Title: Wicked Intent

Summary: Sam and Dean take a case in Wyoming, where men are disappearing mysteriously in the woods, never to be seen again. The angels believe they have found a way to reopen the gates of heaven. Meanwhile, Castiel faces trouble of his own. Set after 9x13, probably will end up being AU.

A/N: This story is co-written by two authors. It's a work in progress, though the first chapters are almost complete and edited. Please remember, reviews are very much appreciated! We hope you enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural, or any of its contents. We don't own anything you recognise, just borrowed it for a bit of creative practice. All mistakes are ours. We make no profit from writing this story.

Warnings: Language mostly, and violence

Prologue

Somewhere in the icy, barren mountains that formed the wintery landscape of Svalbard's second largest island, commonly known as the Nordaustlandet, a lone figure stood raised against the winds battering the rocks. Snow whirled up around him, but it did not seem to bother the individual walking these lands. He was on a mission, and it had led him here, to the edge of a world, where nothing survived save for the few mammals strong enough to brace the cold. The white colour of the snow around him would be deemed blinding to the mortal eye, yet he did not even blink as his eyes sought out one particular spot in the land: a dark blemish that rose up in the land just ahead, a smudge of colour oddly out of place in all whiteness around him.

The individual was wearing a light coat that was simply not made for these kinds of weather. His footsteps were light and sure as he made his way to the cave. He was alert for any noises around him, save the howling wind. It was vital to him that he should remain alone. Any sound could indicate an interruption by others, and his mission might fail as a consequence. To him, that simply was not an option.

The inside of the cave was dark and damp. The wind seemed less loud, the further the figure descended in the cavern. A drawing on one of the walls, barely visible in the fading light, made him pause for a moment. It seemed he was in the right place, he mused as he examined the symbol.

The figure continued on, further and further down into the cave. He seemed to know intuitively which way to turn, which twirling and twisting passage was the right one. Finally the road he took came to an end; in a small, rounded chamber which almost appeared to be manmade. The individual knew better though. For ages, small droplets of water had been exuding past the stone, creating cracks in the rock and eventually forming the chamber as it stayed now. This deep in the cavern no natural light should have penetrated. Nature though never ceased to amaze the figure standing in the chamber, for a small, round hole had been formed at the roof of the chamber, allowing a small beam of daylight to shine down upon the middle of the cavern. Light small snowflakes drifted down lazily in the light, and had the figure been a lesser being he would have stared up in childlike wonder. However, he was not and he still had a mission to fulfil, he reminded himself.

For there, in the centre of the chamber, caught in the small bundle of daylight, rested a stone, which had not been touched since the forming of the chamber. Where all other rocks had long since eroded away, this stone had remained. Whereas time changed its surroundings, the stone remained eternal as though some kind of magic had prevented it from taking its natural course.

The figure moved forward swiftly and, after having made sure he still was alone, ran a finger reverently over the stone. At once, a hush seemed to descend over the chamber. Even the howling winds outside seemed muted. The figure smiled at last and disappeared, taking the stone with him. Had anyone been around to bear witness to the act, they would only have heard the soft fluttering of wings echoing through the cave as evidence of an angel ever having been there.

Thousands of miles away, in a cave not unlike the other, an ancient being awakened.

The man had been running for a long time. He was tired, but did not dare to stop. His feet pounded the floor in rhythm with the beat of his heart as he ran, stirring up the scattered leaves on the forest floor. He could feel his breath catching even as he struggled to keep running. Behind him, faint laughter echoed through the dark trees, edging him on further.

You can't hide; the wind seemed to whisper around him. Cannot hide, not ever.

He stumbled and finally fell. For a moment the man simply stayed down, panting and wheezing for breath. He could not remember ever feeling this much fear, not even after having been pulled over by the police, that one time when he was a teenager and had stolen his father's prized car for a joyride. The current situation was different, very different. He had nothing, not the devil-may-care attitude he had wielded when he was that age, nor the weapons he had taken into the woods earlier that afternoon. His shotgun was lost somewhere in the woods behind him, not that it had done much good against what hunted him.

You can't hide. The whispered voice sounded much closer this time.

Panic-filled eyes looked back, even as the man jumped to his feet. Adrenaline invigorated him and his feet moved to start fleeing again. Even as he made the first step, he felt it was too late, however, almost as if some primal instinct told him he was a hunter turned prey. For a moment the man wondered if this was how a rabbit would feel with a snare wound around its feet, how a deer would feel seconds before wolves jumped it. A dark chuckle floated across the clearing, coming from between the trees in front of him. Futilely, the man stepped back.

"Please, please don't!" he screamed.

In his last fleeting moments, all the man could see were two bright blue eyes and a cold, satisfied smile.