Horror High: Chapter Seven

[vanimadin]

Title: Horror High

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit (in other chapters)

Warnings: Sex, Violence

Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid—newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.

Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.

Notes: I feel like at 40,000+ words I should have more feedback than I do and I’m not… sure… what I’m doing wrong. Because no one is telling me. Is it just because it’s top!Dean and bottom!Cas? It it because I’m a new author to SPN fandom? Is the writing shit? I thought HH was pretty decent but now I’m beginning to wonder. Then again I think the fandom landscape has also changed a lot in the last couple of years since I was last really active. Maybe leaving kudos and comments is just a thing of the past? Who even knows. Hmm. idk idk idk.

Anyway, for those of you who ARE reading and enjoying HH, thanks and I hope you like this chapter, too! This chapter can be read HERE ON AO3 AS WELL. New chapter next Thursday/Friday as usual. <3

HORROR HIGH
Chapter Seven
By Senashenta

Cas had assumed that things between him and Dean would… change, somehow, after Dean stayed overnight at his house. And they did, a little, just not in the Earth-shattering way he had privately feared they might.

Suddenly they were just… closer. There was more intimacy between them. Dean was even more attentive than he had been before. They both seemed to crave physical contact even more than they already had, even just the simple things, like brushing their hands together on the way past, or sitting close against each other’s sides at lunch.

And it was obvious to more than just them. Sam noticed, certainly, and made sarcastic comments whenever the three of them were together, not that that was to be unexpected.

And even Charlie—

“Oh my God, I just figured it out!”

Cas had been staring off into space, thoughts on Dean as per usual, when Charlie’s voice jolted him back to reality. He blinked and looked at her. She was twisted around in her seat, the same as always, her elbow on Cas’s desk and her chin propped in her hand, but this time she also had a mischievous grin on her face. That was never a good sign.

“Uh. What did you figure out, Charlie?” He questioned almost hesitantly.

“What’s different about you!” Charlie chirped, and then; “you totally slept with him, didn’t you?”

“What.” Cas didn’t deny it immediately, which was probably a mistake on his part. Instead, he flushed red and frowned in her direction. “Charlie!”

The redhead gasped and grinned, “oh my God, you actually did!” She turned around in her seat even more to cross her arms over Cas’s desk and looked at him expectantly, “tell me everything.”

And, granted, Charlie was his best friend. And he might have been willing to actually tell her—if they hadn’t been in the middle of class. So instead, Cas gave her a look and told her flatly, “no. We’re in class, Charlie.”

“Well, that’s…” Charlie began, then trailed off and looked around at all the other students before conceding, “right, I take your point.” She patted one hand against his desk, “I am going to text you tonight and you are going to answer, okay?”

Cas couldn’t really argue with that too much, because for Charlie this was being exceedingly reasonable. He loved Charlie, he really did, but sometimes she didn’t have a lick of common sense in her entire body. At least this time she was willing to let it go for the time being—and Cas was much more willing to share some of the details she craved over a private chat later.

Why she wanted to know about his sex life in the first place was beyond him.

“Can you at least tell me if things are good?” Charlie asked after a brief pause. She offered him a real, genuine smile this time, the mischievousness gone, “it seems like they’re good.”

This time Cas had to smile in return, small and smitten and a little embarrassed, “they’re good.” He promised. “Really good.”

Charlie reached over to squeeze his hand, a genuine, friendly gesture. “I’m happy for you, Cas.”

“Mm,” Cas agreed, “I am too.” For once.

--
--

[Okay, spill the deets, Cas.]

Cas checked his phone when it buzzed just after eight-thirty that night, while he was working on homework in his bedroom—and sighed. He’d almost forgotten about Charlie’s promise to text him. And his not-quite promise to reply. But clearly Charlie hadn’t forgotten, obviously. It was probably a miracle she had waited until this late to message him, now that he thought about it.

He tapped his pen against his notebook absently for a moment before picking up his phone to text back:

[Why do you even want to know?]

Honestly, Charlie was a lesbian and very out, and he didn’t understand why she would be interested in knowing about his sex life, aside from the fact that she sometimes had a preoccupation with the mystery of Dean Winchester. He glanced down when his phone binged again:

[Because you’re my friend I want to know he didn’t do anything to hurt you, even accidentally.]

That made Cas pause—and he smiled down at his phone screen fondly:

[Charlie. I told you things were good, didn’t I?]

Honestly, if she was just worried about him, she could have just said so. But it was… nice. To know that she cared that much. He hadn’t had many people in his life that had cared for him like that. She really was his best friend, wasn’t she? Aside from Dean, of course.

[I know you said that, but honestly you are so in love with him that I don’t even know what to believe anymore.] Charlie finally replied, after a brief pause.

Cas hesitated. Started to type “I’m not—” but knew that Charlie would see though that, even over text. So instead, he ignored that part entirely:

[He didn’t hurt me. I promise. He was gentle. It was good, Charlie. SO good. BOTH times.]

He wasn’t sure if Charlie would be smiling over that or gagging a little, but that was the jist of it, without getting into any of the dirty details, which he was absolutely sure Charlie had no real interest in. When Charlie came back with a response it was:

[Dude, how did you even MANAGE this? Is your Dad deaf or something?]

Cas muffled a little laugh:

[He was out of town. Dean stayed the night while he was gone.]

There was a long pause after that, and Cas finally went back to his homework while he waited, scribbling out a few more answers—then crossing out one to redo it. When his phone pinged again, he glanced at it:

[Oooooh, yes, that makes more sense. But you’re sure you’re okay? I mean, even emotionally? Nothing you need to talk about? It’s a big thing. I remember the first time I slept with my first girlfriend, it was INTENSE.]

Cas sat back in his seat to type out his reply:

[It was intense, yes. And awkward sometimes. But it was good. And I promise I’m fine. Things with me and Dean are… they’re really, really good. I don’t regret anything.]

And wasn’t that the important thing? Spending the night together hadn’t made things awkward or weird between them, it had brought them closer together. How could he possibly regret it when that was the end result?

Charlie’s next text echoed his thoughts: [That’s the important part. You’re happy, no regrets. Then I’m happy for you. Also, it means I don’t have to kick Dean Winchester’s ass for you, so there’s that.]

Cas chuckled at the very idea of petite Charlie attempting to kick Dean’s ass: [goodnight, Charlie.]

[Night, Cas.]

--
--

Caspar High and Bedwin Junior High were having a P.A. day on the same day, probably because they were associated, which meant no classes on Friday, which meant they could spend the day however they wanted to. This, of course, meant that Cas would be joining the Winchester brothers in another hours-long research session—only this time not at the motel they had been living out of for weeks.

Instead, he invited them to his house, which he judged to be much more comfortable. (This was mostly for Sam’s benefit, the poor kid spent ninety percent of his life cooped up in that dingy motel while he wasn’t in school; at least Dean had a couple of other destinations he could get away to.)

“I can’t believe you made me bring Sam.” Dean complained as soon as Cas opened the door upon their arrival, around ten in the morning.

Sam ignored him and added his own, “hi, Cas.”

Cas also ignored him. “Hi, Sam.” Standing aside, he let them come in and kick off their shoes, then added, “you can make yourselves at home. If you’re hungry or thirsty just come down and get something from the kitchen. Sam, I’ll show you where the bathroom is. My Father is home today, but he’s working on manuscripts in his study, so as long as we’re not too loud we shouldn’t bother him.” He shrugged and closed the door behind them. “Sam, my room is at the top of the stairs on the left. You can go on up.”

Sam shrugged. He had a laptop bag slung over his shoulder. “What’s the wifi password?”

“’Multiverse216’.” Cas told him, and then took a brief moment to be grateful when Sam didn’t question it. Explaining his father’s frankly unerring belief in the multiverse theory would have been embarrassing. Once Sam was off, headed for his bedroom, Cas turned his attention to Dean, who was still looking grumpy, arms full of heavy-looking books. Sighing, Cas reached to take a few of them with a smile. “What’s wrong? You’re pouting.”

“I am not.” Dean absolutely pouted, shifting the remaining books to one arm, then; “we definitely can’t make out with Sam around, can we?”

“Probably not,” Cas agreed, turning to head upstairs, “but it’s not fair on him to make him hide away in the motel all the time while you come over here, and we go out places and everything. Hence me inviting him. Besides, we’re supposed to be doing research, which means no making out anyway.”

Dean grumbled something like ‘you’re lucky you’re so cute’ under his breath, making Cas laugh as they climbed the stairs.

When they got to his room, Sam had already taken over the floor at the foot of the bed, his laptop out and notebooks and papers spread everywhere. Cas took a moment to point out to the door to the bathroom to him, at the same time as Dean made a beeline for the bed and flopped onto it with his books, then scooted around to pat the spot beside him with a hopeful look.

“Nice try.” Cas set the rest of the books down beside Dean, who proceeded to give him a dirty look, and then moved over to his desk where his own laptop was set up, digging out a notebook and pen while he powered it up.

“Thank God at least one of you has some common sense.” Sam commented without looking up.

“I try.” Cas agreed.

“I hate you both.” Dean groused.

At that point they all got down to work, Cas and Sam doing Internet searches while Dean poured through the numerous books they had brought along. There was general companionable silence, with the exception of once or twice when one of them thought they had a lead and it turned out to be nothing in the end. In those cases, muttered cursing happened.

Cas was mildly disturbed by the number of Aragog or Shelob fansites that kept popping up—and more than mildly disturbed by the Aragog/Shelob fanfiction that followed. He was very quick to click away from those types of things when they came up in his searches, but he was getting enough of it that he began to develop the opinion that some people had too much time on their hands.

Around twelve thirty, they took a break for lunch and Dean made the executive decision that they were ordering pizza. Cas had learned last time that Dean’s version of pizza was all meat and contained no vegetable toppings of any kind, and this pie followed in its’ predecessor’s footsteps: pepperoni, sausage, bacon, and extra cheese. Sam was obviously used to it because he didn’t question the order at all. Cas just figured pizza was pizza and it was all good. He took a slice in to his father, who was still typing away at his computer. Chuck said a quick thanks and immediately got right back to work.

They ate standing around the kitchen island, and one extra large pizza didn’t last long as they were all growing teens. Besides that, Dean could put away half of one himself, easy. Once they were done, they tidied up their mess (pizza box, soda cans) and headed back upstairs to continue their research.

This time Dean managed to Puppy Eye Cas into joining him on the bed. He unplugged his laptop and took it with him, laying on his stomach beside his boyfriend and staunchly ignoring when Dean leaned over and dropped a kiss against his neck. He was not going to start a full-on make-out session with Sam in the room. That was just rude. Dean seemed to get the hint after a minute or two and went back to his books with a disappointed sigh.

“Thank you for being so reasonable, Cas.” Sam piped up from the floor.

“You’re welcome, Sam.” Cas replied easily.

“I’m right here, you know.” Dean grumbled.

That was the end of it for then and they all went back to work, mostly quiet for the next hour of so until Sam suddenly hit on something, frowned to himself, and followed a series of links to a particular article about—“jorogumo!” He announced excitedly, pushing himself up and peering over the edge of the bed at Dean and Cas, “I think I might actually have something, here!”

“Thank God,” Dean slammed the book he was looking through closed and waved a hand toward Sam, “lay it on me, Sammy.”

“Okay, so,” Sam turned back to his computer, “a jorogumo is a type of yokai, or demon, a creature from Japanese folklore. The kanji used to write it literally translates to ‘spider woman.’ It’s half-spider, half-woman, and preys exclusively on men. In some myths it can shapeshift into a beautiful woman to lure in its’ prey, but that part changes depending on who you ask. Uh… so they originate from Japan, like I said, but they’ve kind of slowly spread out over the world, all different subspecies.” He poked his head up to look at Dean and Cas again; “they inject their victims with digestive juices and then drink the liquified insides, like spiders. And that would explain the cocoons and the exoskeleton!”

“And the fact that the victims have all been male. Sounds like our monster,” Dean agreed, “how do you kill them?”

“Fire!” Sam grinned, “just fire, that’s easy, right?”

“Depends.” Dean hedged, “are we talking Molotov cocktails?”

Cas blinked at that and turned back to his computer, typing something in and then scrolling for a minute while the Winchesters discussed the merits of Molotov cocktails and the fact that their dad wasn’t around to buy the liquor for them this time, so Dean would have to use one of his fake IDs and pray the people at the store believed him.

“Will this work?” Cas interrupted finally and turned the laptop for Dean to see the screen.

The older boy blinked, then squinted—and finally grinned. “Yeah. That’ll work, Cas.” Leaning over, he kissed Cas hard, then pulled back, still grinning, to add, “that’ll definitely work!”

--
--

It turned out that building a miniature homemade flamethrower was almost disturbingly easy. And cheap. And at no point required a fake ID. All they needed was a small fire extinguisher, a bicycle pump, a drill, a hacksaw, a vice grip, a few other small odds-and-ends and about a gallon of lighter fluid. All of this could be purchased from local hardware stores (on Dean’s fake credit card) for less than a couple hundred bucks.

They were going to make three of them.

Not one for each of them, of course, Dean was going to be doing all the heavy lifting when it came to Monster Killing Time, but because each one was good for maybe four blasts at best (probably more like two or three) and they wanted to be prepared. In later years the Winchesters would improve on the mini-flamethrower design, but for now this was what they had. It was also why Dean insisted on using his fake ID and buying liquor anyway—to use just in case the flamethrowers failed him, since all the lore they could find on jorogumos said fire and nothing but fire.

“What’s left at this store?” Dean asked. He was leaning on the mostly full shopping cart as they walked the aisles.

“Um…” Cas glanced down at the list in his hand. “Lamp wicks and hose clamps.”

“Right.”

The list of things they needed to buy had been divided into two and they had gone to two different stores just in case a clerk got suspicious. They were already getting odd looks because they were even there—midday on a Friday—and not in school, though no one could know they were in the middle of a P.A. Day, of course. Still, it was important to mitigate the strangeness of their purchases, just in case.

“Got the lamp wicks!” Sam came around the corner with the box of wicks in his hand and dropped it into the cart. Dean didn’t even stop moving. “Couldn’t find the hose clamps. It’s possible they don’t stock them. We may have to hit another store.”

“Or go back to the last one again.” Dean shrugged.

Probably unadvisable. They’d bought two fire extinguishers and a hacksaw at the last store. Going back again would likely garner attention they didn’t want.

“Google says there are over thirty hardware stores in Jacksonville,” Cas put in his two cents helpfully, “I’m sure we can find another one.” A pause then; “which has hose clamps, hopefully.”

“Why do we need hose clamps, again?”

“We just do, Dean.” Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed hold of the front of the cart to halt it in its’ tracks, forcing Dean to stop walking as well. “Why don’t we just ask someone who works here about the hose clamps?”

That… was probably a good idea. Cas blinked and wandered off to find a sales associate without another word.

It turned out the hose clamps were down Aisle Twelve and they had walked past them at least twice already in their wandering the store. A few minutes after Cas left, he came back with three of the highly sought-after part and dropped them into the shopping cart with a little, pleased smile. “That’s it, right?”

When they got to the register and put everything up on the cash belt the man behind the counter took a quick look over the contents of their purchase and asked cheerfully, “you guys building a flamethrower? I saw it on YouTube! You’re missing a few things, though.”

“Flamethrower? Nooooo, absolutely not!” Dean laughed nervously at the same time as Cas blurted out “it’s for science class!”

Sam facepalmed and pushed in front of them to address the cashier: “just double bag it, please, we’re walking.”

--
--

Actually making the flamethrowers was a lot more complicated than buying the parts had been, but Dean and Sam seemed to be on it. Cas felt rather useless, just sitting around watching, but he really had no idea what he was doing, while they did.

So, once they got back to the motel the brothers got to work and over the course of the afternoon, they built three of the deceptively innocent looking little devices. They couldn’t really test them out properly, as they had nowhere to test them, and they also didn’t want to waste the fuel, so they just had to hope they worked when the time came.

Dean also left for a little while and came back with a bag full of bottles of liquor—apparently, they had accepted his fake ID after all. Those were lined up along the counter in the kitchenette to be turned into Molotov cocktails closer to the time they would be needed.

It was decided that, barring any unforeseen circumstances, Dean would head into the monster’s nest in two days, on Sunday night, when there wouldn’t be anyone else around to get in the way—or get hurt.

Cas didn’t know how to feel at that moment except nervous, and it showed. Once they were done their preparation—or as close to done as they could get—Dean tugged him over to his bed to lay down, and the two of them just cuddled up together, not saying a word, for the rest of the time he was there.

This time Sam didn’t even make any sarcastic comments.

When he was leaving to go home, around dinner time, Cas whispered a quiet, “please be careful.”

Dean leaned their foreheads together and closed his eyes, promising, “I will.”

--
--

All of Saturday, Cas worried. He cleaned his room to distract himself. When that didn’t work, he texted Charlie for a while. Then he broke down and called Dean, just to talk to him, to hear his voice. They talked about everything and nothing—and it helped, at least a little. But he couldn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning and eventually just giving up trying.

Sunday was much the same, but this time he didn’t call Dean. Dean needed to focus, he didn’t need his fretting boyfriend distracting him, throwing him off his game. He barely ate any of his dinner and his father asked if he was feeling alright; he replied that he thought he might be coming down with something.

At ten o’clock at night, he got one text from Sam:

[He’s leaving in an hour. Everything will be fine.]

And Cas stared at it for the longest time before shoving his phone in his pocket and heading out the door.

--
--

When Dean arrived at Caspar High at almost midnight, he was shocked to find Cas standing out front, waiting for him. A deep frown crossed his face, and he all but stomped over, hauling the duffle bag with the flamethrowers and Molotov cocktails in it along the way. Cas at least had the presence of mind to look guilty when he saw Dean coming—his boyfriend was going to be angry, and he knew it.

“What the hell, Cas?!”

“Dean, I know, I just—”

“You can’t be here!” The only reason Dean wasn’t shouting was because he didn’t want to draw attention to them. As it was his voice came out a harsh, growled whisper. “Go! Home!”

But Cas, maybe surprisingly, maybe not so surprisingly, dug his heels in. He crossed his arms. “No! You need someone to be here for you! What if something goes wrong? You expect me to just sit at home while you—”

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I EXPECT.” Dean hissed, glaring now, “this is my job, Cas! You’re a civilian, you need to go home! Right now!”

Cas glared right back, a deep frown on his face, and shook his head. “I’m staying, Dean! What if you get hurt? You’ll need someone to get you back to the motel—or to the hospital! This whole solo Hunt thing is risky and stupid, and I can’t just—” Breaking off, he made a frustrated noise and grabbed at the front of Dean’s shirt, yanking him forward and leaning to kiss him harshly. “Don’t be stupid about this, let me stay.”

Dean continued glaring at him for another long moment before he made a little annoyed sound, green eyes skimming to the side and then returning to Cas’s, holding there intensely. “Don’t you dare come inside, Cas. You stay out here, no matter what happens.”

Well… that wasn’t really what he had intended, but Cas figured it was the best he was going to get. He knew there was no way Dean would let him go into the school with him—Dean cared about him too much to allow that. Cas was still frowning, but finally nodded. “Okay.”

Dean huffed a frustrated noise and crouched down, rummaging through the duffle bag before pulling out two of the Molotov cocktails and a lighter. When he stood again, he held them out for Cas to take. “Here. Just in case. You know what to do with them?”

Cas took the bottles and the lighter, tucking the lighter into his pocket so he wouldn’t lose it. “It’s pretty self-explanatory, so yes.”

Really, what Dean wanted to do was leave one of the flamethrowers—but he couldn’t risk it. They each only held a couple of blasts worth of fuel. He would need them. Besides which, he didn’t even know for sure that they would work, yet. He didn’t want to leave Cas with a possibly defunct weapon in case something did happen.

“Damnit, Cas.” Grabbing at the side of Cas’s neck, he pulled the other boy in for another harsh kiss, then pressed their foreheads together and muttered, “this is really, really Goddamn stupid.”

“I know.” Cas met his gaze firmly. “But I’m staying.”

It seemed to be decided. At least Cas wasn’t insisting on coming inside with him, Dean could take comfort in that much. For now, he just released the younger boy and hefted the duffle bag up to head for the school doors, already digging out his lockpick kit.

Behind him he could hear Cas say softly, “be safe,” and he had to resist the urge to turn around and pull Cas into his arms, hold him forever and keep him protected from the evils of the world. Instead, he unlocked the door and slipped into the building, alone.

Coming from the front entrance it was a much straighter shot to the tech hall and the basement, and Dean made it there without even hearing the footsteps of the guard, then picked the basement door lock again and stepped inside. The door swung shut behind him with an ominous click.

Dean flicked on his flashlight and peered down the stairs. Something in the basement rustled, stirring.

You’re home tonight, then. Good. A frown and Dean shoved any lingering thoughts of Cas out of his mind, forcing himself to focus. He couldn’t afford to be distracted tonight. He had to be the Hunter. The blunt instrument. The man his dad had trusted this Hunt to. Nothing more, nothing less.

He made his way down the stairs with determination in his steps. At the bottom he stopped, shining his flashlight around… and then paused when something above him shifted, clicking and chittering softly. Dean froze for a split second before beaming the flashlight upward and—

“Oh shit.”

Dangling upside-down from the ceiling on a thin line of spider thread was the jorogumo; it had a human head, arms and torso, female attributes and long, dark hair. But where the human torso ended, about at the hips, it was connected to a massive spider body, eight long legs and—a red hourglass figure on the mostly black abdomen.

Great, a black widow jorogumo. It just kept getting better.

The creature slowly spun its’ way down to the ground, flipping over and landing on it’s almost delicate-looking spider limbs. It cocked its’ head to the side and regarded Dean with eight large, unsettling round eyes, its’ hands carding through its’ long hair restlessly. Dean was already pulling out the first flamethrower, his movements slow and careful.

When he lit the lamp wick, though, the jorogumo took one look at the fire and sprung to life with an animalistic screech. The next thing Dean knew the thing was rushing at him and he fell back a step, bringing the flamethrower up and firing off the first blast.

The jorogumo dodged to the side, but the fire scorched a section of the nest—and that just pissed it off even more. Dean fired off another blast as the creature charged him again, then went for a third—but the tank came up dry. He snapped a curse and pitched the now-empty flamethrower away, already scrambling to pull out and light the second one.

This wasn’t going very well so far.

With the second flamethrower lit, he dodged to the left when the jorogumo lashed out at him, then fired at it again—and this time managed to clip one of its’ legs. The thing screamed and lashed out, knocking the flamethrower from his grasp and sending him flying into the wall. He crashed into the brick hard and landed on the ground harder.

Gasping for air, Dean pushed up and rolled over just in time for the creature to pounce at him and—

White, powdery smoke suddenly filled the room, along with a loud hissing noise, and the jorogumo screeched again, arms and legs flailing in the cloud of dust. Dean scrambled up just in time for Cas’s voice to call out, “get up, Dean! We’ve got to get out of here!”

“CAS!” Dean whirled to face the stairs, where Cas was standing, holding a fire extinguisher in a white-knuckled grip. “Goddamnit!”

“You can’t fight it in here! Grab the bag and lets’ go!” Cas insisted, tossing the expended fire extinguisher to the ground. He turned and started up the stairs without even waiting to see if Dean was following him—just assumed he was. Dean was going to kill him. But later. For now, he just snatched up the duffle bag and dashed up the steps after the other boy.

The two of them bolted down the hall toward the exit with the jorogumo right on their heels the entire way, and Cas burst out into the night to head straight for the two Molotov cocktails that were sitting where he had left them, one hand grabbing for the lighter in his pocket the entire way.

Dean, meanwhile, got out into the middle of the concrete lobby and skidded to a stop, dropping the bag in his hand and fumbling for the third and final flamethrower. A minute later the jorogumo exploded out the front doors, shattering glass everywhere, and Dean lit it up.

This time the fire stuck, and the monster whirled around, trying to staunch the flames while Dean set up for another blast. Cas, meanwhile, had lit the rag in one of the Molotov cocktails, and moved forward, raising his arm to throw it—

The jorogumo was faster than either of them. It whipped in a circle, legs flailing, sending Dean flying once more, claws cutting into his chest slightly in the process—and Cas managed to pitch the bottle he was holding just before the creature’s leg collided with him, its’ claws raking his flesh and sending him crashing into one of the retaining walls with a shout.

When Dean clambered to his feet, it was to see that Cas’s Molotov cocktail had hit its’ mark and the jorogumo was well and truly burning now, screeching and screaming and flailing around until it collapsed in a still-burning heap. Job done, right?

Except then he looked around for Cas, only to spot the other teen across the entryway, slumped on his side, eyes closed and not moving. Dean’s heart practically jumped into his throat, and he scrambled over to his boyfriend, dropping down next to him and hurriedly checking him over, his own breath coming fast, almost panicky.

Cas was bleeding heavily from wounds that Dean couldn’t really see in the darkness of after midnight, and he seemed to be swimming in-and-out of consciousness. Dean felt around his head urgently and made a soft sound in his throat when he found a swelling lump near the back of Cas’s skull. He had obviously hit his head when he went down. That wasn’t good, either.

Still breathing hard, Dean eased back a little, stood, then carefully hauled Cas to his feet. Cas didn’t fight it, but he went along about as well as a limp noodle, head lolling slightly.

Dean left everything else behind and headed for the motel as fast as he possibly could, half-carrying Cas the entire way.

--
--

“Sammy!”

Dean pounded on the motel door impatiently, waiting for Sam to check the peep hole before opening it; the whole time Cas was half-draped across him, still fading in-and-out of consciousness, blood slowly soaking through the front of his torn shirt and flecking onto the concrete floor beneath them.

“SAMMY, OPEN THE DOOR!” He pounded on the door again, and this time was rewarded by the sound of Sam scrabbling with the chain lock and deadbolt—and finally the door yanked open. Dean shoved past his brother, hauling Cas into the motel room and leaving Sam to shut and re-lock the door behind them.

“You brought CAS?!” Sam demanded.

“Not on purpose.” Dean grunted, then; “get the first-aid kit.”

Sam practically dove under his bed for the duffle bag that served as their first-aid kit while Dean gingerly set Cas down on the other one. Cas immediately teetered sideways, falling over with a groan. Dean tried to catch him but failed, and instead was left to swing the other boy’s legs up onto the mattress and rearrange him so he could be worked on.

“Sam!”

“Here!” Sam dropped the first-aid bag on the floor next to the bed Cas was on and then stepped back. “What happened?”

Dean grabbed where Cas’s shirt was already torn and pulled, ripping it wide open. Two long, deep gashes ran from the front of Cas’s ribcage on his left side all the way around to his back. The bleeding had slowed significantly, but they were still oozing, and dark black-and-purple bruising was already rising to the surface of Cas’s skin all over his torso.

“Goddamned jorogumo!” Dean snapped, angry with the monster and with himself and with Cas and with everything right then. He gingerly felt along the edges of the deeper of the two gashes, dismayed to find them ragged and torn rather than smoothly cut. That meant they wouldn’t be able to stitch them up. “He came in after me! He wasn’t even supposed to be there, but he was, so I made him promise to stay outside and the asshole came in after me!”

Sam was already yanking gauze and bandages out of the first-aid kit, along with the tube of antibiotic ointment that had been a literal lifesaver on more than one occasion. He elbowed Dean out of the way and got to work on Cas’s wounds, smearing the antibiotics in every inch of the cuts and then packing them before pressing bandages down and wrapping everything up in gauze.

It didn’t really take that long. Even at just thirteen years old, Sam was proficient when it came to first-aid. He’d been patching up Dean and their dad for almost as long as he could remember.

When Sam finally sat back, bloody almost up to his elbows and blood smeared all across his shirt, Cas looked… well. Not good, but better. “We should get that shirt off him properly. Get a cloth and clean him up.”

“He hit his head,” Dean muttered, almost to himself, “he hit his head hard.”

Sam leaned up and pried one of Cas’s eyelids open, peering into his eye, then moved to the other one and did the same. “His pupils look okay. Probably just a concussion. He’ll have a headache when he wakes up, that’s for sure.”

“But he’ll be okay?”

“I’m not a doctor.” Sam reminded his brother, a sharp edge to his voice, “he really should go to a hospital.”

Dean made a slightly hysterical noise and gestured harshly toward Cas. What was he supposed to do, dump the other boy outside the ER and run? He had no way of explaining what happened to him, where his injuries came from, and no real adult to help him bullshit his way out of it, either. He may have been eighteen now, but really, he was still a kid. Despite the tremendous amount of shit he would be in (for various reasons), he honestly wished his dad was there right then. He would know what to do.

“I know, I’m just saying.” Sam shook his head. He looked at his hands, then sighed and just wiped the worst of the blood off on his already ruined shirt. Glancing at Dean, he looked him over for a second and then added; “dude, you need to sit down before you fall down. Your adrenaline is about to crash hard.”

Ignoring his brother’s advice entirely, as well as the minute shaking in his hands, Dean instead stripped out of his jacket, dumping it out of the way. It would need to be dry-cleaned to get rid of all the blood. His shirt underneath wasn’t in much better condition. Dean pulled that off as well, revealing a couple of small gashes that marred his own chest, then dug through the first-aid kit for a pair of scissors while Sam went to the bathroom to get a wet cloth.

The next little while was spent cutting Cas out of what was left of his t-shirt and gently wiping away as much of the blood as possible, cleaning him up. By the time they were done, Dean was ready to drop. He sat on the edge of the bed with his arms braced against the mattress to help keep himself upright and took a few breaths—until Sam’s hand shoved into his view, holding a power bar.

“Eat this.” The younger Winchester ordered. He was still holding the bloody cloth in his other hand. “I’m going to have a shower. Cas’ll be out for a while. You should lay down.” And then an eyeroll and he cut Dean off before he could protest; “you can lay down with him, if it makes you feel better.”

Dean considered protesting anyway, but in the end, he just took the power bar, ripped it open and took a bite, then muttered around it as he chewed, “thanks, Sammy.”

Sam gave him an encouraging half-smile. “He’ll be okay.” Then disappeared into the bathroom to wash the gore away.

To his credit, Dean not only finished the power bar, he also had the presence of mind to pull a clean shirt on before he climbed into the bed with Cas, settling next to the younger boy, close against his side and resting a hand carefully against his sternum just so he could feel him breathing in and out. So he could feel that he was still alive.

But it didn’t take much of being laid-out like that for the last of his adrenaline to give way and abandon him entirely—and by the time Sam emerged from the bathroom, Dean had passed out cold. Sam huffed a little sigh and tossed a blanket over both of them before going to put on a pot of coffee. Someone needed to stay awake, and it looked like it was going to have to be him.

--
--

When Dean eventually woke up, nearly three hours later, it was with a jerk so sharp he accidentally jostled Cas as well. The hand resting by Cas’s chest clenched there, then smoothed out again, and when he felt that Cas was still breathing, he gave a little relieved sigh and pressed his forehead against the edge of the other teen’s shoulder.

“He didn’t die while you were passed out.” Sam observed from where he was seated, at the little kitchenette table, on his umpteenth cup of coffee. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

Dean nodded, hair mussing against Cas’s shoulder. “Good… good.”

“We should try to wake him up, soon. We need to get him back home before morning.”

“I’ll—just a minute, Sammy.” A slightly shaky breath while Dean continued to just feel Cas breathing, and then he carefully pushed himself up and reached to cup the side of Cas’s face with a hand that still had smears of blood on it, patting his cheek gently as he peered down at him. “Cas? C’mon, Cas… time to get up. Hey.”

It took a couple of minutes of gentle coaxing, but eventually Cas began to come around, eyes slowly fluttering open and mouth working, obviously confused—and in pain. He grimaced almost immediately, and Dean made a soft sympathetic sound.

“You with me?” He asked quietly, hand still carefully stroking the other boy’s cheek, “Cas, you need to wake up. We have to get you home before your Dad figures out you’re gone.”

“’M here,” Cas groaned, and tried to sit up, only to yelp out a cry and fall onto his back again. Dean’s hands hovered worriedly before pressing against his chest to carefully hold him down. “Shit. Shit, Sam, I don’t think this is going to work—”

“Mm-mm.” Cas protested weakly and brought an arm up to take hold of one of Dean’s wrists. “Don’t want to get you in trouble. Just—help me sit up.” Then, after a brief pause, “I don’t think—don’t think I can walk home, though…” The walk home all the way from the motel seemed more than a little daunting at the moment. He would likely pass out if he tried it.

“We’ll call a cab.” Sam assured him, leaving his place at the table and heading over to help Dean get Cas to his feet.

And it was quite a feat; first they had to get him sitting up, and that was probably the hardest part. Between the two of them they struggled but managed it, and then, sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, Cas had to stop and just breathe through the pain that was radiating through his entire torso.

“Do we have anything we can give him for the pain?” Dean asked, one arm around Cas to help hold him up.

Sam reluctantly shook his head. “No, I think Dad has all the painkillers. We could try ripping off a pharmacy…?”

But Cas made another protesting noise. “Don’t need to do that.” He assured them, trying to look like he didn’t feel on the verge of death and failing miserably. “You could get caught. I have aspirin at home. I’ll be… I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Cas…”

Cas shook his head and leaned into Dean’s side, already exhausted. “I swear. I’ll be okay.”

“We have antibiotics, though.” Sam got down to dig through the first-aid kit again, coming up with a bottle of antibiotics. “You never know, right? Who knows what you might catch from a jorogumo… especially with wounds as bad as yours.” He held them out for Cas to take, “no arguing.”

Cas actually agreed with everything Sam had just said, so he just took the bottle without complaints, then pushed himself away from Dean again and braced for the attempt to stand. “I need a shirt.” To cover up the bandages if nothing else.

That was easy. Sam went to the dresser and pulled out one of Dean’s band tees, bringing it over so Dean could help Cas get into it. Once he was (somewhat) properly dressed again, Cas had to take another break just to breathe, with Dean rubbing his arm worriedly the entire time. The blatant concern that Dean was showing was a bit of a mild shock to Sam, though he wasn’t letting it show. He’d never seen his brother act this way before.

After another long pause, Cas finally took a bit of a breath and then pushed off the mattress. Dean yelped out a surprised noise and scrambled to help him, making sure it was more of a stand and less of a fall. Cas managed to stand and stay on his feet, wobbling just a little.

“My head is killing me. How much blood did I lose?”

“Not all of it.” Dean hedged, not quite an answer; “but you hit your head pretty hard. It’s not surprising it hurts.”

“Nn.” Cas just grunted softly and leaned into him a little. “Let’s just get me home so I can go to bed.”

It probably wasn’t a good idea for him to sleep on the heels of an obvious concussion, but he couldn’t tell his father why he was about to be bed-bound, never mind ask him to make sure he stayed awake. But besides that, he was exhausted. He just wanted to go to bed, any bed, pass back out and sleep for a week straight, concussion be damned.

Sam called a taxi, and it thankfully got there in what had to be record time. Dean helped Cas get out the door to wait and into the car when it arrived—then climbed in beside him without a word, leaving Sam alone in the motel room once more.

“You didn’t have to come with me.” Cas had one arm wrapped around himself, holding his ribs securely. He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt—couldn’t. It would hurt too much every time the car jolted. “You could’ve stayed with Sam.”

“Shut up you idiot, of course I had to come with you.” Dean grumbled, one hand resting on Cas’s leg, gripping there firmly, grounding for the both of them. “Besides, I have to pay for the cab, right?”

He had a point. Cas conceded this one and fell silent, leaning back and letting his head fall back with a wince when the cab hit a bump in the road. Dean just squeezed his leg a little tighter, gritting his teeth because seeing Cas in so much pain was—it was intolerable. He hated it with every fiber of his being.

The ride to Cas’s house was short but seemed to take forever. When the driver dropped them off, Dean paid with his fake credit card and then helped Cas out of the car and up the front steps of the house. Cas fumbled to get his key out of his jeans pocket and opened the door, and the two of them went inside and up to Cas’s bedroom as quietly as possible.

Once they were in the room with the door firmly closed behind them, Dean set about getting Cas out of his jeans—and then into the bed. He could sleep in his boxers and the borrowed t-shirt.

It took some shuffling and adjusting, rearranging of pillows, to get Cas comfortable, but eventually they managed it, at which point Cas weakly asked if Dean could stay, just for a little while. And as much as he wanted to, Dean had to say no. It was already nearly five a.m. and he still had to walk back to the motel. But on top of that, he couldn’t be caught there in the morning when Chuck woke up.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could,” Dean stroked through Cas’s hair gently, “where’s the aspirin?”

“Bedside drawer.” Cas mumbled. He was already starting to doze off.

Dean quickly dug the painkillers out of the nightstand and tipped a couple into his palm, then replaced the bottle and returned his attention to Cas. “Hey. Hey, take these before you fall asleep.”

Another sleepy mumble, but Cas opened his mouth and let Dean tip the pills in. He swallowed them dry and then offered a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Dean leaned over to press a kiss into Cas’s hair and then moved away, standing. “I’ll come by tomorrow. Tell your Dad you’re sick or something. Get some sleep.”

Cas uttered a garbled agreement, already falling asleep.

Dean took off, leaving Cas to rest..