Work Text:
Dean is browsing the web in the library of some random town in Wisconsin, fresh out of a hunt. Sam is next to him, reading up on all things apocalyptic.
“Sam, there might be a case in Boston,” Dean says, whispering. Sam pauses his reading and looks over at the computer screen. “Three men disappearing across two months, no known connection. They return days later, wandering the streets with zero memory of their previous lives, but constantly repeating that they’ve ‘committed a great sin’.”
Sam frowns. “Are we sure they aren’t just crazy? I mean, we have other, more important things to be focusing on.”
“Dude, we’ve been balls deep into apocalypse bullshit for months. We haven’t picked up a regular case in forever. The break could be nice.” Dean shrugs, leaning back in his seat waiting for Sam to answer.
“Okay. But if we don’t solve it in three days, we pass it off to another hunter, okay?”
Dean groans. “Sure, fine, whatever. C’mon, lets get going.”
–––
In the car, Sam is doing more digging. “I can’t really find any new information. It’s just rehashing the same story over and over again. Some articles say they weren’t speaking at all, another says the only thing they were saying is that they’ve committed evil, and another one says all of them are dead.” Sam groans.
“But they all say they lost their memory right? That can be something. What kind of monsters erase memories?” Dean asks, and Sam hums.
“Glawackus is one. Looking into their eyes can cause memory loss. That’s about the only thing I can think of. But they wouldn’t be able to convince someone they’ve committed sins.” Sam says, growing frustrated.
“Okay, so we start there. We find the Glawackus, and kill it. Does it say how?” Dean asks.
“Just a regular bear trap, I guess.” Sam shrugs, a headache forming.
“Perfect. I think I’ve got some in the back,” Dean says, and Sam looks at him funny. “What? You can’t ever be too careful.” Dean says, suddenly embarrassed.
Sam huffs, shutting the laptop in frustration. Just six more hours until they reach Boston.
––
With 2 hours to go, Dean turns on the radio, bored out of his mind. Instead of music filling the car, a new alert is on. Dean turns it up.
“–Boston Raiders player, Ilya Rozanov, has been reported missing by fellow teammates after he failed to show up to practice, but local police suspect he’s been missing for over a week. More information soon to come.”
Sam wakes up in the middle of the sentence. His brows furrow, and he looks over at Dean. “Could he be connected to the case somehow?” Sam asks, sitting the seat up
“We won’t know unless he comes back confused and full of sin.” Dean says, his turn to be frustrated. “Who knows, maybe he’ll show back up completely fine, could be nothing.”
Dean doesn’t believe it— and by the look on Sam’s face, Dean can tell Sam doesn’t believe it either.
He drives a bit faster the rest of the way there.
––
Dean readies his lock pick, attempting to break into a Ilya’s high-profile house in broad daylight. He silently prays to god that there aren't any alarms, but braces himself for one anyways.
Thankfully, no alarm goes off, and he gets inside without a hitch. The house is quiet, the absence of its owner is obvious.
The house is large, and thankfully has enough open windows to where Dean can see without any lights.
Walking further down the hallway leads into a kitchen and a living room. The TV is off, but it’s massive, Dean whistles at the size.
He doesn’t really know what he’s searching for. Maybe sulfur, maybe blood. But he didn’t smell or see anything like that while entering, but he also wasn’t really looking.
Just then, Dean hears a creak. He can’t even whip out his gun in time before he’s pushed against one of the many windows by an unknown figure.
“Who are you?!” The figure— a man—shouts, panting. His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest.
Dean grunts, trying to push back against the man, but the grip is too strong. He tries to reach for his gun, but the man pins his arm to the wall, keeping it firm in place.
Dean gets a good look at the man— Asian, bulky, and devastated. His eyes are wild, a mixture of terror and heartbreak, something he recognizes all too well.
“I’m FBI,” He lies, “Let me pull my badge out.” The man falters just a bit, but he still doesn’t move.
Thankfully, it’s loose enough to give Dean the upper hand, and he pushes the guy off him and reverses their roles.
The guy grunts, smacking his head against the window, loosing all his fight in Dean’s grip.
It’s Shane fucking Hollander.
Dean lets his arms fall immediately, and backs up.
He doesn’t know much of Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, just that their rivalry is all that’s ever talked about when an example of one is needed, it’s always Shane Hollander versus Ilya Rozanov.
So why on earth is Shane Hollander in Ilya Rozanov’s house, looking like he has just lost his world?
Dean doesn’t go for his gun, knowing the man isn’t a threat, and Shane Hollander just… collapses onto the floor the second Dean backs off, like Dean was the only one who kept him standing.
It’s kind of pathetic— Dean thinks.
A man as large as Shane Hollander, crumpled to the floor, crying like a child with his head in between his legs.
Dean doesn’t ever know what to do in these situations, so he just stands there, watching as Shane-fucking-Hollander cries over Ilya Rozanov.
He kinda wishes Sam were here, his baby brother is always such a softy, he would instantly know what to do.
But Sam is too busy getting his nerd on a few blocks down, so Dean just gently taps on Shane’s shoulder, holding his FBI badge out to show Shane.
“Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Dean asks, quietly. Shane nods, and Dean offers a hand to Shane, who takes it
––
“When was the last time you saw Ilya?” Dean asks, sitting on at the bar, as Shane leans against the counter.
He looks like a mess, his hair greasy and unkempt, his face puffy and pale. He had obviously been grieving— like a part of him knows whatever happened to Rozanov is what happened to those other men.
“Last week. We had a game together, and he never texted me back. We aren’t really close,” Dean immediately knew it was a lie. It was a horrible lie, but he didn’t comment. “But I came here, and he was gone,” Shane says, voice filled with something Dean recognizes immediately— devastation.
“When you got here, were there any smells? Sulfur, anything like that?” Dean asks, hoping he doesn't sound as suspicious as he feels.
Shane pauses, and looks up, confused. “No, no, nothing like that,” He sniffs, like he’s hyping himself up to ask a question. “Could… Could this be connected to those other people? The ones that… forgot themselves?”
Dean sighs. “We don’t know for sure. Did you know any of those guys?” He asks, trying to think of what could possibly be behind all of this.
His only guess was a demon, but even that was a weak guess considering he wouldn’t even know what motives a demon would have to do this to people.
“No. I’d never seen them before.” He answers, and every second that goes by, Shane gets more and more anxious.
Then, a thought seemingly flashes across his face, if the way he shrinks in on himself is anything to go by. “They might be… hookups… I don’t know, he’s never told me anything.” He whispers, and it’s so quiet Dean has to take a second to process.
Well, theres the reason why they believed they’ve sinned— not a demon after all. Could be a witch, but why would a witch give a shit if a man is gay?
“Is… Is Ilya gonna okay?” He says, voice small, like a little kid.
Like Sam, when Dad got hurt on a hunt all those years ago, coming back to their hotel bloodied and on the verge of passing out. Dean feels a surge of protectiveness, but forces himself to swallow it down.
Shane Hollander is a grown man, he cannot be wanting to take this man under his wing— But man it’s tempting.
Dean doesn’t answer, doesn’t know what to say that could help Shane calm down.
Thankfully, Dean’s phone rings— It’s Sam.
He excuses himself, and takes it.
“I think we might be dealing with a very, very homophobic ghost. I just talked to a friend of Kyle Thatcher, the first victim, and he was gay, and who was friends with the second victim, Marcus Cump, who frequented gay bars all over town, and the third was a very loud LGBTQ activist. All clues lead me to believe our fourth victim is either gay or openly supports it,” Sam says, rattling on and on about what else he found. “Anything at his house?”
“Just his boyfriend.” Is all Dean says, and Shane looks up from the counter, his face blank. Dean mouths an apology. “But how are their memories being erased? Can ghosts even do that?”
He whispers the word ghost, not really wanting to seem crazy in front of a man who is one wrong look away from a breakdown. Sam sighs over the phone.
“Maybe the ghost was a witch?” Sam asks, and Dean scoffs. “I don’t know man, I think that’s our best guess. Maybe if we find the ghost, burn it’s body, the memories can come back?”
“I hope so. This guy looks miserable.” Dean whispers, looking up at Shane who is just boring holes into the counter.
“Did you ask him questions? Did he say anything of note?” Dean looks around again, noticing something at the front door.
His brow furrows as he crouches down, and sees salt. Dean’s eyes widen.
“Dean?” Sam asks, but Dean ignores him. He stands up abruptly, looking at all the windows. Each and everyone of them has salt in them. Shane looks up, and follows Dean with his eyes.
“What? What’s going on? What are you seeing?” Shane asks, practically stumbling over his words.
“Is Ilya religious?” Dean asks, and Shane nods.
“I mean, I don’t really know him too much. But– uhm, he wears a russian orthodox cross? If that helps. I don’t know where he got it.” Shane answers, and Dean nods.
Sam makes a noise to get Dean’s attention, and Dean picks the phone up again, walking away from Shane, who really looks like he wants to follow him. “There’s salt all over the windows and doors, Sam. How would a ghost be able to get in?”
Sam sighs. “Every window? Is there maybe a window he missed?”
Dean walks into the living room to look for more windows, anywhere where a ghost could come in from, and notices a massive painting hanging up, covering most of the wall behind the couch. He notices something, something red peaking out from behind it.
His heart stalls for a second, before he’s jumping up on the couch, much to Shane’s dismay, who does end up following him to the living room. He vaguely hears a ‘Hey!’ from the man as he rips down the portrait.
“Holy… What the fuck is that?!” Shane shrieks, his voice cracking by the end of it from pure unadulterated terror.
It’s an angel banishing sigil. The wall has blood stains from past drawings, some burn marks permanently etched into the wall from past usages, but theres a new one, ready and waiting to be used. There’s a bloodied handprint on the wall, right below it, like Ilya had meant to use it but missed.
Ilya-fucking-Rozanov is a hunter, and had been taken by an angel?
“Dude, what the fuck?” Shane says again, louder— angrier. “What happened to him?!”
When Dean looks back at Shane, Shane is petrified, and he can’t take his eyes off the wall. Dean doesn’t really know how to explain this, so he just picks up his phone, and sighs of relief when Sam is still there.
“Sam. Ilya’s a fucking hunter.” He says, and Shane just stands there, staring at the blood on the wall— probably thinking his boyfriend is a fucking psychopath.
“Jesus christ, okay. Take his boyfriend back to the hotel and we can explain everything there, I guess. I’ll see you there.” Sam says, breathless.
Sam hangs up, and Dean puts his phone away. Shane looks at him helplessly.
“Come with me, I’ll explain everything. It’s not safe here.” Dean says, and Shane nods aggressively, following Dean outside.
––
The car ride is quiet, awkwardly so. Dean doesn’t know what to say to Shane to help him calm the bouncing leg. Dean introduces himself, and tells him about Sam. Shane just listens, clearly lost in his head, so Dean doesn’t talk.
––
When they get to the hotel, Shane is practically shaking with nerves as Sam shuts the hotel door behind them.
“What the fuck? Why was there blood on the wall? Why did we have to leave? Why was there salt around the windows and doors? What the fuck is happening?!” He practically shouts by the end of it, his eyes red and watery— a complete 180º from the car ride.
Dean sighs, and goes to speak, but Sam beats him to it.
“This is going to sound crazy, but I promise you— it’s true,” Sam starts, his voice soft. Shane relaxes just a bit. “Monsters, demons, angels, all of it exists. We are hunters, we hunt these demons and monsters to keep people like you safe.”
Shane nearly passes out, catching himself on the bed, sliding off of it and onto the gross hotel floor. He looks horrified. “I thought… I thought he was joking.” Shane says, putting his head in his hands.
Sam and Dean stare at each other. “What do you mean? He told you?
“Yeah… a few days ago. He was drunk, so I had assumed he was just crazy. He said that there was something weird going on. He showed me this tattoo, told me I needed it to be safe. It was so unlike him, I just thought I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did,” Shane says, voice thick with guilt. “I thought he was crazy. Did I do this? Could I have helped?”
Sam grabs Shane’s shoulders, making sure Shane understands. “No, no, this wasn’t your fault, okay? We know how to help him, okay? He’s gonna be okay.”
Dean doesn’t believe the words Sam’s saying— and it looks like Sam doesn’t believe them either.
Just then, Shane shrieks, looking up, making eye contact with someone right behind Dean.
Dean whips his head around.
Castiel.
“Dean, Sam. There’s something…” He trails off, staring at Shane. “Who’s this?” He asks, approaching Shane. Dean stops him with a simple arm, shaking his head slightly, hoping to not scare Shane anymore than he already is.
“What are you doing here?” Sam asks, ignoring Castiel’s question.
“An angel has gone rouge. Sauriel hasn’t answered anyone in months. His last known location was in this area.” Castiel says. Dean can hear the desperation in his voice.
Catching a glimpse at Shane, the man looks seconds away from passing out.
“Are you… one of them too? A hunter?” Shane asks, trying to calm down.
“No. I’m an Angel.” Castiel says, as bluntly as ever. Dean sighs, rubbing his temples in frustration.
Shane— bless his soul— passes out. Sam catches his head with his hand, stopping him from face planting, leaning it back onto the bed.
“He’s new, ignore him.” Sam says, bringing his attention back to Castiel
“We know what your angel buddy has been up to. Kidnapping gay humans and wiping their memories. Sauriel took this guys boyfriend,” Sam explains, “Ilya Rozanov. He’s a hunter. Dean found a banishing symbol in the guys house, and salt around the doors and windows.”
Castiel curses. “He had begun to show doubt. I had tried to talk to him… But he attacked and hasn’t been seen since,” Castiel pauses, and looks like he’s about to shit himself. “I can’t find Ilya. He seems to be warded, probably by Sauriel. But he doesn’t seem to be in danger. For how long… I don’t know. I have a way we can probably get them both to us, safe.”
Dean slumps into a chair, relief that Ilya still had some time left until his memories are gone.
As if reading his mind, Sam asks, “If his memory is gone— can you bring them back? Can you bring the other’s memory back?”
Castiel sighs. "I don't know for sure. Sauriel is a powerful angel.”
“Jesus, okay. What’s this plan of yours?” Dean asks, trying to ignore the knot in his gut, and Castiel teleports them to a random warehouse— without any warning.
Shane is there too, spread across the floor, sleeping peacefully.
Dean feels a wave of nausea, hating the feeling of being zapped from one place to another, and Sam stumbles to the floor.
Looking around, Dean sees a sigil on the floor— something he’s never seen before. It’s an Angel Trap, but it’s not at the same time.
“I came up with this, it should send Sauriel and hopefully Ilya straight to us. I just need the blood of someone who’s been unbranded…” He slowly looks at Shane, an emotion in his eyes Dean can’t recognize.
“Woah, woah, you’re not killing him, are you?” Dean says, stepping between Shane and Castiel, who is holding an Angel Blade. Castiel looks hesitant. Dean scoffs, and takes the blade from Castiel. “We are not killing an innocent man, Cas. Just… cut his hand or something.” Dean says, approaching Shane and slicing a bit of his hand.
Castiel approaches and collects the blood, taking the blade back as well. He heals Shane before he walks away. The man stirs awake from the sensation, jolting back when he realizes they aren’t in the hotel room.
Unfortunately, he does not pass back out, leaving him to witness everything with his own eyes. He reminds Dean of Sam, back when he had first learned of demons and monsters. Young, scared, and on the verge of tears.
Castiel splashes the blood he got from Shane onto the sigil, and begins chanting. It’s a mix of words, and he begins throwing random things onto the sigil while chanting, causing it to row brighter, forcing all three of them to look away.
Shane backs up, a small whimper falling from his lips.
Then, the glowing stops.
When Dean looks up, there’s two things he sees. A tall, brooding woman— Sauriel’s vessel. He’s faced towards Dean and Sam, clearly caught off guard.
Then, Dean looks down to the floor. Before he can process the sight, Shane is shouting.
“Ilya? Ilya!”
The words come deep from Shane’s soul, and Sam and Dean look at Castiel, hoping to swipe Ilya from the circle. Castiel gives a nod, and Sam pulls Ilya out, and Shane immediately rushes over to him, scraping his legs in the process, if the blood on the ground is anything to go by.
Dean can’t keep his eyes off them. Ilya— stiff in Sam’s arms, Shane trembling as he reaches for Ilya’s face, eyes blinking back the tears threatening to fall, but failing as he touches Ilya’s face, whispering a string of soft ‘no’s.
Dean looks away, looks at Sam, at Cas, at the wall, at anything other than the heartbreaking image in front of him.
Sauriel is watching with a smirk on his face. Castiel pulls out his angel blade, pointing it at him, he turns around. “Oh, Castiel, we both know you’re not going to use that.” He says, a fake pout on his face.
“What is the meaning of this, Sauriel?” Castiel shouts, voice booming, but Dean can only focus on the loud sobs coming from Shane.
“You know very well the meaning of this, Castiel,” Sauriel spits the name like a slur. “God is gone, Heaven has no leader, so what’s the point of all this? We’re free spirts, Castiel. Live a little. Have fun, live free.”
“So you take it into your own hands? Hurt innocent people for what? God?” Castiel shouts back, dropping the blade. Dean can see Shane staring at it, something churning in his mind.
“Oh, please. The apocalypse is nigh and these humans are goners. There’s nothing wrong with starting a bit early.” Sauriel looks over at Ilya and Shane, smirking.
“I just started with this guy. He knew too much.” Sauriel says, and Shane clenches his fist, and Dean recognizes the look in his eyes.
Murderous, Shane looked like he wanted to pick up that blade and stab it in between Sauriel's eyes. Dean wouldn’t blame him, but it’s very surprising.
Dean didn’t know much about hockey— about Shane Hollander— but he does know that Shane Hollander is a goody two-shoes, never fighting anyone even if they deserve it. So the look on his face is a complete shock to Dean.
But he gets it. Sam is just like him.
Sauriel turns back to face Castiel, and Castiel gently kicks the blade towards the three of them, signalling to Dean that talking is not getting them out of this, and someone needs to act fast.
Dean picks up the blade, and throws it to Shane. Sauriel is distracted by Castiel, once again trying to convince him to join in their plan to finish what god started. Shane stares at it, horror in his eyes.
Maybe Dean had misread. Maybe Shane didn’t want to get his revenge. Maybe Sam and Shane were not alike.
But then, Shane looks at Ilya’s body, a fire in his eyes that ignites as he stands, quick and loud. Sauriel turns to look, a cocky grin on his face. It disappears when he sees the blade in Shane’s hand.
Shane stabs Sauriel in the chest, zero hesitation. He glows white, and then falls to the ground.
Dean feels… proud, as well as annoyed that he can never talk about this moment ever again— The moment Canada’s golden boy stabbed someone in the chest.
Shane’s hands are trembling as he looks down at Sauriel’s body, his wings burnt into the ground like a shadow.
Shane’s legs can’t hold themselves up anymore, and he collapses to the floor. Dean cringes— that couldn’t have felt good— but Shane is focused on bringing Ilya into his arms, lifting Ilya off Sam and onto his own lap, chanting his name like a prayer. He starts crying, small sobs shaking his body.
It’s a harrowing scene. Shane crying, petting Ilya’s hair, kissing his head. It hurts Dean to look, but he can’t look away.
Helplessly, Shane looks at Castiel. “You’re an angel, right? Can’t you help him?” Shane asks between sobs. “I can’t… I don’t know if I can live without him.”
It sounds like a confession, straight from Shane’s soul, private, personal. Dean feels like he’s intruding— from the look on Sam’s face, he feels it too.
Castiel sighs, and approaches the boys. Shane watches, his eyes heavy with devastation.
“Shane.” Castiel begins, crouching. “I apologize for what my brother has done. I can’t take away the trauma of this situation, but I can bring Ilya back, and you’ll have each other.” He says, gentle and apologetic. It throws Dean off his game a bit, never once hearing the angel’s voice with any emotion as strong as that.
Tears fall as Shane watches Castiel place two fingers on Ilya’s temple.
Ilya wakes up immediately, and Shane sobs now— full and loud.
Ilya mumbles something in another language, before sitting up with the help of Shane. “Shane?”
“Ilya, holy shit.” Shane says, squeezing Ilya’s hand, struggling holding himself back from tackling Ilya in a hug.
Ilya takes a look around, making eye contact with Dean, and Dean can tell he’s been recognized.
“Does he know?” He whispers to Dean, but loud enough for everyone to hear, in an attempt to lighten the mood after noticing the somber atmosphere.
Shane scoffs, which morphs into sobs seconds after, and so Ilya wraps Shane into a brutally tight hug.
Castiel stands up, giving the two boys space. He extends his hand for Sam to take.
––––
Shane attempts to process everything that has happened in the past 5 hours.
First, Ilya goes MIA— which isn’t too uncommon— but Shane had felt strange about it this time, and so he goes to Ilya’s house in Boston. Then, a few days later, Ilya is reported missing, and Shane doesn’t leave Ilya’s house. Then, a man claiming to be the FBI intrudes, and then said FBI agent rips a picture down to reveal some blood sacrifice-sigil-thing on the wall he can’t even begin to comprehend, and Ilya’s bloody handprint right next to it. Everything after that is a blur.
Up until the man claiming to be an angel summoned someone, bringing Ilya with him, and Ilya being dead.
Shane never wants to feel that way ever again. Seeing Ilya so lifeless was terrifying in a way Shane could never even begin to describe. When the angel that killed him started talking, Shane had felt nothing other than blinding hot anger, and he knew it was showing.
When Dean slid the knife towards him, Shane had hesitated, just for a second. But then he looked at Ilya— his Ilya, and knew what he had to do.
The feeling of the knife going into the angel’s chest was disgusting, and it’s going to haunt Shane for years, but watching the Angel glow bright and scream before falling to the ground was a feeling Shane hopes to feel again— hopefully under vastly different circumstances.
Shane had been terrified when Castiel had gone to touch Ilya, he thought the angel was going to send Ilya to heaven. Maybe it was selfish of Shane, to want Ilya here forever. They had only been hooking up for a few years, and Shane had never been to Ilya’ house, the first time being this week.
“Shane.” Ilya said, grounding him and taking him back to the present. Ilya’s death grip loosened, but his hands never stopped touching Shane. He grabs Shane’s chin, forcing him to make eye contact. “Shane. Are you alright?”
Shane suddenly felt embarrassed when he realized just how many people were in the room. Sure, they weren’t actively looking, but they could still be heard. He wants to pull Ilya into a kiss right there, tell him he never wants to be apart ever again.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he throws himself on Ilya again, sticking his head into his neck and breathing in Ilya, trying to memorize the scent. Ilya sighs, hugging back. Shane clings to him like a toddler.
This has been the scariest fucking day of his entire life.
Castiel approaches after they part. “Ilya, can you tell me what Sauriel said to you? Do you remember?” He asks, his voice gruff once again.
“No. I can’t remember. I think he wiped my memory. I’m sorry.” Ilya says, and Castiel sighs, but then turns his attention to Shane.
“You killed a high-ranking angel, Shane. You’ve put a target on your back,” Castiel says, and Shane sucks in a breath. Ilya looks over at him, his eyes wide with shock. Castiel hovers his hand over Shane’s chest, and a white light shines from it.
It fucking burns, and Shane lets go of Ilya to clutch his chest. “What the fuck was that?” He says, panting, looking wildly at Castiel.
Castiel looks apologetic, like he didn’t realize it was going to hurt. “It’s an Enochian Sigil. It will hide you from all angels.” He says, and goes to do it to Ilya too.
Ilya sucks in a breath, and exhales slowly, trying not to scream.
Shane takes the opportunity to look around. He sees Sauriel’s dead body, and the wings burnt into the ground like a shadow. He gulps, thinking about the feeling of plunging the knife into Sauriel's heart.
“Am I going to hell?” He asks, sheepishly. Ilya laughs.
“No. You probably saved our lives. I could feel the trap weakening, any more hesitation, we all would’ve died. Sauriel was extremely powerful.” Castiel says, and Shane can feel the bewilderment coming from Ilya.
“You killed an angel?” His voice is pure astonishment.
Shane feels himself flushing. “I don’t know what came over me. Just… Seeing you like that… I wasn’t myself.” He says, forcing the words to come out.
He looks up at Ilya, and almost cries again after seeing the look in the man’s eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It is not easy.” His accent is thick as he caresses Shane’s face gently.
“What… What do we do with him?” Shane asks tentatively, looking at Sam and Dean.
“Sauriel, the angel, is dead. The blade got rid of him instantly.” Sam says, hesitant. Shane waits for him to say more, but Dean stops him with a small headshake.
Shane wants to press for information, but knows he probably isn’t going to enjoy the answer, so he just pulls Ilya a little closer.
Sam pulls Dean and Castiel out of the warehouse, leaving the two alone for a minute— Shane doesn’t know who he’s giving privacy to, but he appreciates it all the same.
It’s quiet for a second, after the guys leave. Shane just holds Ilya, close and unyielding.
“Hollander.” Ilya says, and Shane realizes that for this entire time, Ilya has called Shane by his name, and Shane had called him Ilya.
It’s not an uncomfortable feeling— Shane realizes.
“Ilya. Please, please let me say something,” Shane says quickly, trying to not lose the confidence, but with the way Ilya is staring at him, it’s leaving fast, and tears are replacing it. “This whole situation is fucking terrifying. I texted you after the game, but you didn’t answer me. I went to your house, and you weren’t there, I stayed for days, and you never came home. Then fucking Dean comes, and finds a fucking sigil on your wall with your blood— and wouldn’t even say anything. Fuck! I thought you were bleeding out somewhere. You scared the fucking shit out of me, you asshole!” Shane says, punching Ilya pathetically.
Ilya coos, “Okay. I’m sorry, I will try to be more careful next time.”
Shane stares into Ilya’s eyes, and kisses him.
It’s nothing like their other kisses, ones they shared when all they wanted was each other’s bodies. This one is intense, anchoring, and aching— like Ilya is going to die again, like Shane is going to wake up in Ilya’s bed, all alone, like he has been for the past week.
Shane kisses Ilya until they have to pull apart for air. Shane looks at Ilya, his heart pounding in his chest. Ilya was just as much as a wreck as Shane. “Shane, my love.” Ilya says softly, kissing Shane’s face.
Shane swallows his fears, “I love you. I love you so much, Ilya. It’s agony.” He whispers, leaning his forehead on Ilya’s neck, peppering him with kisses. Ilya shudders, placing his hand in Shane’s hair.
Shane is terrified, he’s never let himself admit just how much he truly loves Ilya— pushing all the thoughts down before he can think too hard about them.
Ilya kisses him again, just as deep and meaningful as the first, and whispers russian into his lips. Shane can’t make it out, but he wouldn’t have been able to translate it anyways.
Then, Ilya pulls away, and leans their foreheads together. “I love you too, my love.” Ilya says, closing his eyes tight to stop more tears from falling.
Shane feels dizzy, pulling Ilya in for another hug.
Shane feels safe in Ilya’s arms. The monsters will be no match for him and Ilya (whenever he learns how to stop them— that is).