New story! It's not gonna be very long, but not very short either. Basically, it's too long to be a short story, and too short to be a real long fanfic. Anyway, the SPN storyline is not very important, but Cas is human and it's saving people hunting things, until...

Chapter 1

It had been a freakishly long week. He, Sam and Cas had been hunting down a nest of Vampires that turned out to be two nests and… well, Dean didn't want to think about it anymore. He dumped his bag full of guns in a corner and fell down, face forward on the king.

He noticed that, even though he had been wide awake in the car, he was starting to grow tired, really tired. It smelled musty, they should've aired the room…

Dean wasn't even able to move his limbs or kick his shoes off anymore, he just, slumped in, crashed onto that bed and fell asleep.

The next morning came way too soon for Dean. He rolled out of the bed, rubbing his temples. The shower was running, so that was probably Sam. He looked around him, but he noticed that both his brother and the ex-Angel were gone.

He got up and walked over to the fridge to grab a beer. There was a note on his six-pack.

Out to get breakfast. Back in thirty.

Dean chuckled, with Cas in the shower and Sam out to get breakfast, he had some alone time. He sunk down on the couch and turned on the TV to maybe catch the last fifteen minutes of Dr. Sexy MD.

"...bodies have been found in Dickinson. The heads of the two victims are still missing. The police has no leads on a possible suspect. On with the weather, Paul, I heard..."

Dean sighed annoyed, changing channels when he recognized the barn from last night. He knew he had counted sixteen body's and eighteen heads in that pit, but Sam was so sure he had them all...

"We missed two body's!" he shouted to Cas.

No reply. Weird. Cas usually immediately reacted to anything he said.

"Whatever." Dean shrugged, as he zapped through the channels to look for his show. News. News. News. Cartoons. Documentary. He rubbed his face. "Day time TV sucks." He mumbled to himself.

So he just watched the news and waited for Cas to come out of the goddamn shower so he could wash the dried blood out of his hair and take a look at the gash in his arm that was dried stuck to his shirt. He couldn't remember why he didn't take care of that yesterday. He couldn't even remember much from what happened when they got back to the motel. There was the nest, the fire, the bickering about the amount of heads and bodies, the ride back and… black, darkness, nothing.

Dean shrugged. Maybe he'd drunk too much, he remembered drinking a lot of whiskey too, so maybe the combination of beer and whiskey hadn't been too good for him. Dean didn't remember being drunk though, and the last time he had blackouts from drinking was, well, probably somewhere between Hell and the Apocalypse.

After ten minutes of waiting for Cas to come out, he got annoyed. After twenty he was banging on the door. "C'mon Cas! You got to be done by now!"

He rattled the handle, but it gave in to his push. The door wasn't locked.

Carefully, he stuck his head in the door. "Cas?"

Still, no reply.

Okay that's it, Dean threw the door open and barged in. "Since when are you ignoring me?" He said grumpy, pulling the shower curtain back.

He expected to see a shocked Cas and a struggle for the shower curtain.

What he didn't expect was an empty shower stall. The shower was running and there was a letter hanging on the head. It was sealed in one of those keeps-your-food-fresh-in-the-freezer-bags and Dean yanked it off it rope, walking back to the couch and opening the envelope.

It had his name on it, written with some goddamn fancy fountain pen.

Dean Winchester, it said.

First and last name, it scared him. Only a handful of people knew his real first name and the people who knew his real last name were Sam, Cas or dead.

With shaky hands, he tore the envelope open and pulled the letter out.

Dear Dean Winchester,

In that same goddamn fountain pen.

You must have noticed by now that your brother and friend are gone. Congratulations! So- If you want to talk about getting your friends back, meet me at the Green Hill cemetery in Laramie, Wyoming at midnight.

With love,
JM

Dean crumbled the paper up and threw it in a corner.

He did a quick calculation, it was about 508 miles to Laramie from here, and if he left now he would avoid the evening rush and arrive there about nine pm.

He scrambled to his feet and reached for his jacket, when he felt a jab of pain shoot up his arm.

"God fucking damn it," he swore. He would have to take care of that first before it would infect and kill him. He was not good to anyone dead.

He quickly kicked his shoes and pants off and turned the shower on again, soaking the fabric of his plaid shirt with lukewarm water.

Impatient, he pulled it loose, with the result that it started bleeding again. He threw his shirt in a corner, rubbed the wound clean with some whiskey and dry with some cloth and sewed it up as quick as he could.

Right now he was really glad he didn't take the time to clean his weapons, like he usually did, but had dumped them in a corner.

Dean quickly pulled on a new t-shirt and plaid, grabbed the remainder of beer from the fridge, his jacket from the couch and his duffle bag full of shotguns and salt rounds from the corner.

He walked to the Impala and frowned. It was weird to drive the car alone. Even though he did it often enough, it was always knowing that he could pick up Sam and Cas whenever he wanted.

He started the engine with a soft, familiar rumble when he suddenly remembered something. He marched back into the motel room and grabbed Sam's laptop off the tabletop. The rest of their stuff was already in the car, but Dean knew Sam would kill him if he forgot the thing.

Driving through the back roads of America he wondered how on Earth someone managed to bypass him, get to Sam and Cas and leave without any of them waking up and fighting.

It could've been drugs, but they didn't eat after they returned and he didn't remember feeling dizzy or sleepy before he went to bed.

He was tired, yes, but that was a whole different story.

He wondered about it the entire way to Laramie, when he suddenly saw police lights flashing.

"Son of a bitch," Dean sighed. He stopped the Impala on the side of the road and rolled down his window, his ivory plated colt cocked under his seat.

"Good afternoon sir," A tall police officer hung down on his window frame. "Do you realize you've been speeding for the past five miles?"

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry officer, stressed day at work."

The officer nodded, scribbling in his notebook. "At work? And where is that?"

Dean chuckled nervous. "I fix cars, sir."

"Cars?" The police officer nodded. "You look more like a Hunter to me."

The police officer looked up and his eyes flashed black. Dean pulled his gun out from under his seat and shot the officer twice, to make him stumble backwards. Then he threw the passenger seat door of the Impala open, against the other officer and rolled out of the car, pulling Ruby's knife.

Funny, that after Ruby had been dead for almost five years, it was still Ruby's knife.

"I don't have time for this," He growled. "What the Hell are you doing here?"

"We caught air of you, Winchester." The first officer-Demon smiled. "There is a bill that needs to be paid."

He lunged forward and so did Dean. He dodged the Demons arm and stuck the knife up his throat. He felt the other Demon coming closer, so he pulled the knife back, ducked, turned around and wanted to slash the Demons throat.

But he slashed his arm. The Demon gasped in pain and didn't pay attention for a second. And a second was exactly what Dean needed. He stabbed the Demon in the chest and pulled back.

People were stopping their cars. "Oh can't those amateurs just try to kill me in a back alley where it won't attract any attention?" Dean sighed.

He cleaned the knife on the dead officers jacket and got in the Impala again, driving off as fast as he could.

So, my brother and friend are missing AND I'm going to be on the six o'clock news. Awesome, Dean sighed. This day was just getting better and better.

When he passed a television store that had the news on, he waited at the side of the road, pretending to make a phone call, to see if he had indeed made the news.

He had. Of course he had. You can't just kill two Demons on the side of a very busy highway and hope to get away with it.

'Dangerous stabber in obnoxious car', the screen said.

"With sketch and all," Dean shook his head and slammed the steering wheel. "Time to get the fuck out of here."

He would return just before midnight, on foot.

For now, Dean drove his car to the edge of town, in a parking lot where he was never going to be bothered. He managed to get some food and beer and eat and drank those last three hours away.

When it was finally 11:30pm, he armed himself lightly (only his Colt, Ruby's knife and a shotgun loaded with salt rounds) and walked to the cemetery.

Dean wanted to be there early. He didn't like surprises and he wanted to do some preparations.

Well, he liked surprises, he liked hey-Dean-how-about-a-free-striptease-surprises and hey-Dean-how-about-your-favorite-burger-surprises, but not the hey-Dean-here's-a-bullet-in-your-face-surprises.

That's why he was kneeling behind a giant tombstone at 11:40pm with a gun in his right and a shotgun in his left hand, wondering about 'JM'.

After only a couple minutes of waiting, a slender man in a suit that looked very expensive walked onto the cemetery. In the light of the streetlamps Dean could see he was light blond, and, well, Dean had to give it to him, he was handsome.

But the Demon inside was probably ugly as fuck.

Once Dean saw that he had walked into his Devil's Trap, he slowly got up. "Gotcha you ugly black bitch," he smiled, pointing his shotgun at the Demon.

The man in suit frowned. "Ugly black bitch?" he said with a Scottish accent, "Isn't that a little racist?"

Dean pointed his gun to the ground, with the still wet Devil's Trap, hidden away by the darkness.

"Oh- you, drew something on the ground." The man smiled. "Got my shoes all dirty."

He walked out of the Devil's Trap, to Dean's utter surprise.

And he didn't like surprises.

"What the Hell are you?" He muttered.

"Human?" the man frowned. "Just, human. No Demons and Devils involved this time, mister Winchester."

He walked up to Dean, pushing his chest against the barrel of his weapon. "So, now it's my turn to shuffle the cards."

Dean swallowed.

"We got off on the wrong foot." The man smiled and offered his hand. "My name is Sebastian Moran."

Dean looked down at Moran's hand, but ignored it. "What do you want from me?"

Moran looked a little cross at Dean's subtle way of saying 'fuck you', and he smiled. "We have your brother. We have your friend. They're safe and sound, but you have to do something to get them back."

"I don't know who told you anything, but I got no money." Dean growled.

"My boss doesn't want money. He wants services." Moran said.

"Services? Well, tell your boss he can stick it up his ass, that I'm doing nothing and that I'll rip his intestines out if anything happens to Sam or Cas." Dean cocked the shotgun.

Something changed in Moran's posture. With two swift movements, he overpowered Dean, and suddenly they were standing in the same position again, only this time it was Moran holding the gun and Dean staring down a barrel.

"I'm only saying this once. My boss wants to speak to you. If you accept, you might get your friends back. If you refuse, they die. Got it?" Moran's voice was soft and low.

Dean swallowed and grabbed the barrel of his gun, pulling it to the ground. "What do I do?"

Moran let the gun go and handed him an envelope.

"Don't miss your flight."