Chapter Text
Dean ducked right before the flying bowl with holy water hit him in the head. The demon twisting in bed before him growled angrily when the object hit the door behind him.
That was close, Dean thought as he looked over his shoulder at the broken pieces of ceramic.
The little stunt didn't deter him. He held the Bible tightly and stared at the young man looking at him from the bed with black eyes and a horrific, taunting smile.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae. Perditionis venenum propinare."
The demon possessing the young man in bed cried out and contorted, teeth bared at Dean. He made as if he would get up and out of bed and attack him, but as Dean kept reciting the exorcism rite the demon made a shrill sound and black smoke came out of the human's mouth before disappearing through the cracks on the floor.
Dean took a deep breath and relaxed. The smell of sulfur was stinking up the place.
He then rushed to the young man in bed, lying limp in a mess of tangled and damp sheets.
"Hey. Are you okay?" He touched the kid's shoulder.
Usually, when he exorcised a demon, he was able to make the demon smoke away without harming their host. That wasn't always the case though, so death was something he eventually had to work with when he took on this kind of job.
"What the—"
A pair of black eyes opened and the young man's lips curled up with a wicked grin.
"Winchester!" The demon growled and closed his hands around Dean's neck.
Dean barely had time to gasp. The Bible fell off his hand to the floor with a thud and he started choking.
What the hell, man? I saw the demon smoke out! His brain tried to process what was happening, but he couldn't find any logic at the moment.
Not that he had time to, anyway. The black eyes soaked up his shock with evident satisfaction as the demon tried to choke him to death.
"Exorcizamus te," Dean choked out.
The demon snarled at him and squeezed harder.
Okay, douchebag, the fun's over, Dean gritted his teeth and knocked his head hard against the possessed young man's.
When the demon let go, surprised at the impact and pain, Dean pushed it down onto the bed and continued.
"… omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica," he blurted the exorcism out and his hands pushed the demon against the mattress.
At one point Dean thought he would lose the battle. The demon was obviously a lot stronger physically, so when it regained composure after the head bump it tried to regain control as well. Lucky for Dean, he was halfway through the words and instead of sending him flying against the wall, the demon shrieked and smoked out, following the dark cloud that had disappeared just a few moments before.
Dean fell back with a thud, his butt hit the floor and his back found support against the wall. His hands went for his throat, feeling at it and taking deep breaths to try and reestablish his oxygen levels.
That was too fucking close, he thought, calloused fingers massaging around his windpipe.
Two fucking demons??? Really??! He thought, still in awe at what had just happened.
In all his years as a hunter that was a first.
Dean was brought back from his thoughts by the young man moaning in bed.
"My head…ouch!" he rubbed at his forehead and winced.
"Seriously?" Dean got back on his feet and approached the bed. "You had two demons doing whatever the hell they were doing together inside of you for a week, but it's the head bump that hurts now?" he seemed unimpressed.
The young man turned to him eyes full of bewilderment.
"Demons? Were there…demons inside of me?!" The young man looked and sounded horrified. "Oh, my God, were all those things not a nightmare, then?!" he eyed Dean with huge, pleading eyes.
The hunter sighed deeply and his features softened a little.
"Look, dude, I'm sure you're confused as fuck, but your parents are just outside the door and they'll fill you in on what you need to know, okay? Try and get some rest, stay hydrated, and consider getting an anti-possession tattoo. I've left a copy of the drawing with your old man."
"An anti what?"
Dean didn't bother answering. He picked up his Bible, straightened his clothes and walked to the door.
"Hey, wait!" the young man shouted from the bed, but the older man was already gone.
In the living room, Dean looked into the terrified, anxious eyes of the young man's parents.
"Is he…is he back?" the man asked tentatively.
"He is. There were…" two demons inside him. Two. Not one. Two!! Dean thought again, but he knew saying that would mean nothing to those people. "The demon's gone."
"Oh, thank you so much!" The woman launched herself from the couch and threw her arms around him.
Dean took a step back instinctively and as soon as possible pushed the woman gently off of him.
"Yeah, it's fine. You should go see him. He's understandably very confused," he said.
"Thank you so much, sir!" the kid's father said as the mother disappeared into the bedroom. "How much is it again? I'll go get my wallet."
"I should charge you twice," Dean grumbled, still hung up on the two clouds of black smoke he'd seen leaving the young man's body.
"Sorry?"
Dean shook his head and shrugged.
"Two hundred, as agreed."
"Thank you so much!" The man said as he paid him. He held Dean's hand and gave him a heartfelt look of gratitude.
"Yeah, fine. I'm glad he's okay. I have to go. Take a look at the instructions I left and make sure he follows them. He should be fine."
Dean turned around and walked out of the place after slipping the money into the back pocket of his jeans.
~ * ~
Back in the small rented apartment where he was currently living, Dean took a quick shower to wash away the smell of sulfur and the sweat from nearly exorcising the second demon with his bare hands.
He stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist and stopped in front of the mirror. Dean leaned closer, wiped the foggy surface with his forearm, and stared at himself.
His fingers went to the bruises around his neck and he hissed a little during the examination.
"Shit," he cursed.
His fingertips touched around his collarbone and the reflection showed the grimace on his handsome features. "Motherfucker," he cursed again, still baffled at what had just happened.
When he stepped back and away from the mirror he saw a figure behind him and gasped.
"Holy shit, Cas!" He turned around angrily, towel falling off. "How many times have we talked about boundaries?" Dean crouched and picked the towel back up.
The man who'd just materialized in the small bathroom with him watched him with a neutral expression on his face—something between confused and unfazed.
"Sorry," he took a step back. "There isn't much space in here."
"Oh, you think so?" Dean asked sarcastically, then sighed deeply and softened his voice. "What happened? I haven't heard from you in a few days, even tried calling you earlier and you didn't come."
"I was busy."
Of course, Dean, thought, and barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Typical Castiel answer.
The hunter stared at his friend, who was not at all like any other man he'd ever met. First, because Castiel was not a man. He was an angel. A year ago Dean wouldn't even have thought it possible that angels were real, let alone that they could walk the Earth looking like your everyday dude. But a lot had happened the past year, since his father and hunting partner had died.
Dean pushed the thought away before it caused that unmistakable and piercing pang of hurt—not so lucky, the feeling always managed to sneak up on him faster than he could prevent it. Dean started to think maybe he would never be able to stop feeling the hurt.
Anyway, he did push thoughts of John Winchester out of his mind.
"Out. C'mon. Give me some privacy. We'll talk when I'm dressed," he said.
"Fine."
Castiel opened the door and stood perfectly still just outside the threshold.
This time Dean did roll his eyes, he also groaned, and then closed the door again.
He put his clothes on quickly and then met the angel in the messy living room.
The whole apartment was nothing more than a living room with an old couch that was also Dean's bed, and a small kitchen where he prepared meals of questionable nutritional value.
The hunter didn't make enough money to afford anything better.
Life as a hunter did not pay off, not financially, not on any level whatsoever. It was deadly dangerous, stressful, and the life expectancy of a hunter was short. Dean was aware of that. The only thing that helped pay the bills aside from the eventual credit card fraud was his 'job' as a demonologist. It was not like Dean could openly sell his services as a hunter of supernatural creatures, but humanity was pretty familiar with the idea of demons, even if for most people they lived only in horror movies and dark, frightening thoughts in the middle of the night. Dean had studied the lore about demons extensively since he was a teenager, and he had a lot of practical experience with demons too, unfortunately. At least that allowed him to help people every now and then and make some honest money.
It was a tough life and every now and then he needed to hustle pool or turn to shady activities to make ends meet.
But it was not like he had a choice. He happened to have grown into the family business, as John used to refer to it. He had learned to accept and even embrace his fate at a young age.
Maybe he didn't get to live a normal life as his younger brother did—not that Dean could call being locked inside a church normal—but he was okay with what he had. Not happy, what sort of fool would be happy in that kind of life? But it was decent. At least he was able to enjoy himself in whatever sinful way he chose to at the end of the day, without anyone passing judgment.
Not even Castiel.
Which brought him back to the present.
"So you were busy?" Dean looked at his angel friend, dressed in a trench coat, tie and black pants.
"There were rumors about a Devil's gate being opened. I needed to check it out."
"Shit. Where?"
"Wyoming."
Dean seemed pensive for a moment.
"And?"
"They weren't just rumors. Azazel was working with some humans, it was a very complex scenario because while they were humans, they had special abilities. My brothers and I had a hard time fighting him."
Dean swallowed hard at the mention of Azazel. Unfortunately, there was a lot of history between his family and the yellow-eyed demon.
"You say the humans had special abilities, like what could they do?"
"Telekinesis, for one."
"Holy shit…" Dean's fingers scratched up and down his stubbled chin. "Do you think it has anything to do with the special children Dad referred to in his journal?"
Castiel nodded.
"I think we should look into that."
The angel took a step closer, and when he did he tilted his head to the side in a funny way and narrowed his eyes.
"What happened?" he asked, assessing the bruises around Dean's neck.
"Glad you asked. I happen to have exorcised two demons out of one person today."
Dean watched as Castiel reached out his fingers and touched his neck. He knew what was going to happen, as it wasn't the first time it did.
There was a small flash of bright white light and when Dean moved his neck a little the pain was gone. He didn't need a mirror to know the bruises would be gone, too. Yes, there were some awesome benefits to having an angel as a sidekick. Not that Dean called Castiel that—but then, not that Castiel would mind. Probably.
"Thanks," he said.
"Are you sure?" Castiel asked.
"I'm telling you, Cas. There were two! Two goddamned demons into that kid!"
The angel frowned and shook his head.
"That's not possible."
"That is very fucking possible, I'll tell you. The moment the first one smoked out and I reached for the kid, another black-eyed son of a bitch nearly strangled me to death."
Castiel seemed to consider Dean's words.
"That's really odd. Very...unheard of."
"How about the Devil's gate? Did you guys close it?"
"We did. We do not know for sure what could have escaped before we were able to, though."
"That's peachy," Dean said with sarcasm.
Castiel frowned and Dean just shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.
"We've got to pay attention to what happens next," the angel finally said.
"A Devil's gate, humans with powers and a double possession? Yeah, we better pay attention or we'll be toast."
Dean's cell phone started ringing and he reached across the couch to pick it up from the small table he used as a nightstand.
Castiel stood before the hunter as he looked at the phone and frowned.
"Is something wrong?" Castiel did not know a whole lot about humans, but he had already learned some particularities about the human before him. He looked troubled.
"It's a call from Saint Michael's Church in Kansas."
The two of them stared at each other as Dean ignored the call.
"Isn't it the church where your brother is?"
"Yeah."
"And you're not picking up?"
"No."
There was more staring.
"Why?" Castiel eventually asked.
"I'm busy," Dean said and started putting on his shoes.
"Do you have another case?"
"No…I'm going out. Nearly died today," Dean knew he was exaggerating a little. Or a lot, really. "I deserve to have some fun."
Castiel stared at him with a silent question.
"Are you coming?" Dean asked.
"No. I'll follow up on the Devil's gate thing. We need to know what sort of demons or other souls have escaped. Heaven is a bit chaotic right now."
"Fine. You do you, then. See you."
Castiel was already gone before Dean even finished speaking, so the hunter just shrugged, picked up his wallet and keys and left to one of the night bars in town.
~ * ~
The bar was crowded in the late evening. Dean moved around with ease, his eyes connecting with the eyes of different, attractive strangers. Nothing like a hook up to top off exorcising two demons.
Dean first laid eyes on the bartender who poured him his first drink. The twenty-five-year-old hunter knew the girl liked what she saw because her smile widened and her eyes lit up when their eyes met.
That'll be easy, he thought as he took a seat at the counter by the bar and drank.
The music was mostly nineties rock, and there were neon pink and blue signs flashing over the two pool tables where some of the people gathered around.
Dean tapped his fingers to the music and flirted with the girl behind the counter.
He could feel his excitement build, the expectation of pleasure growing inside him and making his body warm.
When the girl put her left hand on the counter and stared deeply into his eyes, Dean's flirty smirk fell.
"You're really fun and cute, but…" she tapped the ring on her finger with her thumb.
"Oh…" married. Really? She looks too young for that, he thought with disappointment. "Sorry."
"It's okay. I'm sorry if I wasted your time…"
"Nah…" Dean winked and smiled.
Inwardly, he sighed with dismay.
He checked his phone and saw one more missed call from the church.
His face looked unreadable as he stared at the cell phone for a while longer before letting it slide into his pocket again.
Dean then walked away from the bar and towards the pool tables, drink in hand.
As time went by and he played a game or two, he was accepting his fate—he would not get lucky tonight.
That was when he noticed a pair of light blue eyes fixed on him from a distance. Dean raised his eyes from the game and met the stranger's from across the pool table.
There was a glint in the young man's eyes that was nearly impossible to misinterpret.
Ahhh, Dean thought with delight. That was one of the advantages of hook ups between guys. It was usually a zero bureaucracy, straight to the point thing. Two dudes who just wanted to clean the pipes, no need for flirting or chatting anyone up first, no time to ask about someone's life and feign an interest when there was really just one thing that mattered.
Dean smiled back, his green eyes a little dark as he appreciated the sight of the young man. He seemed to be a bit younger than him and dressed the same way the college boys did when they came to bars. He had dark curly hair and those baby blue eyes that made Dean bite back a groan. Very, very pretty.
He finished the game, cashed in, and silently hinted at the back door. The young man followed him without the need to exchange words.
Outside the night was warm. The moment they walked out of the bar Dean pressed the boy to the door and ravished his mouth in the dim lit alley.
Dean Winchester had never really chosen a side when it came to pleasure. The warmth of someone's touch, their bodies pressed against him, their mouths connected to his, those were all the things that mattered.
His fingers raked through soft hair as he pulled the stranger's mouth into his and tasted it with his tongue. He could feel they were both hard after a few minutes of kissing, which was another advantage of hooking up with guys. It took more time and care to make it good for a girl—not that Dean didn't love the foreplay, he did very much. It was just that sometimes all he wanted was to get off and go back home.
Zero bullshit.
The guy reversed their positions and pressed Dean against the door. He gave him a lustful smile before dropping to his knees.
Oh, yeah, Dean thought as he helped open his buckle.
"Fuck," he groaned and his head bumped against the door when he felt the same mouth he'd kissed so thoroughly now working below his belly button.
Dean might not know a lot about the young man on his knees giving him head, but he knew it was not his first time doing it. His lips and tongue were unbelievably skilled.
"So good, babe."
Dean moaned and closed his fingers around the soft curls.
He felt his pleasure building fast. Every flick of the stranger's tongue against the pulsing vein under his shaft brought him closer. When the boy relaxed his throat muscles and took him all in, moaning around his sensitive tip, Dean's eyes fell shut and he his breath grew clipped.
He absolutely loved the feeling of pleasure building until he could taste the climax galloping unstoppably inside him.
The hunter's lips hung open and he bit back a groan when the pleasure exploded behind his eyes in a big, wet B—
~ * ~
—AM!
Sam woke up startled, heart racing.
The door to his room had just slammed shut. From his bed, he could hear the wind whistling loudly outside, causing the window above his bed to rattle.
He checked the alarm clock beside the bed—2 a.m.
Sam pushed the blankets off of himself and got off bed. He flicked the light switch on but nothing happened.
"Great," he whispered quietly and reached for a flashlight in the nightstand.
Sam made sure it had batteries and turned it on.
He then looked around the small room, stripped of any adornments.
There was nothing but his bed, a small wooden wardrobe, a nightstand where his Bible rested beside the clock, a small desk for him to read, and the crucifix above the window.
There was nothing unusual there, but since the storm was raging outside, Sam decided to go check whether all the windows and doors were properly closed in the clergy house.
He put a robe over his pajamas and left his room.
As he walked down the narrow corridor in the large, old structure, he couldn't help but think that it had one day been filled with young priests like himself, devoted to the Lord and their community. Now, Sam was the only one left.
It seemed like young people these days were way too distracted by technology and modern life to consider this sort of simple life devoted to God.
Not that the house was completely empty. On the largest room at the end of the corridor the bishop must be still sleeping.
Sam went closer to the door and listened for a moment, but it did not seem like Father Zachariah needed his help or had any sort of problem, so he chose not to knock and disturb him.
Instead, Sam headed back to his room after making sure no more doors would slam shut because of the wind and that all the windows were properly shut.
He was carefully making his way in the dim lit corridor when he had the eerie feeling that something—no, someone—was behind him. All hairs bristled at the back of his neck and his heart raced.
Sam dropped the flashlight when he turned around quickly, eyes adjusting to the darkness around the house.
"Who's there?" he asked into the dark corridor. His heart pounded in his chest.
There was nothing there, no sound, but Sam still felt something eerie.
He crouched and looked for the flashlight, but when he found it he realized it had cracked open and the batteries had rolled away.
"No," he whispered, hands fumbling around the floor in the dark to try and find the batteries.
Sam felt a gust of breath against the back of his neck and goosebumps broke all over his skin. A shiver went down his spine and Sam felt cold to the bone for a second or two.
He turned around and got up, then squeezed his eyes shut and closed his fingers into fists.
LIGHTS ON
When he opened his eyes again the entire house was bright. All the rooms had light coming from them, the kitchen at the other end of the hallway was also bright.
It's a coincidence, Sam thought quickly, heart still beating fast.
He looked around, there was absolutely nothing strange or out of place.
He was still inspecting the corridor when the door to the master bedroom opened a little.
"Sam? Is everything all right?" Zachariah's face could be seen in the slit opening.
"Y-yes. Yes, Father. It's just a storm," Sam said quickly.
"What happened to the lights?" The bishop asked in a voice pregnant with sleep.
"There was a blackout. It must have messed with the electricity. I'll have someone check in the morning," Sam spoke calmly, as if his body wasn't still stiff with tension.
"Oh, okay. Please turn off the lights before you go back to bed. It's late."
"I will, Father. Good night."
Zachariah studied him for another moment before disappearing back into his room. A second later the lights were out inside.
Sam exhaled heavily and started to turn off the lights in every room of the old and spacious clergy house.
When he was done, he stopped at the bathroom and splashed some water on his face before going back to his room.
He took off the robe and got back in bed still with the flashlight in his hand.
Sam realized he'd forgotten to get the batteries, but as they'd probably rolled over under some furniture, he would look for them in the morning.
He recalled the distressing feeling of something—someone—watching him and their damp breath against the back of his neck. He wanted to push the thought away, as well as the feeling it caused him, but it was hard. Sam's skin broke into goosebumps again.
When fear grabbed at his heart, Sam squeezed his fingers around the flashlight.
A beam of bright white light shone in the small bedroom.
Sam stared at the object and held his breath. He opened the bottom and saw it was empty. No batteries.
He shuddered.
He put the flashlight on the nightstand quickly and the beam of light went out.
It wasn't the first time something like that happened, neither was it the first time that Sam had to deal with the stab of guilt that assaulted him when it did.
The young priest picked up his chaplet from the first drawer and closed his eyes as the small beads slid past his fingers.
Sam Winchester had a lot of praying to do before he could find sleep again that night.
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tbc...