Chapter Text
It was a good dream, at first. He was lying in bed with Cas, explaining why Jane Austen would have listened to Steppenwolf if she'd just been born in the right era, except that Cas kept kissing him, and Dean kept losing the thread of his argument, and then he forgot the argument all together. He kissed his lover, moaning a little as Cas bit his lip, gently at first, then harder, until it stopped being sexy and started to hurt. Dean pulled back and opened his eyes, and suddenly it wasn't Cas any more; it was Lassiter, pressing a flick-knife to Dean's lips like a silencing finger.
'Hey there, beautiful,' he said, and it was Meg's voice, taunting him. 'Want to go again?'
Dean yelped, scrambling backwards, but there was nowhere to go. His spine was hard to the bedroom wall, his arms spread-eagled and bleeding, and Lassiter just smiled Meg's smile and tore another strip of skin from his stomach. He did it slowly, not looking away, and it hurt like nothing he'd ever experienced, like acid and wire and oh, fuck, he was screaming, he was screaming, he –
'Dean!'
He jerked awake, panting and gasping, and almost fell out of bed. His arms and stomach burned, and for a sickening moment, he didn't know what was real or where he was; only that he had to get away.
Warm arms around his waist; a soft voice in his ear. 'Dean, you're safe. You're safe.'
He turned, and it was Castiel, not Meg or Lassiter; his Cas, who hadn't died. Dean almost wept with relief, and let himself be gathered against his lover's chest, clinging to him as Cas stroked his back and kissed his neck and told him it was all right. His injuries still stung, but he could ignore them for this. I could ignore anything for this.
After a moment, Cas reached down and fumbled by the bedside; there was a buzzing sound, and suddenly the mattress was moving, the top half rising up until they had something solid to lean against. Dean laughed, absurdly delighted.
'Man, I want one of these!'
Cas smiled fondly at him. 'Why am I not surprised?'
'Because it's awesome, that's why! We should totally buy one.' And then he realised what he'd said, and choked into embarrassed silence, too shocked at himself to speak. Why the fuck did I say that? You didn't just make a joke about buying a bed with someone, even if you were in love, and what if Cas hadn't really meant it, anyway? It wasn't like they'd both been sane and calm at the time –
'I don't know,' said Cas, blithely interrupting his internal panic. 'I mean, what happens when you want your side up, and I just want to sleep? And this mattress isn't exactly luxurious, either.'
And somehow, Dean replied, 'Oh, like you'd know, like you're the expert on comfort? Your lounge is a literal –'
'– bed of nails. Yeah, so you said.'
'Well, it is!'
'Explain to me how this is better.'
'Cas, it has a folding back. How is that not worth a little discomfort?'
'So you agree, it's uncomfortable?'
'I said there was a little discomfort. That's different!'
'Barely.'
'Look, your couch is like a punishment from god, OK? Whereas this, right here? This is why apes evolved thumbs, so we could open beer bottles and make electric mattresses that bend on command.'
'Truly among the apex achievements of humankind.'
'Oh, shut up.'
'You first,' said Cas, and kissed him, cupping his cheek as Dean cupped his, and his cuts still hurt, and the bed shape made it awkward, and god, it wasn't like they hadn't done this before, but it was like being hit by a thunderbolt; he went weak all over, shaking badly enough that Cas pulled back and frowned and said, 'Dean? Are you all right?'
'I don't know.' Desperately, he searched Cas's face for clues, for a sign he'd misread everything, that it was all going to break, but found only compassion, which was all the more terrifying for being unfamiliar. 'I don't understand, Cas. I don't know how you can, how anyone could l–' he stammered over the word, '– love me, why you'd want me, I'm not – I'm –'
'Dean.' Cas stroked his cheek, his thumb moving in small, possessive circles over the bone. 'In my entire life, I have never wanted anyone the way I want you.' He gulped, and the vulnerability in those bright blue eyes was almost physically painful. 'I love you.'
Dean was so drymouthed, his reply came out a whisper. 'I love you, too. And I'm terrified. I have no idea how to do this.'
'Me, neither.'
'No, I mean –' the nightmare came back to him, so vivid that he shuddered all over again, '– I'm damaged goods, Cas. I always have been. You've survived some messed up stuff, and I'm not trying to compete with you on that score, don't think for a second I am, but you... you could have anyone.' He met his gaze, and almost drowned in it. 'Anyone you wanted. And I don't understand how that could be me, when I'm... this.'
Cas laughed, breathless and sweet. 'Do you know what I thought, the first time I saw you?'
'That I was an arrogant, selfish jerk?'
'Maybe a little.' He smiled, and somehow, impossibly, Dean smiled, too. 'I also thought that, even if you were into guys, you'd never look twice at me, you were that hot. Everything you did, everything you said – god, you were so frustrating, but then you'd look at me, and I'd forget who I was. I wanted to know you so badly, but I couldn't explain it to myself, and you just kept right on playing your music and grinning. And then in the shower, through the wall, I heard you –' he flushed, his thumb grazing across Dean's lips, '– I heard you moan, just once, and I couldn't stop thinking about it, and it had been so long – I told myself I liked being lonely, that it was safer, but I couldn't ignore you, I couldn't wish you away, so I pushed it all down –'
Gently, Dean bit Cas's thumb, lipping the knuckle. 'And then you kissed me.'
'And then I kissed you,' Cas agreed, 'and you kissed back. And I couldn't pretend any more.'
'All right.' Dean shut his eyes, which somehow made it easier, and pressed their foreheads together. 'So we don't know what we're doing. We'll figure it out. Just... be patient with me, OK?'
'I'm a patient man,' said Cas, and as if to prove it, he leaned in and kissed him so slowly, it was almost unbearable, letting his lips steal over Dean's at glacial speed, his tongue flicking in, until they seemed to melt together. When Dean finally broke away, the glazed look on Cas's face almost undid him: he was hurt and weak enough that arousal should have been impossible, but not so long ago, he'd thought that about love, too; yet here he was.
'Um,' said Dean, breathless. Having sex in a hospital room with an unlocked door when you were already in pain was, he knew, an objectively terrible idea, but in that moment, Cas could have asked anything of him, and he would have done it. And that was terrifying in a whole new way, the desperate, churning need in his gut a snarled-up product of love and lust and fear and self-hatred, because he'd let himself start thinking about Lassiter again, and now he couldn't stop. He hadn't been lying last night, he realised; he did need to talk about it, and soon, especially after what Meg had done – what she'd said – or it was going to cripple him; he could feel the coming collapse in his blood, the same way you knew a busted knee couldn't take your weight up the next hill. But this wasn't the time for Lassiter; not here, not like this. So he glanced around for something, anything, to distract him – to distract them both.
And found it, in the form of a pizza box. Or rather, two pizza boxes, stacked on the bedside table; the top one had something scrawled on the lid, but it was too far away for Dean to make out.
'Hey, Cas? Can you pass me that?'
'Pass you what – oh!' Cas blinked and complied. 'Where did that come from?'
By way of an answer, Dean read the message aloud. 'Dear losers. I would have told you to get a room, but you're already in one, which makes me the third wheel. Have some pizza and feel better. I'm going home to sleep. Call me if you need me! But I'm super tired, so please try not to need me before noon. Love, Anna. PS: Nurses please don't throw this out!' He opened the lid, and there, glory of glories, was an entire supreme pizza. 'Oh my god,' he breathed. 'Oh my god.'
Almost reverently, he picked up a slice. Even cold, it was magnificent, and for the next five minutes, he was completely lost. Cas was more circumspect, but even he couldn't resist entirely. The second box contained yet more food, and by the time they were done eating, Dean was just about ready to give Anna all of Crowley's money as a friend-and-employee-of-the-month bonus, straight up.
'We should call her,' Cas said, licking the grease from his fingers. 'To say thanks.'
'Yeah,' said Dean. 'We should.'
It was a good idea on multiple levels. Dean had just enough healthy self-awareness to know that mixing two types of crazy didn't make sane, and he and Cas were definitely crazy. Anna's friendship balanced them out: she was kind and funny, clever and well-adjusted, and she didn't seem to get stuck in loops like they did. But she was also her own person, and after everything she'd already done for them, it would have been selfish as hell to call her – he glanced at the wall clock – at 9.30am on a Sunday, even if they had only wanted to say thanks, and not just bask in her presence like she was some magical, common-sense-emitting sunlamp. So he smiled and said, 'Later, though. We should let her sleep in. She's earned it.'
*
Anna tumbled from sleep to waking with all the grace of a kneecapped giraffe. She was groggy and disoriented, pins and needles buzzing like wasps in every limb; her eyes were so gummed up, she could barely see. Her mouth felt weird, too, like it was glued shut, and when she tried to move –
She couldn't move, she realised: her ankles and wrists were bound together, and there was tape, electrical tape over her mouth, just spit-loosened enough that she could twitch her lips, but nothing more. She bucked and spasmed with panic, blinking to try and clear her eyes.
'Ah. Sleeping beauty awakes!'
The voice was English, male, and raspy as a cat's tongue. It took her a moment to place it, and once she did, her blood ran cold: Crowley. He'd been in her flat – the bastard fucking shot me! She thrashed in place, desperately trying to see herself, to figure out how she was injured, then stopped, confused, when she felt no pain beyond the pins and needles. She lay back on her side – she was on a bed, on a horrible floral print duvet – and suddenly, she could see her captor, smug and smiling. But also, she realised, tired; there were dark circles under his eyes, and though he kept them laced together, his fingers periodically twitched. And with that, her brain finally kicked all the way into gear, leavening her terror with rational thought.
OK, Anna. Freak out later. You're alive, you're unhurt, and you are damn well going to stay that way. So, think! What the hell does he want with you?
Not being able to ask the latter question out loud, she settled for glaring at Crowley as though, if she just stared hard enough, he'd burst into flames. He chuckled.
'Now, now. Don't look at me like that. You should be thanking me. A lesser man would've shot you with actual bullets, not a tranquilliser dart, and a crueller one would have left you to the decidedly untender ministrations of the psychotic harridan who's currently hunting you down. So, you're welcome.' When Anna continued to stare at him in uncomprehending fury, he sighed and raised an eyebrow. 'Does the name Meg ring any bells? Brunette, likes knives, spent the better part of yesterday evening stripping the skin off your boss?' Anna's eyes widened, and Crowley smiled. 'And there, the penny drops. I'm not the enemy, love.' He stepped forward, crouching down beside the bed, so their eyes were on a level. 'Now, if I take that tape off, do you think we might talk to each other like civilised adults, or are you going to scream? Because if the latter, I should warn you –' his eyes glittered, '– there are limits to my patience. So. Will you behave?'
Anna gulped and nodded.
'There's a good girl,' said Crowley, and ripped the tape off her mouth in one swift action.
Anna gasped and spluttered, rubbing her stinging skin. 'Ugh! God, what the actual hell? Why does anyone want me?'
'An intelligent question. May I?'
He gestured at the bed, and it took Anna a moment to realise he was asking her permission to sit down. Or at least, he was courteously pretending to ask, on account of the fact that she was clearly in no position to refuse him anything, but staying calm under these conditions meant any port in a storm; she nodded as if she had a choice, and Crowley sat, and Anna wriggled upright into a sitting position, her wrists bound in her lap and her back against the bed's headboard.
'Here's the short answer,' Crowley said. 'Right now, the eastern half of the United States – and, more specifically, Monument – contains exactly two people of any importance to Dean Winchester: Castiel Novak, and you. Which, frankly, says more about him than anyone else; but the point, dear Anna, is that it makes you valuable.'
'Valuable?'
Crowley sighed, a dedicated teacher with a foolish student. 'Castiel is in hospital, yes?'
'Yeah.'
'Which means he's protected. I mean, if Ruby just wanted him dead, that would be one thing, but she doesn't: what she wants is for Dean Winchester to lie down and behave, and all things being equal, it's much harder to threaten someone's safety when they're surrounded by doctors and watched by the FBI. How, then, is she to achieve her ends?'
Oh, fuck. 'By threatening me instead.'
Crowley tapped the side of his nose. 'Penny for the smart lady.'
'But you... don't want me threatened?'
'Not quite,' said Crowley. 'Not by Ruby Blue, at least. See, I'm presently in what you might call a perilous position. I want Dean to do one thing; Ruby wants him to do the opposite. Who's he going to listen to? If Ruby has you up her sleeve, it's not going to be me, and more to the point, I'll have a pissed off Winchester on my hands once he calms down enough to remember I'm the one who roped him into this mess, and an equally pissed off Ruby once she realises I've been playing both sides against the middle. But if, on the other hand, you're up my sleeve – well, then. Tables turned. And, of course, it doesn't hurt my case with Dean that Meg would most likely have tortured you for the sheer fun of it, had I left you alone. She's kinky that way.'
Anna tried to suppress a shiver, and failed. 'Shit.'
'Precisely. So, for the moment –' Crowley stood, gesturing to the tiny, peach-wallpapered surrounds of what appeared to be an incredibly tacky motel room, '– mi casa su casa, as they say. You sit tight here, I let Dean know you're safe, and if all goes well, you'll be home again in a couple of days.'
'A couple of days?' Anna wriggled her feet, which were securely zip-tied and taped at the ankles. 'What, you want me to sit here and piss myself for forty-eight hours?'
'Hardly,' Crowley said, disgusted. 'I was rather hoping you'd choose to cooperate.'
'Just stay put, you mean? Be a free-range captive?'
'Call it a weekend off.' At her look, he waved an exasperated hand. 'I'm not a complete monster, for god's sake! The room has cable!'
Anna snorted. 'Oh, well, gee. Great! When you put it like that –'
'Listen,' hissed Crowley, 'you can't go home, all right? Meg has been to your place. I had eyes on it after I took you, and once she found it empty, she was not a happy bunny. You leave here, I guarantee she'll find you, and when she does, you won't like what happens next.'
'If this is all for my own good,' said Anna, 'then why the fuck did you shoot me? Why not just explain it outright?'
Crowley just looked at her. 'Would you have come with me if I did?'
'Probably not, but I would've liked the option.'
'Tough.'
They glared at each other, and as the seconds ticked by, Anna realised she was genuinely scared – of Crowley, yes, but more of the possibility that he might be telling the truth. She'd known Dean was into something shady from the outset, and even though it had gone against her better judgement, she'd squeezed a few details out of him by Cas's bedside. She still didn't fully understand what Ruby Blue wanted, whoever she was, but she'd seen what Meg had done to Dean, and had absolutely no desire to learn what it felt like first hand. And Crowley, for all that he was clearly a duplicitous, bottom-feeding scumfox – to borrow one of Gabe's uniquely compelling pejoratives – hadn't actually hurt her. Well, OK: he'd shot her with a fucking tranquiliser, of all things, tied her up and taken her hostage, but nothing she'd need to see a psychologist to recover from. Yet, whispered a nervous voice in her head, and that was enough to send goosebumps up her arms.
And honestly, the most compelling piece of evidence as to Crowley's honesty was her own insignificance otherwise. She was Anna Milton: college dropout, part-time barista and sometime CD-seller, and that was it. She had just enough money left in the bank to pay rent this month, a mostly estranged and eccentric family with no ties to anyone important, and no mysterious secret billionaire boyfriend to pay her ransom. (Though the idea of Gabe offering to trade Crowley one of his godawful drinks, or possibly sexual favours, in exchange for her safe return, was admittedly compelling, if only because she could all too readily imagine Crowley's look of utter feline affront at Gabe's puppyish overtures. God, I have terrible taste in men. Assuming I don't die, remind me to start dating women.) The point being, there wasn't another plausible explanation for why Crowley would be interested in her, and why he was also willing to leave her untied. If he'd wanted her hurt, he could quite easily have done that by now; hell, he could've killed her in her sleep, or just shot her outright in the first place. But he hadn't: he'd let her wake up, and talk, and maybe he really was just that subtle, that clever, that she was missing his real motive, but somehow, she didn't think so.
I'm going to regret this, Anna thought. No, wait, scrap that. I already do.
'Tell you what,' she said finally, hoping her voice didn't shake. 'You let me be the one to call Dean, to explain what's happening – I mean, you tell him your bit, but I tell him mine, no interruptions or censorship – and I'll stay here as long as you want. I won't so much as look at the door.'
Crowley studied her for a long, hard moment. Then he nodded, and smiled like a ferret. 'All right, love.' He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a mobile – her mobile, Anna realised, and experienced a momentary flash of outrage at the presumption. 'Let's hop to it, shall we?'