
It was late.
Dean was alone in the motel room. He knew Sam was out some where getting drunk, but didn't really care. The man could take care of himself. He probably had that demon to share his miseries with.
His own demons were sitting on the bed across from him. Glass in hand, Dean stared at the leather binder from across the room. He was as far away as the chair would let him be. Yet, his fingers felt as if those charcoal sketches were under them right now.
He had made the mistake of opening the binder, only once.
That had been enough.
Now, hours later, he was still unsure of exactly what he had seen. He knew it was him. The expression on his face was a little unfamiliar, but the feeling wasn't. Dean knew he only made that face when he was about to...
He couldn't think about it.
Dean knew for a fact he never did any of those things. There were some pretty twisted poses that priest guy had drawn. That was how he thought of him. Couldn't be Castiel, that man wasn't an angel. No angel ever created something like that.
It was purely the priest. The man, whose lusts were apparently epic and varied. If those were the ones he got down, who knew what else he had been dreaming about.
Cheeks coloring, Dean couldn't help but feel a little flattered. The guy was hot after his form. Not just a little infatuated, he was extremely passionate.
"Those weren't meant for your eyes." The sand paper rasp of a voice came from out of no where.
Dean nearly threw himself out of the chair trying to whip about. He found Castiel standing by the window, staring through the blinds. "What the hell, man?"
Glancing from the corner of his eye, Castiel looked to Dean. "She should not have led you here." Tightening his jawline, he went back to watching the passing cars. "You should forget everything you saw here."
"Why?" His response surprised him. It hadn't been the question Dean intended to ask. But, it was out there now.
"Because it was not her secret to reveal!" His face pulled tight, Castiel's posture spoke of restrained anger.
"You've got the hots for me. So what." Bringing the glass to his lips, Dean snorted with a shake of his head. "You're not the first angel."
"I do not! These are the feelings of the vessel." Castiel's knuckles popped as he clenched his fist. His entire body thrummed with anger. "I am above such earthly temptations."
That got Dean's attention. Raising an eyebrow, he reached up to rub at his chin. "A temptation am I?"
"Yes." All pretense of watching the world outside was forgotten. Castiel turned to face Dean. "For my vessel."
This was just too much fun. Dean couldn't resist poking at the other guy. "Would you, I mean he, ever act on this? Those are some pretty well thought out fantasies he's been having about me."
Castiel raised his chin. "We would not." His dignity restored, he turned back to face the window. He added, almost as an after thought, "his vow would make such a thing impossible."
What Dean thought about that was clear on his face. Then, something that had been bothering him about this entire situation came to mind. "How did he know about me? Seven months ago, I was working on a tan in hell."
"He is special." The throaty voice seemed to have a hard time saying the words.
Dean frowned. What was up with all these 'special' people? He was beginning to feel like he should be taking the magical short-bus. "Special how?"
"He could see me." The deadpan response was back dropped by the sound of flapping wings.
When Dean glanced over, he found that Castiel was gone. A quick look on the bed revealed that the binder was still there. He wondered what that meant, but decided it was a thought better left for another date. Right now, he had another bottle of 'Wild Turkey' and some time alone.
The porn channel was never more welcomed.
He was drunk. That was the only explanation for why he was actually looking through the drawings. Some were little better than sketches, others were done in a clearly lovingly detailed hand. Most of those were of him naked and in bed asleep.
Dean had to admit, he liked the one of him from behind, the blanket pulled up halfway to his hip. The lines were soft, not like the hardlined ones for purely sexual context. It felt like a late night scene to him, something done while he was sleeping.
Seeing them gave him a weird feeling. The thought that the man who had drawn these was in love wouldn't leave him be. More alcohol was definitely needed now.
No matter how drunk he was, he wasn't ready for those kinda ideas. As he flipped through ones of him and Castiel in bed together, he took a heavy sip. There was a good deal of that represented.
The man was truly talented, sexually repressed, but talented none the less. He got the hand print on Dean's shoulder down in surprising detail. In the images, the guy seemed to take great pleasure in running his tongue along... Dean stopped that thought right there.
Reaching down, he adjusted the front of his boxers.
He was not going to entertain the idea of sex with another man. It just wasn't going to happen. Dean had never before thought about it, and now was not going to change that. He was just drunk. That was all that was happening, period.
Enough was enough. Dean knew he was getting silly drunk, which meant it was time to cut himself off. As he started to close the binder, his eyes fell upon one last image. It was of Castiel, the guy, kissing him on the cheek.
The detail was vivid enough to almost be a black and white photo. The lines on his face were there, right down to the shadows under his eyes from exhaustion. It must have been late at night. His eyes traced the edge of his face, noting the details he saw in the mirror every day. That's when he saw it.
Just below his left eye, so small it was barely there.
Dean frowned. He didn't have a mark there. He reached up to flick away whatever was marring the image. When it didn't move, he leaned forward to peer at it. He realized the mark wasn't a mistake, it was a scar.
Wide eyed, he stared at the image. He blinked a couple times. The image never changed, it was still him and Castiel. Dean knew it was Castiel, his presence shown through the drawings.
Were these images of what was going to happen?
Oh, that was it! He was too drunk for this shit. Slamming the binder closed, Dean tossed it on the desk next to his father's journal. A thought occurred to him, making him stare at the leather. Glancing to the door, he picked it up and carried it over to his duffel.
Dean emptied the bag on to his bed. Shoving the binder down in to the bottom, he placed his underwear on top. That should have been enough to keep his brother out. A couple dirty pairs on top of those ensured it. With that done, he finished repacking the duffel, then tossed it aside.
Evidence hidden, Dean stretched his arms over his head. The yawn that followed nearly cracked his jaw. It was late, which meant it was definitely time for bed.
Standing up, he finished off the drink in his glass. He swallowed the whiskey down with a grimace. That done, he dropped the glass in his chair and walked over to his bed. Dean sat down and grabbed his pillow. With a quick fluff, he put it at the top of the bed, then climbed under the covers.
Moments later, he was breathing evenly.
An echo of gently beating wings filled the motel room. The resulting breeze tousled Dean's hair, causing him to stir. His eyes started to flutter open; only to close as warm fingers soothed his brow. Comforted, Dean drifted off once more.
Castiel stood there unmoving, watching over Dean as he slept.