Castiel Playing Angel

As in the angel of the Lord Castiel from Supernatural playing the vampire with a conscience Angel from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 

Note most of this is NOT my work. It's just something I found that was so completely awesome I wanted to work on it.

Torn Apart

There's a feeling in the air when danger is near, a buzzing. The atmosphere is thicker and the littlest sounds stand out. That's the feeling Dean gets now, stupidly walking down a dingy alley late at night, with no weapons. It's the start of a shitty horror movie honestly. Being a hunter, being raised with and by hunters, Dean should know better. He had parked Baby by the shitty bar he'd planned to spend the entire night in. But something had drawn him away. He wasn't always thinking smart, but this choice had no thought in it. Only human instincts and morbid curiosity. Like slowing down while passing by a car crash.

That's not to say there were any tells something had happened or was even here to begin with. There were no sounds, no knocked-over trash cans, no movement out of the corner of his eye. It was more of a feeling that called Dean into the dark space. Kicking a can, Dean scans the area. The space was dully lit by a yellow lamp creating a hued, painted atmosphere. There were multiple turns to take that led through various alleys and doorways that led into abandoned houses no doubt inhabited by people with nowhere else to go. “Hello?” Dean called out. Yup, definitely a horror movie waiting to happen. And Dean's the dumb protagonist everyone wants to yell, ‘Get the hell out of there you idiot!’

There was a crunch behind him and Dean whipped around just in time to block a grab at him. Before Dean could get a proper look at his attacker, he was gripped tightly and thrown against the wall of the alleyway with superhuman strength. “Mother fucker-” is all Dean was able to gasp out before swiftly taking a knee to the stomach only to be grabbed again and forcibly lifted back to his height. Now with the new angle, Dean is able to get a somewhat better look at his attacker, a pale man with dark disheveled hair. He appeared to be around Dean's age, wearing a tan trench coat over a white dress shirt enveloped by a loosened tie, and what looked like black dress pants but it was too hard to see in the dark. A hand grabbed the hair on his nape and pulled backwards with alarming strength, exposing his neck. Despite Dean's attempts to throw the man -or vampire Dean assumes- off of him, the other man's arm pushed forcibly against him, keeping him pinned. The pull against his hair caused Dean's eyes to water, obscuring his vision. The man is mumbling something; his voice sounds wet and gravelly. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” He mumbles against Dean's exposed neck, which was wet from where the vampire had his lips against it.

“Fucking stop-” Is all Dean is able to huff, his airways constricted, before he feels a blinding pain. The rest of his sentence is turned into a panicked cry. The body pressed against his smushes itself closer as if he's trying to climb inside of Dean. Hot, thick liquid drips down his neck; blood.

Even in that moment Dean couldn't help feeling confused. Usually, vampires are cruel and unapologetic about their feeding off those they attack. With this one however, there's something off. Dean's vision is starting to get spotty; he finds his knees going weak. The arm forcing him into the wall relents and instead wraps around his waist, holding him up less forcibly and more gently. Remorseful even.

Dean hears a whimper at his throat, he feels the vibration against his neck, and he realizes the man is shaking. There's a slick sound and the teeth in his neck retract. His lips however remain, now kissing at the ravaged spot as if the wound is something to worship.

Dean groans, finding himself disoriented and too weak to shove back. He hears the man mumbling again, slightly louder, but his voice is even more destroyed and raspier than before. “I'm so sorry.” He whispers-almost groaning, his face squished against Dean's neck. “I'm so sorry.”

His words are coming out as inaudible whimpers now, and despite every bone in Dean's body telling him not to, Dean pities the man and the sheer grief in the man's voice. He chooses to ignore the arousal in his gut and what about this fucked up situation inspires it? The man's grip on Dean's hair is much looser now. Dean's head sags against the man's. Judging by the man's now crumbling form. Dean feels he can safely assume the vampire doesn't plan on hurting him any further, let alone killing him. If Dean wants to get away, now is the time.

Dean peers down at the vampire on his knees, his head slumped against Dean's pelvis. His shaking is only worse. Without the man's strength to hold him up, Dean slides down the wall against his back. Now they're at the same height, but Dean can't get a good look at his ducked face. For a minute Dean just sits there and watches. He can't bring himself to get up and run, he's too weak.

If the vampire decides he doesn't want any witnesses, Dean would be fucked. Judging by the way all Dean wants to do right now is run his fingers through the man's hair and ask him ‘what's wrong?’ He must already be. What the hell is wrong with him? Instead, Dean lifts his hands to the man's obscured face and cradles it.

The man flinches at the contact.

Dean frowns.

“Shh, Shh.” He shushes as he lifts his head and moves his hair so he can get a better look at the man. His eyes are vividly blue, wet and pleading. His face is covered in blood, smeared all around the bottom half of his face. They stay like that, looking into each other's eyes for several moments. Dean drags his thumb over the man's bloody lips and he quivers. “Are you okay?” He questions gently. The man jerkily nods, still looking into Dean's eyes. “What's your name?”

The man licks his lips nervously several times before answering. “Castiel.”

“My name's Dean. Do you know what you are, Castiel?” Dean figures he must be freshly turned. He might not even know what's going on or why.

“A vampire.” 

Scratch that, apparently, he does know. Castiel's awareness only makes the situation that much more odd. Dean tries a smile.

"Well Castiel do you need a place to stay?” The man, for in That moment Dean thought of him as a man, stared at him, uncomprehending. "We both need to get out of here, preferably without being seen. Come on, I'll take you to my place."

Despite being the one with the bleeding gash in his neck, Dean found himself half-carrying Castiel into his motel room. Castiel fell into the metal dining chair, dazed. Dean let him sit there quietly while he went into the bathroom for the first aid kit. Deciding running away was the only thing his bizarre guest would have been inclined to, he tended to his wounds in front of the bathroom mirror, cleaning and wrapping his wound as efficiently and effectively as if it had been his whole profession. He returned to the living room to find Castiel staring at him, his eyes hollow and sad. "If you're going to kill me, just give me a quick death." Dean was floored. Not at the request as much as the realization he wasn't even considering what should have been a common sense course of action. “I know you're a hunter. I know your kind. But please, kill me and be done with it.”