Dean snuck up to the abandoned lot, gun held at the ready. Inside he could hear loud, chanting voices. It sounded like they old Latin spells. Fantastic.
Outside, thunder cracked and lit up his path. A nasty storm was rolling in but Dean couldn't back out now. After all, he'd fought monsters in worse weather. He had one shot at this so he couldn't fuck it up now. This was supposed to be an easy hunt, just a couple of back ally, lowlife witch bitches that thought they could become full-blooded witches. Their magic was which was how he and Sam had found this case in the first place. The witches had been curing some of the local men around town for no apparent reason. A few of the men had died suddenly in their homes while others just disappear without a trace.
Sam had been the one to find the case. They had taken a pit stop of the cost of California to wash up and refuel the Impala. While he waited for Dean to finished, Sam had snagged a local paper to peruse. By the time Dean had returned and was ready to hit the road again, Sam had found the article about the missing men.
They were close enough to case that it took them only a few hours to reach the town. After Sam had done some more research, they learned that twelve men from the same town disappeared in under a week. That still left them to figure out what exactly they were hunting. Once they had checked into a dinky motel, they set out to question the wives of a few of the victims. It only took one interview to figure out what they were hunting. As Dean questioned the first victim's wife, Sam had come up with a hex bag tucked away under a bathroom sink. Hex bags could only mean one thing. They were dealing with witches. After interviewing a few more of the women, they found even more hex bags.
Dean hadn't been all too pleased when he realized that they were hunting witches. Dean remembered muttering to Sam, "Witches? Really? I fucking hate witches." Of all the creatures they had to be facing, it was gross, disgusting witches. They were at the very bottom of the list when it came to things that Dean liked to hunt. He certainly wasn't planning on joining any witch fan clubs anytime soon. That was for sure.
Unfortunately for him and Sam, the witch was a lot harder to find than they had expected. It seemed like the closer they got to finding them; the more people seemed to vanish.
After almost a week with no major breakthroughs on the case, they finally had to call in some reinforcements. At this point, they were just running in circles. They needed some angelic assistance to track this sneaky witch down. Once Cas had arrived, Sam and Dean had quickly caught Cas up to speed on the situation. Cas was more than happy to help and flew off to track down some new leads for them. Within the hour Cas had returned and informed them that the victims who vanished, weren't being killed. Instead, the witch was sending those victims to an island offshore, leaving them there to suffer and starve in a cave. Apparently, the cave had some pretty sketchy angelic and demonic warding around it, so Cas hadn't been able to rescue any of the stranded men. He had also found out a place where the witch might be hiding out. The building had very similar warding so they could only assume that it had been done by the same person. After that, Cas had flown off and let him and Sam finish up the job.
So, that's where they were now. Sam was on his way to that cave to save the men, while Dean was stuck taking out the witch.
Dean had lost at rock paper scissor, so Dean got stuck killing the witch. Sam had just smirked when Dean threw scissors –like always- and had informed him that he'd be the one hunting the witch down. Sam, on the other hand, got the easy part and went off to save the missing men. Hopefully, this went by quickly. Dean was beginning to doubt that thought. It sounded like there were more than one sets of voice chanting inside. They had only been anticipating there being only one witch, maybe too, but Dean realized that maybe they had been underestimating that.
"I shoulda fucking picked paper," Dean griped under his breath, "How the fuck does a rock beat scissors?"
Dean continued to mumble under his breath as he crept over to the front door. He grimaced in disgust at the old, rotten door that was practically falling off its hinges. The whole building looked like it was going to fall over at the slightest gust of wind. At least it was going to be easy to get in.
Dean took a deep breath, steadying his gun before the power kicked the door. The wooden door splintered and crumbled under his foot falling inwards and giving Dean quick access to the building's tattered interior. Following the loud crashing of the door, there was a series of loud, high-pitched shrieks from the witches hiding inside. When Dean found the witches, he froze in shock. There were at least ten women huddled around an altar. There were way more witches than he had been expecting.
"Son of a Bitch," Dean muttered.
Dean shook off his moment of hesitation and leaped into action. He really didn't want to be turned into a toad or something. Dean lifted his gun and aiming at the witches closest to him. Within moments Dean had fired off three shots in succession, leaving three of the women dead where they fell, a bullet wound right over their hearts.
As Dean turned to fire off some more rounds, two other witches jumped on him. They knocked the gun out of his hand and sent it skittering into a corner as Dean fell hard onto the floor.
As he regained his bearings, Dean grunted, "Take this bitch," as he punched one of the women in the nose. She reeled back to clutch at her face, freeing Dean's hand just long enough for him to grab the blade that he had stashed in his belt. He always had backup weapons stashed in various easy to access places. Better safe than sorry.
With a quick, practiced motion, Dean drew his knife across one witches neck and stabbed the other in the chest. "Get the fuck off of me," Dean spat as he pushed a lifeless body off of him. Clumsily, Dean staggered to his feet and turned towards the five remaining five witches. They were all still huddled around the altar, still chanting softly.
"Mother fucker," Dean swore. Whatever hoodoo they were performing must be some pretty serious stuff if they were more focused on finishing the spell than killing him. Dean glared at the women and snarled, "Set your priorities straight bitches."
He charged at the women, knife in hand, ready to break up the little magic party. Before he could reach the altar, three of the women moved away from the hoodoo table and tried to stop Dean.
When the first woman came near, Dean swung and missed. Then he was forced to duck down to avoid being beaten upside the head with a lamp. Witch number two managed to get the upper hand on as he tried to avoid the lamp. She sent Dean flying backward, crashing headfirst into a coffee table behind him. The wooden table collapsed under Dean's weight, knocking the wind out of him as he fell. Meanwhile, the three witches advanced trying to get him while he was dazed. Dean tried to clear the pain-induced fog from his mind so he could fight. There was blood trickling down his face and dripping into his eyes. He could taste coppery blood filling his mouth from where his lip had split.
When one of the witches dared to get closer to Dean, he spat at her, covering her face in a light spatter of blood. Then as she wiped at her face, Dean kicked out hard, his foot connecting with her chest. She let out a yelp of pain, arms flailing as she was launched backward from the force of Dean's kick. This distracted the other witches long enough for Dean to stand back up. Fueled by adrenaline, Dean elbowed witch number three in the face. She crumpled on impact, losing consciousness as she hit the ground. That just left one more witch gunning for him while the other two tried to recover. Dean bent quickly and grabbed the knife he had dropped. In a swift, precise motion that came from years of experience, Dean swung his arm and plunged the blade directly into the third witch's heart. She gasped in shock, eyes wide as she looked at the blade that now protruded from her chest. Seconds, later, Dean watched the light fade from her eyes. He let her lifeless body fall to the ground as he turned his attention to the last two witches.
However, he hadn't noticed that the witch he kicked in the chest had recovered until she launched herself at Dean. She used the element of surprise to send Dean crashing into a wall. The weight of her falling on top of Dean was enough to knock the wind out of him. His face throbbed with pain, making stars dance before his eyes as even more blood pooled down his face.
With great effort, Dean mustered up his strength and threw the witch off of him. As Dean pushed her aside, his phone began to buzz in his pocket.
"Gonna have to wait, Sammy," Dean muttered under his breath, choosing to ignore the familiar sound of his ringtone.
Dean lunged forward and stabbed the unconscious witch in the chest before she could regain consciousness. Then he turned towards the witch who had tackled him. She was resilient, recovering faster than Dean expected. The witch flew at him, her sharp fingernails clawing him in the face and scraping his skin. He gasped out in pain and surprise but managed to grab a fist full of her dark, thick hair and pulled upwards violently. She began shrieking loudly, her hands scrabbling to get her hair free from Dean's grasp. Her screams soon turned wet and gargled gasps for air as Dean slit her throat. As her struggled weakened, Dean released her hair letting both her blood-soaked body fall to the ground with a sickening thud.
Behind him, he heard the last two witches swear darkly.
"Had enough yet?" Dean asked, turning now to face them. He was sure that he looked deranged, blood coating his body from head to foot and an utterly murderous look in his eyes.
The witches didn't answer; instead, they gave each other a quick glance and smirked before waving their hands to send him flying backward again. Dean's arm made a sickening snap as it smashed full force into a large bookshelf. The pain that shot up his arm caused him to let out a loud, gasping, scream.
"Fuck," Dean yelled as he clutched his now broken arm.
Dean was crumpled in himself, fighting through the pain that was engulfing his body. Meanwhile, the witches went back to ignoring Dean and started chanting over their bloody alter again. In pain induced haze, Dean spotted his gun an inch from his good arm. He quickly reached out for it, cocked it back and firing –a little unsteadily- towards the two remaining witches. By some miracle, Dean shot the first one right between the eyes and she fell to the floor, eyes wide and glassy.
Then he turned his gun to aim at the final witch, seconds away from shooting her too when she hissed, "You'll pay for this Winchester."
Then, she lit a match and dropped it into the altar. The altar ignited just as Dean shot a bullet directly through her heart. Her body fell to the floor with her fallen counterparts, as the altar erupted in flames. The altar shone bright, burning hot enough that Dean could feel the fire burning at his skin. He shielded his face from the heat as he rushed over to try and destroy the altar. However, before he even got close to it, the flames were already dying down, leaving a steaming pile of burnt wood and melted metal in its wake.
Dean let out a weary sigh; there was nothing he could do about that now. So instead, he and set about to cleaning up the mess. He couldn't just leave all these bodies here to rot. Someone would find them sooner or later, and the Winchesters didn't need to deal with law enforcement again. When someone did find the bodies, Dean wanted to be sure that he and Sam were far away from here.
Forty-five minutes later, the room was as clean as it would ever be -not that it was in very good shape to begin with-. He had somehow managed to drag all the bodies into the back yard, putting them in a pile so he could burn their bodies.
He had a shovel in the back of his car to dig a grave for the witches, but he wouldn't be able to do much with his arm in this condition. "Damn witches broke my arm," he grumbled as he pulled out his Zippo. He poured some lighter fluid onto the bodies, added some salt for good measure, then threw his lit Zippo into the mess. Dean stood there for a few minutes, watching the witch's burn. The flames crackled as the bottom finally dropped, and rain began to fall around him. It looked like the storm had finally arrived. Soon after, Dean retreated back inside and grabbed the rest of his gear. It was time to turn tail and get out of here before someone saw the smoke and called the fire department.
As the adrenaline from the hunt faded, Dean realized just how much he hurt and how bone tired he really was. His mind seemed to be moving in a fog, and the pain in his arm fought to be the center of his attention. Dean limped into the front yard; wind howling as leaves flew from their trees and tore through the neighborhood. By the time Dean made it back to the Impala, the rain had soaked him down to his underwear. The car ride back to the motel was going to suck.
"I'm so sorry baby," Dean murmured as he pulled open the car door of his '67 Chevy Impala. He sat down quickly and pulled the door shut behind him, trying to prevent even more water from getting into his car. Dean could feel water dripping down his skin and start to puddle on the seats. He winced and patted his steering wheel as an apology.
Then, Dean revved up the engine with his good arm, before suddenly remembering that Sam had called him. He knew his brother was going to go out of his mind with worry if Dean didn't call back soon. Dean groaned and shifted as he struggled to reach for his phone. He quickly found that his efforts had been in vain. Dean's phone had been smashed at some point during the fight and was now utterly useless to him.
"Fuck," Dean swore under his breath. He threw the phone into the passenger seat glaring back at the abandoned house one last time. Through the rain, he could just barely see the smoke from the bodies rising over the house. Maybe no one would notice it until the next morning.
As Dean shifted the car into drive, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right. He felt a strange tingling in his feet, but ignored the feeling and blamed it on the adrenaline. He just needed a hot shower and some sleep. He was just ready to get out of here.
Pulling away, Dean swore that the feeling of foreboding seemed to follow him.
~~~
About ten minutes later, Dean was stopped at a stop light. The quiet in the car was eery and made Dean focus on the pain that seemed to radiate from his whole body. He flipped on the radio in hopes of distracting himself from the thought in his mind. Dean knew he needed to get off the road and back to the motel quickly. He could feel the onset of a concussion from when he had smashed into the wall. Sam was going to flip when he got back and saw the condition that Dean was in. Dean knew he was in pretty bad shape right now. All he wanted to do now was drink himself stupid, have Cas patch him up, and take a long well-deserved nap.
When the sign for their shitty motel finally shone at Dean through the rain-filled sky, Dean sighed in relief. As Dean drove closer to the motel, he saw Sam standing outside waiting for him. He was soaking wet and had a look of utter panic on his face. Sam must have heard the engine and rushed out here and fast as he could. As Dean parked the car, Sam rushed over to the side of the car and wrenched open the door.
"What the hell man! I called you! What happened?" Sam demanded, worry filling his voice.
"Slow down Sammy," Dean said with a pained smile. Everything was moving slowly as Dean garbled, "Help me out here would ya."
Sam's voice was overflowing with worry and concern. "What's happened, Dean?"
He helped Dean step gingerly out of the car. Steadying him as his Dean swayed slightly.
"We're gonna have to call Cas. Damn witches broke my arm," Dean slurred.
"Are you drunk or do you have a concussion?" Sam asked as his brow furrowed with underlying panic. He led Dean quickly through the rain to their motel room.
"Not drunk..." he mumbled, "I'm sober as I'll ever be."
As they reached the door, Dean stumbled, almost falling into the door frame. He yelped in pain as his broken arm jerked suddenly. Once the pain dulled again, Dean added, "I think I'm gonna need a drink though."
"Fuck," Sam swore, "Yeah, pretty sure you have a concussion."
Dean smacked his lips together and mumbled, "Yeah... probably, I don't really care though."
Nothing seemed to be making much sense to Dean anymore. He was starting to have a hard time figuring out what was real and what wasn't real. Stars were sparkling in front of his eyes as Sam quickly led Dean to the dingy motel bed and helped him sit down.
"Dean where's your phone?" Sam asked quickly.
"Smashed," Dean replied as he started to see double. He was really surprised how he made it home without promptly crashing into a tree. It had to be because he was a badass. That was the only explanation Dean could come up with.
"Damn it, Dean," Sam scoffed in frustration. Then he pulled out his own phone and called Cas. Dean was already zoned out becoming more and more confused. All he knew at the moment was that both his arm hurt and his head hurt. Actually, his whole body kinda hurt. Not to mention that the tingles in his feet were starting to spread all over now. These tingles weren't the good "post orgasm tingle" or the magic fingers tingling either, something was wrong.
Everything started to sound distance to him. He barely heard Sam's panicked voice on the phone as he spoke to Cas. When Cas appeared second, or maybe days later, Dean was entirely unfazed. He had lost track of time, and barely heard the distinct flapping sound of Castiel's wings as he entered the room.
Suddenly, his head became as clear, and pressure he didn't know had built up started to ebb away. As his eyes came back into focus, Dean realized that Cas had two fingers placed on his forehead to heal the concussion. As the pain in his head subsided, he became even more aware of the pain everywhere else. Dean hadn't realized just how much his concussion had blurred out the rest of his pain.
Dean heard Cas saying, "It's a good thing you called me Sam. He had dangerous levels of internal bleeding in his head. It was causing his brain to swell and putting immense pressure on his skull. If you had taken him to a hospital, he most likely would have gone into a coma and died within the hour."
Sam sighed shaking his head in disbelief. "Thanks for coming to patch him up Cas," Sam said gratefully, clapping once Castiel on the shoulder.
"Huh... who knew you could die from your brain being too big," Dean commented. Then smirked and added, "Looks like your gonna have to dumb down there a bit Sammy. Your brain might get too big and explode on you."
"Shut up jerk," Sam snorted with an amused look on his face. "It looks like he's back."
"Bitch," Dean snapped back on instinct.
Castiel looked confused and said, "Dean, I don't think varying levels of intelligence causes the brain expand."
Dean shook his head in disbelief. "It was a joke Cas," Dean tried to explain.
"Oh... well, I don't really see the humor in that," Cas commented, which made Sam start to snicker behind his hand.
Dean sighed, "Never mind Cas. Do you think could use some of your angel mojo on my arm and maybe make it, well I dunno, not broken?"
"Of course Dean my apologies," Cas said as he leaned forward and placed his fingers back on Dean's forehead. A warm numbing sensation passed through Dean's body, making him shudder slightly. Dean could feel his arm mending itself as the various gashed across his body also began to fade. He knew he would still have some soreness and bruising in the morning, but that was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.
Dean flexed his mended arm, relishing in the fact that he could move it painlessly now. When Dean looked up, he noticed that Castiel's brow was furrowed in uncertainty and confusion. Before Dean could ask Castiel what was wrong, the expression vanished and his face became emotionless as stone once again.
Even after the emotion had been wiped away, Dean still found himself watching Castiel's face. His endless blue eyes were captivating to Dean. They seemed like they were peering deep into Dean's dark, twisted soul. Those shiny ancient orbs made Dean want to confess every horrible part of himself. As his eyes continued to roam across Castiel, his attention was soon directed towards his tousled and windblown hair. If anything, the messy hairstyle made Cas appear even more attractive. Dean was straight though; he never had an interest in guys. Somehow, Cas always seemed to have a different effect on Dean, but he couldn't figure out why. Was there such a thing as Cas-sexual?
'Nope, stop right there,' Dean thought to himself, stopping his thought in their tracks.
Dean liked chicks and boobs. Not dick. He was not going to go there. That was one of those dark parts of Dean's mind that he swore he'd never visit. He wasn't really sure what he'd find if he tried to explore that thought any further.
Dean blinked himself back into reality as Cas removed his hand from Dean's forehead.
"Thanks, man," Dean said gruffly, clearing his throat and keeping his gaze locked on the ground.
"Anytime, I'm here whenever you are in need of my assistance Dean," Cas replied.
Dean nodded slowly, the turned to Sam and asked, "So how'd it go with the kinky witch torture dungeon?" Dean asked curiously with a smirk.
"It wasn't that kind of dungeon Dean," Sam said rolling his eyes.
"Bet you wish it was," Dean said with a suggestive wink.
"Do you want me to tell you about it or not?" Sam retorted sharply. It seemed like his patience had completely run out for the night.
"Oohh touchy are we?" Dean commented.
Sam's only reply was that legendary bitch face of his. Dean was a pro at getting Sam to make the bitch face. However, Dean knew that if he didn't shut his trap and let Sam talk, he would get the silent treatment for the rest of the night. That thought wasn't too appealing at the moment, so he just rolled his eyes and caked on the sarcasm as he grumbled, "Alright, alright, I'll shut up. Please continue. I would love to hear your enthralling story."
Sam heard the sarcasm in Dean's voice, so he flipped Dean off and threw him another bitch face, but he started his story anyways.
"You wouldn't believe how hard it was to find a boat to get to that island," Sam complained, "Especially because of that storm on the horizon. When I was finally able to get to the island, I was found all of the missing men strung up on these really old and nasty looking medieval tables. They were all starved half to death and cut up pretty badly. They'll all survive, but I'd say their egos took a hit."
Dean interrupted Sam and said, "Ha, I knew it was a kinky thing!"
"Stop it, Dean. It didn't say it was a kinky thing! There was nothing sexual about it. The witch kinda just strung all these men up to strip them of their pride. But, anyways, the men were completely naked when I found them, which I, unfortunately, had to find out the hard way..."
Dean snorted while Castiel sat down on the bed across from Dean. Under his breath, Dean whispered, "That's what she said."
Sam shot Dean a look, but ignore the comment and continued, "The witch were using black magic to punish the men who had disrespected the women in the past. Let just say I don't wanna cross the woman who did this." Sam shuttered as he spoke.
Dean made a face of horror and instinctively moved his hand to protect his own manhood. He didn't even want to think about the kind of things that those witches could dream up as punishments. Dean was sure that it was nothing pretty.
After a moment Sam continued his story, "Once they thought that the men had taken enough torture to make up for their wrongdoings the witches would kill them by cutting off their head with a machete."
"Well damn, that's... dramatic," Dean commented. Then he smirked and added, "Sounds like those witches really liked getting a lot of head then."
"Seriously, Dean," Sam was glaring at Dean with a no-nonsense look on his face. "Can you stop with the sex jokes already?"
"Is someone on their man-period this week?" Dean asked with a smirk.
"Fuck you, Dean," Sam grumbled as he threw a dirty sock in Dean's direction.
"Guess that answers my question then," Dean commented as he easily dodged the sock.
"Is all this bickering really necessary?" Castiel asked them absent-mindedly.
Immediately, both Sam and Dean shut up. Cas was right. There really was no point to their arguments. The two of them were just tired and worn out which made their tolerance levels drop significantly.
In the silence, Dean noticed that the strange tingling sensation had returned. He could feel it all over his body now. Dean tried to tell himself that it was just because he was bone tired from everything that had gone on tonight. It had been a long night, but at least the witches had got what was coming to them. Dean had done his job, and he was ready to get some sleep.
"Are you alright Dean?" Sam asked suddenly with a look of concern.
"Uh... Yeah, I'm fine Sammy just tired that's all," Dean answered slowly. Sam must have seen something shift in his expression.
Sam looked like he was gonna push the matter further but decided to drop it much to Dean's relief. Instead, Sam asked "So how did your fight go tonight. It looks like some backup might have benefited you."
"Nah I was fine Sammy," Dean replied. Then he began to explain the details about his scuffle with the witches.
Once he had finished his story, Sam said "Ten witches? What the hell? There was only supposed to one!"
"I know! Believe me, I was just as surprised as you," Dean replied, scratching his head. Then he added, "They seemed pretty damn determined to finish their hoodoo spells though."
"What kind of spell were they performing?" Castiel asked suddenly looking up.
"Hell if I know," Dean said with a shrug. "Maybe they were casing their next victims? The spell didn't seem to do anything. At least they're dead now, so I don't really give a rat's ass about what the spell was for."
Castiel pursed his lips and fell silent. It looked like Cas wanted to ask more, but Sam spoke before Cas could say anything else.
"What if there are repercussions Dean? Whatever spell they were doing could have been aimed at you," Sam said with a look of worry on his face.
"Pshh I'm sure it was nothing," Dean said, trying to casually brush off Sam's comment as he stood to get a drink. He didn't want to let on that he had been asking himself the same questions all night. So Dean just said, "I feel fine anyways."
"Yeah, okay..." Sam agreed with a slight hesitation in his voice. "It's still kinda odd though."
Dean grabbed a beer from their shitty motel fridge and opened it with a quick twist of the cap. He took a long swig from the bottle, relishing the familiar taste as it slides down his parched throat. Then, Dean grabbed two more beers and passed them to Sam and Cas.
As he sat back on the edge of the bed, Dean sighed and said, "Yeah but 'odd' comes with the job description. Besides, witches are fucking nuts man. They're crazy bitches, the whole lot of them."
Cas and Sam couldn't help but agree with Dean. Witches were horrible to deal with, but at least they could move onto a better case. Hopefully, nothing else with witches would show up again for a while.
~~~
As it got later, the dried blood and dirt covering Dean's face began to itch uncomfortably. This meant that it was about time for him to take a shower. There was no way he was going to fall asleep like this. He felt gross. Dean stood up as he polished off his third bottle of beer. Then, Dean ducked silently into the bathroom to get washed up.
Once in the bathroom, Dean made sure to lock the door. Sam had pranked Dean far too many times to trust him with an unlocked door. Of course, a locked door would keep Cas out because he could teleport, but he doubted Cas would want to appear in a room with a naked Dean Winchester. So Dean wasn't too concerned about Cas barging in. It wasn't as if Dean had ever fantasized about that before... the two of them naked... in a steaming hot shower, bodies pressed tightly against each other. The wall at his back, the two of them grinding, pulling and- Dean shook his head and quickly changed his train of thought. He tried to ignore the obvious interest that his cock taken in his thoughts of Cas. That really hadn't been the plan.
To distract himself, Dean hurriedly turned on the shower and grabbed a towel. Motel showers often took a few minutes to heat up, so Dean passed the time by stripping and moving in front of the sink mirror to examine himself.
There was blood caked to the side of his head and on his shoulders. Seeing blood on his face was no shock to him anymore. Dean and Sam had both become used to it. It was something that hunters learned to live with. Dean absently rubbed at the dried blood and watched it flake easily away from his skin. His short dirty blond hair was now stained red, and large chunks of hair were sticking together, spiking up at odd angles, the blood holding it in place.
He lifted his arm, which was still slightly stiff from where it had been broken, and ran his fingers through his hair, breaking through the tangles. His other hand drifted down lower, brushing down his stomach until the tips of his fingers grazed a line along his semi-hard cock. His tingling body suddenly shuttered with pleasure. This was what he needed to blow off that extra stress. Dean curled his fingers around his cock and dredged up the faces of a few women he remembered from his favorite skin mags. In seconds Dean's cock was at full mast. His breath was coming in shallow puffs as shivers of pleasure coursed up and down his spine.
The air around him soon began to feel sticky and humid. He opened his eyes and looked around the steam filled room; he hadn't even realized that his eyes had shut in the first place. When Dean looked back into the mirror, his face was blurred in the reflection; fog from the steamy shower had collected on the cool glass. Dean knew he needed to actually get in the shower before the hot water ran out. That was the last thing Dean needed right now.
When the hot spray hit Dean's back, he let out an audible moan. The steaming water dripped through his hair and down to his toes. It warmed him to the bone and helped to relax his tense muscles.
He quickly lathered his hair with soap and scrubbed at the matted strands. Thick clumps of blood came loose, sticking to his finger and collecting in the drain. The water at his feet ran red as Dean cleaned himself. He left his cock, aching and hard as he washed away the day's filth. He would focus on that after he was clean. Meanwhile, Dean rubbed at his arms to rid them of grime. He even tried to get some of the dirt out from under his nails, but he gave up on that pretty quickly.
When Dean felt clean again, he finally dropped his fingers down to linger near his cock. His dick jumped in anticipation and sent a renewed feeling of bliss through Dean's body. Dean needed a release; he was practically aching for it.
He slicked up his hand with shampoo and started stroking himself slowly but firm. At first, he pictured those beautiful women, their big full breasts, and their sweet luscious lips. Dean envisioned their wide hips swinging as they walked towards him. Dean chewed on his lip as he tried to picture how their smooth, warm hands would stroke along his body, the way they would grip at his dick, their tongue licking languidly up his length.
Suddenly, his thoughts shifted. One of the girls in his daydream had dark black hair and electric blue eyes that were strangely familiar. He went with the picture, imagining the woman worshiping his body. Then before he could stop himself, the image shifted and instead of a beautiful woman in front of him, it was Cas.
Castiel's strong firm hands gripping Dean's length confidently. His mouth stretched wide around him, tasting him and moaning in pleasure. Dean fell back against the shower wall, not caring about how disgusting the shower wall probably was. His legs felt like jelly as he let the daydream run rampant. He was more turned on that he had been in a long time. His cock was practically weeping with precome now. The shower washed away all the evidence, stealing away Dean's dirty fantasies and sending them down the drain.
Dean was jerking his cock faster now, running his fingers along the vein underneath and teasing his slit. He could feel the tension building in his body and the fire pooling in his gut.
Dean imagined Cas peppering his neck with soft sweet kisses and sucking softly at his smooth skin. He thought of Cas sinking his teeth into Dean's flesh and marking him, claiming him with love bites and hickeys. Dean could taste blood in his mouth, as he bit down too hard on his lip. He forced himself to hold back the little gasps and moans that tried to fight their way up his throat.
He could feel the pressure building quickly and knew he was close, his hand speeding up now. In his mind, Dean could see Cas, kneeling before him, placing a hot wet kiss on Dean's tip, and that did it for Dean. His head fell back against the shower wall, as his cock shot out sticky strings of come. With each pulse, Dean felt a renewed wave of bliss roll through him. Strings of cum clung to the wall, slowly running down the tiled surface. Dean watched it as his heart pounded in his chest. His breath was coming in short ragged gasps as he fought to stay upright. Every time Dean closed his eyes; he could see Castiel's face etched into his eyelids. Dean felt boneless when the lingering shockwaves finally subsided. Dean wanted to sink to the floor and just sit there forever.
Instead, Dean thought of the bed waiting for him in the other room, so he took a final heavy breath and quickly washed away all the evidence. Now that he was coming down from his high, Dean tried to swallow the guilt building in his chest. Dean couldn't believe that he had gotten off to the thought of his best friend, who was probably still sitting in the other room. What kind of sick fuck did shit like that?
'What the fuck is wrong with me?' Dean scolded himself. He wasn't gay, or bi, or Cas-sexual or whatever the fuck his mind tried to classify this as. He was fucking straight -or so he was trying to convince himself-. Dean knew he was the worst type of person.
When Dean finally managed to dull his guilt, along with his bubbling self-hatred he reached out and turned off the water. Wrapping a towel around his waist, Dean stepped back into the motel room so he could get dressed.
When he opened the door, Dean found that the lights had been turned out. Sam was already asleep, snoring softly in his bed. Castiel had apparently flown off somewhere, so he didn't really have to worry about facing Cas tonight. Dean wasn't sure he'd be able to look Cas in the eye after what he had just done, but at least he could avoid that for now.
Dean let out a defeated walked to his duffle. He dressed quickly then practically fell into the lumpy, old, motel bed. It wasn't the best bed he had ever slept on, but it certainly wasn't his worst either. Right now, the bed felt soft as a cloud to Dean. Once he got comfortable, it didn't take long for his heavy eyes to slip shut.
As he drifted off, Dean started to feel disconnected from his body. His tired limbs felt awkward and heavy, almost like they didn't belong to him anymore. Slowly, Dean rolled onto his stomach and hiked the blankets higher up around him. He could still feel that same strange tingling sensation from earlier. It had picked up slightly in intensity, but it wasn't enough to make Dean worry. It felt similar to a gentle ticking running from head to toe.
Dean's mind was too far gone to care. He burrowed his face deep into the motel pillow and tucked his hand under the pillow where he kept his gun.
Moments later, Dean fell asleep to the sound of Sam's heavy breathing and the security of cold, solid metal underneath his fingertips.