Brilliant Light of Morning

A/N: Hey, guys, thanks again for all the awesome reviews. I'm thinking, if people like this story, I might write a sequel. Sort of my own version of season 5. I already have some ideas. What do you guys think? Loves, Jane.

4-15: Death Takes A Holiday

"You can't escape me, Dean."

Dean's mind rebelled against this, rebelled against having to be alone with Alastair. Where the hell was Sam?

"I'm inside that angsty little noggin of yours."

“No, you’re not,” Dean said, and even to him, the words sounded weak.

Alastair laughed, and the sound was like rotting silk dragged over diseased skin. “Oh, really? You think you’re that strong, boy? You think you can just get over our time together?” He drew a scalpel out of his pocket, and Dean froze, old, built-in terror coursing through him. It wasn’t supposed to ever happen again, it was supposed to stop, Sam and Cas were supposed to make it stop. “You know, Dean, after a millennia of this... I think I can safely say that you... are my favorite.” He took a few steps forward, and Dean couldn’t move, couldn’t think. He was a beaten dog responding to it’s master’s voice. “You were so... pretty, so eager. And the first time you picked up my razor, oh, that was a thing of beauty, Dean. Though, I have to admit...” Alastair’s eyes narrowed, and a sick smile twisted his face, “I did miss our time together. You remember, don’t you?”

Dean wanted desperately to cover his ears, because he knew what Alastair was talking about, knew that he wasn’t talking about blades, or blood, but about a bed, and certain other bodily fluids. But Dean couldn’t move, not even to lift his arms, not even to save his own sanity.

“Oh, Dean,” Alastair continued, obviously reveling in Dean’s pain, “I do miss that pretty young body of yours writhing under mine. And the sounds you made... mm, exquisite.”

“No,” Dean whispered, unable to do more, frozen with fear.

“Mm, yes,” Alastair continued, moving forward. “Never seen eyes as green as yours, Dean. I must say I was tempted to pluck them out and hang them on my wall.”

Dean looked up, met Alastair's grey, sightless gaze, and thought that he should have known. He should have known it was too good to be true; should have known the bastard would get him back in the end.

Blue lightning rained down from the sky, then, and Dean covered his face, ducking down in shock. When he straightened, Alastair was gone. "What the hell?"

"Guess again."

*************

Castiel had watched Dean being confronted by Alastair, and the boy's terror had been palpable. He’d wasted no time in capturing Alastair, sending him to the prearranged place. Dean had looked around with a muttered, “What the hell?” and Castiel couldn’t help but reply with humor, humor he realized he’d learned form Dean.

“Guess again.”

Dean turned, and Castiel could see the relief flooding his green eyes. “Have you been here the whole time?”

“Yes.”

Dean frowned. “Why didn’t you help?”

“Who says we didn’t?”

“Uh... that rock salt shot into my chest was a pretty good indicator.”

Castiel stepped forward, and felt a surge of some unnamed sensation coursing through his host’s body. He knew instinctively that it had to do with Dean’s proximity, but he tried to ignore it. “I’m sorry; we couldn’t get into the funeral home. It was warded against us.”

“Us?” Dean looked around. “Who else is here?”

“No one, now. When I captured Alastair, Uriel went with him, to secure him. He will not escape.” Was that a glint of happiness Castiel saw in Dean’s eyes at this news, this news that they were alone? Or was that just what he wanted to see?

“So, these people... they’re gonna just start dropping dead?”

“Yes.”

“Cas, these are good people,” Dean said, stepping forward into Castiel’s personal space. Castiel stilled another surge of what he now recognized as lust. “Can’t you make a few exceptions?”

Trying to breath normally, trying to keep his voice from shaking, Castiel replied, “For everything, there is a season.”

“You made an exception for me.”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, and when he spoke, he knew the words to be true, truer than Dean would ever know. “You’re different.”

Castiel saw Dean’s green eyes soften, and was therefore caught off guard when the human grabbed him by the shirt-front and shoved him against the brick wall to his left. Castiel wondered for a moment if he should fight back, if Dean meant him harm. He stopped wondering that, stopped wondering anything, however, when Dean’s full, hot mouth met his.

Against his better judgment, Castiel relaxed into the kiss, allowing Dean’s tongue to probe his mouth, to sweep over his, leaving behind a taste of spicy fire. Dean moved forward, putting himself flush against Castiel’s body, and his knee shoved itself between Cas’s legs. Castiel heard a low moan, then realized with a jolt of shame that it had come form his own mouth. He fully intended, then, to pull back, to stop this before it went too far, but all thoughts of leaving were driven from his head by a hot, hard, callused hand slipping between their bodies and down the front of his pants. Castiel gasped into Dean’s mouth when he realized how aroused his host’s body was, and was immediately grateful that Jimmy Novak was, for the moment, unconscious.

Dean’s hand palmed Castiel’s erection, his own hips thrusting against the angel. Cas felt a heat building in him, low in his body, and his heart fluttered nervously, not knowing what was going to happen when that heat reached it‘s peak. He felt his body might just fly apart at the seams. Dean pulled back from the kiss and muttered, his voice low and husky, sending waves of lust through Castiel, “Oh, God, Cas... you’re so beautiful.”

Cas felt a lump form in his throat. No one had ever called him “beautiful” before. But Dean’s mouth was on his again, this time sucking on his bottom lip, and Dean’s hand wrapped fully around Castiel’s erection, and the heat in him spilled over. A hoarse cry escaped Cas’s throat as he came, and Dean followed with a muttered, “Oh, fuck, Cas,” moments later.

Castiel sagged against the brick wall, and his eyes met Dean‘s, both green and blue fogged with lust. “Dean, I - “ Castiel began, not really knowing what he was going to say.

But Dean shook his head, and leaned forward and captured his mouth again. This kiss was different, sweet, slow and unhurried, and it wasn’t lust Cas felt from it. It was something else, an emotion, one Cas refused to examine. This had been too good; too fast and bright and glorious, and Cas was terrified to question it. He’d never felt anything like what had just happened, and for the first time, he thought he might understand Anna, might understand why she admired and desired humanity so much. If they could connect with each other on such a primal, fundamental level, Cas understood why it was one of their basest drives. He’d never felt alive, not really, until that moment.

Dean pulled back from the kiss and looked up, as if hearing something. “Pamela’s calling me back,” he said, voice hoarse. He looked back at Cas. “Don’t...” he faltered. “Cas, please don’t pretend like this never happened.”

Castiel frowned, and was surprised at the hurt he felt. “Why would I do that?”

Dean laughed, but it wasn’t an amused sound. “You’ve done it before.”

He winked out of being then, and Castiel was left alone.

*************

“Done what before?”

“Hugnh?” Dean drew his eyes open at Sam’s voice.

“Who has done what before? You just said, ‘You’ve done it before.’ Done what?”

Dean sat up to see Sam and Pamela staring at him. “Uhh... nothing. No one. Forget it.”

*************