Captivated

by yoursineternity

Summary:

Dean Winchester is a serial killer, with a strange moral code. Castiel is a boring college student with multitudes of crippling anxieties and disorders. When Castiel becomes Dean's hostage will they discover they aren't so different after all? Destiel.

Chapter 1: Hostage (revised)

When I wake up that morning. I know that today is going to be different. I can feel it, like when you can feel a cold approaching, or a bug bite that doesn't hurt until it suddenly does.

It's inevitable and it's going to happen, and I know the second I step out of my apartment that today's going to be different.

I pull into the gas station a few blocks away from my college, wincing at the gas prices. I'm going to be late for class if I don't hurry and this makes my anxiety pulse dully, imagining walking into class late and having all eyes on me.

I scowl as I step out of the car to see the dingy screen asking me to go inside.

Sighing I walk up the grubby gas station, pushing open the door and enjoying the gush of warm air over my face.

I usually prefer getting gas from the station near my house. It's well kept and tidy, unlike this store which is part of a chain and has two rhyming numbers.

But the delicious artery clogging slurpees may just be worth the trip.

I scan the different signs, flashing brightly with saturated colors and names that sound ridiculous. I ignore the cashier eyeing me warily, probably for taking too long while he could be watching the dirty little TV shoved under a stack of old newspapers.

I contemplate which of the sweet drinks I liked as a child when I hear the bells sounding loudly at the door, signaling another customer.

I keep to myself in public, social anxiety preventing me from being able to communicate with other people comfortable. So I keep my head down and only speak when spoken to.

Which is why I find it very strange that I look up when the door opens. I catch myself before meeting the strangers gaze, and instead watch his dirty boots creak across the tiles and come to stand at my side.

The man; and it is a man, judging by the holes in his jeans and his bowed legs, shifts at my side.

"What's your favorite flavour?" He asks, and the deep rough voice startles me. I twitch and peek at him curiously, he looks very serious for someone simply purchasing a sweet treat.

"Cherry, I suppose." I answer almost instantly, and I bite the inside of my cheek. This is strange, very strange, because by now I should be curling within myself and ignoring the man.

Nah," The man says, uncrossing his arms as he pulls a cup from the dispenser. "Coke's better." He says, yanking the crank and the icee sloshes loudly into his cup.

"I don't believe I've tried coke." I find myself admitting, brow furrowed as I speak to the stranger so comfortably. The man doesn't bother with a plastic lid as he takes a few loud gulps before handing it to me.

I have mysophobia. I do not share drinks. Especially with strangers.

Before this information can fully process in my mind, I'm taking the cup from the man's hands and sipping at it carefully. Our eyes finally meet over the rim of the cup as I tilt it back.

"It's delicious." I admit, handing it back to him. Our fingers brush, and I don't find myself needing to run out to my car and swab at my hands with sanitizer wipes.

Why am I not calculating the number of diseases this man can contain? Why am I not having a panic attack? Why am I okay? Before I can further my thoughts, the man flashes me a bright white smile and my mind blanks.

"Told yah," The man grins. Licking his rather plump lips, which look at odds with his masculine jaw line and stubble.

"Now I'm unsure which I'd rather have." I cough, clearing my throat. I return my gaze to the bright little signs perched over the nozzles.

I haven't talked this easily with anyone since Samandriel last came to visit me at the college. That had been months ago. I felt sick, more from confusion and shock than any of my disorders.

"Problem solved." The man handed me a cup, swirled with both cherry and coke. The two seamlessly whirled together. But the bright red was being dulled away by the brown, smothered by the darker color.

I gap at him as he winks at me.

---

I suppose this is what I deserve for being so shamelessly drawn to the man.

"Drop any weapons you may have, and come out with your hands up!" An officer sounds from a megaphone in the parking lot. I see a cop squatting behind my car, his gun steadied towards the building.

The cashier slams down the metal grating and ducks out the back door, leaving me alone with the man before I can even fully comprehend the situation.

Through the window, I watch him being escorted by an officer away from the apparently dangerous situation.

Which I am smack dab in the middle of.

"Shit," The man startles me. I'd almost forgotten him in my haze of bewilderment. "They found me." The man takes a sip of his beverage. He doesn't sound even remotely concerned.

"Are you a criminal?" I demand, my throat seizing up. The light calm feeling that the man had inspired in me starts to dim, my chest aches painfully and I clutch at my shirt.

"Yeah." The man says almost bashfully, as if I'd complimented him. The ache subsides, I'm heavily affected by the man's composure.

Now that I look at him fully, I think he might perhaps be familiar.

"Shouldn't you turn yourself in?" I ask, my tone brittle. I'm scared, I think. I haven't been scared in a long time. Disgusted, panicked, annoyed, but not scared. I don't know how to conduct myself, I had only seen 'cops' once and the experience was not remembered fondly.

The criminal curses loudly, and I jump back startled. The handle of the slurpee dig into my back painfully, scratching at my skin. My heart begins to race and I can feel the cold prick of an anxiety attack beginning to pull at my skin.

"Fuck!" The man repeats, looking up at me with damp grassy eyes as he holds a hand to his head. He winces, and rubs at his scalp, making his hair stand up. "Brain freeze." He elaborates, gesturing to his head with a flinch.

I almost laugh, because how absurd is it that this stranger is more concerned about a brain freeze than the half dozen men gathered around the store with firearms aimed at him.

The sound of a helicopter approaches, and the man has the nerve to look exasperated.

"Finally," He grunts, rolling from the aisle we had been standing behind to the one closer to the cash register behind the front desk. Bullets follow inches behind his feet, little wisps of smoke trailing up from the holes left in the ground.

The man picks the cage in seconds, shoving it up as he quickly hops over to stand behind the register. He fiddles with the TV until the news station pops up.

"...mass murderer Dean Winchester has been located at a Gas station in Orchid Town, Nebraska. Authorities are soon going to..." Dean makes a face and turns down the volume, tipping back his slurpee to take another gulp.

"See here?" He asks, and it takes me a moment to realize he's speaking to me. I nod when he looks at me expectantly.

"They only put two officers in the back. Idiots." Dean mutters under his breath.

"Our best shot is going out back." He decides, watching the live feed from the helicopter circling above.

"Our?" My voice breaks and Dean looks at me over his shoulder, leaning his forearms back against the counter. Dean's bright white grin looks suddenly manic.

"Yeah, you're my hostage." He declares.

---

Although I currently hate the man holding me hostage and forcing me to crouch on the dirty floor so the police don't shoot me by accident, I can't help but be impressed by his resourcefulness.

He's quickly pulling the ingredients needed for our escape off a shelf. Some sugar, aluminum foil, and a bullet from his gun. He uses a knife to dig off the top of a bullet and pour it into the concoction.

He digs into the large pockets in his leather jackets and flicks open a metal zippo, melting something.

"What is that?" I ask slowly, nervously. I swallow thickly, and wipe my sweating hands on my jeans.

"Smoke bomb. Pretty impressive, huh?" Dean brags, tucking his gun between the small of his back and his jeans. He looks at me, and something flickers across his face before he grins.

"Put these on, will yah?" He tosses an object at me and I catch it clumsily. I examine the the metal circles before snapping my eyes up to meet his.

"You want me to incapacitate myself?" I ask dubiously.

"Sure," Dean grins, eyebrow raised with amusement I don't understand. "It's not too hard, just-" He yelps as a bullet hits the space his ankle had just been resting until he leaned forward to point at the cuffs. He scoots forward and shoots me a look of exaggerated amusement.

"Those are bullets." I remind him sarcastically, he shrugs. Dean is absolutely ridiculous, with no sense of self preservation. He is completely insane and he wants me as his hostage. I realize belatedly that I'm probably going to die.

I should never have left my apartment.

"Ah, it's no biggie. I've been shot before." Dean comments, bending over the bomb he's fiddling with. He looks up at me every few seconds from beneath his lashes, as if checking if I'm still there.

"You've been shot?" I gasp. The most bodily harm I've ever encountered had been when Gabriel had shoved me as a child and I'd sprained my ankle.

"You haven't?" Dean asked, sounding honestly confused as to why I would not have gained that experience in my young life. I'm about to respond when the Police use the megaphone again.

"Dean Winchester, come out with your-"

"Ah, shut up." Dean cuts them off by rolling the bomb to the front of the store. The room rapidly fills with smoke. I cough, and am about to reach up to cover my mouth when two strong hands grip my wrists. Dean pulls me close to him, and I inhale sharply. I cough and Dean clamps the metal around my wrists. I try and jerk away but he keeps a firm hold on me, gently wrapping a cloth around my mouth.

"Don't struggle." He says directly into my ear, voice low and intimate. I squirm, I'm practically in his lap. I'm uncomfortable being this close to a stranger. But the feeling of a warm, strong body leaning protectively over me is foreign and feels nice.

My eyes burn, and I cough again.

Dean grips the back of my head, pushing my face into his chest to dull my coughing as the police storm the store, stomping past us as we hunker down behind the back door.

The smoke creates a dense fog, and Dean uses that to his advantage as we slip out. Dean's hand is tight around my waist and I try and pull away but he's holding me tightly.

I hate being touched.

"Clear!" A officer shouts.

"He's going out he back!" Another laments, but it's too late. Dean already has me shoved inside an old car leaves a trail of smoke behind us, he must have dropped a third bomb. I hear the officers shouting and clamoring to help me, but it's too late. I might as well be dead.

---

The car is loud. It sends deep rumbles that vibrate all the way down to my bones. Like a deep tissue massage after the chaos back at the gas station.

My hands are still bound behind my back, but Dean had pulled off my bandanna once we'd got on the freeway. I had remained silent since then.

Dean hums along to a classic rock song, sipping whats left of his surely melted icee. I'm both annoyed and impressed he managed to get it out in all the fuss.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask softly, so low he might not even hear my tiny question. I already know the answer. Dean stops humming and turns to look at me, his breath smells like artificial sugar.

"Wasn't planning on it." Dean says steadily, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. I let out a slow, shuttered breath.

"You're a mass murderer." I remind, and shut my eyes as if saying the word will send him into a fit. But Dean doesn't move. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, I think I feel the beginning of an attack forming.

"I ain't gonna' hurt you." Dean says carefully. I think I hear a slight southern accent and for some reason this soothes me.

"Unless you make me." He adds, a puzzled frown tugging at his smooth lips.

"I saw a sketch of you on the news ... they said you killed over fifty people." I blurt, fingers clenching around the metal still bound over my wrists. My eyes are glued to Dean, like the moment I look away he'll attack.

Studying people's faces helps calm me, and I'm currently counting Dean's freckles to try and keep from tipping over the edge into insanity.

"That's bullshit!" Dean snarls. I feel hope swell under my ribs, perhaps it had all been a misunderstanding. Dean was really an innocent bystander.

"You didn't recognize me!" Dean leans over and rifles through the glove department until he pulls out a wrinkled photocopy of a sketch.

"The sketch artist sucks! I'm way better looking than that." Dean snaps vainly, shoving the paper under my nose for me to view. I look back and forth between Dean and the sketch.

"They over exaggerated your freckles." I admit. Dean is very handsome, more than handsome, perhaps even beautiful. He had long lashes and golden freckles and a military style haircut, which seems at contrast with his easy going personality.

"Damn right. My nose ain't that big either." Dean grunts, shoving the paper back in the love department. Which is also true, Dean's nose is straight with a slight bump from perhaps having been broken earlier in his life. The bump in the sketch is massive and wobbly.

We sit in silence for a long while. Dean growing more twitchy with every second.

"So what's your name?" Dean asks awkwardly, eyes skipping to meet mine before dancing away.

"Castiel." I answer flatly, trying to move my aching shoulders.

"Casta-what?" Dean snorts, shooting me a look.

"Caz-tee-ell." I enunciates more clearly, Dean's lips purse and I watch him repeat it silently before shaking his head.

"I'm gonna call you Cas." Dean decides, scratching the back of his neck. This makes my neck suddenly feel very itchy and I wriggle uncomfortably.

"Will you please remove these cuffs?" I beg imploringly.

"Why," Dean glances at me worriedly."They hurting you?"

"I don't believe they were designed with comfort in mind." I deadpan. This makes Dean smile, and I find myself mimicking him.

Dean swerves to the side of the road.

"Don't try anything, okay? I have a gun." Dean meets my eyes as he bends down to get to my hands. I look up at him and he pauses. His eyes glance down to my lips before snapping up, he quickly unlocks my cuffs and sits back in the seat.

I rub at my reddened wrists as we start back on the road.

"You're not scared of me?" Dean means it as a statement, but there is a slight question buried under the surface.

"I think you desensitized me. I have an array of disorders and I don't think my body could handle all the stress, so I've locked myself down. Or at least that's my theory." I mutter, eyeing Dean from the corner of my vision.

He is smirking.

We lapse into another silence. I toy with the hem of my sweater, glancing at Dean in his leather jacket and frayed jeans. We must look amusing together. Me wearing tidy clothes, with my hair combed and neatly parted. While Dean's got a wrinkled shirt under his jacket and scuffed muddy boots.

"How old are you?" Dean asks, reaching forward to turn down the radio even though it was already low.

"Twenty." I answer. Dean lets out a short, almost bitter laugh.

"Same age as my brother," He grunts, rubbing at his forehead. He glances at me before looking back to the road. "He's studying to be a lawyer." He adds.

"Does he know what you do?" I ask, and my tone leaves no question on how much I disapprove. Dean shrugs with a small smirk.

"Oh yeah, he helps sometimes." Dean says.

"Helps you murder people." I clarify, shuttering as I say the word. In retrospect, speaking with disdain to a known murderer probably isn't the most avid way of staying alive. I should learn to hold my tongue, but it had never been my strong suit.

"Not people, Cas. Things. It's sort of the family business." Dean says flippantly waving me off. It should scare me a whole lot more that Dean is a serial killer, he doesn't even bother denying it or pretending he's not.

I still don't find myself jumping out of the car or begging for my life.

I try and remember more about the Winchesters. They were on the news constantly.

Before Dean, his father had been convicted of manslaughter on several accounts. But Dean; Dean had been vicious in most of his assaults, resorting to torture of the highest degree.

"People are not things." I say back, glaring at him levelly. I had been raised in an extremely religious home. During college I had been dissuaded from most of the teachings, disagreeing with most of what the Church taught. But I was still a man of faith.

"You don't know what I do. Do you, Cas?" Dean asks, turning to meet my glare with a small tolerant smile. It makes me bristle with annoyance.

"You kill people." I say throatily. The small crack in my voice is enough for Dean's eyes to light up. I can see the predatory look in his eye, the same ones his victims must see before they die. He looks at me like he's the wolf and I'm the lamb.

I should be running from this man, not debating the sanctity of human life.

Not trying to save him.

I flush at my own thoughts and Dean's grin gets wider.

"I don't kill people. I kill killers." Dean's stunning smile is completely at odds with the statement.

Chapter 2: Anxiety

Summary:

"No one wants to get their hands dirty, you know? Everyone wants to be the hero. Well not me, man. I know were my priorities are, and if I gotta' be the one getting the pedophiles and rapists off the streets; so be it."

In retrospect it's easy to understand why Dean Winchester is so interesting. He's shrouded in mystery, his family is loyal and tragic. His mother died when he was a child, murdered by a serial killer that the police had released on 'lack of evidence'. So John Winchester had taken the law into his own hands and had tracked him down and killed him. It was how their 'family business' got started. After that they skipped from town to town, tracking down serial killers, strange deaths, and the like. John racked up a total of thirty murders before he was incarcerated.

Dean had over sixty.

But in all honesty the main reason behind Dean's success in the tabloids, wasn't the tragic anti-hero persona he'd taken, or even his bad boy attitude. It was his genuine beauty. Castiel had never been one to be attracted to someone based solely on looks, but Dean was sohandsome. With the classic good looks of some actor from the 50's, with his cocky smile and spiked hair. His mesmerizing green eyes were altogether shockingly beautiful.

If only he could shut his mouth.

"Dude! I love this song!" Dean shouted over the radio. Screaming, rather than singing along to a classic rock song. I had already vehemently been informed than anything produced after the eighties 'sucked-ass'.

"Living easy! Living free! Season tickets to a one way ride!" Dean roared, nodding his head along to the heavy bass. I sighed looking out the window. I'd always supposed a mass murderer might be dangerous, alluring. Not a lumbering idiot who liked AC/DC and cheeseburgers.

After the song ended Dean lowered the volume to only slightly headache inducing.

"How long before I can return home." I asked. It had been nearly three days since I'd been captive. We had driven for ninety percent of the time. Dean stopped off at diners a lot, throwing on some sunglasses and a baseball cap. Without his eyes showing, it was hard to tell who he was.

"Dunno, kinda missed having some company. Even though you don't talk much." He tossed me a charming smile and I frowned.

"I have school, a life. I'm not here to entertain you." I said slowly, I was still waiting for him to explode. For some maniacal Hannibal Lecter to contort that boyish smile into a rouge villain.

"Consider it an early spring break." Dean turned the music back up and the discussion was dropped.

---

Dean pulled into a motel. For the past three nights we had been sleeping in the car, Dean slumping in the front seat for a few hours before heading back on the road. I was in desperate need of a shower, at least Dean could change clothes and brush his teeth.

We pulled into the little cramped hotel, the light flickered as the rumble of the Impala died away. I handed Dean his trucker hat and he fit it over his head.

"Room for two." Dean smiled at the man. He was only a few years older than me, probably in his mid twenties. He had a sort of punk rock style, his hair spiked up and a touch of eyeliner under his eyes.

"Single or double?" The man asked, looking unimpressed with both of us. I looked away. I wasn't sure why I hadn't attempted escape yet. There had been plenty of opportunities; cars passing that I could signal to. I could have started hitchhiking down the road when Dean had stolen a few hours of sleep. At the diner yesterday, Dean had left me alone at the booth while he went to the restroom. He didn't even bother with a threat.

"Double." Dean said, fishing his wallet from his pocket. He tossed a few crumpled bills on the desk and snatched up the key. I followed behind him into the room. It was just as dirty as the outside. The air smelt stale, and the walls were peeling.

"Home sweet home." Dean grunted, hefting his large army bag onto the bed closest to the door.

"You want the shower first?" Dean asked, kicking the door shut when the cool draft swept in. I wasn't sure which state we were in, but it was getting colder by the day.

"Can I borrow some clothes?" I ask hesitantly, before scowling. I don't know why I should feel embarrassed when the entire reason I'm unprepared is due to this idiot starting a conversation with me over a stupid slurpee.

"Sure, we can get you some stuff tomorrow." He said, tossing me a shirt, jeans, and clean white briefs. I twitch, immediately dropping the pile on the bed before scrambling to pick it up.

"I-I can't wear these." I stutter.

"Why, too big? I might have some stuff I grew out of in the trunk-"

"I can't sleep on these beds." I'm having an attack. Everything's narrowing down to the bed and the clothes and it's too much. The bed has stains and I can't sleep on it because it's filthy and dirty and I can't. I backpedal and the dresser scraps against the wall when I slam into it. I drop the clothes on the ground because it's touching my skin.

"What's wrong?" Dean's voice is smooth, an anchor to latch onto as the percentages of germs in hotels fill my mind. The diseases, the virus all begin to plague me. The images of the small squirmy bacteria sliding across my arms. I begin hyperventilating.

"Hey, hey. Calm down." Dean isn't panicked, which even in my crippled state is interesting. Mostly everyone gets affected by my attacks, reacting to my delirium and letting it affect them. But Dean is steady, his face concerned as his big calloused hands grip my forearms. I claw at him, it's too much. I catch his eyebrow with my short blunt nails. Dean doesn't even flinch, just gets a stronger hold on me and and holds my arms down at my side.

"Talk to me." He coaxes, and much to my shock I comply.

"I can't sleep on the hotel beds, their dirty." I choke, and Dean nods sagely. Not even an ounce of the pity I'm so used to seeing.

"I'll go get you some sheets, okay? I'll get you some panties too, want me to wash the clothes while you take a shower?" His voice is light and teasing and I'm nodding along to him. My chattering teeth clamping together, and the seizing muscles relax as he holds my shoulders. Looking down at me curiously, he's bleeding from where I attacked him.

"Please." I'm being ushered into the bathroom, and I wrap a towel around my waist before handing Dean my dirty clothes. He takes them.

"I'll be back soon, okay?" He smiles, eyes tracing down my naked chest. I hide behind the door and nod. I could leave, I could wait until I hear the door shut and run up to the punk rocker at the front desk and tell him to call 9-1-1.

When I hear the door shut I step under the warm spray of the shower head.

---

Sitting on the new sheets with a clean blanket Dean had pulled from the trunk and added to the washing machine, I couldn't help but think how the man who I had pinned down as a moron was definitely the most helpful I've ever encountered during one of my fits. Dean didn't even mention it, he was sprawled out over his bed, eyes lasered onto the old western movie he had found on the TV.

"I really appreciate you helping me." I say slowly as the credits roll on. Dean pops in another piece of beef jerky into his mouth, he is eating on the hotel bed. He hadn't bothered putting new sheets on his own and it makes my stomach roll with disgust.

"No problemo." Dean cracks his neck, flipping through the channels. He doesn't look at me. The room smells better from the soap I'd used in the shower, thankfully sealed. Dean's clothes hang off of my slighter body, the pants tied on my hips keep slipping down over my bottom.

"Aren't you curious as to what's wrong with me." I'm hugging the new pillow to my chest, the crisp smell of clean cotton. I wince as my mind begins to roam with all the possibilities of unsanitary factories where the pillow was produced. I focus on Dean instead.

"Everyone's got there own demons." Dean shrugs, scratching casually at the side of his nose. I look at the scabs on his cheek and forehead. I put them there.

"Mine just happen to be microscopic and everywhere." I mutter. Dean's head jerks up from where it had been laying over a folded pillow. He looks at me for a long moment before bursting out in a hearty laughter. I can't help but smile in return.

---

I wake up to eyes on me. Panic wells in my chest. I'm in a dark room, for a moment I think I'm home in my spotless apartment. But the green eyes peering at me across the room, reflecting like a cats from the streetlight dimly shining through the window are definitely not familiar. I sit up blearily, I had been laying on my stomach. My shirt had ridden up below my shoulder blades, the pajama pants had slipped down to reveal the top of my ass.

"What's wrong?" I ask, voice cracking with sleep. Dean doesn't say a word. He gets up out of bed and exits the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. I slip back into sleep.

When I wake up again, the sun is shining brightly through the curtains. I pull on some jeans I had folded neatly on the desk, they too belong to Dean. I rifle through his bag to find a belt when they slip down my narrow hips. The worn flannel shirt feels strange compared to the nice sweaters I'm used to wearing, but it's clean and it smells masculine so I don't complain.

I step outside, wondering were Dean had vanished too. Across the parking lot, in the room closest to the office. Dean comes out of someone's room. He leans over the punk rock guy and whispers something to him. The man laughs, and gives a small smirk before turning and shutting the door behind him. Dean struts back in the direction of our room before freezing when he spies me.

"Hi." He greets awkwardly, hands shoved into his jeans. I blink in brief confusion.

"Hello." Dean's eyes flicker to anything and everything but me. I find it irritating. He's a known serial killer, he shouldn't be acting bashful. It doesn't make sense. I don't like when things don't make sense.

"You said we could buy me some clothes today, I find yours are much too large." I demonstrate by pulling at the sagging collar of Dean's flannel. He is much more broadly built than me.

"Oh, uh sure. I don't have much cash but we can get you some jeans and underwear." He shrugs, and motions for me to follow him into the car.

---

Dean actually takes me to a small mall. A mall were there are cameras and security guards. Dean is reckless. I very much disapprove.

"I can't believe you've avoided capture for so long." I complain idly as he flips through some jeans wincing at the prices.

"Well, not everyone thinks what I do is a crime." Dean tugs down a pair of jeans and holds them in front of his bowed legs. His lips turn downward in exaggerated approval until he sees the price and groans.

"Man, I hate malls. Way to overpriced." He blurts, stuffing the jeans back on the shelf and stuffing his hands into his pockets as he sulks. Dean would much prefer to go to a thrift store, or a goodwill. I refuse to even step foot into one of those cesspools.

"What do you mean?" I pry, looking at him from over the rack of discount tee shirts.

"I'm not big on buying clothes. Stuff I have is old and worn, I didn't know how expensive this shit wa-"

"No, I mean-You said not everyone thinks what you do is a crime." I articulated. Dean looked up from where he had been squinting at a gaudy golden watch.

"Think about it, Cas." The nickname was new but consistent. 'Castiel' seemed to be too much of a mouthful for Dean's slow rumbly drawl.

"No one wants to get their hands dirty, you know? Everyone wants to be the hero. Well not me, man. I know were my priorities are, and if I gotta' be the one getting the pedophiles and rapists off the streets; so be it." Dean shrugged. Flipping through some hangers before becoming bored and leaning back against the wall. His eyes followed a pretty blonde sauntering down the aisle.

"You're a serial killer, Dean." I don't know why I said it. It was stupid and I shouldn't be having this conversation because it could set him off. Dean smirks at that.

"I've been called worse. I'm just doing my job, and it sucks, trust me it does. But I go to bed with a clear conscious."

"And blood on your hands." I add, frowning at him. I could yell, the mall was active and the I could get help. I could escape and return home, to safety and cleanliness and peace. But I was curious, what made this man tick. Why did he think so differently. How could he act so easy going, and simple if it was true that he had tortured and mutilated over fifty people. It just didn't make sense to me. I had to get answers.

"That too." Dean chuckled, following me to the cash register when I found a few items.

I had to solve the puzzle that was Dean Winchester.

Chapter 3: Phobia

Summary:

"Not fire with fire, Cas. That's what the police do. I'm the fire extinguisher. I get rid of the problem all together."

Dean tosses a bag into the trunk of the Impala. Slamming the hood down nosily. Dean can't even do a simple task without making a ruckus.

"Ready?" He asks, rolling his shoulders. I touch the pockets of my new jeans and nod. I feel okay. Dean gives me a quick once over before moving to the drivers seat. Again it comes to mind that I should probably be trying harder to escape, or even trying at all. I slip into the passenger seat instead. Pressing my lips together as I glance at Dean.

"Where are we going?" I ask him softly. He shrugs, looking into the rear view mirror as he pulls out of the parking spot and heads out on the road.

"Dunno. You have anywhere in mind?" He turns flashing me a bright grin. I frown at him.

"Don't you have more people you feel you need to punish?" I layer sarcasm on heavily, but Dean doesn't even flinch. He rolls his eyes, and gives a short shrug.

"I should lay low for a couple of days." He slams his foot down on the pedal and I try not to have a coronary at the speeds he reaches.

---

Although we may be opposites. The one thing both me and Dean completely agree on is cheeseburgers. I sink my teeth into the bun, the juicy meat gushes in my mouth while contrasting with the sharp taste of the cheese. I groan happily and Dean snickers.

"Good, huh?" He smiles around his own half chewed food, and I wince. I exaggerate my swallow and dab at my chin with a napkin to demonstrate proper manners for him before speaking.

"Delicious." I agree, and his smile goes even wider. We had finally gotten a hotel next to the bar Dean had forcefully drug me into. We'd been on the road for two days since the last hotel. Dean had placed new sheets and his clean comforter on the bed while I had taken a long hot shower.

"We should play some pool after this, I'm running low on cash." Dean said, nodding to the table were some large men with trucker caps were gathered around. Just thinking of how many hands had touched the pool cues made my stomach bunch and roil. Dean looks excited at the opportunity.

"I can't." I mutter, looking down at my burger. Dean deflates slightly, but his smile doesn't drop.

"It's cool, you can watch a pro at work." Dean winks, shoving another large bite into his mouth. I roll my eyes, but the guilt sits in my belly. Which is ridiculous. I shouldn't feel guilty for not being able to play a game with a known serial killer.

Dean had specifically picked out the bar due to the heavy fog of cigarette smoke and dim lights that would cover his features. Thankfully my lectures on inconspicuousness were being taken to heart.

"Come on." Dean waved his hand. I followed obediently, watching Dean stroll up to the men. He plucked a quarter from his pocket and set it on the table.

"I call next game." He nodded to the men who turned to inspect him critically.

"Pfft," A man who was about Dean's height but twice as thick snorted.

"Why don't you take yer' girlfriend and scram, ken doll." The man grunted. I felt my face burn in humiliation and Dean's green eyes went wide.

"What's your problem, man?" Dean steps up to him, eyeing him levelly. The man is just as shocked as me. Dean is fearless. This oaf looks like he could bend Dean like a spoon, but Dean doesn't show an ounce of bravado, he seems honestly annoyed and ready to fight. The man backs down instantly.

"Wait your turn punk." The man grunts, turning back to the table. Dean scowls at him, but saunters over to the dusty old jukebox crammed into a corner, loudly blaring rock music.

"What do you listen to, Cas?" Dean asked, pressing the button that flips the albums over to display them.

"Rachmaninoff." I murmur lightly.

"That's that metal band right?" Dean asks, toggling over to the 'R' section.

"He is a composer." I sigh from behind him. Dean looks up at that, brow furrowed.

"What like Mozart?" Dean laughs, and I'm about to educate him when he quickly clicks on a button that sends a loud wailing through the bar. A few people cheer, and a woman begins to get up and dance drunkenly.

"Never underestimate the power of Zeppelin, dude." Dean grins. The slow melody is enticing. Dean's hips become looser as he sways and I find myself wanting to mimic him.

"Who is the singer?" I demand. The man's voice sends spikes up my spine, it's almost ethereal in his slow heart wrenching screeches. I love it.

"Robert Plant." Dean looks exasperated but eager to talk more of his obvious idol.

"This is ..." Before I could finish my thought, Dean was wheeling me around back to the pool table.

Dean played for over an hour, me continually pestering him to give me quarters to slot into the machine. People were becoming annoyed with Plant's enchanting voice filling the room constantly, but I hardly cared. I frowned as I ran out of quarters again. I quickly returned to Dean's side.

"I need more quarters." I said behind him, causing him to jump. His cue hit the ball with a jerk, rolling to the side before brushing another ball. I glanced at the machine impatiently, hoping no one would try and get to it while I was away. Dean glared at me, rooting into his pocket to fish out more coins.

"Here, don't sneak up on me like that." Dean ordered. The rest of the night was spent between me filing in between Dean, the jukebox, and the bar to bring Dean another drink and to get change. The night was nearly morning, me dozing on a chair behind Dean when I felt a hand grasp my shoulder.

"Let's get out of here." Dean said, hauling me up.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?!" The bulky man from earlier shouted. Dean tried to ignore him.

"Get back here, thief!" The man grabbed my shoulder, since I was closer. Dean moved like lightening. Striking violently as he smashed his fist in the man's nose. Thick red blood seeped between his fingers as he howled.

"Bastard!" The man gurgled. His friends were on us in a second. Two other large men who started swinging at Dean and I. Dean shoved me roughly and I landed on the sticky wooden floor. My hands stuck to the panels and I gagged.

The germs. There had to be trillions.

I choked down the bile in my throat and scrambled to get up. I hurried into the bathroom, trembling as I shoved my hand under the faucet. I turned the water to scalding as I scrubbed at my fingers until they were a angry raw red. Using my elbow I turned off the faucet and headed back to the bar.

"Asshole." One of the fallen men whimpered, rubbing his ribs with a wince. I slipped out the back door, walking across the street to the hotel where we were staying. Dean looked up when I opened the door. Mouth falling open in shock. We stared at each other for several minutes until Dean forced his gaze down to his knees.

"Thought you took off." Dean said casually. Holding a wad of toilet paper to his noise. It was soaked red.

"You pushed me on a floor covered in microorganisms that could have been infectious." I pulled out my rubber gloves, slipping them on as I took Dean's used wad and dumped it. I handed him a neatly folded square which he pressed to his nose.

"Didn't want you getting in the way." Dean grunted, leaning back and closing his eyes. He let out a slow relieved breath. I fretted over him for a few minutes until the bleeding stopped. He complained adamantly, but I could tell he enjoyed the attention.

"G'night, buddy." Dean yawned loudly, wincing before he sunk back into the pillows.

"Good night, Dean."

---

"Cas, hand me that gun." Dean pointed to the gun furthest from him on the bed. I hesitated, reaching forward to pick it up tenderly. I was shocked by it's weight. I handled it carefully, inspecting the black gleam.

"You've never held one before?" Dean asked, watching me closely.

"Never had the occasion." I touched the barrel. Something slick seeped into my fingers.

"...gun oil..." Dean said softly, as if he could read my mind. I nodded. Circling the end with my finger. It was fascinating to me, that such small little bits of metal could take a human life. I handed the weapon to Dean and he set to work on disassembling it with nimble fingers. He cleaned it quickly, along with the other arsenal spread over his bed.

"Have you ever used that gun to kill another person?" I asked, watching Dean's quick easy movements slow a fraction. Dean was obviously skilled, this seemed to be something he had done a thousand times. He reminded me of a soldier.

"More than one." Dean's voice was tight. He didn't want to talk about it.

"How many?" I pressed. I watched the muscle in Dean's jaw twitch. He focused on the gun in his hands, eyes blank as he thought.

"Probably thirteen." He said stiffly, finally meeting my gaze. We sat in silence for a long moment. I could hear his low soft breath next to me, and the sound of traffic muffled from outside.

"Do you remember everyone you kill?" I'm honestly curious. Dean flinches, looking away before nodding.

"Yeah." He looks down at his boots, lips clamped shut tightly.

---

"Cas, get the phone." Dean yawns, arm strung across the back of my shoulders, jostling me slightly. I wake up dazedly. We'd been driving for sixteen hours straight. I snap open the glove department and root around the array of cell phones until I find a beat up old flip phone.

"Hello?" I murmur, rubbing at my eye.

"Who's this?" The voice demands after a brief hesitant pause. Dean snickers beside me.

"My name is Castiel Novak." I inform tartly. This man sounds very rude. Dean bursts into laughter as he snatches the phone from my hand. He tucks it between his ear and shoulder.

"Hey Sammy-" Dean halts and goes into another fit of laughter.

"He's my hostage." Dean explains. I roll my eyes, because both me and Dean had long since given up that excuse. I was simply curious about his lifestyle, and he was just lonely. Dean held the phone at arms length as Sam's voice snapped harshly across the line.

"He's a little bitch." Dean confided in me with a happy grin. Sam's voice raised in pitch.

"I can hear you, jerk!" Dean chuckled and put the phone back up to his ear. There was something about him that relaxed as he spoke to his kid brother. The tense hold of his shoulders loosened and the little creases around his eyes smoothed out. Sam was obviously well loved.

"We're heading that way." Dean rolled his neck, tapping his fingers over the steering wheel as he listened.

"Yeah, should be there in a week or so. I'll call you when we get into town. He hung up without saying goodbye. Tossing the phone back into the glove department.

"We're going to visit your brother?" I asked curiously, picking at the fraying hole in the jeans Dean had let me barrow. They were a few sizes larger than I wore and slide down my hips.

"Sam's got a job for me." Dean said casually. I nearly snapped my neck from how fast I looked up at him.

"Job?" I croaked out. Dean nodded, eyes sliding to meet mine before dancing away.

"Yeah. A few college kids have gone missing from the campus. He wants me to check it out." Dean shrugged, trying to ease me with his unnatural calm. Much to my annoyance it was working.

"I don't understand. Aren't the police investigating?" I demanded. Was Dean honestly going to a new city to track down a killer and murder him himself?

"Sure, they'll look into it. But they find the guy and whats the worse that happens? He gets three square meals a day and gets a new boyfriend while in the slammer? I think it's time we take this into our own hands. Deal with him the Winchester way." Dean's smile is slightly off kilter, and I see it finally. Finally some evidence that he is indeed insane. I shiver in against the leather of Impala.

"Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'you can't fight fire, with fire'." I whispered, I was scared I think. I couldn't raise my voice and yell like I should. I don't think Dean would hurt me, but than again I couldn't be sure.

"Not fire with fire, Cas. That's what the police do. I'm the fire extinguisher. I get rid of the problem all together." He smirks, sending me a lazy wink. I sink further into the seat as he peels out on the highway and heads to the town where he plans on killing a person.

Chapter 4: Neurosis

Summary:

"He's the reason I do this. I know there are people out there like him, trusting, loving, naive people who need to be protected. I'm filthy and broken and if I got to lay down my life protecting Cas and his kind than so be it. He's the reason I do what I do."

I wake up as the car stops, I'm curled up on the front seat. My forehead pressed against Dean's thigh.

"Where are we?" I ask, still half a sleep. Dean stretches, letting out a slow yawn.

"Grass Valley, I think. I just need to catch a few hours sleep." Dean mumbles, slouching back in the his seat.

"I'll move to the back." I insist, so he can lay down in the front seat. I can hear the heavy sounds of crickets and frogs chirping outside of the car. The moon is full and bright, reflecting off the lake in front of us. We were somewhere in the woods, I could see the dirt road behind us. Dean liked to park in the middle of nowhere so cops wouldn't come to inspect the car.

"No, go back to sleep." Dean's hand presses against my head, forcing me back down. I blink up at him but his eyes are closed. Briefly I consider the possibility of Dean killing me. He could bury me in the woods, or even sink me at the bottom of the lake.

I study the bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep. Already his lips are parted and light raspy snores fill the car. Dean had fallen asleep with his fingers still buried in my hair. It was much too intimate for my liking. I hated people touching me, and Dean knew this. He learned to steer clear of the friendly hugs and pats he liked to smother me in.

I couldn't find it in myself to move his hand. I mentally calculated the multitudes of germs swarming his hands, squirming around the micro environments under his fingernails. I resigned myself to a night of agony, when his thumb shifted and pressed against my ear.

I fell asleep soon after.

---

I smelt like ass. Like serious armpit. Cas had to be like part inhuman the way he always smelt like warm pillows and coffee even though we'd been on the road for three days with no showers.

I tried to keep clean more because of Cas than for my actual self. He didn't like touching, but if I stunk he made sure to keep a far distance from me. Sometimes even going so far as to sit in the back seat.

So hygiene had been moved up a level in importance thanks to kid. Cas was only four years younger than me. But the doe eyed, sheltered, germaphobe was mentally age three. It was so weird how much he hadn't experienced.

Just last week we had stayed in the hotel all day, watching the Star Wars series. Cas sitting at the foot of his bed, hugging a pillow and staring at the screen.

I pushed up the Impala's squeaky door, stepping out into the morning sun. Cas was still curled up on the seat, his hair a mess and his full lips puckered like he was pouting in his sleep. I tossed off my clothes, kicking off my jeans and boots before hopping into the cool lake.

Even though I didn't understand Cas's weird fear of germs, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable. So yeah, hygiene was a must. I swam a few laps around the lake, just to warm up my muscles after hours of sitting. I scrubbed down in the lake water, probably smelling like moss or lilly pads. But it was better than B.O.

When I swam back to the bank where I'd parked the car, Cas was sitting on the hood. His eyes tracked my every movement as I got out of the water.

I was naked.

He didn't seem in the least bit nervous, which shocked me. He stared, eyes trailing over me like I was one of the books he was always reading.

"See something you like?" I snapped, annoyed and blushing when he stared hard at my torso. The six pack I'd had since highschool was slowly shifting into the hard thick middle my Dad had.

"Your tattoo. I've never seen anything like that." Cas murmured softly. I realized he hadn't been staring at my dick, but had been looking at the thick blank ink on my chest.

"Oh," I walked around to the trunk. Pulling out some clean jeans and tugging them on.

"It's a pentagram. It's sort of a family thing. It keeps out evil in lore or whatever, and my dad thought it might be some good symbology you know. He uh-he died before he could get it. So me and Sam got it in his memory." I shrug on a shirt, slamming down the hood. Cas is standing beside me when I turn around. Looking up at me with wide eyes.

"Fascinating." Cas murmurs, looking hard at me like I hold the answers to the universe. I roll my eyes, about to grab his arm and steer him back into the car, but I clench my fist instead.

"Let's go, we got to get to the college before that prick kills again." Sam had called me the night before telling me another boy had been picked up. The killer had so far only chosen little twinks, usually taking them from bars. But his M.O. changed the last time, and he had pulled a kid off the campus when he'd been walking home from a party.

The bastard was getting bolder, and that meant danger. Thank God, Sam was ten feet tall or his girly fucking hair and dimples would have landed him in trouble.

---

It was so fucking hot. I leaned against the Impala's metal, practically scorching my skin as I waited for the gas tank to fill. I was running low on cash, me and Cas would have to hustle a bit tonight. I glanced down in the car. Cas was folded up int he front seat, knees on the dashboard as he scanned a map.

"What's the verdict?" I yawn, leaning back and crossing my arms. My shirt sticks to my chest and I wince. Cas had bought us both cheap over sized matching aviators, insisting we didn't 'burn our retinas'.

Cas's sunglasses slide down his nose as he scans the map.

"It should only be three more days before we reach our destination." Cas says, his voice calm and collected even in the heat. If anyone might have to choose between which one of us was the serial murderer, they'd probably pick Cas. He was the quiet, intelligent intellectual, who was always polite just like all the best villains.

I snickered and Cas looked up.

"You want a slurpee? It's pretty hot out." I smile down at him. He blinks once, as if he has to weigh the pros and cons of every fucking word he says. I push off from the car, deciding to get him one just so he doesn't overheat.

I mix ours with coke and cherry, the way we did when we first met.

It seems so long ago. Even though we'd been together for only about a month. I'd gotten pretty close to the little nerd.

I'm not sure why we got along so well. But it was like we clicked. We were so different but for some reason I let him hang around. Maybe it was because he reminded me that there was still good in the world.

"Dean," I hand him the slurpee and gives me a small thank you.

"What?" I ask, sliding into the seat that has to have an imprint of my ass by now.

"Do you think we can get a room tonight? I'm very tired." Cas gnaws on his lip.

"Knock it off." I say pointedly and he releases his chapped bottom lip. I'd spent my entire life on the road, driving for weeks on end. But Cas had to stop more frequently, not that I minded. But it was beginning to put a dent in my wallet. I might have to get a job for a couple weeks after getting rid of the killer at Sam's college.

"Yeah, sure." I smile. Cas's shoulders relax as he sucks on the straw, his lips stain red from the sugary drink.

---

I wake up to Cas crying. As always the panic swells before fading. Cas is fine. The first time I'd woken up to his tiny little choked off cries I'd nearly split my skull from jumping out of bed and getting caught in the blankets.

Cas's face was buried in a book, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. This had happened already twice before. I laid in bed, watching his lips tremble and his eyelashes flutter, trying desperately to hold back the tears.

"Who died?" I ask. Cas jerks so violently the book falls from his hands. He looks over at me, big watery eyes all sad and wilted.

"I-I'm sorry, did I wake you?" Cas's voice is raspier than usual and I smirk.

"The sound of little girls sobbing usually wakes me." I tease. Cas doesn't rise to the bait, like Sam would have. He just wipes his eyes, sniffing.

"I'm sorry. I was overwhelmed." His voice breaks as he buries his face into his hands for a moment, taking a deep breath. My chest aches. Cas is such a fucking good kid. Sometimes I tease him and call him a little 'angel', but he really might be. He's just so damn compassionate about everything.

He just cares so damn much.

He's the reason I do this. I know there are people out there like him, trusting, loving, naive people who need to be protected. I'm filthy and broken and if I got to lay down my life protecting Cas and his kind than so be it. He's the reason I do what I do.

"Don't worry about it. What happened?"

"Gatsby and Daisy never truly got the ending they deserved." He choked, chewing his bottom lip and fisting his blanket in his hands. He was wearing my shirt. I didn't know why he didn't have a problem wearing my clothes. I was smelly and didn't take showers as often as I should. But because of his limited wardrobe and my limited budget we had to share.

"That's too bad." I rolled onto my back, turning to watch him try and collect himself. To pick up the pieces of his soul he had left in those pages.

"It's so ridiculous-" He wipes the back of his hand over his eye with annoyance.

"Getting so worked up over characters from silly stories." He gives a shaky laugh. My chest hurts again, like somethings's trying to push it's way out from the inside. I ignore it.

"I don't know, man. Isn't that the point, books are supposed to captivate you. That's why you read, right?" He finally looks up, his eyes red rimmed from crying. The light he uses is a dim book light that sticks to the wall over his shoulder.

"I suppose you are correct. But being so invested ... it's childish." Cas's lips purse. I wish I could comfort him, rub his back or something like I used to do with Sammy when he got worked up when there was too much blood. I quickly block out those memories.

"You're not childish, Cas. You just have too much heart." I watch him blush and scowl.

"Maybe that's my problem."

---

Dean Winchester might possibly be the most exhausting person on the planet.

"You've got to be kidding me!" He shouts, ees glued to me even though he is speeding down the freeway.

"Dean, please watch the road-"

"You have got to be fucking joking!" He spits, jerking forward to glance at the road and straighten his muscle car before turning to glare back at me. I heave a heavy sigh.

"It's just my personal opinion." I explain, watching him go into another fit of dramatics.

"Cas! It's fucking Star Wars! Star Wars! Are you insane! How can you think that is better." His face is twisted with the ultimate look of betrayal. I scowl at him, crossing my arms. He of course wants to bully me into following his lead. Well I won't.

"I prefer Star Trek, I think the plot lines were more well thought out and the science aspect was more believeable-"

"Cas!" He's nearly in hysterics now, large green eyes squinting beneath his eyebrows. He looks torn between pity, anger, and just confusion.

"Cas, it's Star Wars!"

"I prefer Star Trek." I shrug, and he slams his hands on the wheel, glaring at the road.

"You're insane." He announces stoutly, shooting a pout at me.

"I'm not the one who kills people for a living." I reason tartly. Dean throws up his hands before grabbing the wheel again quickly.

"You can't bring that up every time we have an argument." He argues. I roll my eyes over to him.

"It's pretty valid argument, Dean." I huff. He looks at me in disbelief before giving a loud snort.

"Whatever." He grunts, signaling the end of this battle. We only make it six miles in silence before Dean's asking me my opinion on which of Led Zeppelin's albums I prefer.

Chapter 5: Molestation

Summary:

"It's too much. Without Dean's presence as a balm for the first time in months my disgust is overwhelming. I try focusing on Sam's face, this had helped before I met Dean. Focusing on people's face helped when the medicine didn't work. Most of my family thought I had a staring problem but it was better than me having a panic attack because of germs."

Dean sits across from me at the diner, excitement makes him antsy as he taps his fingers on the table between shoving salty fries in his mouth. Every few seconds his eyes dart to the door.

"You're gonna love Sammy." Dean repeats for the eighteenth time. I nod, chewing slowly on my salad. All these greasy diner meals had been giving me stomach aches. I touched the dwindling bottle of pills in my pocket for reassurance.

"I'm sure I will." I say to Dean, chasing a crouton around my plate. I try and stab it with my fork and it splits. Dean reaches across and plucks up one of the halves, flicking it into his mouth. He grins when I glare at him.

"He reminds me of you, real smart." Dean continues. Dean has a strange relationship with his brother. It seems that the role of mother, brother, and father have all been thrown onto him. He had a deep abiding love for the younger man that I'm sure some misinterpret. But I understand. Sam is all that Dean has.

"Dean!" A happy shout fills the room. Dean whips around so fast I think he might hurt his neck. Sam is huge, not what I expected at all. The protective tone Dean took whenever he talked of him, made me imagine the man to be small and cute. But Sam was taller than Dean and just as broad, he had a large happy smile and long chestnut hair.

"Sammy!" Dean jumped from the booth, swinging the taller youth into his arms and hugging him close. Sam laughed, white teeth flashing against his tan skin. Sam had not inherited Dean's freckles, he had a simple pretty beauty mark beside his nose.

"I missed you, man. You look good." Sam laughed, clapping his brother roughly on the back after the intimate display. Dean leaned back but still stood close to his brother, green eyes bright with joy.

"Did you get taller, you little bastard? Come here, I want you to meet someone." Dean's eagerly tugging Sam to the table.

"This is Cas." Dean introduces. Sam's eyes go wide when he sees me, confusion making his lips purse.

"Castiel, nice to meet you." I give him a timid smile and stand. He shoots out his hand and I flinch, about to explain.

"Cas is a germaphobe." Dean says easily, only a slight taunting in his voice. I scowl at him, the proper term is Mysophobia and Dean knows this. I barely register Dean's hand on my shoulder.

"Castiel? I thought-" Sam's face scrunches and he looks to Dean for answers. The brothers obviously don't need words to communicate because after a rapid succession of emotions on Dean's face he suddenly burns bright red.

"Cas is my friend!" He shouts much too loudly. I feel my cheeks go pink as well. I had still considered myself his hostage. I had never really had friends before, other than my large and insane family. I wonder if I still am simply Dean's hostage, and him saying I was his 'friend' was just for his brothers benefit. The word makes my chest warm in a nice way. For some reason I'm not sure if I could leave him, and if I did, would Dean come after me? Would he punish me for abandoning him?

"I just, I thought you might be a girl." Sam admits. I blink at him. I had been mistaken for a girl before physically; but usually my voice rectified that. Sam had heard me on the phone, but than again I had been half asleep.

"I'm not." I clarify and this makes both Sam and Dean laugh. We sit at the booth. Sam squeezing in beside me as he looks across and talks animatedly with his brother. I make sure that we don't touch by accident.

Dean's feet bump into mine occasionally but it seems Dean can touch me minimally and it doesn't bother me. I consider why this is. Not even my own sister could touch me without me having to scrub my skin clean, but Dean has occasionally brushed against me or placed a friendly hand on my arm and I had not felt compelled to clean myself. The brothers talk while I consider the reason this is.

A few hours later, Sam's getting up.

"Call me when you get off work tomorrow." Sam says, and it forces me from my thoughts because Dean doesn't have a job.

"Sure, see you then." Dean nods, yawning loudly.

I follow Dean out of the restaurant to the tiny motel we are staying in across the campus.

"You don't have a job." I say once the door is shut. Dean looks over his shoulder, pulling off his worn leather jacket.

"Sure I do, you just don't approve of it." He smirks. Dean goes to his laptop, tapping out a few things before he goes to his bags. He's pulling out weapons, placing them on his person. My pulse races.

"Where are you going?" I ask shakily, my throat is seizing and I'm breaking out into a sweat.

"To work." He says simply, the usual sarcastic playful tone he has has vanished. He sounds darkly serious, like an empty shell as he checks his gun for bullets and then tucks it against his lower back. It's happening so quickly and easily, Dean getting ready to go and kill. My hands tremble in my lap as I sit on the edge of my bed, watching him.

"How do you know where the man is? Sam hasn't even told you anything." I'm trying to stall now, I don't know why. Dean will kill whoever he has deemed evil. I'm not ready for this, I watch Dean pause a moment in his smooth methodical movements.

"We talked about it over dinner, we sort of have a coded language so we can talk in public." Dean shrugged. I realized some of the strange phrases they had said during dinner, but had chalked them up to references that I didn't understand that Dean was constantly spouting.

"Dean you can't-"

"Can't what? Can't kill the bastard who's been murdering kids? These guys are your age, Cas. Can you imagine dying tonight, for no reason at all? Just cause this sick bastard wants to get his rocks off? I'm not gonna let that happen." Dean's voice is sharp and barbed and he's never spoken to me so icily. I flinch at his tone and watch him slide a large knife into his boot, against his calf.

"This isn't right, Dean. We can call the police, give them all the information we have-"

"Shut up." Dean's back is to me when he says it, but he might as well of yelled it in my face.

No one listens to me. I'm small and timid and shy. But Dean does, Dean always lets me talk because he will talk right back. We argue and fight but we do it together. But right now Dean doesn't want to hear my opinion and it stings. I look at the space between my worn sneakers. I get up and head to the door.

"Where are you going?" Dean demands, voice tight. I don't answer him, I shut the door behind me because I'm not sure where I'm going. But I can't just sit there while Dean breaks another little piece off of himself for the sake of others.

---

I find Sam's dorm room easily. When he answers my knock he looks confused.

"Hey? Cas, right?" He gives me a fake smile, but allows me in the room. It's dirty, with pizza boxes strewn about and his bed is messy. There is a plate with crust on it sitting on his bed and my stomach clenches painfully. I almost wretch.

It's too much. Without Dean's presence as a balm for the first time in months my disgust is overwhelming. I try focusing on Sam's face, this had helped before I met Dean. Focusing on people's face helped when the medicine didn't work. Most of my family thought I had a staring problem but it was better than me having a panic attack because of germs.

"D-Dean," I take in a big breath and the stench of smelly socks makes me gag. I take a step for the door, before planting my feet. Dean needs help.

"What's wrong!" Sam's face is instant panic.

"He's going to kill someone tonight." I inform softly. I shove my hands into my pockets and clench my pill bottle, a nervous habit I've had since high school.

"How do you know that?" Sam's face darkens and I take another step back. I'm a fool. Dean may hold a certain amount of affection for me, but Sam doesn't. He is also a Winchester and he has a family secret he would kill to protect. Dean's not the only one fiercely protective.

"He told me. I-He went out alone, I'm scared he might get hurt." Which is only partially true. Dean can handle himself. I don't know what I was hoping to accomplish by finding Sam. Dean had said that Sam sometimes assisted him in their family business.

Sam's face is still suspicious, I notice the tiny movement of his hand and realize he probably has a weapon on him he could use to kill me. I swallow thickly.

"What exactly is going on between you and my brother?" Sam asks slowly, his slanted eyes look dangerous in the dim light of his room. If he stabs me, I'll fall on the stained carpet and that repels me more than the thought of my skin splitting open from the sharp edge of the blade.

"He kidnapped me." I chew on my lip. Sam's eyes narrow further.

"Kidnapped? If you were kidnapped why would you be walking around freely?" Sam challenges. I open my mouth to retort but quickly clamp it shut. I don't know what Dean and I are. Dean helps me, he makes me feel good. My illness dampens in his presence like the best medicine, and he can touch me without me getting sick and screaming. Dean is-What is he?

"I don't know." I answer truthfully. Sam's studying my face, and I let him.

"Well you better figure it out. My brother doesn't just let people hang around him, if he gets hurt ... I'll kill you myself." Sam's uses his height to intimidate me and he leans in close to my ear. His breath is too close and I immediately move away, my finger nails desperately want to dig into Sam's skin for getting so close. Too close. Only Dean can get that close.

I leave before I hurt Dean's beloved brother, or before he can hurt me.

---

It's when I'm walking back to the motel when I'm grabbed. A bag placed firmly over my head and a sharp sudden electric shock dug into my side until I pass out. My head fills with a thick unnatural darkness.

When I wake up I'm cold. I can hear dripping noises like I'm underground. The musky scent makes my head swim. I'm blindfolded, which makes me panic. I could be touching something disgusting. I could be in a sewage system and never know it.

I try and scream. I try and thrash against the bonds holding me but it does nothing. The ropes tying me to the chair are strong. Hysteria clamps down on me so quickly my head rushes.

"Lovely child." A man's voice smiles. I scream against the rag, before realizing it's a rag soiled in my own spit. What else could be on it? Surely it wasn't washed. What if it had been on the floor before he wrapped it around my mouth. Tears spill from my eyes and I feel the panic attack rip through every muscle down in my body. Making me seize and sob against my bounds.

"Beautiful." The man coos, trailing a finger down my forearm. I choke back another cry, slamming my head back against the chair. Everything hurts and my head is rushing with blood and adrenaline. This is one of my worst attacks and I'm almost grateful for being bound because surely I would be thrashing so hard I'd hurt myself.

This thankfulness vanishes when the jeans I'm wearing are unbuttoned and zipped down. The man's slender hand slips into my jeans, cupping my flaccid penis. I yelp, twitching in disgust. I had barely even touched myself, only experimenting minimally as a child when my hormones had been too high to repress.

The man stroked my flesh, my body betraying me as it puckered slightly.

"Oh, naughty boy." The man chortles.

I vomit against the rag. The bile sits heavy in my mouth and I gag, choking on my own waste. I can't breath, the acidic fluid stings it's way down my throat and into my nose. I gasp for breath through my nose and it wetly splutters before cutting off. I twitch as the corners of my mind sink into sweet nothingness.

The man pulls the rag from my mouth, and the bile spills down my chin to seep into my shirt.

"Did you die?" The man asks carefully, like I'm his favorite broken doll. I cough up the rest of the vomit, the tears soaking the cloth over my eyes sting.

"Dean!" Is the first thing that I scream when I can speak. My throat scratchy and torn, just speaking hurts. But I scream as loud as I can. In the calamity of my mind it registers that Dean is looking for this man, and he might find me.

"Such a lovely boy." The man praises me, his hand touching my now wet penis. We starts to slowly jerk me, and I realize he is using my own bile as lubricant.

I heave another dry wretch. My body betrays me still, despite how much I hate every little touch of this man, the foreign pressure on that place is making me erect and I am so disgusted. I sob and scream and cry.

"Stop! Stop! Dean!" My voice rips and tears, and the man just keeps a steady pace. My stomach cramps and I wish I could claw at this man I wish I could tear him to shreds. I haven't even seen the face of my attacker.

I'm heaving again, my body rejecting everything this man is when I hear the door burst open.

"Son of a bitch." Dean's voice.

"Dean!" I slump in the chair. My every tensed muscle collapses. My ragged breath smooths out, and I feel sanity slowly start to warm my frazzled mind. Dean is here. There is the sound of struggling, but I can't see.

Dean. Dean. Dean.

It repeats over and over, and I'm not even sure if I'm saying it or thinking it. But it's there, Dean's here. The ropes that have sliced into my wrists are cut off; and so are the ones on my legs. Dean pulls off my blind fold.

Dean's face is red from anger or exertion, I do not know. Sweat runs down his temples, and his green eyes are dark and staring at me hard. He pulls off my soaked shirt, using the clean side to wipe off the mess on my waning erection. He tosses the shirt and pulls off his leather jacket wrapping it around me as I shiver.

"Are you alright?" He asks me, his tone clipped like he has reverted back to a caveman and doesn't really know how to speak. I shake my head no, because I am not okay. I am so far from alright it's not even funny. I need to burn my skin right off to get rid of all the filth left on me. I'm cold, and the cuts in my wrists are so deep I might have scars.

"The impala's outside ... you should go out there, while I finish this." Dean says, and he stands. Finally I see the man.

He doesn't look how I expected. He's wearing a nice sweater that I had one similar to before Dean took me as a hostage. He's wearing khakis and is in his early forties. He's handsome with salt and pepper hair.

"What are you going to do?" I ask. Dean had explained to me before, that sometimes people couldn't help what they are. Sometimes people were just insane and they killed because they had to. So he would shoot them and simply put them out of their misery.

Dean pulled out his knife.

Other times there was men who were monsters and they killed because they wanted too, and because it felt good. Dean took his time with those men, he took them apart piece by piece and tortured them.

"I'm going to kill him." Dean said softly. I nod, my eyes not leaving the man lying in a heap on the damp cement of the warehouse.

"I want to." I whispered. Dean's eyes widened and he turned to look at me. My hands shook against my wet jeans.

"What?" The stable determination and hatred in Dean's face melted away. He looked unsure, like he had misheard me.

"I want to kill him." I stood, and when I tripped, Dean caught me. His hand held my arm hard, he looked down at me.

"Okay." He murmured, sliding the thick hilt of the blade into my palm. His hands never left me as he maneuvered me over to the man. Dean's touch made me feel whole. 

Chapter 6: Night Terrors

Summary:

"Dean and I eat, drink, and sleep together. It's like he's my other half now, albeit my obnoxious half. Perhaps since I see everything he touches, every germ he encounters I know what to expect. But than again, perhaps not."

I'm staring out the hotel window, watching the rain droplets glide down the glass before engulfing smaller droplets. Eventually the weight of the droplet gets too heavy and they slide down quickly, vanishing below.

"Cas." Dean's says my name softly. Like if he speaks too loudly I might shatter. Perhaps he's right. We've been at this motel for about a week, longer than usual. Dean has gotten a job bar tending in the afternoons to pay for the room. I sit by the window, watching the sky weep.

"Cas, come're." Dean calls. I turn to look at him blearily.

Everything was in a daze, dreams and reality smearing together because of my lack of sleep. Whenever I shut my eyes, the man's face screaming is all I see.

I stand beside Dean, looking down at him as he points to his lap top.

"Killer down south." Is all he says. He wants to go and wipe the scum from the earth. It must be such a a burden, thinking that it's his job, his responsibility. Dean may be warped, but he is a good man. He kills because he wants to save people, to protect them from evil.

I killed for revenge.

"When will we leave?" I ask slowly, my voice is croaky because I haven't used it in a few days. Dean let's me waste away, sending me worried glances occasionally.

"Tonight." Dean says. I nod, moving to pack my things.

---

When I push the blade into the man's stomach, he screams. It's so strange, how quickly someone can be brought pain. How fragile humans are, really we are only bags of meat. The man screams and tears roll down his cheeks and I find myself crying too as I pull the blade back and bring it down his forearm, where he had touched me when I'd been bound and gagged.

His blood sprays when I hit a thick artery, it seeps into my skin.

Dean's breathing hard, eyes stony and he terrifies me. He's holding the man down, strong arms securing him as I drag the blade over his body.

Dean's giving me calm instructions, telling me what to avoid to make it last longer. Dean is enjoying it and he is a murderer. His green eyes flash with hatred and anger, before glinting with satisfaction with each one of the man's pitiful screams. Even though Dean is enjoying the other man's torture, he still is not as despicable as me. He still does not kill for no reason, he does not kill for himself.

I know that in reality it took less than fifteen minutes before the man bleed out. But in my dream it feels like hours, his blood gushing and pouring in my mouth and hair and eyes.

I'm covered with sin.

When I finish, I let the body drop with a wet smack to the concrete. Dean lets go of his hold and takes the knife from me. His lips press roughly against my temple as he leads me to the Impala.

I smell like vomit, and blood, and death.

I wake up when Dean's voice pulls me from the dream.

"Cas." He hisses. My eyes snap open and Dean's looking down at me, worried. He's silhouetted in the darkness. We're parked off the highway, him sleeping in the front seat and me in the back.

"Nightmare?" He frowns, his hold on my wrist loosens, I feel him lightly stroke the still sore scars on my wrists. I shutter, and his eyes darken.

"No," I lick my lips, looking away from him. I'm covered in sweat. "Memories."

---

"How you feeling?" Dean asks, we are walking downtown. Trying to get information about the man who lures woman into alleys by pretending to be hurt and then rapes them before killing them.

"Fine." I lie, startled by the question. Dean hasn't spoken about the incident since it happened a week ago. His blood stained lips and hard eyes still flash in my mind dangerously. His muscles tense as he holds the body I carve into. I shake my head, pushing the memories away.

"The first ones always the hardest." Dean says, and his hand curls around my elbow, steering me away from a crowd of people who would have brushed against me.

Dean is more cautious since my last attack. It seems that my condition has worsened, when people touch me now instead of flinching and quickly cleaning myself I go into hysterics and attack them. But Dean can touch me freely now, his thick square hands cause me nothing but comfort even if stained with the grease from the Impala.

It seems that I've become more dependent on the serial killer.

"I killed someone, Dean. I can't just dismiss it." I whisper to him. He's standing close, blocking me from the crowd starting to thicken as we pass by a emptying movie theater.

"Bull shit," He elbows a man away when he comes too close. I flinch, and curl closer to Dean's side. "All those guys in the army kill people daily, and most come back and function normally. I mean, it isn't all rainbows and butterflies. But we're helping people, Cas. We're fighting a war right here, and we just gotta live with the repercussions." Dean says, huffing irritably when a young couple knock into him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and leads me to an empty side street.

"Are you suggesting ... You want me to help you kill again?" I whisper, and he looks down at me.

The alley is quiet for a very long and we stare at each other. Dean's arm is still closely latched around me, and I should feel disgust or at least mild irritation but there is nothing but the feel of a warm heavy limb wrapped securely around me.

"No," He decides. He releases me and I shiver from the cold. "No, Cas. You aren't like me, you're good. I'm ninety nine percent shit, and having a shitty job sort of fits. But you're smart, like Sammy. You're gonna have a family and a good job. Doing this sort of thing ... it sucks you in. I don't want you living like that." He says, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking towards the opening of the alley way where people are still milling about.

Shock swells in my belly as I stare at him.

"Than why am I here?" I ask looking up at him. His eyes snap to mine and we lock gazes. Something sparks brightly between us, forcing me to swallow thickly. Dean's jaw clenches and he shrugs boyishly, hands still stuffed in his jeans.

"Dunno," He admits, running a hand through his hair. He walks further into the dark alley and I step after him. The shadows circle around me, but Dean keeps walking into them so I follow.

I'll always follow, I realize. Anywhere Dean goes, so will I.

"But you know what they say," He smiles, throwing a easy wink over his shoulder. "Curiosity killed the cat." I scowl and stumble after him into the darkness.

---

It's very hot in the south. Dean and I have rented out a small shot gun house, because it seems this murderer is much better at hiding than most. Dean is convinced this guy will keep eluding him.

So the tiny house we've rented near a swamp is murky and filled with flies. There is only one bed, and a over stuffed couch that Dean sleeps on.

I stare at the swirling of the fan that is doing absolutely nothing to quell the damp heat seeping into my bones.

I sigh, the light buzz in my mind helps to slow my thoughts. I am sure I would be in a constant state of anxiety from how filthy the small house is, if not for the last of my pills I'd swallowed.

I perhaps had taken too many, but it was better safe than sorry.

The screen door slams as Dean enters our cramped little home, eyes blazing.

"Shit-" He snarls. Dropping the groceries on the couch. He reaches over to the TV, turning it on and adjusting the nearly prehistoric antenna. My face appears on the screen.

"Castiel Novak, age 20, is still missing. The student from Orchid Town, Nebraska was abducted two months ago by mass murderer Dean Winchester. Video footage of the pair was found this morning." The woman says into the microphone.

A clip plays of Dean pulling me close, his nose pushes behind my ear as he whispers something and I smile, nodding.

I flush darkly at how suggestive it looks. I don't remember the conversation, but it had been a few days ago and a few states away.

"Fuck, they know we're together." Dean hisses, running a hand through his hair.

"Why does that matter?" I ask, looking down at my wrists. The scars are ugly and still puffed up. I look up and Dean is looking at my wrists with sharp burning eyes.

The sound of a familiar voice makes me return my gaze to the TV.

"Castiel is very ill. He takes medication for anxiety attacks, mysophobia, and obsessive compulsive disorder. Castiel needs his family and his doctors. Please give him back to us-" The image of Anna and Samandriel huddled on the platform vanishes as Dean turns off the TV.

Silence sits so heavily in the room, its more smothering than the humid air.

"I've got to take you back." Dean's voice is so empty it's nearly frightening. But not nearly as much as the words he says.

"No." Is my instant reply. I dazedly look at Dean when he looks up startled.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Dean snarls, stomping over to me. I briefly realize both Sam and Dean use the same intimidation tactics. It's not very effective.

"I won't go back. I want to stay with you." I look up at Dean and watch his cheeks drain before coloring brightly, he runs a nervous hand through his hair, making it stick up erratically.

"Don't you miss your family?" He asks, tossing me a ruffled frown. He paces a bit, before he realizes what he's doing. He sits heavily on the edge of the couch.

"Of course." I answer. Samandriel's sweet face fills me with longing. Anna's comforting voice, always soothing me when my attacks come. I miss them both dearly.

"Then wh-"

"I don't know." I answer Dean as I answered his brother. I don't understand this insistent urge, this need I have to be around Dean but it's there and it grows daily. Dean watches me, like he's trying to figure out my thoughts, to try and peer into my soul. He lets out an annoyed huff.

"Fine. But we have to be more careful." He sighs, glaring at the TV.

---

It's past midnight when the loud slam of the screen door pulls me from my nightmare. I jerk up in the bed, covered in sweat. I'm shirtless, sweat sticks to my chest, and my pajama pants stick to my thighs and groin.

Dean manages two steps inside before he collapses.

"Dean!" I shout, scrambling out of bed and to him. I hoist him up, leaning over to flick on the light.

Dean's face is nearly unrecognizable. His eye is swelled shut and lip is split. Blood stains the front of his shirt.

"Dean ..." My breath shutters out. Dean looks down at the red stains soaking his shirt.

"S'not mine." He slurs, spitting a mouthful of blood on the floor. My stomach curls with disgust. I look at Dean's battered face to steady myself.

"You're injured, allow me to help." I lift Dean onto the couch. His head lolls to the back of the sofa. Carefully I strip him off his shirt. The musky scent of his overheated body mixes with the metallic tang of the blood.

I quickly get the necessities to clean Dean's wounds. I swab a cool rag across his chest. I realize belatedly I hadn't even gotten gloves. Dean's injuries being the only thing pulsing loudly in my mind. I try not to think of the disease statistics as I clean Dean. I hand him some pain medicine and he groans, letting it sit on his tongue.

"Swallow, Dean." I coax, tipping the glass of water to his swollen lips. He looks up at me from his good eye, it's ringed in a dark purple.

"Hnn." Dean grunts. I slide my thumb across his plush lower lip, pulling it down to press the rim of the glass between his lips. He gulps loudly, eyeing me as I continue to bandage him. His knuckles are split open, the bone showing under the deep gashes.

Once Dean is fully cleaned I lay him down on the couch. Not bothering putting a shirt on him because it's so hot. I tug off his boots that are caked in blood and mud.

"Always there for me, Cas." His voice his slow and slurred. I nod, kneeling beside him as I check him over again. I'd never seen someone so injured ... other than the man I murdered.

I'm terrified, I realize. Scared to loose Dean. I stroked his bandaged head and resisted taking his injured hand in my own.

"Killed that sonofabitch." Dean's voice murmured, he nuzzled into my palm like a large cat looking up at me for approval.

I offered him a small smile and he returned it. I stroked his clammy forehead, worry forcing it's way into me. Dean fell asleep quickly. I decided to watch him for the rest of the night, to monitor his breathing.

---

We are driving up back up north. Dean is blaring rock music and the windows are down. A slurpee sits in my hand, the icy drink sloshes down my throat when I take a sip. Dean chugs his own slurpee, tossing a glance to me from behind his sunglasses.

"Hey, how about we take a vacation?" Dean blurts suddenly, white teeth flashing. I look at him in surprise.

"Vacation?" I ask dubiously. I'd never been on a vacation before, not even with my family.

"Sure, let's go to Mexico or something. We can check out the chicas." Dean leers. I frown at him.

"Dean, we are on the run from the F.B.I. going on vacation at the moment might not be the best-"

"Aw, come on, Cas! It'll be fun!" Dean's grin is large and he nudges me. I scowl at him.

"I don't think it would be wise." I insisted. Dean can be rather spur of the moment. Not fully thinking things through. But going to Mexico? It was ridiculous.

"Come on. I'll get you a poncho." He winks.

"I don't see why wearing a blanket is customary." I mutter. Dean laughs that deep rumble laugh from his chest, his arm stretching behind my shoulders. Dean secretly takes pleasure in the fact that he is the exception to the rule of 'no touching'.

It's not that I like him more than anyone else. I'm sure I love my sister and brother more than the rowdy murderer sitting beside me. But I believe it's the fact that I've become so dependent on him. I've never spent so much time with someone before.

Dean and I eat, drink, and sleep together. It's like he's my other half now, albeit my obnoxious half. Perhaps since I see everything he touches, every germ he encounters I know what to expect. But than again, perhaps not.

"You'll like it, trust me. Plus we can hide out for a few weeks, let our case go cold." He decides for the both of us wheeling the car around. We head back south. Dean seems unbothered that we'd just spent three days driving north only to go back down towards the boarder. I cross my arms, sulking.

"I don't like the heat. Germs prosper in warm climates." I inform. Dean's thumb brushes over the back of my neck in reassurance, and much to my surprise my muscles relax as if he had given me a full body massage.

"Don't worry, Cassandra. I'll protect you." He taunts. But the flicker of affection and protectiveness he sends my way leaves no doubt in my mind. I sigh with resign, leaning back into Dean's arm.

Chapter 7: Date Rape

Summary:

"He roofied you. So I had to get you home. You know, keep an eye on yah' in case you choked on your own puke or something."

For three days I've been spending my nights squatting in this den of iniquity. My legs crossed in a pair of jeans that are much too tight, and a low cut shirt showing my pale chest. Dean had instructed me how to sit, explained how to suck a little more than necessary on the straw to draw attention to my 'girly mouth', as he put it.

I was assisting Dean in getting his next victim.

The man was gay, like the one who had taken me from Sam's campus. There were many similarities; and an evil, vicious piece of me that still remembered the man who touched me couldn't say no when Dean asked for my help.

Our 'vacation' had been put on hold, we were close to the boarder, in a little spanish speaking town full of criminals. We had stopped off only for the night when Dean caught news of the 'maricón' who was preying on young men in the bars. Dean had decided we should try and track him down before anyone else got hurt.

So here I was posing as a rent boy. I had been 'hit' on multiple times. But Dean insisted none of them were the right man. Dean claimed he would know the murderer when he saw him because 'it takes one to know one'. But I highly doubt it, because if that were the case I would notice the man the second he walked through the door.

I was suckling on the straw loosely, feeling Dean's gaze from across the room where he was seated in a dark corner. Smoke curled up from an ashtray in front of him, a beautiful blonde woman perched on his lap.

I felt him watching me. I looked away, down at my sugary pink drink. Dean had told me to get virgin drinks so I could stay sharp in case of an emergency. But the looks Dean were sending me were effecting more than any alcohol could.

Dean's gaze was hungry.

From the shadows of the room, the dark gold-green glint reflected back to me like a predators. Dean ignored the girl on his lap as she whispered sultry promises into his ear. His eyes never left mine, he tipped back his beer, eyes still locked on me.

I didn't even realize someone had sat at my table until he waved a hand in front of my face.

"Don't tell me you like pretty boys." The man grinned. Which was amusing because he was far 'prettier' than Dean, in the sense that his blonde hair was combed back into an almost ridiculously stiff coif. He wore a collared polo shirt that I'm sure set Dean's eyes rolling in annoyance. I wonder when I began to know the man so well that even his amusement towards certain fashions were familiar.

"I prefer all men." I attempted to make my voice more breathy in the way Dean had instructed. This was a lie of course, I had been asexual for most of my life. Once I had been attracted to a classmate named Meg, but she had passed away in a car accident a few years back.

"Good to know." The man leans in close. The scent of his cologne is so thick it nearly chokes me. I squint at him, before schooling my features.

"So what's your name?" He asks, a practiced smile twisting his lips. I try not to frown at him too obviously.

"Jimmy." I lie. He chuckles warmly, leaning in closer. I lean away.

"I'm Chris." He nods, looking me over appreciatively. I flush as his look settles on the tight fabric over my pelvis. I am of average size, I suppose. But the action is still embarrassing.

I shoot a glance to Dean, and his face is dark. He shakes his head no, and I nod discretely.

It's not the man we are looking for.

"I'm waiting for my boyfriend." I lie again. Chris's cheery face immediately dims and he raises an eyebrow.

"You've been here half the night, sucking on that straw and shaking that tight little ass of yours. I think your single." Chris's voice is attempting to be flirty, but there is hostility laying beneath his false tone that sours his words.

I flinch as he reaches to touch me. The cold sweat of an approaching attack sets in. Hands grip my shoulders and I relax right before the attack can occur.

"He bothering you, sweetheart?" Dean asks, his deep voice rumbling against my back. I shake my head looking down. Chris stands up, he's a few inches shorter than Dean.

"He told me he was single." Chris sniffs defensively. Dean's grip on me tightens. I'm glad I can not see his face from where he stands behind me.

"Well he's not, beat it." He growls. Chris sends him a withering glare before skittering away.

"You alright?" Dean murmurs. I nod shakily, reaching up to touch his hand.

"We can stop for the night, he probably won't show." Dean offers. I shake my head.

"I'm okay." I shut my eyes and take in a deep breath. Dean hesitates at my back for a moment before returning to the girl. She is waiting impatiently for him, long nails tapping on the sticky tables. He whispers something to her that makes her giggle, then his eyes find mine and the burn returns to my lower belly.

If I learned anything tonight, it was that I very much enjoyed Dean watching me from across a crowded bar.

The murderer we where hunting was becoming bolder with each kill. He hung around the most popular bars in the area, which is how Dean heard of him. He couldn't pass up the opportunity. Dean couldn't stay inactive for long, he got twitchy. It should frighten me more than it does that Dean gets antsy when he doesn't kill on a regular basis.

Dean's gaze lingers on mine, he leans close to the girl, whispering to her. She smiles before moving forward and kissing him slowly.

I suck in a startled breath through my teeth, nearly falling off the bar stool. Dean smirks at my reaction. He slides his hand into the girls hair and pulls her closer, kissing her deeply as she arches against him. His eyes refuse to leave mine even for a moment.

The light green of his eyes darken considerably with an emotion I can't decipher when I lick my lips, his gently coaxing kisses become rougher and I feel my spine prick.

I see a flash of his pink tongue tracing her lips, before sliding inside. Dean must taste like the hard liquor and cigarettes he's been sucking on all night.

I feel myself blush. I should look away, I should let Dean have his private time. We so rarely are apart that it's important to allow each other privacy. But Dean won't let me look away. His eyes are so intense and focused on me, if I looked away I might never forgive myself. Or even worse, Dean might never forgive me.

The girl lets out a breathy moan, and Dean's eyes flickered down to her for the first time. Jealousy springs up white hot in my chest, my nails dig into the flesh of my palm. I blink in shock. I'd never felt jealousy before so strongly.

I touched my racing heart, and Dean must have read the panic on my face because he pulled the girl away looking at me with concern.

Someone touches me before I can soothe him and ripples of disgust spread across my skin like a rash.

"Is this seat taken?" The man asks. He was younger, about Dean's age with greasy dark hair. His glasses were dirty, and he had a confidence about him that was smothering.

I felt bile rise into the back of my throat. I shakily shook my head, desperately forcing myself to stay seated. To not run into the bathroom and rip off the shirt he had touched. His pinky finger had touched my arm, and I wanted to scrub the skin raw.

I had to stay calm. Dean needed me to help him.

"I'm Noah." The man greeted, offering his hand. I look hard at my jeans, pretending I'm too shy to touch him. This makes him nearly giddy.

"Castiel-" I answer rapidly in my panic. I cursed myself, Dean had given me clear instructions not to give out my real name anymore. It was much too rare.

"Beautiful name. Biblical, isn't it?" Noah asked, eyeing me over his long thin nose. I nodded and he seemed pleased with himself.

"As is yours." I offer a weak smile and Noah returns it.

"Can I get you a drink?" Noah asks, I hold up my drink and he chuckles.

"I already have one." I inform, and this makes Noah laugh again.

"This won't do much for you." He waves his hand over my drink and I shrug, picking it up. I take a large sip to try and soothe my dry throat. I'm on my fourth gulp when Dean smacks the drink from my hand.

"Dean?" I yelp, watching the drink splash all over Noah. Noah jumps up and Dean grabs me.

"Let's go." He says, hiding his face from Noah who is yelling. He tugs on his sun glasses, hiding the still healing black eye.

"What's wrong?" I ask softly, and Dean holds me up when suddenly my knees get wobbly.

"Bastard roofied you." Dean grunts. I try and think back to how that could possibly be.

"I'm fine, Dean. Just a little-" Dean smells very nice suddenly. His scent is thick and masculine and wraps around me like a blanket of security. I moan softly and press against him.

"Cas?" His voice cracks and I find that hysterical.

"You are amusing." I comment, but it comes out slurred. I scowl, and try and search for my phone to text it out. My mouth feels funny, cottony. Nothing is making sense.

"Cas, come on. Stay with me." Dean struggles with my weight as he drags me across the parking lot. My legs trip over themselves. Dean heaves a sigh and lifts me up into his arms. I black out before we reach the car.

---

It's sounds like a tribe is holding a ceremony in my head with how loudly the pounding is pulsing against my temples. I groan softly into the pillow, burying my face into the warmth when the sun tries to pry at my eyelids.

I do not remember anything from last night and the thought is disorienting.

As my senses come back, I realize something heavy is draped over my lowerback. I can feel soft breath snoring against the top of my head. For a moment I think I may have gone home with a stranger and allowed them to ... touch me. The thought makes me so ill so suddenly my stomach seizes. I lurch back and the soft snores become familiar.

Dean grunts, brow knitting when I move away. He pulls me back against his chest and tucks me under his chin. I blink at his bare chest, golden freckles littering across the dense muscle.

Dean and I are ... cuddling.

I jerk back so swiftly I fall from the bed with a loud thump. Dean snorts and sits up, eyes panicked.

"What's wrong?" He croaks, voice hoarse from sleep.

"You, me-" I gesture between us and he looks down at his naked body, where the sheets pool around his trim waist. Dean has a beautiful figure. Where I was lithe with lean sinew, Dean was all bulk and strength. He looks down at to where his skin folded over his middle in little belly rolls that smooth out when he stretched.

"You don't remember last night?" Dean glowered, lines appearing on his forehead as he glared down at me. I stood up, twitching at the thought of all the germs I encountered on the floor of our dingy motel room. Thankfully I was still half asleep, I felt groggy. Why wasn't I having an attack?

"Not at all." I admit, chewing on my chapped lip. Dean stands and I press my palms over my eyes just as the sheet slips from his hips. Dean laughs at me, coming to stand too close.

"You don't remember what we did, Cas?" His fingers brush my elbows, the callouses catching on my softer skin. I tremble and shake my head. Had I lost my virginity? I didn't even remember a minute of it? Had we gotten drunk? I remembered helping Dean with the case, trying to track down the murderer.

"No, I do not." I peep, my voice low as Dean steps even further into my personal space. His nose brushes my temple as he speaks into my ear.

"That's a shame, I'll just have to show you again." Dean promises lowly. I gape behind my hands about to reject the offer when Dean falls back onto the bed in a fit of laughter.

"You're such a sap! What did you think I did? Fuck you?!" Dean barks out more laughter and I glare at him.

"Dean this is not amusing." I hiss, and this sends him into another fit. He's wearing boxers I realize and I glare at him for it.

"You should have seen your face! You looked like a freaking virgin!" Dean crows. I feel my cheeks go dark and so does Dean because he pauses in his loud laughter. Usually I find Dean's laughter soothing, but when it's directed at me it seems to have the opposite effect.

"No way." Dean murmurs dazedly.

"What?" I complain, moving around the room to tidy the mess from last night. Our clothes were strung around everywhere.

Dean slotted himself behind me, leaning in with a leer.

"You've never fucked before." He grins mischievously. I glare at my busy hands and don't answer him.

"It's none of your business." I snap when he presses closer. I shove him away and he barely takes a step back before dancing back around me.

"You can tell me, man. Who am I gonna tell? Sammy? I can call up the news station and let them know my hostage hasn't had his cherry pop-"

"Yes, Dean. I am a virgin." I whirl around staring up at him angrily. Dean usually isn't so prying. If I make to drop a conversation he usually follows my lead which is much appreciated, I don't see why he holds such a fascination with my sex life.

"Oh, man. I don't think I've ever even met a virgin before." Dean wheezes out another laugh, shooting me a glance under his eyelashes as he runs a hand through the front of his short messy hair.

"Yes, well. I'm sure you have actually met someone who has not fornicated." I bit out, gathering some clean clothes. My head it still foggy as I head to the bathroom.

After a long hot shower I rejoin Dean out in the room. He is sitting on his own bed now, lacing up his boots.

"May I ask why we were sharing a bed when their are two?" I ask tightly, still annoyed from Dean's earlier antics.

"The killer came to the bar last night, he tried to pick you up."

"And?" I pressed, Dean's shirt from last night was discarded on a chair and blood free.

"He roofied you. So I had to get you home. You know, keep an eye on yah' in case you choked on your own puke or something." Dean shrugged, cheeks going pink as he admits his worry. The mention of vomit brings back the sharp pang of memories, I shove them down.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean distract you from your work." I mutter, before scowling at myself. Honestly? I was apologizing for interrupting Dean's intended murder. I chastise myself as Dean crosses the room. He hooks a finger beneath my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

My breath steals from my lungs at how close we are. Dean's green eyes gleam in the dim morning light. He smirks down at me, as if reading my thoughts.

"You're more important. Besides," He heads towards the door, pulling out a wallet that did not belong to him.

"I'm a damn good pickpocket." He shuts the door behind him with a bang.

Chapter 8: Torture

Summary:

"You gotta stay with me, Cas. I need you." Dean comes out of the bathroom and approaches me, knife still held in his hand. I should flinch, I should run or scream. Dean's obviously high off of the adrenaline rush, his cheeks flushes and his eyes lightened to a green gold.

It's that night when I truly discovered how unstable Dean is. I'm sleeping in our hotel room, the soft clean sheets swaddled around me as the air conditioner loudly rattles from the corner of the room. I'm dozing, not completely asleep when the door busts open.

Since Dean and I have been travelling together, he has killed three people. I had not witnessed him doing so, but him coming home stained in blood was a good indicator. When I had murdered the man who touched me, Dean had held him down and that had been the extent of me seeing him partake in murder.

But now he was dragging a man's limp form into our room.

"Shut the door." Dean's voice was vacant and harsh, green eyes hard as flint as he shoved the man into our small bathroom. I obeyed instantly, closing the blinds as well.

"What are you doing?" My voice is a hissed whisper, panic already making my heart rate spike dangerously. My fingers dig into the flannel cloth of my pajama pants.

"He's a fucking pedophile. I'm taking my time with this one. I couldn't find somewhere to stash em'." Dean grits. I stare as Dean drags a chair into bathroom and ties the man too it.

Dean isn't usually so sloppy. Bringing the man to our hotel was stupid, but sometimes he let his emotions control his actions. It would be his downfall. I knew Dean had a soft spot for children, he found their innocence refreshing in a world filled with evil and hate. So pedophiles were his favorite kill.

"Dean-" I ask in confusion. Everything is happening so fast. Dean's got a look on his face that makes me uncomfortable, I've never been uncomfortable around Dean before.

"Here, go see a movie." He licks his lips as he dips into his wallet and pulls out a twenty, pressing it into my hand. I stare at him in confusion.

"Are you going to-here?" I choke out, staring at the portly man who is limp and tied down firmly in the chair. Dean is a master of knots.

"Yeah, don't worry. I got bleach, I'll clean it up before you get back." His voice softens when he speaks to me, the steely look in his eyes eases a bit and relief blossoms in my chest.

"Dean you can't, what if someone hears? What if you get caught?" I'm desperately whispering to him, clutching the front of his favorite leather jacket. Dean looks shocked when I touch him, I've never voluntarily put my hands on him.

But I'm scared. Terrified that the man's screams won't be muffled by the thin walls and the sound of police sirens will be added to my nightmares.

"I won't, I'll keep his fat mouth stuffed like the pig he is." Dean bites out viciously, turning to send dangerous looks to the man. I shake Dean by his lapels and his attention returns to me, anger draining away as quickly as it came.

"You can't Dean, not here. I-I'll find somewhere, I'll look for an empty building-" I'm begging now. Both me and Dean can tell. I want to keep this away from me and Dean's strange relationship. I want to keep pretending that the blood on Dean's shirt isn't spilled from someone else.

I want to pretend this isn't happening. But I can't if he does it right in front of me.

"What, Cas? Did you think I talked them to death? Didn't think I'd get my hands dirty?" Dean steps away from my hold and I'm trembling.

It hits me at this moment that I'm not scared of Dean, or that fact that I'm about to witness a murder. I'm scared because Dean might get caught, he might get taken away from me and that is the most frightening thing I've ever experienced.

"Dean, no." I whimper as Dean eases into the bathroom, sliding behind the man. He grabs some towels and stuffs them in the mans mouth. The empty look slowly drains those green eyes I'm so used to seeing filled with affection and mischief.

"I'll show you, Cas. I'll show you what I really am." Dean takes out a knife and slowly eases it into the man's flesh.

More screams are added to my nightmares that night.

---

I believe perhaps what surprised me the most was how much blood was in the human body. The white tiles were stained with it, the walls smeared from when the man had managed to break on of the ropes and had tried escaping. Dean had placed the blade of his knife right through his face. His brain tissue has seeped out of the gash and hung like spaghetti from the back of his head.

I sat on the bed, my bare feet touching the ground as Dean wiped his blade on the mans soaked jeans. From my bed I had a clear view of the bathroom. The man had been surprisingly quiet, broken off moans and whimpers filling the room which could have easily been excused as someone making love.

Murder was so easy.

Dean was breathing hard, eyes glinting like the steel of his knife.

"You gonna stay with me?" Dean asks, swallowing hard around his smirk. He's out of breath from the exertion of taking anothers life. I stare ahead blankly, not fully comprehending him. There is so much blood.

"You gotta stay with me, Cas. I need you." Dean comes out of the bathroom and approaches me, knife still held in his hand. I should flinch, I should run or scream. Dean's obviously high off of the adrenaline rush, his cheeks flushes and his eyes lightened to a green gold.

When he steps in front of me I lean towards him, seeking the comfort only he can bring me, even if he is the source of my distress.

"You know I'd never hurt you." Dean murmurs, and he cups my face, smearing the mans blood into my hair and under my jaw. The cold steel of the knife presses sharply against my temple.

I whimper weakly and Dean lets out a shuttering breath. He licks his lips, leaning in close to me. Our foreheads bump together.

"You'll stay right? We're family." Dean breathes, lips brushing my cheek. I nod in his tight hold and he presses his thumb over my bottom lip, smearing it with blood.

He gives me a chaste kiss that taste like sin.

---

It's strangely a bonding experience to accept someone for all their faults, even if it includes murder. Dean and I are closer than ever as we continue our vacation down south to mexico.

We are stopped at a gas station in the first town right over the boarder. The weather is warm, but a cool breeze soothes my overheated skin. Dean insists we go see the ocean, since I had only seen it once as a child.

"Dude! These are the best slurpees in the world!" Dean laughs, shoving one into my hands. I sip at it and find myself agreeing. They had less of the syrupy consistency than the states did, and more ice.

"They are very good." I smile, sipping at the drink as Dean slides into the driver seat.

"So I'm thinking, we should head west." Dean says fumbling with the large map. I peer over his shoulder at it and he presses a kiss to my temple. I flush but pretend not to notice. Dean has been pressing chaste little kisses against me since my full acceptance of him. Some are in my hair, or against my temple, as if to thank me for being so understanding.

"I would like to visit the ocean." I say, turning to look up at him as our shoulders touch.

"We could live there, we could do whatever you want." Dean says, eyes adoring as he looks at me. I believe I am the first person to understand Dean's complexities so fully, and I believe he is the first to understand mine.

It's very hot in the car, the sun beating down against the leather of the Impala. We should be sitting further apart to avoid sharing body heat. But Dean and I have somehow fused and it's both awful and beautiful. If we were to separate now I think it would break both of us.

"I love you." I blurt out, my eyes still fixed solely on the map. My brow knits in confusion because it's true, it's so very true.

"W-What?" Dean stutters. I finally look at him and his entire face has gone beet red in a nearly comical way. I smile at him.

"I love you, Dean." I admit, and it's true. I do love Dean. It's this bond we share that's so profound I can't even begin to describe. It's almost disturbing how much I've come to rely on the serial killer.

"I love you, too, man." Deam says sheepishly, eyes flicking to mine shyly. He folds up the map and swallows thickly. I find his anxiousness endearing. I smile and pull him into a hug and he groans.

"Jesus christ! Stow the touchy feely crap!" Dean complains loudly.

"I believe you enjoy being coddled." I smirk as he snorts loudly, lifting his chin and slipping into his macho default mode.

"Whatever, let's just get going." Right as Dean starts the car the phone rings loudly from the glove department.

I look at Dean and he shrugs, reaching into the back seat to throw the map out of the way. One the phone I see Sam's number bleeping. I answer with a smile.

"Hello Sam." I greet. Sam calls Dean frequently, usually while driving so I am the one to answer. Sam and I had gotten over our initial hostility, upon realizing we would both be permanent fixtures in Dean's life.

"Dean Winchester ..." The voice is almost nasally, and most definitely not Sam's. My confusion quickly morphs into suspicion.

"No, this is Castiel-" I say with trepidation.

"Give me Winchester." The man commands. His speaking pattern is weird, an accent I can't place? Or maybe he swallows his words. But he sounds unnaturally calm, the calm that people have when they are truly dangerous, like Dean.

I hand the phone to Dean, whose face is grim.

"Who the fuck is this?" Dean snarls as soon as the phone touches his ear. Dean listens to the voice, face going pale with each grizzly word. When Dean finally hangs up he turns to me, swallowing around a thick lump in this throat.

"They got Sam."

Chapter 9: Poison

Summary:

"We have a sort of rivalry going. He was the head honcho of torture and murder, and now that I've taken up the mantle he's been pissed. Sam made sure to cover his tracks, but I guess Alistair was smarter than we gave him credit for."

\

"Dean!" I scream, the red and blue flashing lights blaze through the corn field. The Impala bulldozes through the stalks. Dean's eyes are burning, flicking back to the Police cars behind us.

"Stop your vehicle Winchester!" The officer belts into the megaphone. The car rocks dangerously, the metal groaning as it plows through the tall plants. A bullet shatters the back window and I scream. Dean roughly reaches across the seat and grips my shoulder, shoving me down to face plant in the seat.

"Dean!" I don't know why I'm saying his name. I don't know if I want him to stop, to pull over because the car is jerking violently with every little bump in the cornfield, or if I want him to duck down further to avoid the bullets.

"It's alright." He sounds dangerously calm, the dark bruises under his eyes from lack of sleep are highlighted in the light from the police car. He strokes my hair once before roughly grabbing the wheel with both hands.

"Hang on." He warns and then he slams his foot on the accelerator The car peels out, stalks of corn flying behind us with dirt and rock. More bullets whiz past the car and I whimper, trying to take soothing breaths.

The adrenaline pumps through my veins like flames. My breath is dampens my hair to make it curl and cling to my brow. My heart is racing in my chest so quickly I'm sure it's going to beat right out from behind my ribs.

Dean finally swerves out of the field and onto a dirt road. The Impala kicks up dust behind it as we accelerate to dangerous speeds. Dean clicks off the lights and parks into a small alcove. His breath is quick and tight, eyes scanning the trees as the sirens blare nearby.

"Get out." He pants, glancing to me. I look up in the dark car, still curled up half on the floor and half on the seat.

"What?" I ask in confusion, blood is still rushing in my ears and my head is thumping loudly.

"Get out. I'll be back for you." He reaches across me and pulls open the door. I blanch about to protest before I'm shoved out. I land on the forest floor, and Dean doesn't even hesitate before swerving his large car back onto the road. The cop car had been headed right toward us. He races down the road and the officer follows.

I sit on the forest floor, and wait.

---

Dean had not slept for days. So concerned over Sam he had been driving continuously, lips pursed and brow furrowed. We had barely spoke, the air tense with Dean's worry. I suspect he had taken drugs to keep him awake while he made the journey, he was jittery and wide eyed.

We were less that a day away when the police officer spotted us. I was leaned over the Impala, putting in gas while Dean ran across the street to get us food. The cop had yelled to me and I had jumped in the car and drove it around to pick up Dean. We had gotten away. But that night they had caught us on the interstate.

Dean hadn't even flinched.

The chase had lasted over an hour, Dean loosing most of them except a single officer. The officer who had chased him through the cornfield.

But here I was sitting alone in the cold woods in the middle of the night.

I laid my back against the tree, body aching from Dean's maniacal driving abilities. It felt like I had been in several car crashes.

While I waited my mind raced.

What if Dean was arrested? I would be stranded out here in the dirt. Quickly I pulled my thoughts away. I was sitting on the dirt ground, but my hands remained clean and tucked against my body for warmth. I tried not to think of germs.

What if Dean left me? What if he decided Sam was more important and continued to Standford to save his little brother. Jealousy flickered brightly in my chest, sufficiently shoving any mysophobic thoughts away. I sulked steadily, glaring down at my shoes.

Dean wouldn't leave me.

Would he?

The fear of abandonment had me chewing on my lip nervously; I nearly missed the black sleek car pulling up.

"Need a ride?" Dean asked, leaning out of his window. I look up in shock.

Dean looked worn down and tired. His eyes where half lidded and his hair was a mess. I had never been happier to see him. I jumped up and shakily went to him, reaching into the car for a shaky hug. Dean pushed me back and I felt dread rise up in me. He opened the car door and came out, wrapping me in a tight hug.

Relief lifted away any anxieties I may have had.

"You okay, Cas?" He asked against my ear, brushing off the dirt on my bottom. I push closer into him and realize I'm crying softly.

"I thought you were going to leave me." I mumble pathetically into his chest. The cloth becoming damp as all the walls I had tried to built up to be strong in Dean's absence come tumbling down. If there was any thought I had that I could be without Dean, it is surely squashed.

I feel Dean smile against my neck, lifting me closer. We fit together like a puzzle piece, two halves of the same whole. Dean is everything. My protector, my savior, my bestfriend.

"If I got caught, I didn't want you being dragged along. Sorry I left you out here." Dean says, pulling back from the hug. I dislike the action and curl against his chest, he chuckles lowly and his large palms settle on my hips as I nuzzle under his chin.

"Don't leave me again." I demand tightly, glaring at a freckle on his collar. Dean snickers and swipes a hand down my back before moving to get back into the car. I follow around on the other side, slotting into my spot beside Dean.

---

Our reunion is cut short when Dean remembers his little brother is still in danger. He drives with urgency down the freeways. I doze in and out of sleep, leaning against Dean's thigh. Occasionally I feel square blunt fingers slide through my hair.

"Cas." Dean mumbles sometime later that night. I wake up and look at him blearily. Dean hasn't slept in days and looks awful. His cheeks are sunken in and his skin is a sick gray color that looks so strange compared to his usual healthy golden skin.

"We're here." He says, staring at the building like it itself is dangerous. I follow his line of vision.

"Should we go in?" I prompt. Dean hadn't said a word on who captured Sam, but I assumed he knew. I hadn't asked, but I was scared for him.

"I-I'm scared." Dean admitted, looking to me with panicked green eyes. Dean had never once been scared in my presence, he was always the solid anchor I could latch onto when my attacks started up. Seeing him panic immediately effected me, but I swallowed it down. Dean needed me. Hardening my gaze I reached for his hand and cupped it tightly, his fingers squeezed around mine.

"The bastard who got Sammy, his name's Alistair." Dean's voice broke off like he wasn't sure how to continue.

"Is he dangerous?" I asked softly. Dean snorted cruelly, eyes shutting so tightly that little lines appeared. He didn't let go of my hand.

"He uh, he took me under his wing after Dad died. Sam had left for college and I was alone so Alistair sort of took me in when I was lost. He taught me everything." Dean's voice was as rough as the gravel road he had used for escape only hours earlier. He didn't need to elaborate on what 'everything' meant. Dean made it clear he hated 'torturing' he hated how it made him feel alive and how he felt it was necessary. He hated how much he loved and it scared him.

"Why would he do this?" I didn't understand how Dean's mentor could have think to harm Dean after getting to know him. Dean was like the sun, filling up every dark part in me until everything burned.

"We had a falling out, I tried to leave the family business. I met a girl named Lisa but he killed her." Dean looked away as he spoke, I studied his reflection in the glass of the window.

"What made you get back into ... the business?" I asked quietly, our fingers still knitted together.

"People like you." He said turning to give me a soft smile, green eyes gentle. I felt my cheeks heat at the compliment and tried not to think about how messed up everything had gotten.

"I still don't understand, you are murdering, why is still angry?" I asked, using my thumb to stroke circles around the back of his hand.

"We have a sort of rivalry going. He was the head honcho of torture and murder, and now that I've taken up the mantle he's been pissed. Sam made sure to cover his tracks, but I guess Alistair was smarter than we gave him credit for." Dean said, turning to look at the building again. If Sam was in there, it was likely he was dead, or broken beyond recognition. My heart throbbed painfully for Dean.

"Let's hurry." I said, leading Dean out of the car.

---

Dean shouldered up to the door of Sam's dorm room. Dean had tried to get me to wait in the car, admitting it would be a blood bath and I probably wouldn't be able to handle it. I refused and told him I would stay. Dean's eyes were grateful even though he barked out an insult.

"Ready?" Dean licked his lips nervously as I clumsily held a gun he had been trying to teach me to shoot. I nodded and he burst through the door. His gun settled on the bed where there was a scream.

"Dean, what the fuck!" Sam shouted, leaning over a beautiful girl who screamed again and trembled under Sam's much larger body.

"Get out!" She screamed, hurling a book on the bed at Dean's head who easily dodged it.

"Ah, Geeze! Alright!" Dean snapped, shutting the door behind him. Dean's happy smile was muddled with confusion.

"Sammy's okay." He breathed, resting his head against the wall. The door slammed open as the girl came out fully dressed, she glared at Dean as she passed and stomped down the hallway.

"You fucking suck, I've been trying to get with her for months." Sam hissed, roughly shoving his big brother. Dean laughed and shoved back, clapping his arm around Sam in a hug as Sam tried to squirm away.

"Get off!" Sam yelped, still huffy. Dean and I followed him back into the dorm room.

"What the hell, man?" Sam demanded. Dean was still too thrilled to speak. I saw Sam's eyes dance to me in mild surprise before landing irritably on his grinning brother.

"We received a ransom a few days ago, stating you were in danger." I relayed. Sam hummed in acknowledgement, eyeing his brother warily.

"Is that why you look like hell?" Sam asked, sniffing the air and wincing. I realized both Dean and I weren't exactly pristine. I desperately needed to shower.

Dean realized my panic and nodded to where the shower was. I let the brothers speak privately as I bathed. When I came out from behind the curtain Dean had set new clothes on the sink for me. I quickly dressed and brushed my teeth before meeting them back in the small room.

"I'm glad your alright." Dean sighed, looking at his brother endearingly as the taller boy rolled his eyes.

"I can handle myself. You need to get out of here before the cops start snooping around." Sam grumble, brushing his hair back from his face. Dean scowled.

"I ain't leaving until I know Alistair is dead. It's about time I killed that bastard, and until than you and Cas are gonna take a little road trip somewhere safe." Dean started shoving some of Sam's clothes into a duffel bag.

"Are you insane? I have school, I'm not leaving-Ow! What the hell?" Sam yelped. He clamped a hand onto a needle sticking out of his neck. The cool breeze from the open windows had been refreshing, but was now dangerous as Dean whipped around.

"Cas get down!" He shouted, reaching for me. I felt a sharp sting in the back of my neck and gasped, falling to my knees.

"Dean-" I saw green eyes go wide with horror before I was swallowed in black.

 

Chapter 10: Suffocation

Summary:

"Dean, I'm sorry-" Sorry I hadn't gotten here sooner. Sorry I couldn't protect him as much as he protected me. Sorry I wasn't strong enough to use the saw properly. Sorry Lisa was dead. But I didn't say any of this. Dean just nodded, eyes suddenly weary.

"Castiel!" A large hand touches me, and I hiss pushing it away. My hands tremble and as always a tidal wave of disgust crashes down over me. I scramble up and hurry to the bathroom, scrubbing myself clean with burning hot water and soap. Once my skin is free of germs I finally look to the door where Sam is leaning against the door hinge, eyes calculating and weary.

"Man, you're a freak." He decided, eyebrow raised. I swallowed thickly, touching the empty pill bottle in my pocket. I had taken the last one the day before and the medicine was leaving my system rapidly. Without Dean and without meds, I would surely be a broken thing with the following hours.

"Where is he?"My throat is croaky and dry. Sam runs a hand through his hair, rubbing at his neck in irritation.

"I don't know," He admits, licking his lips in a habit similar to his older brother. "But he's probably being ripped to shreds. We need to find him, and fast." Sam paces back into the room, gathering up weapons he has hidden around the room. He looks out the window and spots the Impala still safely waiting in the parking lot.

"Why is Alastair doing this? It's so petty." My voice is sharp. I wobble on my feet and Sam reaches out to steady me, I stumble back so quickly I hit his drawers. I wince in pain from the feel of the hard wood digging into my side, I'll surely bruise.

"Okay, I get it. No touching." Sam raises his hands in surrender. I look away from him. I feel so silly, as I always do when the medication isn't enough. When the medication wears off, the depression will start again. I squeeze my eyes shut and try and think of Dean's smiling accepting face. A small tendril of relief loosens my chest.

"Alastair is insane." Sam says answering my earlier question. He lifts up the bag Dean had only managed to half pack for his younger brother before he was abducted. Whatever Alastair had stuck me and Sam with had done it's job. Dean and I had arrived at Standford sometime this afternoon, while now it was late at night.

"Dean ... Dean likes doing what he does. But Alastair loves it, he loves hurting people. Dean kills people who are monsters, but Alastair kills for fun." Sam informs, and starts out the door. His long legs carry him faster than I can walk, so I have to jog to keep up.

"I honestly don't see much difference." I admit, staying close to Sam. He may not be Dean, but there is something about him that is close enough to quell me just barely as the nerves of the situation burn into my mind.

"You will." Sam says, not looking back over his shoulder as he leads me to the Impala.

---

The whole day we spend trying to gather information. Alastair has not made contact with either of us, which Sam finds strange. Alastair apparently likes to try and torture as many as possible in as little time as he can. Sam and I have hit a brick wall in our search. So Sam had resorted to waiting at a bar, clacking away at his computer to try and find old rap sheets on Alastair. He's looking for a pattern to where Alastair might take his victims but he's having no such luck.

"So what's the deal?" Sam asks, not looking up from the screen. The bar is slightly nicer than the ones Dean usually drags me to. The wooden tables are cleaner and the people are less rowdy.

"I do not understand." I frown, puzzled. Sam speaks strangely and it confuses me. He rolls his eyes as if reading my thoughts.

"You and Dean, what's going on between you?" Sam's gaze slants at me from over the laptop. I look away, shifting uncomfortably in the chair.

"We are travelling companions." I shrug, touching a frayed hole in the jeans that I'm wearing. They belong to Dean.

"Dean doesn't have 'travelling companions'. I thought he would have dumped you on the side of the road by now." Sam grunts, eyes scanning something on the screen hopefully before he sighs and clicks something else. I don't tell Sam that Dean has in fact dumped me on the side of the road only the day before.

"Dean needs me." It's the truth. Dean needs me almost as much as I need him, and this brings me great comfort. I anchor Dean into reality, I keep him from getting too lost in the bloody world he inhabits. Sam looks shocked at my bold declaration.

"Are you two fucking?" Sam blurts. I feel my cheeks burn with humiliation, and shake my head.

"No! No. Of course not. Dean is ... he protects me." I dig my teeth into my bottom lip. Dean would never do something so savage and unclean to me. He loves me. My family had raised me to believe that intercourse was wrong, sinful. So it was ingrained in my mind. The man who had touched me, the man I killed, had only fortified this thought. Dean would never do something so awful to me.

"Whatever you say, Andy Stitzer." Sam sniffed, scratching at his nose.

"My name is Castiel." I remind and Sam rolls his eyes dramatically. I am confused. We sit in silence for a long time, me studying Sam's face to keep my mind busy. He does not share many features with Dean which is a shame. But I suppose to other people he would be considered handsome.

"I found something." Sam says, voice taunt with restrained eagerness. I lean forward and he shows me a police report.

"He prefers large open rooms in seclusion, because he likes to make them scream-Miler's Point." Sam gasps, slamming down his computer. He rushes out of the bar, I follow behind.

---

Miller's Point it an old abandon mansion in the nearby woods. Sam drives over a creaky bridge. He parks a ways away and we stealthily approach the building. The front doors are covered by two men in suits.

"I don't understand." I whisper to Sam as we crouch behind a boulder. Sam glares at the men.

"Alastair sometimes hires goons to keep watch, he's a smart prick. He avoids capture because he thinks ahead." Sam gritted, rifling through his bag.

"We're going around back." Sam says, and we skirt around to the back of the massive home. The back door is also covered and all the windows are heavily boarded, we would not be able to break them open without drawing attention.

"Shit-" Sam curses under his breath, leaning back against the side of the house in between where the two sets of guards are. I look up and point eagerly. A small hole from the decaying home is crumbling above.

Sam cups his hands and squats down, I look at him strangely. He lets out an annoyed breath.

"I'll hoist you up." He whispers, gesturing for me to put my foot into his hands. I shake my head viciously, stepping away from him.

"Sam, I can't. The wood, it's rotting." My voice is choppy and broken, and I want Sam to climb up, but he is much too large. I will barely be able to squeeze through the hole.

"Just fucki-" Sam hisses.

"You don't understand!" I choke, hands trembling where I have them knotted in the over sized shirt belonging to Dean. Sam stops short and looks at me in silence for a long moment.

"If you don't, Dean might die." He says slowly. Pain erupts in my chest, and I nod shakily. For Dean I could brave anything. I nod again mostly in reassurance to myself, moving forward as he recups his palms together. I try to not touch him but it's impossible. My hand collides with the side of the house and I cry out in disgust. Sam hushes me and I whimper as I'm brought up to chest level with the hole. Inside it is dingy and dark, mold sits on the sodden wood and spider webs sit densely in the vent.

Gulping loudly, I try and swipe some of it away with the sleeve of Dean's jacket I had found in the Impala, the scent comforting. Spiders scurry amount and I feel my mouth fill with spittle from disgust.

"Come on." Sam snarls below. I nod, shakily taking hold. I lift myself weakly inside and give a short dry heave when a spider crawls across my jaw. I slap at it and it crushes under my hands, spurting messily against my neck.

"Try to find a weak window, or distract them so I can get inside." Sam's voice calls from below. Tears well and slip over my cheeks as I weakly drag myself down the shaft on all fours. I have never been in such a tight space before and am relieved to find out I also seem to be claustrophobic.

The wood groans under my weight, protesting as I finally see a small light. The mold is sticking to my skin and the smell is so dense it tickles my nose, little spores clotting up in my nostrils. I push out the weak metal vent and find myself in a decaying old living room. Wet papers line the swollen wooden planks. My shirt is soaked through, but Dean's jacket had protected most of my forearms from the grim.

I drag myself up and double over. I'm hyperventilating, my mind and heart racing in tune. Black swirls around the edge of my vision, threatening to pull me under. Violent stabs of pain shoot through my stomach and chest like I'm being stabbed at the attack seizes hold.

I desperately try and wait it out, but it rakes my entire body. I've just sunken down to my knees when I hear loud footsteps. I manage to crawl behind a fallen sofa when I hear the nasally voice from the telephone.

"Heaven, I'm in heaven," The haunting voice echos in the empty crumbling mansion. I hear a creaky metal door screech open and the sound of footsteps going down stairs.

"And my heart beats so I can hardly speak." The man sings slowly, almost tauntingly. I get up on wobbly knees, using the sodden couch to support me as I follow the voice down the stairs into the basement.

"That was it, wasn't it, Dean? The song you danced to on your wedding night." Alastair's voice was so cruel. He wasn't even speaking to me, and I felt myself freeze in fear as his voice twisted into the air like a cold blade.

"Oh, you looked so happy. Dancing cheek to cheek." Alastair chuckled darkly. I stood on the stairwell. Dean hadn't spoken a word, and I could see nothing besides a dull flickering light below.

"But it was all a lie wasn't it Dean. I did you a favor really. I showed you who you really are. If I hadn't killed Lisa, than you would have never of met your angel." Alastair swallowed at his words strangely as he spoke with false sympathy. Was this man speaking of me?

"I've been watching you. The way you look at him, it's disgusting really. Do you want to soil his pure little soul?" Alastair's voice lowered. I took a few steps further into the basement.

"Lisa screamed. Did I ever tell you that? She begged me to stop, she thought you'd save her. But you didn't Dean, you failed her." Alastair was a monster, he knew exactly what to say to make Dean drown in guilt. I knew Dean had a ridiculous belief that he needed to save and protect everyone, and the fact that he couldn't weighed on him so heavily I didn't know how he got up in the morning. Alcohol had so far seemed his favorite treatment.

"Now Castiel, he's even prettier than her. He'll scream won't he? Oh, I might even put some icky things on, just to watch him squirm. You shouldn't get so close to things so pure, Dean. You might make them dirty." Alastair sneered. The chains rattled and finally Dean spoke.

"Fuck you!" Dean snarled, struggling violently against his bonds.

"I wonder if our angel will cry. I bet he looks so pretty with tears on his cheeks. He cried when I sent Rick to play with him, he didn't seem to like that, but I'd be gentler. Oh, he'd learn to love it, to crave me." Alastair purred. I took the final step down and peered around the edge of the staircase. My breath caught in my throat. Dean was bloodied, tied up spread eagle and face down on a table. He was naked, large lacerations were whipped up and down his spine. The blood oozed steadily down his sides to drip from the table.

"You touch a fucking hair on his head and I'll rip the flesh from your bone!" Dean snarled viciously like a wild animal, struggling violently as the manacles dug into his wrists. My own scars still wrapped around my wrist, a brand to forever remind me of what 'Rick' had done. Alastair had sent him for me, the thought was terrifying.

"Ah, ah, ah. You're bleeding out, relax." Alastair smoothed a hand down Dean's backside. Dean growled lowly, face just out of my line of sight.

"We're not all that different. Castiel, and I. While you have a delusional hero complex, Cas and I have a purpose. We kill for vengeance." Alastair's smile was slimy.

"Cas killed that fucker because he deserved it." Dean spat, blood flying from his lips.

"Not at all. Rick was just doing his job, and he might of taken some liberties but he was a sick man. He didn't deserve to be carved up, at least, not by your strange standards." Alastair continued. I tried to filter out his words, to focus on Dean's voice.

"Shut your fucking mouth."

"But Cas is something special, isn't he? All that power and he doesn't even know it. I mean, he's tamed you hasn't he? The killer who slays people without a speck of remorse has gone weak in the knees for a college boy from orchid town. I wonder what makes you so drawn to him? Does he put those large pretty lips to good use?" Alastair mocked.

"Don't touch him." Dean panted, green eyes ablaze with hatred.

"I'll take good care of him." Alastair cooed. Dean started up his struggle again, blood flying from his skin. The sound of something breaking upstairs caught all of our attention. I managed to slip under the stair case just as Alasitar turned.

A man screamed and his voice broke off into a muffled pained noise.

"My little brother's gonna eat you alive." Dean grinned brutally, blood staining his usually white teeth. I winced when he immediately assumed it was Sam who had come to his rescue as if I wouldn't be able to. Alasair dug a fingernail itno one of Dean's wounds causing him to cry out. The sound of Dean in pain would haunt me for the rest of my life.

"I'll be right back." Alastair promised. He quickly ascended the stairs, shutting the heavy metal door behind him. I ran to Dean's side, and the relief on his face made any of the anxieties melt away like the sun warming the frozen soil after winter.

"Dean-" I breathed, dropping to my knees to cup his swollen face. I pressed out foreheads together, feeling his breath against my lips, assuring myself that he was indeed alive.

"Cas." Dean murmured my name like a prayer, pressing into my hands eagerly. I stroked his hair, wet with blood and sweat.

"I'm going to free you." I promised, standing and searching the room for something to remove his cuffs.

"Saw's over there." Dean nodded, and I saw the saw covered in little bits of Dean's flesh and blood. I shivered as I picked it up, using it to saw through the metal at a painstakingly slow pace. I was not very strong. Once the first one was free, Dean took the saw into his own hands and set to work on the other three. Even half bleed out he was stronger. Dean sat naked on the table, breathing hard as sweat rolled down his temples and chest, creating little streaks on his chest.

"Dean, I'm sorry-" Sorry I hadn't gotten here sooner. Sorry I couldn't protect him as much as he protected me. Sorry I wasn't strong enough to use the saw properly. Sorry Lisa was dead. But I didn't say any of this. Dean just nodded, eyes suddenly weary.

"Gotta help Sammy." Dean grumbled, standing. He collapsed and I held him up. He cried out as my hands clasped his wounds. I jerked back but he held tight to me.

"It's okay." He said stiffly, before I could get out my apology. I leaned him back against the table, removing his leather jacket and tying it around his hips for some form of modesty. Slowly we ambled up the stairs. I had to hold Dean's arms because his back was in ribbons from lacerations. Dean would have scars.

We were halfway up the stairs when the door opened. Sam stood up top, he too had blood on him and raced down the stairs. He easily helped carry his bulky brother up the stairs, whispering words of comfort I hadn't offered.

I skipped over the start of depression and delved head first into a pit of it.

Chapter 11: Drowning

Summary:

"Love you, man." He murmured in relief, squeezing me in a hug. Dean tried to steer clear of what he dubbed 'chick flick moments' which included hugs. But his face pressed into my neck and his arms curled tightly around my waist. I sighed against him, pressing my mouth to his shoulder and looking out over the lake behind him.

For Dean, I would do anything; and that scared me.

I sit curled up on the bed, my trembling lips are placed against my knees so Dean can't see. I close my eyes as Alistair's muffled screams roar from the next room, the smell of singed flesh in the air is making it hard to breath.

Sam has gone back to school, leaving Dean and I alone with Dean's newest victim.

"I wish you wouldn't do this." I told Dean, firmly shutting my eyes as Alistair's sick gurgles of pain spill from the room when Dean comes out to take a quick break. He's sweaty, green eyes vacant as they always get when he is with a victim.

"No one asked you." Dean mutters, getting a bottle of water and chugging it before going back in.

I fall asleep to the sounds of Alistair's skin being peeled back from muscle.

---

"Cas, Cas get up." Dean shakes me awake. He's got blood under his fingernails and I wince. He looks down to the source of my distress and walks over to the sink, scrubbing his hands clean as he speaks.

"You up for a little midnight boat ride?" Dean asks, wiping his hands on his jeans to dry them. I nod blearily, still half asleep as Dean helps me with my coat, zipping it up like I'm a child as I rub sleepily at my eyes. I go to the Impala, waiting for Dean. He carries out a large long object wrapped in trashbags. Dean slams the trunk once he's placed the heavy object inside. He comes to the side of the car and slides in. His arm moves up to rest behind my shoulder.

I sit closer than holy necessary, but Dean doesn't complain.

"What was that?" I ask with a yawn, eyes sliding shut as the now familiar purr of the Impala reverberates up into my chest.

"Just taking out the garbage." Dean's voice has a smile in it, but I don't look up. Dozing slightly as Dean drives. Time fluctuates for me, it feels both like a minute and an hour when Dean's turning the car off. I sit up, and follow Dean to the trunk.

"Go get in the boat." Dean says, handing me cement blocks and chains. I struggle carrying them down the small slope to the vacant dock. A tiny dinghy rocks gently in the murky lake. An ominous fog has settled over the water, making shadows dance underneath the surface.

It reminded me of the ancient Greek myth of the River Styx.

"Dean, are you Charon?" I joked sleepily, looking behind me through the fog. Dean's silhouette formed as he carried the bag down the small hill.

"Yeah, where are your pennies?" He smiled, nudging me as he passed. I blinked in surprise assuming he wouldn't get the reference. Dean settled the back at the bottom of the boat, taking the cement block and resting it near the body. He offered his hand, helping me in the rocking boat. I settled on the bench as Dean gripped the paddles.

Dean rowed in silence. Green eyes still half empty after the torture session. It always took Dean awhile to recover.

"Is it safe that we left Alistair in the hotel?" I ask. Dean's smooth strokes falter and he looks up at me in shock. Slowly the surprise melts away, he looks very weary.

"Alistair isn't at the hotel, Cas." Dean says softly, kicking the bag. Realization hits me hard. Alistair is in the bag. My chest pinches tight and I look away, scooting my feet back from the bag, and looking over the water. I was half asleep, but still. How naive could a person be.

"We're going to sink his body to the bottom of the lake." I conclude angrily. Refusing to look at Dean.

"That's the plan." Dean says softly. The wood creaks as he rows, the boat slowly glides over the still water. The fog becoming denser the further out we go.

Dean stops rowing after a few minutes. He connects the little hook on the top of the block to the chain, before wrapping it securely around the body bag.

Dean struggles to lift the body when weighed down with chains, it only takes a moments hesitation before I assist him, tossing the body in the water and then lifting the cement and throwing it over.

I watch the bubbles rise. I can see Dean watching me closely from the corner of my eye.

"Are you gonna leave?" Me. Was unspoken, but there. Dean Winchester liked to pretend he didn't care if people came and went, but I knew better.

"No." I answer, sitting back down on the bench. The sun peeks over a distant mountain and the ugly black water becomes a warm orange. The fog sparkles like little crystals. It doesn't lift the heavy feeling on my chest.

"I didn't-I'm sorry." Dean grits, a muscle in his jaw ticks as he glares out over the water. I study his face in the sunrise, the stubble of his jaw a little longer than he usually keeps it. There are dark rings under his eyes from days without sleep. I'll have to make sure he gets well rested before we head out on the road again.

"If the police found his body they would have you arrested." I said slowly, looking back to where a few bubbles were still struggling up to the surface.

"It had to be done." I conclude. Dean looks taken aback by my statement, His lips parted before a beautiful smile spread over his face, brighter even than the sun rising behind him. I reached forward and he pressed one of his chaste friendly kisses to the side of mouth.

"Love you, man." He murmured in relief, squeezing me in a hug. Dean tried to steer clear of what he dubbed 'chick flick moments' which included hugs. But his face pressed into my neck and his arms curled tightly around my waist. I sighed against him, pressing my mouth to his shoulder and looking out over the lake behind him.

For Dean, I would do anything; and that scared me.

---

Dean slept for a full day. Waking up around six the next morning, looking ten years younger. He practically glowed, and I had forgotten just how beautiful he really was when his skin wasn't a sickly gray and his eyes sunken in. Dean took me to an IHOP and ordered us a fatty breakfast meal.

"So I'm thinking, let's postpone the Mexico trip for a few weeks. I mean, we've only seen half of the US." Dean smacked around a mouthful of sausage. I swallowed my eggs, taking a sip from my coffee before speaking.

"I believe that leaving for awhile might be wise. To let things 'die down', as you say." I commented, cutting a neat square off my pancake. Dean leaned back in the booth with a scowl, face brightening as a pretty young waitress wearing a ridiculously short shirt passed.

"Cas I've been doing this since I was a kid, I ain't been caught yet." Dean sent me a flashy wink and I frowned at him.

"But now you have me," When I said this, for some reason Dean's cheeks went pink. "I could slow you down, and quiet possibly be the reason you get caught." I lower my voice.

Speaking about Dean's 'job' in public was strictly banned.

Dean heaved a dramatic sigh, slumping further.

"Cas," He started macho bravado slipping firmly in place. I leveled him an annoyed look. I knew Dean too well to be impressed by his facade.

"You don't need to worry about a thing, Sweetheart. I can cover my ass, and yours." His leer was nearly as greasy as the food.

I looked at him dubiously.

"You have egg on your chin." I commented dryly, cutting another square off my pancake as Dean scrubbed at his face while flushing bright red.

---

I struggled against Dean's strong hold. Gasping hard as he forced me forward. My muscles burned with exertion to get away from him.

"Come on," He growled. My heart was beating too quickly, my fingers trembled as I scrabbled at his forearms clamped tightly around my waist.

"Stop, please." I whimpered, kicking at him. Dean pulled me closer, my back completely sealed against his chest. I didn't want this, I truly didn't and I was on the verge of tears. Dean had dealt with enough physical combat to easily repel my struggles.

"Dean, please!" I shouted, catching the attention of a few civilians. Dean snickered darkly in my ear, lifting me off the ground and throwing me over his shoulder. I beat at his back as he spoke.

"Trust me." Dean said, opening the door to the dark room. The sound of screams filled my ears and I choked down another sob.

"Dean, I'm begging you." I managed to slide down enough to hug around his shoulders, and Dean laughed fully now it sounded evil in my ears.

He began stroking my back as if I was an child as I clung to him.

"Jesus, Cas. It's just a fucking movie." Dean snorted, climbing the stairs as if he wasn't dragging a full grown man along with him.

"The germs-" I whined.

"You can sit on my lap." Dean teased. I glared at him. As soon as he sat, I firmly placed myself over his knee. Dean's eyes went wide in the flickering lights of the previews.

"Cas-" He said embarrassed, I heard a few whispers behind us and a group of teenage girls giggling.

"If you expect me to stay in this cesspit, the least you could do is provide me comfort." I grumble, wrapping around him. I tuck under Dean's chin, hiding my face from the screen. Dean's very still, frozen even as the previews continue on.

Dean is warm against me, every hard muscle tense as I snuggle against him. When Dean found out I had only seen one scary movie in my entire life and had been so scared I'd refused to see another, he had immediately set out to rectify it.

The movie started, and I peeked out curiously from where I was hidden to watch a pretty blonde dance around her bed room in her underwear.

"The scariest thing in this movie is her taste in music." I comment tartly. Dean barks out his loud booming laughter and we are quickly shushed. Dean loosens up, tossing an arm around my waist.

"Not everyone appreciates the hammer of the God's." He whispers hotly in my ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin. I shiver, and lean against his clavicle.

An equally good looking man with sun bleached hair and tan skin enters the screen. He obviously is the 'dumb jock' stereotype.

"Bet he dies first." Dean breathes into my ear. I wish he'd stop, my stomach is doing funny flips and I sulk as I tighten my hold around his shoulders. The next character introduced is the 'geeky best friend'.

"I think he will." I barter. Dean snorts.

"Cas, I think I know horror movies a little better than you." Dean mutters, hand shifting lower on my hips to slide over my hipbone. Dean fits his fingers there and I chew on my bottom lip. It's very hard to focus on the film when Dean's touching me.

Not twenty minutes later, the geeky best friend is split in two by the demonic ghost. I scream, burying my face in Dean's chest as he curses.

"Damn it, how'd you know that was gonna happen?!" Dean grunts, always competitive His hand strokes my back in comfort absent mindedly as I cower against him.

"Dean, I don't wish to continue watching this." I whine, curling closer until Dean and I are sharing the same breath.

"Come on, man. I'm the scariest thing you're ever gonna meet." Dean grinned, looking back up at the screen. I stare him in astonishment upon realizing he is right. When we are together like this, I forget things like only yesterday Dean had me help him dump a body in a lake.

The rest of the movie plays out rather predictably, but in a surprise ending, the ghost is actually the blonde girls father. An uncomfortable scene of the man's ghostly hand stroking his daughters hair is the final shot.

"Man, that was lame." Dean complained, stretching as soon as I got off of him. His legs must be aching, but he didn't complain. He starts jiggling on his heels once he stands.

"You did startle when the ghost set her ceiling on fire." I commented, both Dean and I had jolted violently. Me letting out a short yell as he gasped sharply, eyes wide. He had pouted for twenty minutes when I smirked at him.

"Shut up." Dean huffed, hand wrapping around my hip as he led me down the escalator. He had never done that before, but I found the warm pressure reassuring.

Chapter 12: Burning

Summary:

One second she was looking at Dean and the next she was laying in a pool of her own blood. Pretty blue eyes dimming into something lifeless and cold. There was so much blood.

This is such a terrible idea. My palms are sweaty and knotted in my lap. Dean glances at me from the corner of his eye. He looks handsome in all black.

"Dude, if you're gonna like faint or something you can wait in the car." Dean snaps annoyed. I glare at him, looking away.

"I'm fine, Dean." I say stiffly. It's ridiculous how doing this is making me more nervous then helping Dean dispose of a body. But I suppose the only person other than Dean who had witnessed my sin had been dead and wrapped in trash bags. No, now I would actively be committing a crime and from my own choice. I swallowed thickly.

"You're waiting in the car." Dean decides suddenly, jaw clenched. He grips the steering wheel and doesn't look at me.

"No. I'm going with you." I quip back immediately. I won't let Dean leave me behind, no matter what.

"Fuck." He reaches for the bag between us, licking his lips nervously as he looks at me.

"Fine, alright. Are you ready?" He asks. I nod shakily, taking the ski mask he hands to me.

"I'm ready." I murmur as I take the gun from his palms with cold slippery fingers.

---

Dean is many things, but I had never thought him a thief. Like always Dean surprised me and proved himself to be a very accomplished swindler. He had no qualms about stealing; he considered it compensation for all of the 'sanitation cleanup' he did for the government.

Fraudulent credit cards are what put Sam through college.

Sam was also in on it, it's how he could afford his dorm, and text books, and why he had a nice car. He was the brains while Dean preformed the execution, although I didn't condone such acts I couldn't help but be impressed by their teamwork.

Dean had contacted Sam, telling him he needed help getting the heist together. Sam had seemed surprised.

I'm sure that all the hotels and an extra mouth to feed has surely put a dent in Dean's funds.

It is this residual guilt that has led me to be walking into a bank behind Dean, who is roaring at the top of his lungs for everyone to get down.

I say that, but I think perhaps if Dean asked me to jump from an airplane with no parachute I would purely on faith. I would fall for Dean.

"Get on the fucking ground!" Dean snarls into a security guards face. Dean has robbed a bank before, in Iowa. He has also robbed three liquor stores when he had been in his teens with no other income to support Sam while their father disappeared for weeks on end.

I watch the gun lay in his hands with ease as he points it at woman holding children before moving it on to a young couple. This is wrong, but I don't stop him.

"Around back." Dean nodded to me. Green eyes flashing from beneath the black mask that covered the rest of his face. I could see his plush lips pushing through the mask as he spoke loudly to me.

I stumbled around the people, all laying on their bellies. I felt sick to my stomach. Dean assured me he had never hurt anyone in these robberies. They were innocents, so in his eyes they deserved protection. But of course they should pay a fine.

"Come on, baby. Let's go!" Dean shouted to me, unable to use my true name. I nodded, going to his side from where I had been staring at the woman shushing her crying child.

A pretty female employee was hauled to her feet and dragged to the vault. Dean pressed his gun to her head. She whimpered weakly, and I flickered my gaze to Dean meekly. He loosened his hold on her hair.

"Open the vault." His voice was harder than the glinting metal of the gun. I looked around at the people as Dean had instructed in the plans, watching to make sure no one tried to run. The woman's lips trembled as tears rolled down her rouged cheeks. She dropped the key because her hands were shaking so violently and Dean cursed.

"Hurry up." Dean snarled lowly, fisting her hair around his fingers. She finally slotted the card in and tapped out a code. Dean tossed her aside and she crawled under the table.

"Alright, you get the cash." Dean reminded, as if we hadn't run through the plan a thousand times. It was nearly fail proof. Sam had bought a phone jamming device, which was sitting activated in the Impala out back. Sam was currently in his dorm, hacking into the bank system with a friend who was a specialist.

"Babe, let's go!" Dean shouted, snapping me out of my reverie as he scanned the hostages slowly, threateningly. I quickly began shoving the bills into bags. I got two bags filled before Dean motioned for me.

I had glanced down to make sure the tie on the bag was secure when I heard a loud echoing crack tear through the room like lightening.

"Fuck! Shit!" Dean roared, already on the floor clutching his shoulder. His green eyes were squeezed shut in pain, tears gathering in his lashes. The banker woman that he had forced to open the vault was holding one of those tiny purse guns, her hands shaking as she leveled it at Dean.

It seemed to happen in slow motion, like in the movies.

One second she was looking at Dean and the next she was laying in a pool of her own blood. Pretty blue eyes dimming into something lifeless and cold. There was so much blood.

Screams, more screams. They filed into my brain to be added to the horror track that played in my nightmares every night.

Dean tried standing but fell back down with a loud curse. He had sprained his ankle on the way down, hitting the floor too sharply. I grabbed the bags of money and Dean's gun, I picked him up and dragged him outside with strength I didn't know I possessed.

Adrenaline burned white hot in my veins. I shoved Dean in the backseat, running around to the other side. We peeled out of the parking lot, leaving the smell of tar, blood, and tears behind us.

---

I slowly dug the bullet from Dean's shoulder with tweezers. The metal slipped from the slick nugget and Dean moaned around the belt, thumping his good foot loudly to relief the pain. I don't see how it helped, but Dean seemed determined to break as many things as possibly until the bullet was removed.

"Cas-" Dean panted my name around the leather. I nodded, trying to steady my hand. I dug the tweezers into the meaty muscle. Dean leaned back against the kitchen cabinets, he was sitting on the counter beside the oven. The metal made a metallic noise as I dropped it in a cup.

"I got it, Dean." I said, looking up at him as I displayed the metal chunk that had been firmly fixed in in his upper bicep.

"Alright," Dean swallowed loudly around the leather muffling his voice.

"Do it." He ordered. I paused a moment before reaching for the iron sitting on the open flame. Dean panted hard, the skin around his closed eyes wrinkling as he prepped himself.

I pressed my lips to his, he snarled into my mouth as I pushed the hot iron against his skin. I could hear his flesh blistering like the bubblewrap that I played with when I was a child.

Dean screamed against my lips, hand scrambling up to grip the back of my neck. His blunt fingernails dug deep into the skin. I didn't flinch, I let him scar me as I pressed the iron further into his skin. The sizzle of burning flesh filled my nose and burned down my throat.

"I've got you." I whispered against his chin as he slumped, face bright red and sweaty. The tendons on his neck puckered from beneath his skin, blood rushing in distress. He murmured my name as I smoothed burn cream over the severe burn I'd left on his shoulder. He would have the mark for the rest of his life.

He would have my mark for the rest of his life.

 

Chapter 13: Depression

Summary:

"Cas, babe? You alright?" Dean asks, leaning across the table. He carefully takes my hand, curling his larger one around me to be able to hold me down if I fly into a fit and begin trying to hurt myself or other people.

Dean and I were sweating heavily in the leather seats of the Impala. A whole day of driving made our legs cramped and both of us irritable. It was warm, and we were somewhere near New Orleans since Dean wanted to visit one of his friends named Benny.

"Will you stop sighing." Dean grunted, as I breathed heavily. I hated the heat, especially when there was no relief. I couldn't shower, or cool myself in a pool of water.

"This heat is unbearable." I complain, pushing my hair from my forehead as it sticks there wetly. Dean glares at me.

"Yeah, well I gave you the fucking option to go back to your cushy life, Cas. No ones forcing you to be here, so suck it up or get lost." Dean barked out harshly. He had been snippy for the past week are so since his ankle was still healing. He had to let me drive his precious vehicle, as well as help him into the hotel rooms. The burn on his shoulder needed tending much more often than he allowed.

Dean hated being taken care of, he much rather tend to people.

But I disagreed with him. I very much liked carefully wrapping up Dean's wounds, I enjoyed feeling the dense muscle of his body pressed into mine as I led him up the steps as he muffled curses against my ear.

Dean may be a pain in the ass, but he was my pain in the ass.

I didn't respond to Dean's biting remark, knowing that he hadn't meant it. He was just frustrated and I was his only outlet. But I couldn't help the way my face fell slightly. Dean looked over at me and his lips pursed.

"You know I don't mean that." He grumbled after a minute of breathing out through his nose with annoyance.

"I know." I say instantly. But Dean isn't satisfied. He scoots across the seats, sweat stains under his armpits. I should be disgusted but I find myself eagerly awaiting the smell of his now familiar musky deodorant. I flush at my thoughts because that's surely strange.

"I couldn't do this without you." He says, resting his cheek against my shoulder blade. He presses a chaste kiss into my damp skin. I let out a noise of pleasure, tilting my head just slightly in invitation. Dean takes it, pressing little kisses against my collar bone. It's nothing lustful, just loving touches to express himself in a way Dean never could with words.

"Lips." I whimper, when his soft mouth brushes a sensitive spot behind my ear. Dean moves away from my neck, kissing me as I quickly swerve off onto the shoulder of the road.

I'm not sure where the kisses began. They had been scattered throughout our relationship, to signify anything from love to pain. But now, they were soft and loving in a way that had long since lost the meaning of comfort and tenderness. Dean pushed and pushed into me until I was drowning in him, and I didn't know what it meant.

Dean's lip tasted salty, my own sweat stinging my chapped lips as he curled a hand around my neck, possessively touching the silver scars he had dug into the skin right above my shoulder blades. Four little half moons that were so perfect and healed so nicely it almost looked like I'd tattooed them their permanently.

"Dean," I breathed his name, palming at his chest as he slide closer. These kisses kept getting warmer and warmer, every time this happened. But I knew I didn't want them to stop. I wanted Dean to kiss me forever. Soft tongue probing into my mouth, sliding over me to taste me.

"Fuck, Cas-" Dean gritted, sliding a hand to cup the small of my back and bring my hips forward to meet his. I smiled against his mouth, allowing my legs to part for him to get closer. Our skin meeting together was damn and sticky. I should be worried about the germs, but I could focus on nothing other than Dean's rapid breath and strong hands.

Dean jerked away suddenly, green eyes wide. He flung himself off me so quickly his back hit the opposite door and he winced, rubbing the back of his head. He slide down the door, both of us staring at each other from the opposite sides of the car, slouched so our legs where tangled. I grumpily glared at Dean.

"I don't see why you have to always retreat so dramatically." I snort, sitting up. The only thing marking my precious memories of Dean's touch where his reactions to when he realized he was touching me so intimately. He would always react violently, pulling away and cursing. Guilt settling heavy in his eyes.

He always regretted touching me. Even though he was the one to instigated the heavy petting sessions, he was also the one to stop them. It was almost like he couldn't control himself, like he was on autopilot.

It hurt knowing that I was just another warm body to him.

Perhaps he just kissed me because that's what he's done his whole life, that's all he knows how to act to someone who gets close to him.

I didn't regret a single moment.

I sulked as I started the car. Ignoring Dean as he tried to start our idle chitchat. He began throwing a fit at me ignoring him. Dean hated when I pretended he wasn't there. The silent treatment worked wonders on him.

Soon Dean was back in my personal space, muttering apologies in my ear, nuzzling under my chin. When I continued to ignore him, he pinched my leg and I cried out, punching him in his good arm. Dean fell back on the chair laughing, green eyes bright.

---

"Where you wanna stay tonight?" Dean yawned, arm slung casually over my shoulder.

"Anywhere is fine." I answer, using the blinker. I don't believe in all the months I'd seen Dean drive, I've ever seen him once use the blinkers.

"Want to grab some grub first?" Dean asks. I nod, and we find a small diner. I help Dean out of the car and up the ramp. He curses as his weight sways and I stumble, he has to step on his bad ankle.

"I'm sorry!" I yelp, and he winces giving me a strained smile.

"It's my fault." He assures, which is untrue. If only I was stronger I could easily support him. If our situations were switched, Dean could probably carry me around like an extra bag.

"I need to put ice on it-" I scowl at myself, trying to turn back towards the car.

"No, come on. I'm hungry." Dean whines, pulling tighter around my shoulder. I help him back into the diner, seating him in the nearest booth. A young woman smacking gum comes to take our order.

"What can I get yah to drink?" She says, not looking at either of us. Only focused on the pad in front of her dull, bored eyes.

"Water for me, please." I say, knowing Dean will either order ice tea or coke.

"Coke." Dean says, using the raspy tone he takes when he is with a victim. It makes my pupils blow wide and my fingers twitch, sense memory making me on high alert. I seem not to be the only one with a strong reaction, as the girls eyes snap up and her eyebrows raise appreciatively of Dean leaning back in the booth with a smooth smile beneath his glasses and hat.

"Whatcha hiding under there?" She smiles, leaning forward flirtily. I refuse to look at either of them. Feeling my stomach swirl uncomfortably. I must be hungry. Dean slides off his glasses and the girl gasps. The tiny hairs raise on my arm in alarm.

"Pretty eyes." She nearly swoons. Dean's eyes are far beyond pretty, they are beautiful. Never able to decide on a mute pine, or sparkling green gold. She surely doesn't understand that when Dean is with a victim they go to a flat mossy color, or when he's laughing they lighten to water sea glass color.

I glare at my hands, waiting for the harlot to leave.

"Thanks, sweetheart." Dean grins, I jerk my gaze up to him in shock. He calls me sweetheart, purring it to me when I become frantic during my attacks. Or simply when he's feeling affectionate, once or twice he's even said it to me while annoyed and it's been laden with sarcasm. I grind my teeth so severely that I think I might crack a tooth.

"I'll be right back with those." The girl sashays away, moving her hips in a way certain to try and draw Dean's attention. How foolish does she think he is? Dean surely wouldn't be short sighted by such an obviou- Dean looking at her appreciatively. I glare so hotly, I hope I can burn another mark on his face. Hopefully than, slutty girls won't vie for his attention.

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" Dean looks shocked at the hot daggers I'm flinging his way. Figuratively of course, but currently it's not sounding like a too bad of an idea.

"You shouldn't take off your glasses for strangers, they might recognize you." I spit out after a moment of hesitation. Why am I upset? I'm well aware of Dean's promiscuity. Frequently he comes hope late, stinking of perfume and sex, clothes hazardously thrown back on. His late night excursions have thankfully died down lately, but I still find myself burning with an emotion I can't identify.

"Give me a break. I got to release tension some way." Dean waves me away. Immediately my response is to say 'relive tension with me'. Everything Dean's ever need I have supplied. Whether it be acceptance, assistance in ridding a body, or help in getting funds.

I have always been at Dean's side. But I can not assist Dean with this, because it is dirty and a sin. But I think perhaps if it's Dean it would be glorious.

I rake in a sharp breath at my thoughts, eyes going wide as I look at the table.

"Cas, babe? You alright?" Dean asks, leaning across the table. He carefully takes my hand, curling his larger one around me to be able to hold me down if I fly into a fit and begin trying to hurt myself or other people.

"Cas, I'm here." He soothes. The waitress returns.

"So, I'm off work in a few-"

"I'm busy." Dean nearly snarls. His eyes barely flickering from my face, to darkly warn the girl.

"Asshole." She pouts, moving away. I gulp in a big breath of air, still looking at the table.

"Want me to clean the table?" Dean asks, already trying to get up on his bad leg and hobble behind the counter to find some windex. I stop him with a palm on his forearm.

"I'm okay, Dean." I reassure shakily. Dean looks me over, eyes sharp with concern. He settles back into the booth, his hand slipping into mine and not leaving it until we head back outside.

---

I settled Dean on the bed, he had just gotten out of the shower. Nudity was something he was comfortable with, while I was a little more reserved about walking around nude. I had seen Dean naked more times than I could count, so it hardly bothered me. His ankle was swollen from him tripping on it earlier, and refusing to ice it.

I knelt down in front of him, rifling through the clean clothes to bring up his boxers. I slide them up his legs, and stopped when I got to his hips. Something plump and red sat pointing at my face.

Dean was erect.

I gasped, falling back. I scampered against the wall, heaving in a few panicked breaths.

"Fuck-" Dean covered himself, face bright red.

My hands shook as I looked away, steadying my breathing.

"It's okay, it happens sometimes when you least expect it." I comfort, blushing. I had never seen Dean ... excited. I found myself reacting the same, my own penis puckering between my thighs squished together and tucked under my chin. After the initial shock, and the reminder of what the man had done to me. I found myself going pink in pleasure.

I heard Dean dressing himself and watched him walk to the door with a sharp wince.

"Cas, I." He paused, running a hand through his hair. His chin dropped to his chest, lips pressed into a taunt line. His eyes were hard and dark.

"I'm so fucking sorry." Dean hobbled out the door, slamming it behind him.

---

Trigger Warning

Dean did not return for three days. I had several attacks, and had vomited more times than I could count. I was too ill to even go to the store and purchase any medication for my disorders.

Everything was filthy, filthy, filthy. I laid in the tub, hot water streaming on me for hours until the water went cold. Than hypothermia set in. I didn't care, everything swelled around me. Ugly, nasty things. I dug my finger nails into my thighs, raking Dean's blade down my back to try and distract myself from everything.

I don't know when I passed out. But when I woke up, I was belly first on a warm bed. The smell of liquor and sex making me cry silently.

I buried my face into the pillows. Dean stroked my lower back, right below the bandages we had bought for his arm. Surely they needed to be changed, as he wouldn't do it for himself.

"You left me." I meant to say it in accusation, to spit it at him hatefully. But it was soft and pained. Dean's hands halted their gentle ministrations, fingers clenching into the top of my pajama pants.

"I know." Dean whispered, voice hoarse and gravelly. I wasn't the only one who had been torn to shreds without the other. Dean sounded terrible, and he smelt terrible, but I'd never been happier to see him.

"You promised ... you promised you'd never leave me again." I sobbed, clawing into the pillow. I tried to stifle my tears but they gushed from my eyes like faucets.

"I know." Dean croaked, finger pressing into the dimple above my lower back. I shivered, and shook my head.

"I'll kill myself." I promised lowly, glaring into the white clean pillow Dean had purchased for me.

"What?" Dean asked, obviously still intoxicated.

"I'll kill myself if you ever leave me again!" I shouted into the tear soaked cloth. I was being to pitiful, so despicable and horrid that I couldn't even bare to thing of the words I'd just said. I wasn't ever purposely going to kill myself ... probably, but without Dean it was likely I wouldn't last long.

My depression was on full force, and even saying the words I couldn't help but think why Dean would even care.

Dean roughly grabbed my chin, his breath smelt like hard liquor and the smell of something strong and murky.

"Don't you ever fucking say that!" Dean roared into my face, spiddle flying against my wet cheeks. He was pinching my chin so tightly I thought he might break my jaw.

Dean's mouth clashed into mine. A angry, clumsy kiss that had me whimpering and clinging to the comforter for support. My head whirled as Dean's calming affect on me smothered everything.

All the germs, and the self hatred, and the OCD took a backseat for the moment.

My jaw hurt, and Dean tasted strange. He hadn't shaved since he left so his short beard scraped painfully against my skin. He smelt bad, and the kiss hurt because my mouth was bleeding from him biting my lip too hard.

"Don't ever say that." Dean panted into my lips, I realized he was crying too. Salty tears trailing down his grizzled cheeks. I kissed at them, gasping sharply as he pulled me close, mindful of the bandages on my back from the cuts I'd made.

"Okay."

Chapter 14: Strangulation

Summary:

"You killed that woman in the bank." Dean murmured, eyes such a dark green that they nearly looked obsidian. I shakily inhaled, feeling the blade drag over the sensitive skin under my pectoral. He traced the sharp knife over my nipple, the bud puckering as the warm metal pressed dangerously into it.

Dean was currently residing in a pile of money. He sighed happily.

"I missed you, baby." He murmured, grabbing handfuls of the green paper and bringing them to his nose to inhale. I watched him with an annoyed look.

"I still don't see why if you planned on leaving, you wouldn't take the money with you." I snapped washing my hands from where Dean had thrown a wadded up hundred dollar bill to me. I'd caught it on reflex before quickly dropping it. I than explained how many people had touched the bill, and Dean had rolled his eyes.

"You're the one who got it out of the safe." Dean sniffed, reclining into the mounds of filthy cash. He would need to bathe before touching me. Dean's words brought forth the image of the girl laying in a pool of blood. I winced, looking away.

---

Hands touched me and I cried out for Dean. Begging for his help. The hands kept smothering over me, covered in dirt and spiderwebs. I whimpered, thrashing away from the hold as it stroked my flaccid penis.

"No!" I shouted, but no protest came out of my throat. Instead a long and pleased moan filled the darkness. The hand picked up speed and I cried out.

"Dean!" I begged, but it was another moan. Even more filthy and sinful than the last. Finally Dean appeared, back half turned to me, a spot light centering on him in the darkness ahead. I felt myself sag with relief. Dean turned away.

"Disgusting." He murmured.

"Dean?" I called in confusion, watching his back retreat. The smaller he grew the higher my anxiety rose.

"Dean!" I screamed. But he had vanished into a pinprick, leaving me.

Suddenly I wasn't in the chair anymore. I was standing, with the gun in my hands leveled at the girl. I shot, but Dean was no where to be seen.

I watched her blonde hair stain red on the tiles of the bank floor. Slowly I stepped forward and her blonde hair darkened and retreated into her skull until it was short and spiky. The soft lines of her feminine figure bulked up. When I rolled her over, Dean's dead face stared back at me. His lips parted and he screamed.

"Cas!" He shouted, I jerked up. Dean's face had bloody scratches raked down his face and shoulders. I was hyperventilating, pushing Dean away until I realized I wasn't having a nightmare.

"I'm sorry." I choked, seeing the wounds I'd inflicted. Dean's ankle had healed thankfully. The skin on his shoulder was still seared and angry.

"I've got you, man. It's okay." Dean cradled me to his chest like I was a toddler, but I didn't rebuke him.

"I killed you in my dream." I gasped against his chest, still in shock from the vivid nightmare.

"You kept calling my name, like you were dying or something." Dean murmured into my hair, kissing my forehead tenderly.

"I might as well have." I breathed, curling around him tightly. I buried my ace against his chest, letting him lay us down on my clean bed. I fell asleep and my dreams where filled with gentle hands and whiskey tasting kisses.

---

'New footage today was found of the infamous Dean Winchester, a serial killer that will haunt the history books as one of the most elusive criminals of his generation. His hostage, Castiel Novak was also seen ...'

I tuned out the news woman's reedy voice. Dean was sitting beside me in the dingy bar, our eyes focused on the news station. He picked at one of the scabs near his eyebrow from my last attack. Dean didn't mind when I left marks on him, but every time time I did it made me hurt.

A clip played of Dean and I exiting the hotel last night. Dean's face had the bandages I had forced on him after my attack. I was carrying a bag out and Dean was hovering close to me, looking around the parking lot before we walked over to the car, thankfully hidden by another vehicle.

"Their getting close." Dean murmured, he stood up and dropped a few bills on the table. I followed him out without another word.

We drove in silence, the air strained.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, touching the hole in my jeans.

"There are some cabins up in the woods that are only used in the summer time. We can go stay up there for a few weeks." Dean's tone was too calm.

"Okay."

---

The first two weeks it was nice. Like camping maybe, but cleaner. We found a nice cabin on the top of a hill overlooking the forests. We could see far out if any cars were coming over the mountain into our little ravine.

Even though I enjoyed this domestic time. I could feel something off in Dean. He never said what it was, but he was upset and I didn't know how to fix it.

The cabin had a hot tub that Dean spent hours in,letting the jets pound away at his tightly wound muscles. I refused to enter the pool of water, used by other people. Sitting in their own muck. But I sat beside Dean as he sighed, reading while we relaxed.

Dean and I tried our hand at cooking. I had never cooked, knowing that if I went to a grocery store and saw the produce being handled it would be very difficult for me to purchase and eat it even after a thorough scrubbing. Dean had never cooked because he hadn't ever had the importunity.

But boredom finally won out and we spent an afternoon attempting to make something edible with the food we'd bought from the grocery store in the small town on the other side of the hill.

"This is bullshit." Dean cursed, flipping a chicken cutlet into a flour egg mixture which was supposed to make fried chicken. But it dripped off the chicken unsuccessfully.

"Allow me." I added more flour to the bowel and the batter grew more tacky and stuck to the chicken. I laid it into the pan, and breaded another hunk of flesh.

"Pretty good at this." Dean commented, close behind me.

"Thank you." I blushed. Dean watched over my shoulder, tugging me back when the grease popped and a drop fell on my arm causing me to gasp in pain.

"I think I got it now." Dean said, trying to move me away.

"Dean, I'm almost finishe-"

"Move, Cas." Dean scowled, shoving me out of the way. Dean was ridiculously overprotective of me. But sometimes he would send me dark looks he saved solely for his victims, I wonder what went on in his head. But he kept everything very close to the chest.

We ate dinner in silence and after we watched westerns on the couch, falling asleep tangled up together.

---

The third week and Dean got twitchy. He became irritable and snapped at me on more than one occasion. I didn't mind, I was used to Dean's moods swings. but this was darker, more intense. I knew that he was having trouble resisting his urge to keep killing, he may not murder innocent people but he still killed a human being regularly.

But it was more than that, it was something involving me.

While the day before Dean had been ranting and raving the whole day, today he had been entirely silent. Watching me silently as I went around my daily chores. While at the hotel's, cleanliness had been only a dream. Here there was a cupboard devoted completely to cleaning supplies which I took full advantage of.

When I cleaned our room, Dean watched. Eyes trailing over me as I bent down to make our bed. When I went to straighten and dust the living room Dean sat on the couch, eyes locked onto me like I might vanish if he blinked. He was silently judging me.

All of his attention made me self conscious. But it also made me flush warm all over, and made my toes tingle.

Leaning the mop against the counter I slowly moved down the hall. Dean silently followed, his silhouette outlined in the dark hallway. The tall trees outside blocked out most of the sunlight.

Dean stood tall and broad, a dark figure stalking me as I rooted around the closet until I found what I was looking for. I walked back to Dean, meeting him in the darkest corner of the hallway. I pressed the rope into his hand and his breath went shallow.

"Tie me up, Dean."

---

One of Dean's favorite parts of torturing was turning it into an art. He loved to gently wrap bodies in designs of rope, built for their specific figures. The best possible choice of knots and ties to keep them in place until his work was finished.

Dean asked me to remove my shirt, but I took off my pants as well. I stood only in my briefs as he pressed me down into a wooden chair in the middle of our dark large bed room.

I swallowed thickly, looking up at him from my dark fringe, I needed a haircut soon. The front was getting long enough were it poked up in messy spikes that Dean liked to rub his fingers in when we drove for long stretches of time.

"I'm not going to hurt you." I'm not sure if Dean was saying this to me, or himself. But I trusted him. He could cut the sinew from my bone and I wouldn't make a peep. If Dean needed this to feel comfortable again, than I would gladly give it.

If this is what he needed to forgive me for my sins than so be it.

The rope was scratchy as it looped around my chest, spreading out over my shoulders and down my thighs. Dean worked smoothly, never once having to go back and undo a knot. I felt nearly drugged, basking in Dean's dangerous, dark attention that he lavished on me.

My gaze flicked to the mirror on the closet door, showing me and Dean's reflection. Dean was larger than me, tan and beautiful. I sat flushed in the chair, my briefs riding up my thighs from where Dean had pushed them up and tied the ropes just tight enough to were they bit into my flesh.

Dean finished and I shivered, watching his gaze in the mirror, it was dark and heavy lidded. His breath was slow and damp as he scanned over his work. The knots were beautiful and constricting, binding me tightly to the chair. My back was exposed, while my entire chest, excluding my nipples, was laced over, my back was left completely bare. The scars I had dug into my skin stretched in long silver lines down my pale skin, already healed from Dean's attentive care.

"Dean-"

"Be quiet." Dean murmured, voice rough and dry. He licked his lips, scanning over his work again and again. He wasn't satisfied. I needed to satisfy him.

My gaze flickered to Dean's favorite hunting knife, sitting on the bedside table. Dean followed my gaze and scowled. He moved across the room, picking it up and a expertly spinning it over his fingertips. He came back to my side, rubbing his finger over the tip.

He eyed me speculatively before dropping to a knee. I gasped as the blade scratched over my skin. The first prick of adrenaline and fear rising in my chest. I knew Dean would never hurt me. I knew, and yet I broke out in a sweat. My thighs trembling to strain and stay in the proper position. If I moved too much, the ropes would tighten and cut off circulation.

"You killed that woman in the bank." Dean murmured, eyes such a dark green that they nearly looked obsidian. I shakily inhaled, feeling the blade drag over the sensitive skin under my pectoral. He traced the sharp knife over my nipple, the bud puckering as the warm metal pressed dangerously into it.

"To protect you." I whispered, the knife traced up my neck, skimming over my pulsing artery. I squeezed my eyes shut as Dean leaned forward, nipping at my neck. I jumped and the ropes around my neck constricted slightly. I raked in a labored breath and Dean set his free hand into my thigh, stroking the skin bulging between his elegant twists of ropes.

"She was an innocent." Dean reasoned. Which was true. Dean saw himself as a monster, something almost as bad as the things he killed. But the woman hadn't been, she had been an clean. So had I, killing the man who touched me had been excusable in Dean's strange idea of justice.

But killing to protect him, it was riding the fine line of his moral code. He saw me as dirty now, and I hated it. But I would never change my decision to save him.

"I'd do it again. I'd kill thousands to spare your life." I murmured the truth into his temple, he kissed little hickes into my skin. Pressing the blade into my thighs to leave behind pink little welts that rose quickly. He carved his first name on one thigh, and his last name on the other.

The welts wouldn't last longer than a few days, but I'd wished he's cut me down to the bone so they stayed there forever.

"Then you should be punished." Dean whispered, kissing me full on the mouth.

Chapter 15: Lacerations

Summary:

"I'll do it! I swear to God, Dean! If you leave me again I'll put a kitchen knife in my chest!" I screamed, tears already burning hot on my flushed cheeks. I'm not sure if they were tears of anger or terror.

Dean's bloodlust was hard to control, as we soon found out. Hours of scratching at my skin, turned into tiny scraps, which escalated into small cuts.

I didn't mind as much as I should.

The feeling of Dean carving strange symbols into my skin was comforting. I'd done the same thing to my back, leaving long lines.

Dean paid special attention to these scars.

"They look like angel wings." He told me, tracing one with the tip of his blade. He had been adding to the scars, adding smooth lines to make them appear more like wings.

I was sweaty, and covered in blood. But I didn't tell him to stop.

"I'm not an angel." I told him.

"You're my angel." Dean murmured into my shoulder, letting me rest for awhile before he began the sweet torture again. He smoothed his hand lovingly over my brow, looming over me from behind. His body heat radiated into my clammy flesh. Loss of blood was making me dizzy. I would probably stain the nice hard wood floors of the cabin.

The idea made me tremble.

"Mine." Dean grunted possessively against my temple, fingers gripping the blade tightly with barely restrained strength.

He wanted to bury his knife into my skin.

"I thought I was being punished." I wheezed, fading out of consciousness for a moment. Dean paused his touching, he had been fingering the bruised skin of my thighs. Mesmerized by the marks he'd left there.

How many hours had we been doing this? Letting Dean take out his twisted pleasure on my body? I didn't care, I wanted it to last eternity.

"I said you should be punished. I never said I would punish you. I can't- not you, Cas. I can't hurt you." Dean rasped under my jaw, his fingers twitched over one of the welts on my thigh and he purred in pleasure.

"Then what is this ...?" I breathed, fainting for a split second. My head tilting back to rest against Dean who was still admiring the red welts raised angrily on my thighs and belly.

"Foreplay. Don't pretend you don't like it." Dean chuckled, voice murky and tempting in my ear. Though most of my blood was dripping from the light cuts on my back, whatever was left was going directly to my erection. The small bulge had been apparent since the beginning.

As if to demonstrate, he used his knife to lift the swollen flesh from my thigh.

I keened, whining lowly in the back of my throat. Dean snarled, and jolted back violently. The loss of his body pressed into mine was more painful that the injuries on my back.

"Don't make noises like that when I'm like this." Dean hissed, he roughly pulled the knife away and buried it into his own palm, to bring himself back to reality. His pupils were blown wide. His hands shook, holding himself back from killing me.

I swallowed thickly.

"What made you change your mind?" I asked, trying to get his attention elsewhere. Dean paced the room, blood dripping from his hand to the floor. His eyes flickered anxiously.

"About what?" He asked, distractedly He was gritting his teeth, and a tiny muscle in his jaw ticked from how hard he was clenching.

"About us."

Dean's pacing stopped and he looked up at me. His eyes went wide, before narrowing. His lips thinned into a pale line.

"What do you mean?" He asked, looking away from me. I swallowed in a deep steadying breath. My mind was fuzzy around the edges.

"Me and you have been ... inseparable for quite some time. I've given you everything but sexual pleasure. What changed your mind to allow me to give you this as well?" I asked, voice breathy. Dean looked like he was about to protest, but I looked pointedly at the erection straining his jeans. Dean was very aroused, and the fact that I was the one making him so made my skin burn with excitement.

Dean looked panicked, licking his lips nervously as if he just realized he was getting off on this. He ran a hand through his hair and scowled.

"Cas, I'm sorry." Dean spat, turning around and taking a step to the door. My stomach twisted and I cried out so sharply Dean jerked back. His eyes landing to me.

"I'll do it! I swear to God, Dean! If you leave me again I'll put a kitchen knife in my chest!" I screamed, tears already burning hot on my flushed cheeks. I'm not sure if they were tears of anger or terror. I thrashed against the ropes desperate to reach him. The ropes tightened and my throat constricted.

I choked, gagging.

Dean moved in front of my darkening vision, reaching to loosen the knots. But he paused, blunt fingertips resting on the rope cutting off my air supply, watching me gasp for breath.

His pupils dilated and I saw his cock swell further in his jeans. The knots loosened right before I passed out. Dean pressed a slow chaste kiss to my panting lips.

"The only one putting a knife in you, is me." His voice was a dark promise, fingers digging roughly into my wrists. I nodded obediently leaning into his touch.

"You'll do anything I want, won't you?" Dean panted, green eyes torn between thick lust and guilt.

"Anything." I whimpered. Dean cursed, gripping my hair and yanking me back for a filthy kiss. It was more tongue than lips. I could taste the metallic flavor of my blood from when Dean had licked the blade after pressing it into my skin.

"I can't do this to you. You're so ..." Dean's voice trailed off, his forehead resting against mine.

"I'm 'so' what?" I questioned breathlessly, resisting leaning forward against the ropes around my neck for another kiss.

"Good. You're so fucking good, and perfect, and innocent. I should be protecting you, not tying you up and fucking you." Dean was almost trying to convince me.

"You haven't fucked me yet." I reasoned. The word 'fucked' felt nasty in my mouth, but I loved it.

"Not yet, but I will, Cas. I'll fuck you, if you don't let me go. I'll rip you up until there is nothing left. Fuck. I love you so much; I want to destroy you." Dean pushed between my thighs and dug his nails into the wounds on my back. I cried out, jolting forward against him. Our bodies collided and I moaned, arching in the chair.

"You don't think you deserve me?" I tried to say, but it was slurred. This felt so right. Everything, my body being forced into submission under Dean. The ropes digging into my bruised skin, the blood slowly oozing from my back. It was like Dean had given me the highest dose of medication I had, and I felt high.

"I know I don't. You're so much better than me, but I won't let you go. I'm too fucking greedy, you gotta run from me. Cas, if you let me fuck you ... you won't ever fucking leave my sight again. You'll be mine forever. Cas, don't let me. You gotta run, go back to school. Go back to your life. Once I have you, I'll never let you go." Dean was trying so hard to warn me. To tell me of how vicious and twisted our relationship would be if I let him have me.

I've never wanted something more in my entire life.

"Fuck me, Dean." I trembled hard, loving the word on my tongue because it made me sound like Dean.

"You're too clean." He whispered back, fingers digging into my thighs.

"Dean do it." I shook with anticipation, trying to spread my legs. Trying to give him everything. But he didn't take it. He yanked down my boxers, with a wet slap my erection wetly clapped across my thigh.

Dean looked at me closely, taking in the pink flushed head.

I twisted against the ropes, trying to touch him. To wrap my arms over his shoulders and pull him close.

"I killed the woman in the bank, doesn't that make me bad?" I asked. Dean snorted.

"It's a start." Dean leaned forward and sucked my tip into his mouth. I cried out in ecstasy.

If Dean wanted me to be bad, I would be.

Dean wanted me tainted, so he could have me without guilt. He wouldn't admit it, but I knew it was true.

Since we were still in the cabin in the woods, it was hard to find victims. But I had determined that I would kill Dean's next victim before he could finish the job. Perhaps while he was taking one of his breaks. Dean liked to torture for as long as possible, and since our first intimate session Dean was even more on edge. It wouldn't be more than a few days now before he brought someone back.

The feeling of Dean sucking down my erection was the most glorious feeling in the world. I had cum heavily in his mouth and he had swallowed it with a smirk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Taste sweet." He taunted. I was too fatigued to make a witty remark, exhausted from the bleeding out and emotional confessions. I'd passed out, and when I'd waken up I was cleaned and bandaged and put in the bed. Dean was sitting at the edge, watching me with blurry green eyes indicating his drunkenness. He left, but slept on the couch.

I had attempted to give him the same pleasure he had given me, but he had insisted that I was 'Too pure' for such acts. I was his 'angel', a nickname he had taken too since adding to the scarred lines on my back to make them truly look like wings.

I was determined to make myself just as corrupt as Dean, if only to have him. But it was a fine line I had to walk, killing only the evil like Dean did. Or I would simply be added next on list of monsters that needed terminating.

I'd already killed two people, surely a third wouldn't make me go completely insane.

I was sleeping when Dean brought home his victim. It was a woman, the first I'd ever seen him bring. She was a hooker who killed the men after she was finished with them, stealing their money.

Her bleached hair was ratted, and she had black smears around her wet eyes. She glared at me as I watched Dean start the process of his intricate knots.

"What are you looking at?" She snapped, voice snotty from tears. I watched her, closely. She was no older than thirty two.

"Talk to him again, and I'll rip out your lungs." Dean stated calmly, slicing off her littlest finger as if he was cutting a carrot. Her screams rattled in my head, making me fill with warmth. Sense memory told me that when Dean was done, he would be aroused. He would take that arousal out on me.

"How many days will you keep her?" I asked as Dean walked past me to his tools, laid out neatly. Some of them were nearly surgical, while others looked like they belonged in a caveman exhibit.

"Not long," Dean looked irritated by this. He wouldn't torture the woman, she wasn't as bad as others, so he wouldn't stretch it out even if he wanted too. "She only killed four men so far." Dean said, sliding his hands over my hips. I leaned into his hold and shut my eyes as he pressed gentle kisses over my eyelids. Complete contrast to the harsh movements and even harsher actions he'd executed to the girl.

I looked over his broad shoulder and the girl was looking at us with disgust.

Hatred burned in me.

"I want you to hurt her." I whispered against his lips. Dean's eyes flickered open in shock.

"What?" He gasped, looking down at me intently.

"I don't trust her, she's evil. Kill her slowly." I coaxed. Dean was going to kill her within the day, but because I asked he kept her over a week. When he was done, she was nothing but bone and blood.

I didn't need to kill, it turned out. I could tell Dean secretively what I wanted and he did it. Sometimes I would stand behind him. I would whisper into his ear, and lay my hand over his wrist to guide his tools into the flesh of our victims. Other times I would simply make a comment in a bar, tell him how I didn't like how someone was looking at me, a stranger. In the news the next day I would read how they're body was found dead. Dean's morals on what made a person evil, became a little looser.

I was high with power. Dean did whatever I asked, and it made my blood sing in delight.

Dean fucked me after he killed the hooker in the cabin.

He laid me down on the bed, and took his time. Taking me apart piece by piece, like one of his victims. I made noises, and he warned me. Told me to be careful because I might make him snap, but I just moaned louder, arched further. Dean was not gentle when he placed cold, wet fingers into my hole, roughly loosening me up.

"Dean-" I choked, wrapping around him. So much love swelled behind my ribs I thought I might explode. I held him tightly to my chest. He hesitated, his cock pressing against my hole.

"Don't let me ..." He begged, face buried into my neck. One last desperate attempt to save me from my destiny. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he thrust forward. Binding us together forever.

Chapter 16: Manipulation

Summary:

"I ain't taking you." Dean said sternly, as if I was a child. I may be younger than him, but it was still irritating.

The FBI had eased off their investigation according to Sam and his hacker friend. Dean and I left our cabin, the cabin where I lost my virginity, and my innocence.

"Where are we going now?" I asked Dean, laying across the front seat and resting my head on his firm thigh. The leather seat of the Impala used to make me sick when they touched my skin, but they brought me nothing but comfort now. The fabric smelling like Dean, or maybe Dean smelling like the leather.

"Wherever you want." Dean said, fingers stroking through my hair. I thought about this, where could I possibly want to go? I had Dean, and that's all I needed for fulfillment. All I needed for comfort.

"I don't like the heat." I told him, and so he turned and we headed up north.

---

My breath was quick and eager, my eyes darting to the man for the hundredth time. Dean was playing pool, sending me winks or coming over to have a beer in between games.

I played Led Zeppelin, sitting by the jukebox and eyeing the man who wasn't Dean.

He wasn't particularly handsome. He was large, with a shaved head and tattoos. His eyes were a piercing silver, and nearly reflected the color of his glinting earring.

I watched him, being careful that Dean didn't see my gaze lingering on him.

Finally the man set down his pool cue, walking past Dean and down across the bar to me. I nearly started giggling I was so giddy.

"What's your name sweetheart?" The man asked, eyeing me now that he wasn't looking through the smokey fog that settled around the dark bar.

"Castiel." I didn't even have to lie and tell him my fake name. He would be dead soon.

"Want me to get you something to drink?" He asked. I shook my head, not letting his gaze go. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and pulled up a chair. I discreetly looked over his shoulder. I frowned because Dean still hadn't noticed.

"You live around here?" The man asked, taking a gulp from his beer. It clung to his upper lip, and I leaned forward and wiped it off with my thumb. Ignoring the shiver of disgust that ran through me on touching a stranger, it would be worth it.

The man's eyes bulged and I smirked. Instantly he moved in between the small space between us, wrapping me in barrel arms as he went in for a kiss. He made it half way before a cue smashed over his head, sending him sprawling over the floor with a loud thud. He groaned and stumbled to a stand.

I scampered back, holding a shocked hand to my lips.

"Fucker!" Dean snarled at him, gripping him by the collar and punching him in the jaw. It broke with a sickening crack. The man gurgled in pain.

"He hit on me, man!" He garbled around his slack jaw. Dean's eyes narrowed into slits and he dropped the man. He turned and grabbed me by the arm, dragging me out.

Dean drove me back to the motel, dropping me off without a word. I didn't ask any questions, just quietly went inside and waiting impatiently.

Dean returned that night with the man in tow, dragging him inside. He shoved him in the bathroom, doing his best to sound proof the small room. I sat on the sink, swinging my legs as I watched the man slowly come too.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked, it was slurred and weak. I shrugged, looking to the door where Dean was gathering his tools.

"I like when he gets jealous." I admitted, and the man's eyes went wide. The beautiful silver glinting.

"You have pretty eyes." I commented. Dean must have heard, because Dean carved them out of his skull while he was still alive. When I woke up they were on a plate sitting on my bedside table. Smiling was probably the worst response to that.

---

Dean had a high libido. He loved having sex, and sometimes the urge hit him suddenly. Most of the sex we had wasn't in a comfortable bed, or with me laid out on a clean couch. Dean would press me up into a wall, or shove me in a dirty stall. I had to keep packets of lube in my jeans for whenever Dean got the urge.

I was currently bent over desk in the corner of a library. We were doing research on a recent victim at the computer lab, but Dean had started getting excited when I squirmed in his lap.

"Dean," I shivered, rolling my hips back to meet his. The loud wet slaps of his hips meeting mine weren't even muffled. But I tried to keep my voice down all the same. Dean's strong fingers were digging into my hips, he kept dragging me back to meet his brutal thrusts.

He fucked the breath right out of me.

"Like getting fucked in public, huh angel?" Dean murmured, pressing kisses into the bruised skin around my neck.

"Yes." I choke, squeezing my eyes shut when Dean shoved me so roughly against the desk that my hipbones dug into the wood.

---

We were laying in a clean hotel bed. I'd been riding Dean after our latest victim. I'd collapsed on his chest when we finished, burrowing into his warmth.

"We aren't good for each other." Dean whispered in the dark room. I stared at the body still slowly bleeding on the carpet beside us. The bathroom was stained red from all his blood.

"I haven't had an attack in a month." I reminded. Dean was very proud that he quelled my anxiety and OCD better than any medication ever had.

"I'm killing a lot more people, angel." He said, eyes staring at the ceiling. The air smelt like blood and sex.

"That's because you're my little demon." I mouthed against his chest with a smile. He snorted a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"I messed you up, Cas. I think I really fucked you up." Dean muttered, covering his face with his hand. Panic spread all the way down to my toes and I climbed up his body, sitting on his hips.

"You don't love me anymore?" I croaked, feeling the world crumble to pieces around me. What would I do if Dean's feelings changed? I pulled at Dean's hands and he sat up, leaning against the headboard.

"Don't ever think that," He gripped my wrist tight, pulling me to his chest. I sighed in relief, curling against him. I traced the streaks of blood still on his chest.

"That's the fucked up part, I love you more than ever. It's just ... What if what we are doing is wrong? I don't think what we're doing is right." Dean said softly, almost like he was afraid of my response. Knowing that I could make Dean, the almighty serial killer Dean Winchester afraid was the strongest aphrodisiac I'd ever encountered.

"Don't you trust me?" I asked, kissing his collar bone and looking up at him. His lips went slack and he nodded, leaning down to kiss me.

"With my life." He admitted, cupping my ass and spearing me with half hard cock. I moaned, wrapping myself around his shoulders.

---

Dean and I were in a little argument. Honestly I couldn't even remember what it was about, it had been two days ago. I was sure Dean had probably already forgotten as well. Our combined stubbornness held out though, and the silence had lasted three state lines.

Dean pulled over to a field, tossing me the sandwiches.

I gathered up our food and waited for him to set out the clean blanket on the grass. I handed him his sandwich and turned back to the car.

"Where do you think you're going?" He snapped, voice tight. I loved this, pretending to be upset with Dean put him in such a fowl mood. But it also made him desperate for my attention. I kept walking and only got three more steps before strong arms were gripping me and forcing me down onto the blanket. I had to hide my smile.

"Can't believe you're still pissed." Dean snapped, taking an angry bite out of his meal. I leaned back on the blanket, nibbling on the edge of the hoagie.

My favorite part of fighting with Dean, was the fact that we didn't have sex.

Not having sex made Dean snippy, and his eyes tracked every movement I did that was even remotely sensual. Green eyes blazed with lust for me and it was as addicting at a drug.

"Come're." Dean coaxed, eyeing the sliver of skin between his jeans slung low on my hips and his worn tee shirt. I still wore Dean's clothes, despite the abundance of money we had now. Dean had put half of out funds in a safe account in case we ever got caught.

Instead of answering I lifted my chin disdainfully. Dean's growl made me shiver as a big hand clamped over my ankle, dragging me across the blanket.

I kicked at Dean's shoulder and he knocked my leg easily out of the way. We wrestled, Dean gripping one of my wrists and pinning it over my head. But I arched against him, and his grip when slack. His hands grappled over my hips, skimming them. I used my knee to prop between us, and he snarled.

I broke free and tried twisting away. I hopped up on one leg only to get jerked back again my ankle. I fell hard and Dean forced me under him, face pressed into the now wrinkled blanket.

Dean was breathing hard, more from arousal than exertion. He could have easily had me down within a few seconds.

I breathed into the blanket, smelling the grass and dirt that lay beneath it. Dean was heavy and warm against my back. His erection pressed up against the cleft of my ass through my jeans. The cool wind blew over us, the leaves in the trees rattled like an applause.

"Don't try running from me, Cas. I won't ever let you go." Dean's voice was hard against the shell of my ear, a reminder. I couldn't move enough to even nod my head, Dean's hand clamped over the back of my neck. His bowed legs stretched over mine to hold me down.

I heard him unzip his jeans and licked my lips in excitement. Making Dean snap was one of my favorite new games. He yanked down my jeans just far enough to get into my hole, searching my pocket for the lube packets I always kept.

He pushed in without any preparation, and it burned red hot.

I jerked sharply under him, biting my tongue to keep quiet. Dean's face pressed into my neck, teeth scraping over my sensitive skin.

"Fuck, you're tight." He shivered, big shoulders pressing my entire upper body into the soft blanket. He rolled his hips into mine, rubbing me up against the blanket. The sandwiches and beers lay long forgotten on the grass beside us.

"Come on." He gritted, breath warm against my collar. One of his hands was pressing hard into the dimples of my lower back, forcing me to arch under him. His thumb stroked the bottom of one of the angel wing scars.

He pressed apologetic little kisses into my neck, hoping that would be enough. I continued my silence and he groaned.

"Alright, fuck! I'm sorry, okay? Can I fucking hear you know, or do you want me to get you some fucking roses too?" Dean snapped, still breathless. I smirked and turned my head back to see him. I kissed at the underside of his chin, and revealed in the way his muscles relaxed above me.

"That won't be necessary." I purred, gripping the blanket and canting my hips up. Dean groaned, pressing his face into the back of my neck and fucking into me with slick sloppy movement that made my legs tremble. The loud squelch of him filling my hole made me feel dirty and clean at the same time.

"I love you." He grunted, fucking me into the ground. I gulped in air, spreading my legs wider and tilting my hips until he found my prostate. Our fingers knitted together against the blanket, our breaths shallow and quick.

"I love you, too."

---

"I don't wanna." I snapped, crossing my arms and glaring at the ground.

"Cas, baby. Come on. Just for a day or two." Dean coaxed, pressing kisses against my temple.

"No." I snapped, gripping his coat sleeve tightly. Dean let out an annoyed breath. The warm hood of the Impala warmed by bottom, soothing the tight cramped muscle from the rough pounding Dean had given me that morning in the backseat.

"I ain't taking you." Dean said sternly, as if I was a child. I may be younger than him, but it was still irritating.

"I'm going." I hissed. It was so strange not having Dean scramble to obey my every request. I hated when he didn't do what I said, I learned I was quite bossy. But Dean was stubborn, especially when it came to my safety.

"You're staying in the fucking hotel even if I have to tie you up myself. This son of a bitch isn't a newb. He'll know I'm in town the second I roll in, and as soon as he does he'll find out where I'm staying and who I'm with. I am not having you put in danger." Dean explained, fingers tightening in my hair. I turned my head when he tried to kiss me and he snarled angrily.

"Castiel." He demanded. I ignored him, and his fingers jerked in my hair forcing me to look at him. He roughly pried my lips open, slipping his tongue into my mouth. I was shoved up against the Impala.

"Don't leave me. Please." I begged, when he finally let me breath. Instantly, hard angry eyes shattered and his hurting hands turned holding.

"I'm gonna drop you off at Sammy's, he'll take care of you while I wipe this guy off the face of the planet." Dean decided, green eyes tender. He pressed soft little kisses against my swollen split lip. Each kiss hurt, and I love it.

---

"So ... are you guys fucking now?" Sam asked, sitting on the other side of his dorm room. Thankfully he had cleaned thoroughly, probably at the request of the elder Winchester.

"Like rabbits." I informed, and Sam flushed prettily. He winced, and twisted in his chair uncomfortably.

"I figured. Dean doesn't keep people around for long." Sam shrugs, he was staring at his computer, arm slung casually over the computer chair.

"He usually kills them." I comment. Sam's eyes go wide and he looks at me in shock.

"How did you-"

"Stick with someone long enough and eventually you'll see the evil in them." I shrug back. Sam's eyes narrow suspiciously.

"But not you, he hasn't killed you. Why?" Sam asks, sweatpants bunching around his crotch as he crosses a leg.

"We're in love." I say steadily. Sam snorts, and it reminds me of Dean so much that my chest throbs in pain. I miss him terribly and it's only been a few hours.

"Dean? In love? Yeah, right. And I'm Ghandi." Sam grunts.

"You wouldn't understand. We share a ... profound bond." I say nearly snidely. Sam has no idea how codependent Dean and I have become. The fact that I'm even functioning in his absence is amazing to me.

"Who is he hunting, anyway?" Sam asks, choosing to ignore my statement as he starts tapping away at his computer.

"A serial killer named Gordon, he says he knew him from his past." I sigh, coddling the pillow Dean had left me. It still smells of him.

Sam jumps up and his eyes bulge.

"Gordon?! Gordon's not a serial killer anymore, he's a consultant for the-"

"FBI, put your hands up!" A man roars. The clack of an approaching helicopter and the ear splitting sound the door splintering surrounds me.

Sam drops to the ground, eyes wide with fear.

I glare at the men from the bed, watching them file into the small room.

"Get on the ground!" He yells.

I look at Sam's dirty stained carpet and curl my lip in disgust.

"I'd rather be shot."

Chapter 17: Drugged

Summary:

I could feel the nightmares fading. I could feel the urge to wrap my fingers around the blonde nurse's throat being dampened and instead replacing the lust for the kill with guilt.

The therapist they had assigned to my case was named was Naomi. She had reddish brown hair and plain features. She wore pantsuits and drank a lot of coffee.

I didn't trust her for a second.

"Tell me about your and Dean's relationship, Castiel." She asked. I didn't answer. For the last three days I hadn't answered. The room they had me in was small and square and metallic It smelt like a hospital.

"If you talk, I'll give you updates on Dean's whereabouts." She offered. My chest fluttered, but I shut it down. I couldn't give these people any information.

"Castiel Novak," Her voice read, as she skimmed my file for the hundredth time. I set my face stoically as she crouched beside me.

"Winchester." I corrected. Dean and I had exchanged vows one night while hiding out in the Impala from a snow storm.

"I'm sorry?" Naomi asked, eyebrows shooting up with indignation. It was the first word I had spoken since coming under her watch. But the constant improper way she addressed me was becoming grating.

"My name is Castiel Winchester." I corrected smoothly, eyes fixed on the plain wall behind her shoulder.

"I'm here to help you. We can talk ... about what Dean did to you. Did he hurt you?" She asked carefully. I jerked my gaze to her, fingers twitching to close around her throat. To stop the stupid ideas she kept blurting out. It seemed now that I had started talking I couldn't stop.

"Dean, is my reason for existence." I gritted out forcibly. Her eyes widened and she leaned back, marking something on her clipboard.

"Interesting, he said the same thing about you." She murmured, lips pursed.

---

Dean was in a prison. He was smart and they had yet to collect enough evidence against him for the upcoming trial.

I was sent to a psychiatric hospital. But they brought me to the Bureau for questioning at least once a week. I met with Naomi for our dreaded visits.

I was being led into the torture chamber when I spotted him.

Dean was wearing those tacky bright orange jumpsuits, and his hair was a mess. He had dark circles under his eyes and a split lip.

My heart stopped in my chest.

"Dean!" I screamed. Dean's eyes snapped over to mine, and instantly he was jerking furiously against the chains on his wrists and ankles.

"Cas!" His green eyes wide and desperate. He rammed his elbow into an agents nose and knocked the other one in the stomach. He jumped over the desk and cleared the room, barreling into me.

I wrapped my arms around him tightly, the men escorting me trying to pry us apart. My nails dug into the skin of neck, where the little scars I left laid. I was sobbing too loudly to speak.

"No!" I cried, finally my strength giving out and we were forced apart. Dean fought desperately against the men.

"Get off me you bastards! Cas, Cas!" Dean shouted as he was dragged away.

"Let him go." A cool voice stated. It was Naomi. The men hesitated, holding onto the panting red faced serial killer.

"Let him go, he's in the F.B.I's headquarters for God's sake. Let him say goodbye to his boyfriend." Naomi said. Boyfriend seemed like such a little word to what Dean and I were. The men nodded and released Dean. He ran back to me and I curled around him protectively, sliding my hands into his still cuffed against his lower back.

"I thought I'd never see you again." I whispered into his temple. His face was buried into my neck, breath shallow from battling off several guards.

"Like anything could ever keep me from you." Dean grinned boyishly, that same dimpled smile I'd seen when he'd first picked me up from the gas station claiming I was his hostage. It seemed like years ago now.

"Would you like some privacy?" Naomi asked, ushering us into a interrogation room. Dean sent me a look and I nodded. The only reason they were allowing us together was so we would spill valuable information.

Idiots.

The second the door was closed Dean pressed a rough kiss against my lips, dragging burning kisses down my cheek. His stubble caught on my skin and I shivered.

"Too long, thought I was gonna go crazy." Dean breathed, resting his forehead against my collarbone. I possessively looped my arms under his, curling around his torso and pulling him close. I looked over his shoulder to the two way mirror.

"Nothing can keep us apart." I whispered, holding him tighter.

"You remember that night, in the Impala? We ran out of cash so we had to park her in some field in the middle of bum fuck no where." Dean mouthed into my skin, small smile on his lips. I nodded, pressing my forehead to his so I could memorize his freckles.

"I was upset, because it was hot and unsanitary. You opened all the car doors and the breeze cooled us off." I grinned as he pressed chaste little kisses to my lips while I spoke.

"We played every Led Zeppelin cassette I owned, stayed up all night. Making out like teenagers." Dean chuckled, nuzzling against me. I ran my fingers through his hair, the memory still vivid. The smell of the grass. Dean warm and solid above me, smelling like aftershave and alcohol.

"I'm the reason you got caught." I whispered, throat tight. The Winchesters had been doing this for years. Dean had been doing this for his entire life, and he had never once gotten captured. It was my slow descent into the darkness that pulled us both down.

"No, sweetheart. It ain't your fault. We're gonna get you out of here. How are you holding up? Have you been having attacks?" Dean asked worriedly, lips brushing over mine with every reverent word.

"I'm okay." I lie. The attacks had been brutal, nearly seizure like in their intensity at first. The hospital had taken care of that. I was heavily medicated at the moment, everything dulled around the edges. Even seeing Dean. It make me sick.

"Good, baby. You take your medicine for now." He says, long lashes brushing my cheeks as he drops light little kisses against my trembling mouth.

"Dean, I can't do this without you." I lick my lips nervously and he smiles.

"I'll come back for you. I'll always come back."

---

I sat on my stiff, clean little cot. The nurse stood holding my pills in front of me. She was a sweet girl, with large brown eyes and pale blonde curls.

"Here you go, Castiel." She handed me the little paper cup. I took the pills, swallowing them. I'd been in here for nearly a month now. The separation from Dean was unbearable. The vivid, dark nightmares suffocated me when I closed my eyes.

Everything was terrible, because everything was getting better.

I could feel the nightmares fading. I could feel the urge to wrap my fingers around the blonde nurse's throat being dampened and instead replacing the lust for the kill with guilt.

I was getting better.

It was both terrible and beautiful. The better I got, the more my medication had to be upped because the attacks came back full force, and worse.

I had the choice of murder and happiness, or sanity and pain.

Dean would have me either way. But the medication made me achy and dull, my mind slowed like my thoughts had been dropped in mud and had to slowly push through all of the shit.

I wanted Dean.

"I want a different roommate!" Garth complained, scowling at me.

"Why?" The nurse asked defensively, she had grown fond of me. Not knowing I had woken up from a wet dream of me and Dean cutting into her full round breasts. Dean would love how soft she was, how pretty and soft.

The guilt washed in a wave over me, and I hung my head in shame.

"All he does it cry over his stupid psycho boyfriend!" Garth snaps, still engaged in a novel. Garth had psychosis and was convinced he had been abducted by aliens.

"Do not call him that." I growled, and both of them looked startled. I hadn't spoken since entering the hospital. Garth sat up, dropping his book on the bed.

"Your boyfriend is. a. PSYCHO!" Garth shouted. I jumped across the gap between our beds, slamming him back into the wall. Blood gushed from his head, staining the white sheets as I slammed his head against the cement. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his struggling stopped.

"Cas! Castiel! Stop!" The nurse's cries where lost to me, the white hot lust of killing burned in my veins. Dean would be proud.

---

I sat subdued, looking out the window in the rec room. The white pajama like uniform felt light on my skin. I watched a bee lazily circle a flower before landing.

"Hey Cas." Sam's voice resonated, deep and soothing. I turned and looked up at him. The nurse sitting with me looked surprised. I didn't react to much. But if I squinted, Sam looked like a younger Dean, with long hair and slanted fox eyes.

"Sam." I croaked, reaching for him. Sam nearly lifted me from the chair, burrowing his face in my neck.

"He's okay. You're okay. It's gonna be alright." Sam's voice was shaky. He was scared for his brother, and surely he wasn't allowed to see him. I might be the closest to family that Sam has at the moment.

"I can't, Sam. Dean." I choked, letting the man lift me nearly off my feet in his tight comforting hug.

"It's okay." Sam soothed, and for the first time in life. Someone other than Dean could make the knot in my chest uncurl. I cried into Sam's broad shoulder and he settled down on the bench beside me. Letting me cry against him. He excused the nurse, but the guard stood close by. I was on their 'danger list' since attacking Garth.

"Dean got a message to me ..." Sam started, once I'd calmed down enough. Remotely I realized I had allowed Sam to full on hug me. Even the nurses knew to steer clear of touching unless they wanted a fork in the eye.

"What did it say?" I asked, rubbing at my eye. It felt good to touch another person. I was sure that if I was not heavily medicated I wouldn't be so flippant about it, but for now the comfort was appreciated.

"He told me to take care of you." Sam blushed, tugging at the hem of his shirt. I smiled at his bashfulness. His brow furrowed as he said the second part.

"But I didn't get the last part of his message, I might have decoded it wrong." Sam said, chewing on his bottom lip.

"What did it say?" I asked, Dean and I had many shared little memories that many people would not understand. It didn't surprise me Dean would use one of these for our meeting point.

"It said, 'Meet me where they have the best icee's in the world'."

Chapter 18: Overdose

Summary:

"Cas, Cas." Sam sounds so worried, and he has come to care for me. Both Winchesters are hard to get in with, but once you do you are family for life.

"I've got to hand it to you, I thought you'd be a helluva lot more imposing." Gordon circled the room. Naomi had recently signed a release saying my mental health was fit enough for an interrogation.

Like anyone was ever mentally capable of being abused mentally.

Gordon was working with the FBI as an interrogator and finding patterns in serial killer activity. He had done pretty good at keeping one step behind Dean. If Dean wasn't so skilled, than he surely would have been the one to catch him. But it wasn't technically Dean who Gordon caught, it had been my sloppy kills that Gordon traced. The ones I had done while ... insane.

"Never took Winchester as a queer. Used to fuck anything with a pair of tits." Gordon's harsh degrading words were offensive. I wanted to hurt him.

"But you really got him wrapped around your finger, huh? I've seen the footage, he followed after you like a lost puppy. How did you do it?" Gordon sits down across from me, eyes burning with curiosity and maybe a speck of jealousy. I smirked at him.

"How did you tame the great Dean Winchester. That man's been on the run his entire life, and he's seen all there is to see. You fucking stroll in with a file full of mental issues and he's suddenly head over heels." Gordon slaps the manila envelope, thick will all the diagnosis's and medications.

"What's so special about you?" Gordon asks seriously, leaning forward and meeting my gaze directly. I look up with a smug grin.

"I saved him."

---

Everyday in the mental ward is quiet. It's designed to be a stress free environment. I find myself falling into a comatose like haze. Without Dean moments blur together and nothing matters.

"This is Castiel Winchester." One of the nurses introduces a new staff member to me.

"The one on the news-" The nurse quickly shushes him. He looks at me curiously, but I don't respond.

"Nice to meet you." The young man smiles, holding out his hand for mine. The nurse quickly pushes it down.

"Mr. Winchester doesn't like being touched." She whispers. I ignore them both, staring out the window.

"He doesn't speak?" The man asks, voice weary.

"No." The nurse says quickly. I've become a favorite among the staff. Quiet, docile for the most part, and I am obedient. The nurses fret over me, giving me extra blankets, and desserts. I've even gotten a few novels from outside sources that the blonde nurse had smuggled in.

"Is he dangerous?" The man asks. I perk up a bit, curious to know what the nurses say about me to strangers. I had only attacked a few people since coming here. But not without being provoked. Quickly the orderlies learned to not manhandle me, I could be very resourceful when need arised and they decided asking me to go to my room was more effective than dragging me there.

Garth had been sure to spread word around to the other patients to leave me alone. So I was avoided by the other inmates.

The nurses were also careful to keep their hands to themselves, which I was very relieved with. I hated them touching me.

"Extremely." She warned. I smiled to myself.

---

In the end, it's Benny who breaks me out. The friend of Dean's I had met briefly, but chose to go to the hotel while he and Dean caught up in a bar near New Orleans. Besides Sam and I, Benny was probably Dean's closest friend. They held a brotherly, healthy relationship. Dean and I had lost that long ago, becoming so twisted up in each other that we were like vines with thorns and if you tried to pull us apart we would rip the other to shreds.

"Ready for your evening walk, Mr. Winchester?" Benny asks, slow southern drawl beautiful and deep in my ear. The staff had been instructed to call me by the name I went by. Benny was currently moonlighting as one of the orderlies wearing white scrubs that looked strange on his bulky muscular body. He had a short, bristly beard that was similar too Dean's when he grew his out.

I nodded in response, and Benny led me out the front door to the grounds. There were high gated fences like a prison. Benny took me to the furthest corner of the yard and changed, crouching behind a bush that held his supplies.

An alarm sounded.

"What's going on?" I asked, voice hoarse from not speaking in so long. The last words I had spoken had been to Gordon three weeks ago.

"Got some guys on the inside. They got you locked up good and tight in here. Gonna need to bring out the big boys to bust you out." Benny grinned. The massive fences parted and a train of police cars roared in. It was dark enough were Benny and I could slip past to freedom undetected.

---

Benny and I shared a hotel room. Benny did not get me clean sheets, and he did not set out his clean clothes for me to wear, and he did not put a clean comforter on the bed.

Benny was clearly not Dean.

I stood twitching in the center of the room. Pushing down all my disgust. The medication was helping.

"I-I need everything clean." My throat sounded dry. I looked down at my feet, clad in the slippers provided at the hospital.

"Maids probably washed it." Benny shrugged, leaning back on his bed and tipping his beer over his lips.

"You don't understand-" I whispered, hands trembling. I wanted Dean so desperately. To have his big soothing hands clasp over my shoulders and tell me he was there, that he would fix everything for me. Dean would save me.

"Oh, fuck. Dean told me about this shit, hold on. I think he sent me some stuff." Benny exited the room, leaving it feel a whole bigger without his large dense body filling it up. I crouched down, burying my face into my knees.

"Found it, I gotta admit brother. I thought he was joking." Benny tried to ease the mood as he handed me the clean, still bagged cloth. I held it, and looked to the bed. Benny followed my gaze, brow furrowing.

"What, you want me to make the bed too?" Benny was getting annoyed now. Clearly a 'do-it-yourself' type of person.

"If you could just discard the sheets and pillows, it would be greatly appreciated." I muttered, ashamed of myself. I missed the dark confidence I held when I was insane. I missed never doubting myself, and letting Dean shove me up against dirty bathroom stalls just so he could get pleasure from me.

Benny grumbled under his breath but stripped the bed. I carefully stretched the sheets over the mattress, careful not to touch it.

I took a long shower just in case.

---

Benny left me with a few fake credit cards, a thousand dollars in cash, a car filled with gas, and a bag of my favorite snacks. I looked at him gratefully.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch. It was Romeo who set this all up." Benny grunted, leaning back against the car. Benny and I had only spent three days together, him taking me a few states away to help me get out of the line of fire as he dubbed it.

"Dean did all this for me?" I asked, fingers tightening. It must have been difficult orchestrating anything while in prison, and to do things simply for my comfort? It was so ridiculous, but at the same time so greatly appreciated.

Benny laughed at my shocked question, adjusting his had with the slow smile I've come to appreciate.

"When you gonna get it through your thick skull? That boy will do anything for you."

---

I drove for several days, until I get to the gas station at the first town over the boarder. The air is warm but the cool breeze soothes my overheated skin.

I wait every day at the gas station, parking out back where Dean and I had drank our icee's while planning on where to go next. Matching aviators fixed over our faces.

I wait every day for a month and no one comes.

I finally call Sam. The owners of the gas station have taken to calling me 'azul' which means blue. They feel pity for me, saying I'm dying of heartache. They allow me to work the cash register, and sleep in the small room above the shop while I wait for him.

"Hey, Cas. I sent the meds, you get em' yet?" Sam asks, trying to hide the anxiety he feels to keep me calm.

"Yes, I got them." I finger the bottle. The room is small, with dark wooden plank floor boards that have little gaps where I can see the shop beneath if I peer close enough. There is a single big window that lets light stream in over me and the cot.

"Good. You know you can just come back here with me, and we can go find a place to camp out. Dean's always been pretty good at tracking, if he really wants to find us he wil-" Sam cuts himself off, raking in a gasp of horror at his own words.

Dean had broken out of prison only three days after I had left Benny. He has yet to contact me or Sam.

A thousand options had run through my head. Perhaps he'd been captured again, but the news was still wide alert. Or perhaps he had run away with Benny, but Benny had called Sam asking when Dean and I would visit the states again. Perhaps Dean and I had different preferences on the 'best icee in the world' or maybe Sam had decoded the message wrong.

But Sam had said it himself. Dean was one of the best trackers in the world, if he wanted to find me; he would have.

"He doesn't want to find me. He's disgusted, I'm dirty Sam." I ruined everything. I'd gone too far into the darkness and I couldn't ever come back. Dean didn't want to be with someone as tainted and scarred as me. It was understandable. He had once said he liked me because I represented everything he wanted to protect, purity, innocence.

But now all that was left was sin.

"Cas, Cas." Sam sounds so worried, and he has come to care for me. Both Winchesters are hard to get in with, but once you do you are family for life.

"I'm coming down there. It should only take me a few days. I've got a lot of funds saved up, we can find a house and we can wait it out until Dean comes." Sam suggest, tone hopeful. I hang up before he can say another word.

Dean won't come.

Not for such a wretched, ruined thing like me.

I pop open the cap of my pills and dump the entire bottle into my mouth, choking them down. I swallow around them and they feel like marbles stuffed down my throat as they begin their slow descent to my belly.

I collapse on the ground, and my last thought it how fitting that such a filthy thing should die on such a filthy floor.

Chapter 19: Salvation

Summary:

I loved our quaint little home, neat and tidy. Dean liked it splattered in blood.

I'm in a hospital when I wake up. The steady beeping of the monitor tracks my heart rate. The room is empty and small. I'm alone.

For a brief moment I think I've been returned to the mental hospital. But then I realize the air is too dry. I'm still in Mexico.

I rest my head back on the pillows and the door creaks open.

"Hello." A woman greets, she's obviously a nurse. I look away from her, angry. Why hadn't she let me die? I deserved it. I deserved worse than death.

Dean probably thought the same.

I imagined Dean tracking me down, pushing his long hunting knife into the flesh along my ribs. Carving his name there. I shivered, not entirely out of fear.

"How are you feeling?" She asks carefully, lovely brown eyes and thick dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Her accent is sweet and syrupy. When I don't answer she hesitates.

"We had to pump from you stomach." She explains, she shifts awkwardly on her feet.

"You should have let me die." I whisper, voice hoarse from whatever they had shoved down my throat to suck the medication from me. My windpipe was raw and I desperately wanted a glass of water. But I didn't ask for one, even the smallest suffering would help to distract me from the thick gaping hole in my chest that Dean had left.

"You're lucky I don't fucking kill you myself." A hard clear voice grunts as he pushes the door open all the way. Dean's standing their, looking tan and beautiful. He's wearing a plain white shirt and jeans, his combat boots are dark and scuffed.

"D-Dean." I sob, sitting up so suddenly that the machines jolt and one of the needles in my wrist jerks painfully. The blood seeps down and stains the sheet.

"Ay!" The nurse cries, dropping down to tend to my wound. Dean carefully looks away from my blood, his eyes meeting mine.

I must be hallucinating. Dean can't be here. He left me because I was dirty.

"What kind of shit do you think you where pulling?" He demands, voice tightly controlled. His eyes are burning so brightly. I swallowing thickly, unable to do much other than stare at him.

I'm dreaming. I have to be. I feel faint and hazy from the lingering medication in my body, or maybe the blood loss on my wrist.

"You mind giving us a second?" Dean barks out to the nurse as she finishes bandaging my arm. She looks to me carefully, like she may think Dean is an abusive spouse. It makes me have to bite back a snicker.

If she only knew what I let Dean do to me, and what I had him do for me. She would be horrified.

She left with one last worried look sent my way. Dean shut and locked the door behind her. I was annoyed when he did not immediately come to my side.

Instead he paced at the bottom of the bed.

"You better start making up excuses. I want to know how those pills got in your stomach, and I swear to god if you had anything to do with it ..." His voice trailed off, but I shuttered at the threat.

"You abandoned me." I croaked, tears already gathering in my eyes. Dean looked at me with a sharp turn of his head, green eyes blazing.

"What's wrong with you? Haven't we been through enough for you to realize the only way you're getting away from me is if you do fucking stupid shit like this!" Dean's voice reverberates off the walls and echoes in my head. He gestures to me with disgust on his face.

I shrink back on the bed, feeling the tears spill over my cheeks.

"I'm sorry." I whimper, reaching for him. His jaw twitches, and he tries to resist but I see his will crumble. He takes my hand and sits on the bed. The tightness in my shoulders relaxes and I grip his hand tightly.

"I'm so sorry." I whisper, kissing his hands and wrist. He's tanner than I remember. He's probably been down south or here in mexico. So close to me the entire time.

"Remember what I told you, Cas? If anyone's taking you from this world, it's gonna be me." He mutters seriously, eyes hard as he grips my chin so tightly I'll bruise. I nod, turning to mouth at his wrist.

"Forgive me." I beg, tugging at his shirt. Pulling him down on top of me. I'm still woozy and sick feeling, but Dean's here. That's all that matters.

"Always." He slides his hands under my shirt and traces the angel wing scars he's left me.

---

I'm out of the hospital that night, not legally of course. They insist I stay another few days but Dean says he can take better care of me.

"Where were you?" I ask, curled up with him in the bedroom the gas station owners had still let me stay in.

"I got a tip from a friend that I was being followed. Gordon must have picked up my trail. I couldn't bring them to you, I had to keep you safe so I took off. I knew if I told Sammy where I was then you'd try and find me. I didn't want them to trace my calls either so I just kept running until I was sure their was no way they could have followed me." Dean says. Of course Dean had been trying to protect me. I nodded against his chest, curling around him protectively.

"I love you." I murmured. I felt safe. Dean had called Sam and told him he was safe and to send more meds. Dean insisted that he keep my pill bottles now, and he would give me the right dose.

"I love you too." He smiles against my temple. I flushed as he rolled me back over. Sliding back into my already wet and used hole. I moaned his name, and I could feel him smirking into the back of my neck.

---

Dean and I left the gas station with the best icee's in the world two days later. We decided to travel around mexico for a little bit. Their computer systems were easier to hack, but not as organized.

I stayed away from Dean's victims, shaking in the Impala until he returned.

"I like when you do it with me." Dean admits, washing his bloody hands in a nearby river after we dump the body.

"I can't, Dean. I loose my mind." I can't control Dean the way I was, I can't drag him down with me until we are both back in prison and separated. I'd rather die than let that happen. Dean's presence helps to calm the attacks but they still come. Dean has a little scratch on his cheek from when I'd had an attack a few days ago.

"I'll help you." Dean says, coming up to wrap me in a possessive hug. I nod into his shoulder.

I can deny Dean nothing. We walk back to the Impala and are heading further into mexico. The windows are rolled down and the music is loud.

Dean nearly has to shout over it when he speaks.

"Benny said you had people calling you Winchester." Dean states, but I can hear the questioning tone to it.

"The night in the snowstorm, you proposed." I reminded, as if he could have forgotten. Dean blushes, and sniffs, rubbing at his nose.

"Yeah." He says, lips going pursed. I feel nervousness prick at my neck and turn down 'Renegade' blaring from the speakers.

"Was I wrong too?" I whispered, touching a hole in the worn jeans. Dean looks up, frowning.

"No. God, you're so friggin' needy." He sighs, throwing his arm out behind my shoulders. I lean back into his touch, shutting my eyes. We sit in silence for a moment, Dean is still tense. But the slow lull of the music, and the rumble of the Impala are making me dose.

"It's just, you deserve more than a drunk proposal in the backseat of my car. I should get you a ring or something, we can go get married somewhere in the states. If you want, I mean." Dean shrugs, licking his lips nervously.

I blink, half asleep. His warm voice filling me up so much I think I might burst.

"What?" I ask, feeling content and sleepy.

"I don't have a ring." He frowns, looking at his fingers as if to check. I sit up fully and the words process. I try and hide my wide smile. I see the little twist ties closing our sandwich bags from lunch yesterday. I untwist them and wrap the blue one around Dean's finger. I put the yellow one on mine.

"Fuck," Dean chuckles, a self deprecating smile on his face as he looks at the makeshift ring on his finger.

"I'll get you a ring, I tried a few months ago but the jewelry stores have lots of camera-" I press my lips into his mouth to stop his nervous chatter.

"We still have lots of money. I can take care of you." I'm not sure if Dean is promising me this, or himself. But I smile and nod, curling against his side despite the heat.

I fall asleep watching Dean's thumb rub over the twist tie in small little strokes.

---

We're staying in a little shack by the ocean, it's secluded and Dean likes to bring our victims here. Tonight he has captured a pedophile who according to his record raped his two young daughters.

"I think you should do it by yourself." I shuffle back, sitting on the table holding all of Dean's dangerous equipment. I'm about to hop down and go to the porch and sit and watch the ocean, but Dean looks up from the man tied to a chair in the middle of the room.

"Come on, Cas. Nothing gets me hotter than having you watch me carve into monsters." Dean spits, turning to look at the paunchy Mexican man with down tilted puppy dog eyes and splotchy facial hair.

It causes me infinite amusement that Dean carefully takes off the twist tie ring and pockets it before killing so he doesn't get it bloody.

"Dean, we shouldn't start me down this road again. It's dangerous." I whisper, calculating all the bacteria that might have grown in the room since I'd last scrubbed the hardwood down in pin-sol. I loved our quaint little home, neat and tidy.

Dean liked it splattered in blood.

"I can handle you. We just need to keep the killing on the monsters. That's all we got to remember." Dean slides between my legs, pushing his large hunting knife into my hand.

"I don't-"

"We'll find a middle ground. We'll kill only really evil people, just like in the beginning That way the attacks go away, and you and me can be happy. You won't be hurting anyone, Cas." Dean coaxes, cupping my jaw. Dean didn't consider 'monsters' as people that could be hurt.

My eyelids flutter shut and he grips my hips.

He pulls me down off the table and leads me across the room to the squirming whimpering man. Dean feels massive behind me, large and strong. My protector. I lean back into his warmth as he guides my hand, enclosed over the blade into the man's fat belly.

"Gonna carve him up, nice and slow." Dean hums against my ear, his free hand still holding my waist tightly against his hips. I can feel him getting hard as the first cry bubbles up from the man's throat.

My breathing picks up.

"I shouldn't. I'm no better than him, I'm just as evil-" I babble, trying to pull back. Dean's hand tightens on my wrist, forcing my knife deeper into his gut, barely missing his vital organs.

"You're not like them, Cas. You're different." Dean assures. Dean is the final word on justice in my mind. If he approves than so do I. A heavy weight that's been laying on my shoulders lifts.

"How?" I choke, feeling tears run hotly down my cheeks at his forgiveness and approval. Dean is everything. He doesn't blame me for my sins.

"You have me, baby. I'll always keep you on the right path." He smiles, thumb brushing over my pulse as he forces me to twist the blade deeper in the man's belly.