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‘Whoa. Dean, hold up.’
‘What now?’ Dean hefts the shotgun over his shoulder.
‘Did you read the sign?’
‘What sign?’ Dean turns and takes a step back out the entrance of the maze. Or, rather, tries to. ‘What the fuck.’ He unslings the shotgun and taps the mouth of the barrel against...well, he doesn't know what he taps it against. There's no sound but the gun definitely hits something.
‘Yeah." Sam points to something outside on the wall of the maze.
‘So what does it say?’
‘The only way out is through.’
‘Fuck.’
‘Yeah.’
Dean turns around and faces the growing dimness of the walls of corn behind him.
Somewhere in there is a nest of corn demons who've been having fun with the tourists visiting the maze. Cas had been the one to alert them to the missing people and when they showed up in the town all the talk had been about the decapitated corpse of one of the ticket takers found leaning nonchalantly against the booth near the road.
A casual walk around the place showed claw marks in the dry ground, blood, broken stalks of corn, and a ripped t-shirt caught on a rock at the back of the maze. The smell was pretty unmistakable, a ripe, rank stink that sat in the back of the throat and made Sam sneeze uncontrollably for five minutes.
The maze was closed down by the local police, but it was far enough off the road that going at night was more of a habit than anything else.
And then Cas had gotten the bright idea of reconnoitering ahead of them.
‘Well, guess we know why Cas hasn't come back.’ Which isn't a reassuring thought. Corn demons shouldn't be able to keep an angel, even a fallen one, from doing pretty much whatever the hell he wants to.
And the only way out is through. Ain't it the way.
‘You want me in there?’
Dean shakes his head. ‘Nah. You hang out here, keep your eyes open, sing out if you see anything.’
‘You got your phone?’
‘Got it.’
‘I'll circle to the east, then reverse.’
‘'Kay." Dean hears Sam's footsteps crunch away on the gravel to his right. ‘Right. Great. Awesome.’
Clicking on the flashlight is probably unnecessary at this point, but it makes him feel better. The broad beam illuminates a wide path flanked by walls of corn stalks grown so close together there's almost no space between them. Somewhere behind the maze the moon is rising. There's a little cold breeze that comes and goes among the tops of the corn, making the dry tassels and stalks rustle and whisper together.
Just enough to make it really fuckin’ creepy, Dean thinks gloomily. Sam hadn't been able to find out much about the demons in the twenty-four hours since Cas had volunteered to play scout. They had some connection to harvest time, were only really dangerous for about a month in the year, seemed to vanish the rest of the time, probably came from some nasty little hole in Europe, and liked blood. Lots of blood. And now he's adding a final note: good enough at magic to cast some kind of locking spell.
Freaking great. Dean gets the shotgun into a more comfortable position on his shoulder, gives the light a quick flash to left and right, and heads in.
The only good thing he can think of about all this is that the night’s cool and dry with a nice big moon that should be up above the tops of the corn stalks in about a quarter of an hour.
There’s an intersection ahead and he flashes the light from side to side and stops just before stepping on the open ground. There are long gouges in the ground -- as if something had been dragged across it. But that doesn’t have to be anything sinister, he tells himself; could just be one of the maze workers hauling something through. When this place’s been closed up for a week. Right.
He unshoulders the gun, though, and nestles it under his elbow. It’s not the greatest position to shoot from but it’ll do in a pinch. He takes a cautious step forward and whirls to his right, aiming the flashlight at a sudden rustling and cracking in the corn.
Okay, aim for the heart, nothin’ too hard here-- He drops the flashlight and aims more carefully.
There’s a last burst of crackling and then front row of corn bows over to let a slight figure through. Cas stumbles out into the light with his hands up, head ducked against the brightness.
‘What the fuck--’ Dean drops the gun. ‘Cas, why the hell didn’t you say somethin’?’
Cas shakes his head, points to his mouth, still turning away from the light slightly.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ Dean asks, bending to pick up the flashlight. He aims it at the ground out of deference for Castiel’s eyes.
Castiel shrugs when he looks back at him and brushes some fragments of corn tassel off his sleeves.
‘Well, c’mon. What’d you find out? What’s going on?’ Dean asks, a little impatient. If there’s nothing here, then he’d rather get the moonlight walk over with and if there is something he’d like to go find it and kill it.
Castiel looks at him and shakes his head, again pointing to his mouth.
‘I’m not gonna play fucking charades with you, man!’ If Dean didn’t know better, he’d swear Cas rolls his eyes at him. ‘Spit it the hell out, would you!’ He’s got a crawling feeling on the back of his neck that something’s watching them and it’s taking a certain amount of concentration not to spin around.
This time he’s sure: Cas is rolling his eyes and taking a long step forward. He grabs Dean’s wrist and angles the flashlight upwards so it hits his face from below, giving him a somewhat ghastly look. This close, Dean can see the red smears on his chin, a long dry trickle of blood from one corner of his mouth making him look like an B-movie vampire.
‘What the hell happened?’ Without meaning to, Dean moves to touch him and Castiel jerks back, pressing his own hand over his mouth as if he doesn’t want Dean to see it.
He keeps his mouth covered with one hand and makes a cutting motion with the first two fingers of the other hand.
Dean stares at him for a minute blankly before he gets the idea. ‘You...oh, fuck, tell me you’re kidding.’ He swallows hard against the twist of bile in his throat.
Castiel shakes his head and shrugs, looking almost embarrassed in the glaring light.
‘Will...are...are you going to be okay?’
Castiel nods and Dean feels the grip of something else in his throat relax. This isn’t the time to think about that, though, and he just swallows again, trying to get rid of the last metallic burn in his throat. ‘How long?’
Castiel shrugs and holds both hands out, palm up.
‘Well, fuck. This is going to be fun.’
Castiel points back the way Dean had come and raises his eyebrows.
‘Can’t. Can’t go back -- got to go through. Entrance’s spelled shut.’ Dean flashes the light around again and adds, ‘Do...you know what they...wanted it for?’
Castiel nods and stretches a hand above his head, as far as his arm will stretch, then spreads his arms and makes a machine-like walking motion, bringing his feet down heavily. He frowns, knotting his eyebrows together and putting on such a cartoonishly grim expression that Dean wants to laugh. But he has no idea what Cas is trying to tell him.
‘I’m...something big? They...uh...’
Castiel repeats his previous mime and points around them, slapping his hands palm-down in the air.
‘Okay, what the fuck is that meant to be?’
Castiel rolls his eyes and turns away out of the light. Dean hears coughing, heavy and wet, and grabs at Castiel’s arm, trying to tug him back to the light. Castiel catches his hand instead. Still breathing roughly, mouth firmly shut, he runs a damp fingertip over the back of Dean’s hand and wrist. He shakes his other hand and Dean sees a few drops of dark liquid fly off onto the ground before Cas rubs it briskly over the thigh of his trousers. ‘Cas...is...did you just...is that your blood?’
You need to be able to hear me.
‘Whoa!’ Dean stumbles backwards a step. ‘What the hell is that!’
The best I can do at short notice. I am sorry.
‘You’re psychic now!’
Only temporarily.
Dean takes a deep breath and resists the urge to scrub his hand against his leg. ‘Okay, fine, great. So...what do you want to tell me?’
The demons have been taking parts of their victims. To make some...creature of their own design. I doubt it will work.
Dean represses a sigh. He’d really been hoping for something easy; a little point ‘n shoot, an early night.
Castiel shrugs. They can make nothing particularly difficult. They are not strong. Or clever.
Dean stares at him. ‘They...dude, you’re an angel and they cut---’
A fallen angel.
‘You’re also a stubborn motherfucker,’ Dean adds.
Castiel shrugs again.
Dean scowls. ‘So do you know which way we should go at least? And am I gonna be enough? Do we need Sam?’
You will be enough. Do you have a second gun?
‘Man, you can’t shoot for shit.’
All we need do is destroy the construct. The demons should scare easi-- Castiel doesn’t even get through the sentence before four demons burst out of the wall of corn behind him and knock him to the ground as they rush towards Dean.
Dean takes down two for good and lames the third which turns and flees but the fourth is on him before he take aim. It’s a snarling, hissing, stinking mass of what feels like corn husks and wire and thorns and he feels like he should be able to throw it off with one hand but it’s just flailing at him and everywhere it touches he feels his skin burn. ‘Jesus -- fuck, get off!’ He gets an arm across his chest and grabs what he thinks is the thing’s shoulder and hurls it away -- or tries to.
Instead, the thing latches onto his arm and starts gnawing on his wrist with teeth that feel like hot needles. Just as he’s scrabbling out for the gun, a pale hand comes over the demon’s face and, without apparent effort, yanks it backwards and off his chest. The thing goes with a fight, hissing and spitting and Dean scrambles to his knees and grabs for the gun. ‘Hold it out, Cas!’
Cas ignores him, reaching under his coat and coming out with a reaping hook. The demon struggles ineffectively and Cas dispatches it with a quick strike to the neck that leaves him with a head in one hand and a collapsed pile of stringy limbs at his feet, oozing black blood.
Dean blinks. ‘Okay, then. There’s...there’s that.’ He looks around at the chaos of bodies and grimaces. The demons stink, faintly but persistently, an acrid odor that he’s sure is going to settle in his clothes.
Castiel drops the demon’s head and wipes his hand rather fastidiously on his coat. He keeps the hook in one hand and stretches the other out to Dean.
Dean grips it and pulls himself to his feet. ‘Thanks.’ But -- Castiel doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls Dean around so that the light of the risen moon is shining directly in his face. ‘Uh...Cas?’ Dean swallows against tightness in his throat. Castiel is looking at him -- really looking at him and the last time he had done that, they had ended up two hours later tangled in Dean’s sheets with pillows strewn over the floor and Castiel’s shirt hanging from a lampshade beside the bed.
Dean grabs Castiel’s shirtfront and hauls him in, kissing him with enough force to push Castiel back a few steps towards the bed at the same time as he burrows both hands under Cas’ waistband. Dean hears Castiel gasp against his cheek and then there are cold hands under his t-shirt, yanking it upwards. It catches on his chin and he has to take a half-step back and pull it the rest of the way off himself before Cas accidentally chokes him with it. Cas is feverishly pulling at his own shirt buttons and toeing off his shoes at the same time. The trench coat and suit jacket are in a pile on the floor behind him.
‘Hey, I never said this had to be a time trial--’ Dean tries but Castiel’s hands are on his belt and then his fly and he has to focus on dragging his boots off before Castiel simply trips him over.
They end up on the bed in a tangle of limbs and Castiel’s trousers and Dean’s almost laughing as he helps Cas pull them the rest of the way off. He would laugh if it weren’t for the intensity of Castiel’s expression: like this is something he has to do right now or he’ll pop. He kicks his boots free at the same time, hearing them land on the floor with a thump that drags his jeans the rest of the way off his legs, leaving him in boxers and a wristwatch.
Castiel catches his upper arms and hauls him up the bed, shifting as he does so he’s over Dean, kneeling between his thighs, hands on either side of Dean’s ribcage. Dean’s forgotten whatever he was going to say about slowing down, plenty of time, taking it easy. Instead, he digs his hands into Castiel’s hair and pulls him down into a kiss, ignoring the tang of blood in favor of the throb between his thighs and the sounds Cas is making in his ear.
‘Fuck...Cas...why--’ The rest of the question is lost when Cas shoves his hand down between them and gets his fingers around Dean’s dick, rubbing his thumb hard over the head, squeezing, twisting his hand so Dean can’t do anything, can’t keep his thought together, can’t keep his words together, can only arch up against the weight of Castiel’s body over him and come like a fucking teenager.
Cas moans as Dean pulses in his hand and, fuck, if Dean hadn’t just come -- wasn’t still coming a tiny bit that would’ve had him hard in two seconds. He flails a hand around until he finds Castiel’s shoulder and pushes him flat against the pillows.
‘Jesus fuck, Cas!’ He plants a hand on the bed by Castiel’s shoulder. ‘What the hell’ve you been waiting for?’ Without waiting himself for an answer, he slides down Castiel’s body, kissing his way along as best he can, and pulls Cas’ underwear down enough to let his cock out, leaving the elastic of the waistband to cradle his balls.
Castiel moans again, rutting his hips down into the mattress and Dean doesn’t have the heart to fuck around around any more. He sucks a kiss onto the skin just below Castiel’s navel, then opens his mouth and hopes to hell that enthusiasm and lust will carry him over any bumpy spots.
Castiel tastes strong against his tongue: a little bitter, a little like sweat, and Dean lets saliva collect in his mouth to dilute the flavor. He can feel Castiel’s hands on his shoulders, gripping uselessly at his back and his hair, and he fumbles out with one hand until he finds Castiel’s and squeezes it as hard as he can. The other hand he’s got curled around the base of Castiel’s dick, trying to give himself a little leverage.
‘Dean….Dean, please---’ Castiel’s voice is rough, throaty, sounds like he’s been gargling nails for a week.
Please what Dean has no idea but he takes a guess and swirls his tongue around the tip of Castiel’s cock, feeling hot flesh against the roof of his mouth, and then sucks as hard as he can, as hard as he ever has to siphon a stolen tank of gas for the Impala.
The return on this is much better.
Castiel cries out and if there are words, Dean can’t understand them, but he has a mouthful of sweet bitterness and Castiel’s hand tight in his.
Dean backs off, pulling Castiel through the last of his orgasm with his hand, milking out the last few drops until Castiel reaches down and stops him. Then he collapses back on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Castiel, and stares up at the dark ceiling.
He’s not opposed to that happening again -- hell, he’d probably stand up and cheer if Cas suggested it. It'd be the first time he's had sex twice in a week in an embarrassingly long time and he doesn't even want to think about the little girly part of him that says Cas learns quick and a second night would probably be even better than the first which had been pretty fucking good-- But if that’s where this dance is headed now, Dean would really rather they were back at the motel. And maybe less covered in dirt and blood.
Castiel frowns and drags his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone, then shows it to him. There’s a smear of blood and Dean runs a hand over his face, then wishes he hadn’t as the scratches from the demon start to burn and itch almost immediately. ‘Ah, fuck it.’ He wipes his hand on his jeans. ‘Doesn’t even hurt.’
Castiel tilts his head slightly, giving Dean a look. Dean rolls his eyes in response. ‘What d’you want me to say? C’mon -- let’s get the rest of the little bastards.’
In the end, they find the main nest tucked away in the heart of the maze. There’s a bonfire of sorts, small and smouldering, and, next to it, a sort of Frankenstein jumble of...parts that Dean doesn’t even want to think about. The demons are chittering at each other and leaping around the thing like it’s the punchbowl at a dance.
Castiel and Dean hang back in the shadow of the last tunnel of corn.
The fire would be simplest.
‘The fire?’ Dean leans close over Castiel’s shoulder. This close, he can smell the bitter undertone of blood but also Castiel’s shampoo and the faint sweetness of his skin.
It makes his mouth water a little and he licks his lips involuntarily.
Castiel glances back at him, almost smiling as if he can read Dean’s thought.
Wait.
‘Can you--’ Are you reading my fucking mind?
Castiel looks faintly abashed -- but only faintly. Only a little.
Dean resists the impulse to thwap him on the back of the head -- but only barely. You could’ve said!
The corner of Castiel’s mouth tilts up. But you have such interesting thoughts.
Dean gapes at him. Are you -- are you fucking flirting with me? Now?
Castiel shrugs. Can you suggest a better time?
Any time we’re not hunting little -- fucking -- scratchy demons would be good!
Castiel’s expression sobers. That would be no time. We are always fighting demons. Is...that what you would prefer?
Dean grits his teeth. No. Cas, I--
He only sees the expression on Cas’ face for a few seconds before the fire flares up like the gas flame on a stove and the demons turn towards them. Castiel looks gutted, like the demon had been sitting on his face and tearing it apart, like the assemblage of parts included his heart instead of his tongue, and Dean would like to bite his tongue out for being so fucking--
--and then the chittering, squealing demons are on them and he doesn’t have a chance to think anything else for awhile.
Sam leaves them at the Impala, shedding his blood-stained jacket into the trunk, before going to the office to ask for a room with a bathtub. Dean can’t blame him: Sam had gotten caught full-face with the spray of blood from the last two demons and his hair is stiff with it.
Dean grabs Castiel’s elbow before he can vanish -- and before he remembers that Cas can’t vanish anywhere anymore. Still. He doesn’t let go. Through the blood streaked on his hands and arms and still dried on Castiel’s chin, he remembers the look on Cas’ face and there was no way he was letting that stand.
‘Can you talk yet?’ He keeps his grip on Cas’ arm.
Castiel shakes his head and points to his mouth again.
‘Yeah, yeah, I get it. So -- okay, you’re gonna have to -- I don’t know -- poke me in the nose or something. If you want me to stop. Okay?’
Castiel’s eyebrows are creased together and his mouth is a tight line. He tilts his head in an obvious question and pulls his arm against Dean’s grip. Dean tightens his fingers a little bit and shakes his head. ‘No. You didn’t hear me right before; I didn’t mean--’
You are hurt-- Castiel’s finger tips are gentle on his face and Dean grabs his hand before he can do something stupid like lean into it.
‘I’ll live; shut up for a minute. Cas, you heard me all wrong.’
Dean, you do not need to lie to--
‘Goddamnit, I’m not lying! I just --’ Dean groans and scrubs a hand over his face. ‘You know I’m not good at talking, right? You know that! So why the hell do you listen to me?’
Castiel’s head is cocked at an angle that means nothing but confusion and, even in the harsh half-light of the parking lot lamps, Dean thinks his eyes still look sad. ‘Oh, fuck this.’ He grabs Castiel’s other arm and turns him bodily towards the motel room door.
Dean, what are you-- Castiel resists but Dean can tell token fighting back when he’s got it, quite literally, in his hands and pays no attention, steering Castiel around the cement ‘log’ that demarcates the parking lot from the pavement in front of the rooms and keeping a tight hold on his arm while he fumbles in his pocket for the key. Castiel says nothing as Dean elbows the door open and snaps on the lights, dragging Castiel after him through the door. He kicks the door shut and flicks the deadbolt in place, then turns to Cas.
‘Aw, Jesus, Cas…’ Dean drops the key on the table and reaches up to run a fingertip gently over a broad streak of dried blood down Castiel’s left cheek. ‘Why didn’t you say somethin’?’
Castiel shakes his head. What was there to say? He reaches out, too, and cool fingers touch Dean’s cheek. You are bloody, too.
Dean wants to grin and say something cheap and cheesy like Wanna wash my back? or even I’ll do yours if you do mine, but Cas still looks sad, like he’s expecting Dean to push him away or tell him no.
So, he’s gonna have to talk about this. With words. Out loud.
Fuck his life.
‘You heard me wrong. Before. In the maze.’
Castiel smiles and he looks weary with it. I do not think that is possible.
‘Yeah, well, it’s the inside of my head you’re hearing so I get the final say.’ Dean fists his hands in the lapels of Castiel’s coat. ‘But I’m only gonna say this once, so pay attention, okay?’
I always listen to you most carefully.
Dean narrows his eyes but decides to let it go. ‘I didn’t mean -- look, all I was doing was questioning your timing, okay? Not...not what you were doing. I mean, okay, maybe the mind-reading is a bit much -- that’s...a little creepy, but --’ He stops in frustration and grits his teeth.
I did not intend to have bad timing. Castiel makes a motion with his shoulders that might be a shrug. It seemed as though the hunt was likely to be soon over and I thought -- His gaze darts away from Dean’s face and around the room and Dean’s almost lightheaded from the sudden feeling of everything falling into place. He tightens his grip and drags Castiel bodily against him.
‘You really went about this the hard way.’ Castiel’s lips taste like blood and earth and Dean doesn’t care. ‘All you fuckin’ had to do was ask, idiot.’