I wanted a Nightmare Before Christmas Supernatural fic, so I made the thing. That's pretty much all there was to this idea lol. That and that the time of year lined up rather perfectly.

This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own. I think (hope) I caught most of them, but if you see any others, please be understanding. This... turned out to be more of an undertaking that I had initially anticipated.

Dean Winchester makes his way to Lucifer's laboratory, dodging compliments from the townsfolk on just how terrible he is, how frightful, how strong. It's nothing he hasn't heard before, and where once it had invigorated him, now it only serves to make the bone-deep weariness he feels on a daily basis grow heavier in his limbs.

Lucifer's lab is nestled deep within his house, a foreboding structure situated up on the hill past the town square, forever ominously shadowing every function the town ever has and will ever have- just the way they all like it. Lucifer, himself, is an odd character, nothing at all like the other inhabitants of Halloween Town. He is neither monster nor demon, and he refuses to divulge exactly what it is the he is descended from. He has simply been a part of the town for as far back as anyone can remember, tirelessly experimenting.

Dean makes his way through halls that are thick with spider webs and dust, effortlessly navigating the maze of halls towards the heart of the manor. Saying that Lucifer hides away in his lab is no embellishment, the man having crafted the halls of his home into a giant maze that none other than those who know the way have any hope of finding their way through. Dean has even heard that Lucifer placed a minotaur within one of the halls in imitation of the labyrinth of legend, and it isn't something he doubts to be true.

Dean, however, has no cause to fear it. He has traversed these halls many times and memorized every one eons ago. As the town's oft-sung hero and unofficial leader, he and Lucifer are no strangers.

He knocks sharply on the doorjamb as he walks in, not waiting for an invitation. Lucifer looks up with a pleased smile.

"Dean, so good to see you." He stands from where he was just working on something.

"Yeah, you too. So, what'd you call me here for?"

Lucifer chuckles blithely, shaking his head with an obviously fake forlorn expression. "Always so brusque and to the point. No, 'how are you doing, Lucifer?' or 'I've missed you so much.'"

Dean rolls his eyes. Along with being enigmatic and ancient, Lucifer is also a tireless drama queen, and while Dean can respect the man's work, he doesn't actually care too much for the antics.

Seeing that Dean is not going to play along, Lucifer drops the act, instead smiling pleasantly at Dean, an expression which has always given the Knight of Hell a sick, squeamish feeling deep in his gut. "I have a present for you," Lucifer announces.

Dean raises an eyebrow. "A present?"

The ancient creature nods, turning to shuffle around a shelf. "Yes. Your brother commissioned it after last Halloween. He said he thought you seemed down, and he wanted something to help bring you back up to your devilish self."

Dean's even more confused now. "Last Halloween? That was 321 days ago."

Lucifer sniffs derisively. "Yes, and sensational craftsmanship takes time."

"If you say so," Dean dubiously responds. He isn't exactly seeing anything sensational in the room.

Silence falls between them as Lucifer continues his search among his shelves, Dean shifting from foot to foot, waiting for the grand surprise.

"So uh..." Dean begins uncertainly, but is quickly drowned out by Lucifer's loud, "AH HA!"

In Lucifer's hand is a bottle of some purpleish-red, viscous fluid. It doesn't look very special. Actually, Dean's fairly certain he's seen something similar before. "Is that...?" He trails off, not wanting to offend Lucifer, but feeling like this is not turning out quite like it was hyped up to be.

Lucifer tears his eyes away from the corked bottled, looking at Dean in befuddlement, like he's wondering just what the Knight could possibly be here for. Recognition finally seems to flash across his features, then derision. "Of course not." Then he turns to shout through the doorway leading into Lucifer's own personal chambers, "Castiel, get in here!"

A tall, slender man in an oversized suit and trench coat walks into sight, lingering in the doorway. He would be quite ordinary, boring even, if not for the eyes that are glowing bright and blue.

Lucifer sighs tiredly. "Well, don't just stand there. Come meet Dean. He's your new owner, after all."

Owner? Dean rips his attention off Castiel, turning it sharply on the mad scientist. "A pet!? Sam had you make me a pet!?"

Lucifer smirks, looking positively smug. "Not just any pet," he intones, motioning Castiel to walk farther into the lab.

Dean's eye widen, about bugging out of his head when the man does. Behind him are two black, feathery masses pulled close to his back, almost self-consciously. "What the hell are those!?"

Lucifer looks at Dean as though he is possibly the dumbest creature to ever walk upon the land. Then he makes his way to Castiel, admirably running the back of his hand down the man's cheek. "Castiel is an angel," he pronounces reverentially.

Dean snorts, causing Lucifer to snap a displeased glower at him. Even in the face of Lucifer's ire, Dean can't help chuckling as he says, "Yeah, good one. Sorry to burst your bubble, buddy, but there's no such thing as angels.

Lucifer just smiles serenely, almost jarringly, and shakes his head. "Whatever you may or may not believe about angels, Castiel here is very much real. And he is very much a work of art." He turns his attention back on the so-called angel. "Show him."

Dean is left speechless as Castiel stretches out the black masses into a glorious set of massive wings that can barely fit in the space afforded them without causing destruction. Dean may or may not feel his jaw metaphorically hit the floor.

Lucifer chuckles, stepping away from Castiel. "Why don't you go say hello, Castiel? Get acquainted, my precious bird. Then you can both be on your way." Then Lucifer turns his attention away from both of them, going back to his table and whatever he was working on before, previously acquired bottle added to the amalgamation of other instruments and potions already there.

Castiel folds his wings back up into a more manageable width and walks towards Dean. He stares up at the Knight as though Dean is a curious experiment, something to be studied under a microscope.

Dean is a little unnerved by the intensity of it, but steels his resolve enough to stare down at the so-called angel dominantly. "I'm Dean Winchester. I'm your new master, angel." Castiel does not look properly impressed, instead squinting up at him harder.

Dean is then thrown completely for a loop when the only other response he receives from Castiel is the angel uttering, "Green," in a completely matter-of-fact way.

Dean actually jerks his head back in jarred confusion. "Sorry?"

Castiel leans forward to counteract Dean's lean back, crowding up into the demon's space. He tilts his head as he continues staring up at his new master. "Your eyes, they are green."

It's Dean's turn to squint down at Castiel. "Uh... No? Pretty sure they're all-demon black."

The angel huffs out an exasperated breath, looking thoroughly done with Dean's cluelessness. "Not these eyes," he gripes. "You're true eyes."

All Dean can honestly do in response to that is continuing staring at the angel in ever-increasing confusion. "Uuuhhh... What?"

Without looking up from his work, Lucifer placates, "I wouldn't worry too much about that. I've determined it's just a side effect of how he's made."

Dean's attention snaps to Lucifer, brow cinched together in loss at what is happening. "How he's made?"

Lucifer just nods, to Dean's ever-increasing consternation.

"Well, what is he made out of?" he demands, starting to become concerned over just what exactly he's expected to take home with him.

"Souls," is all the mad scientist responds.

Dean's eyes about bug out again for the second time in the approximate fifteen minutes he's been here. "Souls!?"

Lucifer nods. "Hundreds of them, all stitched together." He sounds nothing but pleased with himself.

Dean turns his attention back on Castiel, who is still staring at him like he's the most intriguing thing in all of creation. Great, he thinks, just what I need. My own personal walking bag of souls.

He decides the first thing on his agenda after getting his shiny, new pet settled, is to rip his brother a new one. With his teeth.

While Castiel is not an altogether unpleasant housemate, he is a particularly useless one. The angel doesn't seem to come pre-equipped with any particular skill sets. He pretty much just sits in one spot all day until Dean gives him some direction, and Dean's about out of those considering the angel has basically broken everything he's touched.

So, Castiel just sits there every day while Dean is out preparing for the impending Halloween.

"I hear you have a new toy, courtesy of your moose of a brother," Crowley begins conversationally as the two of them pour over lists and plans they have amassed in the past 325 days.

Dean growls in frustration. "Yeah. Remind me to kick his ass."

Crowley chuckles. "If it's not up to your standards, I'd be happy take it off your hands."

Dean narrows his eyes suspiciously. "What would you do with him?"

Crowley lifts his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, it's a 'he' is it?"

Dean frowns more. "Yeah, so?"

Crowley leans forward, pinning the Knight with an absolutely salacious grin. "Just think about it, something handcrafted by Lucifer? That's a pretty lofty gift. If you don't appreciate it, someone should."

Dean hadn't exactly thought of it that way, but then again, he's the one living with the abomination. He figures he probably has a better take on just how much of a gift it is than anyone else.

Crowley reclines back in his seat, leveling a sagacious look upon his comrade. "All I'm saying is that if you really don't want it, there are plenty who would. Better me than the Boogie Man, right?"

Dean's confusion turns to sharp distrust. "How the hell did Oogie find out?"

The mayor aims an oily smirk at him, eyebrow crooked dubiously.

Dean sighs in annoyance. "Sammy. Right." More things to add to his list of reasons to flay his brother. Even if the shit works for the Boogie Man, he thought Sam knew better than to tell that nightmare anything.

When Dean returns to his home it's to discover that for the first time since he brought his new pet home, Castiel has not stayed put. Trying to squash down and deny anything that may even hint of concern, Dean goes about his usual routine. When he eventually makes it to his room that's where he finds Castiel.

He raises his eyebrow as the angel pays him no mind at all when he enters. Some pet, not even excited to see me.

"Cas, what are you doing?" he asks tiredly.

Castiel turns to him, finally, brows cinched, lips pouted out, and head tilted quizzically. "What is that?"

Dean frowns at him, confused. "What's what?"

"What you called me."

"What I- Oh! Yeah, a nickname I guess, You don't mind, do you?" What the hell am I saying? Since when does he have a nickname? And since when do I care? The conversation with Crowley apparently influenced him more than he anticipated.

Castiel shakes his head, never removing his freaky, glowing eyes from Dean's face. "I do not. Should I call you something else, as well?"

"Nah. Not unless you want to. Do you?"

Castiel seems to mull this over for a moment before finally shaking his head. "No. Dean will suffice."

Dean. Right. Not Master. Just Dean. It had been that way since he brought Cas home. Though now that he thinks about it, he supposes he never took the time to correct the angel, either.

It's several nights later when Dean finds himself facing another odd statement of the angel's. Dean is halfheartedly pouring over the plans for Halloween, marking and adding things as he needs to. Cas is doing... what ever it is Cas does. Which today apparently means, Dean glances up, reading a book. He does a double take. Well, Cas would probably be reading a book if not for the fact he's holding it upside down, staring at it, confounded.

"Other way, Cas," he offers helpfully.

Cas snaps out of his consternation, glancing over at Dean and then back at the book. He studies it a moment before turning it, not right-side up, but instead so that the covers and spine are facing him. He continues looking confused and helpless. "Dean, this seems to make even less sense."

He can't help the chuckle he emits as he shakes his head, pushing himself up from his place at the desk. "You're helpless, you know that?" He relieves the book from Castiel's grip, rights it, and then places it back in the angel's hands. "Damn baby in a trench coat."

Castiel stares at the pages, understanding finally dawning on his face. Then he directs a pleased look up at Dean, smiling for all but his mouth. "Thank you, Dean." That look, coupled with the softness of his usually gravelly voice does things to Dean, stirs things in him that haven't moved in years, maybe even decades.

"Yeah... Sure. No problem, man." He wants to turn and get back to work, really he does, but his legs aren't listening to him for some reason.

"You have a righteous soul, Dean Winchester," Cas informs him.

Dean exhales a bitter laugh. "I think you forget I'm a Knight of Hell, Cas. Pumpkin King and all that?"

Castiel tilts his head, looking thoroughly perplexed and almost saddened. Dean briefly thinks he should have just accepted the supposed compliment because he hates that he's the reason that joyous, innocent expression is no longer on Cas's face.

"That does not mean that you cannot be a righteous man," he says, as if he expects to convince Dean of it.

Not wanting to do anymore damage, Dean offers him a stilted smile. "Sure, Cas."

As he walks back to his desk, he shakes his head in bemusement. All this over showing him how to hold a book?

"Have you fucked it yet?"

Dean about chokes on his burger. "Excuse me!?"

Sam fixes his brother with a bored look, taking a bite off the fry dangling from his mouth. "The angel? Have you fucked it?"

Dean shoots a bored look right back. "You're twisted, you know that?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "Uh, duh. Aren't we all here? Isn't that kind of the point?"

"You're an extra special case," Dean tells him before taking another bite of his food.

That night he finds himself battling with the urge to not overtly stare at Castiel. He'd never even thought of the angel in any sort of sexual light before, but now that Sam's said it, he can honestly see the appeal. The guy is all long limbs, ruffled sex hair, and haunting eyes. Then there are those wings. Dean hasn't seen them expanded to their full glory since the day he brought Cas home, but the he can still make out the image in his mind. He thinks about asking to see it again, trying to decided if that would be weird or not.

"Are you alright?"

Dean about falls out of his chair in surprise, not having noticed Cas moving and getting all in his space (which is odd considering he's been doing a piss poor job of not staring that the angel all evening).

Castiel inspects his face. "You seem distracted."

Dean swallows. "Yeah... I mean no!, I mean-" He takes a calming breath. "I'm fine, Cas."

Castiel nods, seemingly placated as he steps out of Dean's personal space and back to the armchair he'd been occupying earlier.

Another ten minutes pass in silence, Dean making a renewed effort at trying to get back to work, before Castiel breaks he silence.

"Are you dissatisfied?"

Dean looks up him, brow furrowed. "About what?"

Castiel isn't looking at him, instead staring thoughtfully at the text of his newest book. "Lucifer told me he thinks you might be dissatisfied."

Dean's stomach turns sour. Is he that transparent? "He said that?" he asks, trying to keep his voice even.

Cas nods. "He also said I should not ask you about it. That is may make you volatile."

Dean quirks an eyebrow. "Then why risk it?"

Finally, Cas looks up at him, meeting his eyes. "I am concerned for you."

Dean's breath catches, stunning him to silence. Then he smiles softly at the angel. "Thanks, Cas. But I'm fine. I promise."

Castiel considers this for a moment, then he nods and returns back to his reading. Nothing else is said on the matter for the rest of the night.

The next night, Dean finds himself unable to even tolerate looking at the plans for Halloween. It has all grown so contrived and repetitive, and he thinks maybe it's time he threw in the towel. Let someone take over the crown of Pumpkin King. Only there really aren't many options for that. He also doubts anyone would let him abdicate his position quite so easily. Hell, Crowley would probably go down in flames without him, has alluded as much time and time again.

Okay, more like he's alluded that he refuses to work with anyone else. But Dean just isn't quite so sure he can manage it any more. Everyone has all these high expectations, and, quite frankly, they've grown exhausting. He used to love planning for Halloween each year, the plans getting more and more wicked with every holiday that passed. Now, however, he finds it nothing short of boring. When he thinks on it, it really is no surprise that Lucifer noticed. He's surprised more people haven't. He's surprised people haven't actually asked him to abdicate, just move over for the next in line, whoever that may be.

Hands raking through his hair, he's about to just give up for the night, never minding that Crowley will have a full blown freak out if these details aren't completely ironed out by their meeting tomorrow, when he hears a chair scraping across the floor.

His head jerks up in confusion to find Castiel dragging a dining chair through the door from the dining room up to his desk, feathers ruffling with the exertion of maneuvering the deceptively heavy piece of wood. When he finally stops next to Dean and turns the high-backed chair so that it is facing the desk, the angel plops down in it.

"I would like to help you," he announces without preamble. Dean stares in befuddlement.

"Um... what?"

Castiel sighs, brow creased with obvious frustration with Dean. "You seem to be struggling, so I am offering my assistance."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Um... no offense, Cas, but you aren't exactly the authority on scary."

The feathers of Castiel's wings puff up in annoyance, the gesture so small that Dean would have missed it if not for the fact they're sitting so close that they're almost touching. "I can be plenty frightening," the angel petulantly informs him.

Dean raises the other eyebrow in amusement. "Oh yeah? Let's see it."

Castiel schools his expression into concentration, obviously having been prepared for this. He turns away from Dean, huffing and puffing as he does something. Dean waits in amused curiosity for whatever it is the angel has planned.

Finally, he asks, "Are you prepared, Dean?"

"Cas, you can't ask someone i-" He's cut off by Castiel turning around wearing fake vampire fangs and letting out a vicious howl. It's so utterly ridiculous that he can't help cracking up in laughter, unable to stop the tirade once it's started.

They probably don't wind up getting as much work done as they should, Castiel being as completely useless at coming up with legitimately horrifying scares as he is at most other things. Still, Dean finishes what he needs for his meeting with Crowley, and it's the first time he has honestly enjoyed work in a very, very long time.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Sam fixes Ruby with a bored expression. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, he is your brother's pet," the female demon responds reasonably.

Sam shrugs. "Not my problem. If the Boogie Man wants the angel, it's our job to get it."

"Besides," Meg responds, deftly twirling a blade between her fingers, "if Dean can't hold onto it, he probably doesn't deserve it."

Ruby nods. "That's true."

Castiel is reading in the study when he becomes aware of soft footsteps in the hallway. He glances up at the clock. It is too early for Dean to be back from his meeting with Crowley and Lucifer just yet. Glancing unconcernedly at the doorway, Castiel then returns to his reading. It is probably just someone Dean has sent to retrieve something he has forgotten. If he hears anything truly distressing, he will move to investigate.

When a long shadow stretches into the room, Castiel glances up yet again. In the doorway stands an obnoxiously tall individual. Castiel's eyes burn brighter at the sense that this creature is missing something integral, something that Cas is intimately familiar with- a soul.

"Can I help you?" he asks blandly. Perhaps this man is having trouble locating what he was sent for.

The man smiles lazily. "Hey, Cas."

Castiel frowns. Social construct dictates that if this man knows his name, he should also know the man's name in return, but Castiel cannot remember ever meeting him. Castiel has not met anyone other than Lucifer and Dean in all his short life. "Do I know you?"

The man's empty smile remains in place. "I'm Sam."

Castiel does not know any Sams, and says as much.

Sam barks out a laugh. "Man, that's harsh! Come on, you mean to tell me that Dean hasn't mentioned me."

Castiel continues staring is mild interest and confusion as Sam strides into the room, long legs carrying him over to where Castiel sits in only seven steps to the twelve it would take Cas.

"I'm Dean's brother," Sam offers helpfully.

Ah yes, Dean's brother. Now that is mentioned, Castiel supposes he can see the vague resemblance. "You are the one who requested my creation," Castiel says.

Sam's smile widens into a hollow grin. "There you go!"

"I should thank you for that," the angel responds. "So, thank you." He bites his tongue against adding Now please leave. Sam's lack of soul is disturbing to Castiel, who is made of nothing but. Sam is also overly tall and distracting, blocking Castiel's light so that he must strain his eyes to read. He does not say this, though, as he assumes that Dean must care for this brother of his to some modicum; many of the books he has read suggest such bonds between family members. He does not want to insult this brother in the chance that it would insult Dean, as well.

Sam says nothing more, instead just grinning unsettlingly down at him. The absolute void in Sam's eyes sends the souls under Castiel's skin to agitation, all of them fluttering about anxiously at the presence of something they deem wrong, an abomination.

A minute movement in his peripheral vision catches Castiel's attention, and he barely moves out of the way of a knife, though it manages to catch on one of his wings. The pain is blinding in its newness, sending Castiel to swaying on his feet.

Casually laying across the back of the chair Castiel had just been occupying, as though she had not just tried to stab the angel, is a petite woman with curly, brown hair, eyes black like Dean's. In her hand it the knife now stained with Castiel's blood, a black feather clinging to the sticky liquid.

Another small woman, also a demon if her eyes are to be any indication, walks into the doorway. "Nice reflexes, feathers," she congratulates.

Castiel narrows his eyes at her.

"Sorry, Cas, it's nothing personal," Sam offers, sounding decidedly unapologetic, "but when the Boogie Man says jump..."

"We ask how high," purrs the brunette behind the chair, straightening herself up with a predatory grin.

"The Boogie Man?" he asks. He feels he's heard Dean mention such a creature before, though never fondly.

"Yep," the brunette answers, "and when the Boogie Man says catch an angel..."

"We catch an angel," finishes the other demon.

Castiel's wings twitch in agitation, the slight movement sending another shock of pain through him. He glares at Sam. "Dean is your brother."

Sam shrugs casually. "All's fair in love and war."

Castiel does not see how such matters apply here, but does not have adequate time to ponder it before the three are once again upon him.

Castiel has never been in a fight before, has never had any need for violence in his few months of living. Lucifer and Dean had both been kindly and gentle masters. Now, however, Castiel has need of such experience, and he finds it vexing that he has none such to draw upon. Instead, he works purely on instinct, hoping that perhaps one of the myriad of souls within him will have some experience to offer up.

When the first women lunges at him yet again, he dodges, wings pulled close so as to avoid more injury. Sam, the great beast, lunges at Cas, whose only defense it to then throw out his wings he was previously trying so to protect. The impact with the large mass of bone, feather, and skin sends Sam off his footing, crashing into Dean's desk.

The second demon then makes for him with a knife that seemingly comes out of nowhere. With a flap of his great wings, he sends the small demon off her balance, kicking up papers and sending them scattering by the gust he creates.

He has inadvertently backed himself into a corner as the first demon approaches, like a cat about to pounce. He can also see Sam getting to his feet. He finds himself out of options, sure to be taken from his home.

Than the second demon screams, and they all jerk their attention to the entryway.

There stands Dean, expression furious as he has the female demon's hair twisted painfully in his fist.

"Care to explain this, Sammy?" Castiel's demon growls, and for the first time Castiel feels he can see the demon's true nature. He can see the nature which earned the Knight of Hell the reverence of the people of Halloween town.

Sam does not have the good graces to look at all abashed, but Castiel supposes that without a soul, he wouldn't be. Instead, the abomination shrugs casually. "Boogie Man's orders."

"Yeah, well, next time the Boogie Man wants something of mine," he growls out the word possessively, twisting his grip on the demon's hair further until she's whimpering in pain, "that douche bag can come to me directly." He throws the female to the ground as though she a nothing more than a rag doll. "Now get out." He doesn't shout the directive, but it somehow comes out more deadly than if he had.

The demon at his feet skitters past him, obviously beyond ready to be rid of the place. The other demon gives Castiel a sultry wink.

"You haven't seen the last of us, Clarence," she purrs, then turns and strides past Dean confidently as he sneers at her.

Sam is the last to leave. "No harder feelings, bro," he says conversationally.

"Out!" Dean growls, patience running thin.

Dean and Castiel stand still, not making a sound until they hear the front door close. Then, and only then, does Dean's attention turn to him.

Castiel has never seen the Knight of Hell look so incensed, and it makes him shrink back further against the wall as Dean stalks toward him, his body very conscious of the first pain that has ever been inflicted upon it and fearing further abuse.

"Did they hurt you?" Dean asks brusquely.

Castiel shrinks back further, wings drawing around himself as a protective barrier.

"Shit! You're wing!" Dean reaches out to the ruffled and bloodied feathers, but Castiel jerks them away, crying out softly at the shock of pain from the movement. Dean sighs, schooling his features into something smoother than the intense rage he feels at his brother and his brother's so-called friends. He slowly crowds up into Castiel's space, shushing the frightened angel and reaching out a hand to his cheek. It's the first time he has ever touched Castiel.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I promise," he soothes. "I just want to help you."

Slowly, still trembling, Castiel melts towards Dean, leaning against the demon fully.

Dean rubs his hand up and down Castiel's arms and back. "Is it just your wings? Or did they get you anywhere else?"

Castiel shakes his head against Dean's shoulder, silent except for the rustle of fabric the movement creates.

"Let's get you cleaned up the," the demon says softly, gently leading Castiel upstairs and to the master bathroom.

In the light of the bathroom, Dean can see what a mess Cas actually is. While it's true that nothing beyond his wings appears to be injured, Castiel is a mess. His coat has large rips in it, and all of his clothes seem to be splatted with blood one way or another. And Castiel's wing? The poor thing is tattered, blood matting in feathers and dripping to the floor below.

Dean swallows sympathetically. "Cas, do you think you can get your clothes off? They're a mess, and we need to clean them."

Castiel nods shakily, slowly removing his outermost layer. The poor trench coat is probably beyond repair, but Dean doesn't say as much, not sure just how attached the angel is or isn't to the garment. Instead, Dean holds his hand out patiently, waiting while Castiel winces through slipping it over his wings. Dean's heart clenches painfully.

When Castiel deposits the coat in Dean's waiting hands and then goes for the suit jacket, Dean says, "Stop."

Castiel does, looking at him in wide-eyed bewilderment.

Dean stares into his eyes. "Cas, how attached are you to these clothes."

Castiel furrows his brow. "Not very. Why?"

"Do you trust me?"

Castiel stares back at him searching the blackness of his eyes (or does Cas still see green?) before nodding slowly, responding, "Of course." And Dean can tell he's being honest, that the imploring look is only about understanding, and holds no doubt as to Castiel's trust for him. It's an almost overwhelming feeling.

"I'll be right back," Dean tells him, gently folding the trench coat, as if it isn't a lost cause, and placing it on the counter. Then he's out the door.

Castiel isn't left alone for long, which is a good thing, really, as his nerves are still shaken, leaving him afraid that in Dean's absence someone will again come along to hurt him. When Dean does return, not even a minute later, he has scissors in his hand.

Castiel tenses.

Dean approaches him, both hands up and where Castiel can see them. "I'm not going to hurt you." He gestures with his chin at Castiel's clothes. "It's hurting you to get those over your wings, right?"

The angel looks down and away for a moment before bringing his eyes back to Dean's. He nods.

"If you'll let me," Dean continues, "I'll cut them off for you. Are you okay with that?"

Castiel takes in a deep breath, steadying himself before nodding his assent.

"I'll be careful," Dean promises, making his way around the angel, stooping low so as to get at the best angle for cutting the fabric away from the wings.

It's a slow process, Dean trying his best to avoid clipping any feathers. Castiel, for his part, does great, standing perfectly still. When the fabric is finally all cut away, Dean can see, for the first time, the deep stitching and scarification at the base of Castiel's wings. Just as all the souls that make up Castiel's life force are sewn into him, so too, apparently, are the great, black wings. However, Dean doesn't think he would have ever noticed without being so close. Lucifer truly did put in a lot of effort, it would seem, the threading the same inky black as the feathers, the stitching all immaculate so that the white scarring is barely there. It's amazing, and for the first time, Dean feels like he can truly appreciate just how incredible Castiel is, how much effort was put into this angel that was literally created just for him,

Dean doesn't even register that he's tracing the base of the wings with the tips of his fingers until Cas, voice soft and vulnerable, questions, "Dean?" Only then does he notice Cas is trembling under the touch in ways he wasn't before. Dean tries to convince himself the angel is simply cold, not used being divested of all the layers of his clothing, but something else in him hopes that it's more more than just that.

"Right." Dean stands, suddenly feeling parched. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Despite the injuries being few, they appear to be at least decently severe, blood coating the feathers. Dean gently cleans away the blood with a wet cloth in order to find the source. Only one requires stitches, which Castiel suffers through bravely. When finally the only thing left to do is bandage them up, Dean finally takes the time to luxuriate in the soft feel of the feathers, smoothing the ones he can into place. Castiel shudders under the ministrations, and at first Dean believes it is from discomfort. However, when Castiel's breathing becomes shallower, it suddenly hits Dean.

"They're sensitive, aren't they?" he asks softly, not stopping the roving of his hand, still carding his fingers through the silky feathers.

Cas nods minutely, not looking up from the floor.

"Do you want me to stop?" the demon whispers, suddenly finding himself short of breath as well.

Cas takes in a shuddering gasp as Dean runs the whole length of one feather through his finger tips.

"Do you?" he asks again, fisting a whole handful this time.

Castiel buries his face in his hands, emitting a low keening sound from the back of his throat.

"Hey, Cas, look at me," Dean implores.

Castiel shakes his head.

"Cas." His voice is thicker this time, desperate with a need he can't name.

Finally, Cas lets his hands fall away, between his legs. Dean crowds between them, kneeling on the hard bathroom floor, as he uses his free hand to gently lift Castiel's face, the other continuing to caress a wing.

Cas's eyes are burning brighter than Dean has ever seen, set starkly against the pink flush on his cheeks. There are two words that come to Dean's mind in that instant: beautiful and inspiring.

Cas's lips are parted as he softly intakes little gasps, breath hitching according to Dean's touches. A heat hotter than hellfire burns through Dean in response to the picture set before him.

"You want me to stop?" he asks again, so softly that there's no hint of echo in the tiled room.

Cas's eyes flutter shut as he softly shakes his head, a little whimper falling from between perfectly pink lips.

"Need to hear you say it," Dean gasps out, feeling so damn parched and short of breath.

Castiel reaches a hands out to pleadingly grip at Dean. "Please don't stop, Dean."

Dean's own breath is coming in soft pants now. "I won't. I've got you." And he emphasizes the statement with a soft tug at an uninjured area of feathers.

Cas cries out softly, the sound decidedly not one of pain, leaning fully against his demon, forehead settled on Dean's shoulder as the sound devolves into needy, little whimpers and a litany of Dean's name.

"Got you. I've got you," Dean repeats, the hand not currently enraptured by the soft down of Castiel's wing sliding around the angel's neck to card through the hair at the nape of his neck.

As Dean continues, Cas begins nuzzling pitifully at Dean's neck, making the most beautiful noises the demon has ever heard. He loses himself in it all, the feel of Cas against him, Cas's wings beneath his fingers and breath against his neck.

Cas's hands start searching, grasping and clinging, looking for what, he knows not. "Dean," he whimpers, "Dean, Dean, Dean..."

Dean turns his lips against Castiel's hair, nuzzling into it. "What, baby, what is it?"

Cas emits a long, helpless whine. "Dean... Dean, I need..." He breaks off with a frustrated sob.

"Shhh, shhhh. It's okay. I've got you."

"Dean, please," Cas whines, breathless and desperate.

Dean nods, nosing behind Cas's ear. "Alright... Yeah, alright."

When Dean gets up, hand finally falling free of Cas's feathers, he's met with an image far beyond anything he could have ever imagined, something more beautiful than he ever hoped to witness.

Can is completely debauched, hair ruffled and standing on end, and his feathers are mussed and out of place from Dean's hand. His face is a dusky rose, the flush spreading down to his chest. And his eyes... Fuck, those eyes. They're burning the brightest blue Dean has seen in his life, almost searing through him. He knows he never wants to look away.

"Bedroom?" he asks, offering his hand to the angel.

Castiel looks up at him, wide-eyed and lost, and Dean realizes with a pang that Castiel probably doesn't know what that means. He's still so new, so innocent to the world around him. He almost backs out of it entirely, almost backs off as though he hasn't suddenly discovered the thing he just knows he's been missing for all these years, but then Cas is sliding his hand into Dean's and nodding.

He smiles up at Dean, and even though the expression is small, it's still so very open. "I trust you, Dean."

The demon swallows around the lump that has suddenly formed in his throat, nodding and slowly pulling Cas to his feet. "I'll take care of you," he promises, and he hopes the angel knows he means it as something even beyond the confines of their need in this moment.

Dean slowly leads them into the bedroom, never once dropping Cas's hand or looking away from his eyes. When they reach the foot of the bed, Dean removes his shirt. Then his hands are at the waist of Castiel's pants. "Are you sure?"

Cas nods. "I was made for you, after all." And the way he says it, it doesn't sound dirty or sleazy or like he feels he has no choice. The way he sayx it, it just sounds right.

Dean slides Cas's trousers and underwear down his hips, and for the first time since coming into possession of the amazing creature in front of him, he finally gets to see him in full. Cas is all toned, lithe muscle, slim waist tapering off into hips Dean could cut himself on. The angel's cock is curved beautifully up his stomach, head flushed red and slicked with precome. It's the most tempting image the demon's ever been offered.

Cas just lets Dean stare, soaking in the attention, having no concept of any kind of shame or discomfort under the demon's roving gaze. Not the he has anything to be ashamed of.

The same two words yet again come to Dean's mind. Beautiful. Inspiring. And Dean says the first, whispers it reverentially as he steps back into the angel's space. Says it again as if it's a prayer on his lips. A prayer offered up to his angel, his own personal deity to worship at his leisure. And then finally, blessedly, their lips meet, and it's sacrilege and epiphany all at once, holy in ways demons are never meant to take part in. But Dean never wants to stop.

Cas's hands find their way to Dean's waistband, efficiently ridding Dean of the last barrier between them. And then Dean has Cas spread out beneath him, an alter for Dean to worship at, wings spread wide and strong, perfection in every sense of the word, the stark contrast of Cas's white skin against black wings only furthering the spectacle of art that is Castiel.

Dean's hands return to those wings, fingers burrowing into the feathers, eliciting a throaty groan from Cas. His mouth is on Castiel's neck, kissing and biting and marking because this angel is his, and he wants the world to know it. Let anyone who would dare try to separate them know it.

Castiel is arching into him, hands clutching at the back of Dean's head, neck, shoulders, back; touching, mapping, memorizing every plane of muscle as though searching for Paradise, Dean's name tripping off his tongue as holy words on high.

And Dean is on his own pilgrimage, finding his promised land in every arch and divot of Castiel's body. When he reaches Castiel's member, pooling precome onto his stomach, he worships it with his tongue, the angel pulling tight as a bowstring, incoherent as he chasing the heat of Dean's mouth and skillful tongue.

And just as he is about to climax, Dean pulls off with a wicked and obscene slurp, loving the taste of the angel on his tongue, all ozone and rain through the salty tang. Castiel tastes it all as well as Dean kisses him once more, tongue fucking lazily, promisingly, into his mouth. Castiel is drowning in sensation.

And when Dean is moving into him, slow and deliberate, staring down into his eyes. Castiel knows that as an angel, this is the heaven he serves, for all he sees is verdant green fields, all he feels, tastes, smells is Dean.

And when Cas is riding him fast and hard, Dean stares up into endless, glowing blue, knowing no where has been has been home until now.

And in the aftermath of their climax, they lay together, Dean curled around Castiel, face buried in the patch of skin between wings, and Dean swears he will never let go of the angel again.

After the attack and the subsequent events, Castiel finds himself accompanying Dean everywhere, the demon hesitant to allow Cas out of his sight. And even though Dean is constantly apologizing for dragging him along to boring work stuff as he deems it, Cas actually quite enjoys it. He has never gotten to explore the town before, and even if he isn't given free reign, this is more than he's ever seen. Besides, he's not quite sure he would even know what to do if given the opportunity to explore. He has no innate want to wander, only mundane curiosity.

Castiel loves seeing how the townspeople revere Dean, always praising him (though he had been unaware that "terrible" was a compliment until a blonde witch named Bela had called Dean such). Castiel finds himself feeling a surge of pride at how the people listen to Dean, how they look up to him. However, it unsettles him to see that they do not notice the slump in the demon's shoulders as they speak. That they do not notice the lifelessness of his body. That they do not notice how terribly bored Dean is. Dean is malcontent, and it breaks his the heart he is not sure he was even made to have.

One day, about two weeks before Halloween, Castiel finds himself standing off to the side with Crowley as Dean hands out directives to a group of vampires.

"Quite a catch, our Dean," the mayor purrs, oil smeared on the comment.

Castiel does not acknowledge the comment, preferring to ignore this particular demon in favor of watching his own. This does not seem to deter Crowley in the least.

"He hasn't been himself lately though, so dreadfully bored with everything. They don't notice though. Not like you and I do."

Castiel narrows his eyes at the demon. "You would suggest you and I are similar?"

Crowley's eyes predatorialy travel up and down the length of Cas's body before finally settling back on his face. The demon smiles blithely at him. "Not at all. Shiny, little bauble like you? Oh, he much prefers that. Of course, who wouldn't?"

The comment makes Cas shiver in discomfort, and he decides he does not like the mayor of Halloween Town. He tells Dean this later, once they are at home, and the Knight of Hell just laughs, and with a shake of his head says, "Neither does anyone else. But better the devil you know than the one you don't." Castiel nods his head, though he does not understand what that means.

The weeks pass quickly, and before they know it, Halloween has arrived.

"I'll be back before you know it." Dean backs up the promise with a firm press of his lips against Cas's.

"That does not mean I don't wish I could come." The angel is scowling.

Dean chuckles. "Cas, baby, you are probably the least scary thing since kittens. You don't know the first thing about scaring anyone." He ignores the petulant mumbles coming from his angel trying to refute the statement. "But I promise, I'll teach you." He smooths his hand down Castiel's cheek, tucking it under his jaw. "We'll be the most terrifying pair that's ever been. We'll rule the nightmares together."

Castiel finally meets Dean's gaze, feeling warmth spread through him at the notion. He smiles at the tone of the demon's voice. It's the first time he's ever heard Dean sound the least bit excited about his job. The angel nods.

Dean smiles warmly at him. "But for tonight, stay in the house. There won't be anyone in the town tonight, so you'll be fine, but don't take risks, got it? And when I get back in the morning, we'll enjoy the celebration together."

Trying to ignore the niggling dread at being left alone, Castiel latches onto the last part of his demon's comment. "Celebration?"

Dean's soft smile breaks out into a big, toothy grin. "Yep. Fireworks. Confetti. A parade. The whole shebang. You'll love it."

"I'm sure I will."

Dean presses one last kiss to his lips. "I'll see you in the morning." And then the Pumpkin King is off to mire the night in fright.

The moon hangs fat and heavy over the silent town, everyone gone to create a most horrifying night for young and old alike. All but two- an angel that never left, and a monster that returned.

A grin spreads across the Boogie Man's face as the creature makes it down the silent, winding road to Dean Winchester's home.

Castiel is getting ready for bed when a draft runs through the house. That's odd. The house, for all it's haunted appearance (though what in Halloween Town is technically not haunted?) has never presented itself as particularly drafty in the past.

He feels unease settle in his stomach, but tries to chalk it up to nerves at being truly alone for the first time since the three so-called "Boogie's Boys" (a term Castiel did not fully understand, as there had only been one boy) had broken in. There is no one here, he reminds himself. The whole town is out for Halloween. He sets back to his task, going to the bathroom to change into his sleep clothes. It is a wholly ridiculous notion to him, as he has always slept fine in his normal clothes before, but it is a convention Dean now insists upon.

When he walks back into the room, he stops in his tracks.

Sitting on the bed is a women with hair the color of blood tied up in a traditional coiffure, legs primly crossed at the ankle. She spreads her vibrant lips in a smile directed at him.

"Castiel, what a pleasure it is to finally meet you."

He narrows his eyes at her, somewhere between confused and concerned. "What are you doing here?"

The woman stands, smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of her immaculate skirt. "Tsk, tsk, Angel, is that anyway to treat a lady?"

Castiel finds himself taking a step back as she takes one forward. "Why are you not with everyone else?"

She chuckles blithely. "Why I'm here for you, of course."

Cas fluffs up his feathers, an involuntary motion to make him appear more threatening than he is. "Did the Boogie Man send you?"

She throws her head back, peals of genuinely amused laughter echoing around the room. She stops abruptly, pinning him with a look that clearly marks him as her prey. "On no, beautiful. The Boogie Man didn't send me."

The tension in Castiel's shoulders does not lessen.

Her grin widens, flashing perfect white teeth. "I am the Boogie Man."

Dean sidles up to Crowley. "Hey, have you seen Abaddon?"

"You have balls calling her that."

Dean glares at him. "Just answer the fucking question."

Crowley sighs, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. "Can't say that I have, and can't say that I'm sorry for it. Though might I venture to ask why?"

The Knight of Hell clenches his jaw. "Cuz I haven't either. Not hide nor hair."

The mayor raises his eyebrows, a mocking gesture of mild curiosity. "That is shocking. Maybe someone finally got the better of the bitch."

If Dean hears him, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Cover for me. I'm going back to check on Cas."

Dean is gone before he can even hear Crowley yelling after him, "Wait, Dean! I'm just an elected official! I can't do this on my own!"

Everything hurts. Castiel had never thought it was possible to feel this much pain, but now that he knows he can, he can't help wishing he'd never learned it is. His wrists are rubbed raw and bleeding from where he has struggled against the manacles hooked to the ceiling. He's covered in dozens upon dozens of cuts, all paper cut small and burning. He jolts, whimpering as he feels Abaddon run the flat of the blade again the base of his right wing.

She's tutting. "Such a pretty thing. It hardly seems fair Deanie gets keep you all to himself, locked away in his tower. He can't appreciate you for what you really are."

He hisses as she presses the tip of the blade into the scar tissue, just barely breaking the skin.

"Can't wait to take you apart and see how Lucifer did it. Then I can put you all back together in my very own image."

"Dean will save me."

The strength of Abaddon's laughter seems to take even her off guard. "Oh, that's so sweet. But no. I don't think he will. I know you think he loves you," she draws a thin line parallel to the base of his wing with the blade, blood flowing and hot sticky in its wake, "but make no mistake. Dean Winchester is a loveless creature, same as every one else in this town. Sure, he plays at having feelings, but don't think you're so special as to change the nature of a centuries old demon, a Knight of Hell, even. He may treat you like you're special, but you are nothing more than a shiny bauble to him. A very special, very pliable, very gorgeous shiny bauble. But do not think that means he loves you."

And then she's shimmying the blade up under the scar tissue and stitching, and Castiel is howling in pain.

"While I'm going to love putting you back together," she purrs, hot breath ghosting over his ear, "I think I'll enjoy taking you apart the most."

The pain is blinding, searing hot and white through his nerves as she digs under the skin and stitching, humming gleefully the whole time. He screams so long and so loud that it doesn't take long for his voice to crack, tapering off into sick sobs when she finally removes the blade.

"You're such a pretty screamer." She caresses a bloodied hand down his cheek, and he doesn't even have the wherewithal to turn away. Her tongue travels back up the path her hand just made, and she hmm's in appreciation at the taste of sweat and tears and blood on her tongue. She pulls away slowly, trailing a loving hand down his exposed chest. He's barely aware of the sensation, the thrumming pain in his back overriding all his other nerve endings. He's confused, certainly imagining it, drifting in and out of consciousness as he is, when the Boogie Man emits a laugh unlike any he's heard from her so far. It's cold and condescending. And in that same tone, she's asking, "Does he make sure pretty noises with you?"

Rage broils up in Dean, frothing over, animalistic urges that he hasn't felt in eons rearing their ugly heads- maim, kill, torture, destroy. He'll do all these things and more to the monster in front of him. He'll make what she's done to Castiel look like a cake walk.

But she is unconcerned with the fire in his eyes, smiling blithely at him. "You have no one to blame but yourself, Dean."

Dean growls, a dark, inhuman rumble. "You were supposed to be out with everyone else tonight."

Abaddon shakes her head pityingly. "How could I resist such a tempting treat left all on its own?"

"It's your job!" he roars.

He's thrown into the wall before he can even register it's happened, Abaddon's superhuman strength holding him in place, her red, feral grin right in his face. "Job? That's a joke!" She laughs in his face, hot breath ghosting over him. She edges closer still, pushing Dean further into the wall until it is cracking, splintering under the pressure. "That's the problem with this place- people like you and Crowley. People who want to make it all out to be organized, cheap haunted house frights. Well I remember what we really are! What this place used to be! And I'm tired of watching the two of you ruining it!"

With one more push, the wall crumbles, Dean falling with it into the rubble, Abaddon standing tall and proud over him. For a moment, he actually feels frightened, remembering all the old stories of the Boogie Man and what she used to be capable of. He considers that he may actually die here.

But then, in the prevailing silence, he hears the soft sobbing of his name.

Cas...

Losing isn't an option.

He gets to his feet, Abaddon's derisive laughter raining down on him. "You really are in love." She says it with such judgment, such Poor pitiful Pumpkin King woven all into her words, that it only spurs his anger further.

He removes his blade and moves faster than she expects. He's beheading her in the next second. "Damn straight."

When the head finally finishes rolling across the floor, body crumpled in its wake, he walks to tower over it. Abaddon's shocked eyes glare up at him. "You think it's as easy as all that? I'm the Boogie Man! You can't kill me! You can never kill me!" Her laughter is manic, crazed in its echoing lilt.

Dean simply shakes his head. "Maybe I can't kill you. But I can still stop you." He walks over to where her body lays on the floor, her shouts echoing after him.

He sets to work, sawing and hacking, blood spattering up in his face. When he's done, her body is in no less than thirteen pieces, strewn all across the floor.

He walks over to Castiel, feeling sick to his stomach at the sight of the angel strung up and maimed, blood pooling at his feet. Dean is as gentle as he can be in letting Cas down, but the angel still sobs in pain, delirious as he weakly scratches at Dean, muttering pallid pleas.

Castiel comes back to himself some time after they make it back to the house and Dean has managed to clean and stitch up the angel wounds. They simply lay in the bed, not speaking, as Dean holds Castiel close, just as jarred by the experience as his angel.

When morning finally peaks gray and misty over the horizon, great cheers and shouts echo up at them from the streets below. Castiel untangles himself from Dean, standing slowly and making his way to the window. He furrows his brow. "What is happening?"

Dean walks up behind him, slotting himself between wings and gently wrapping Castiel back up in his arm. "Halloween is over. Time to celebrate a job well done."

The angel nods, and after a beat adds, "Thank you, Dean."

Now it's the demon's turn to be confused. "For what?"

"For saving me." He says it like it's the obvious answer.

Only that Dean doesn't feel he deserves any thanks, a pit sinking ever further in his stomach. "Cas... shit." He buries his face in the crook of his angel's neck. "It's my fault to begin with."

Castiel turns sharply in his arms, and Dean's surprised he manages not to get a mouthful of feathers in the jarring movement. Cas is staring at him, blue eyes glowing bright and fierce. "It is not your fault. You simply assumed that she would do as she was supposed to. You could never have guessed this would happen."

He gives a self-pitying snort. "Yeah, well, you know what they say when you assume." He refuses to meet Cas's eyes, even when the angel places a hand on either side of his face in a request for such.

"I don't know what that means," the angel states, so matter-of-fact that Dean almost forgets he's supposed to be wallowing in self-hatred long enough to laugh. Only almost though.

"But I do know it is not your fault," Castiel continues. "It is simply the nature of this place, and I hold none of that against anyone."

And while Dean knows Cas means well in saying that, it doesn't stop it from feeling like a knife through his heart. Cas shouldn't be here. He'll only ever get hurt. But the angel manages to distract him with the soft press of his lips against Dean's, and it's like a weight is lifted off his chest. To have something, someone, as special and wonderful as Cas offering up trust and forgiveness makes him feel like maybe he can be deserving of such things. But surely he'll never be deserving of Cas. He's more than happy to try, though.

The moment is broken when Castiel jumps in surprise at a series of loud bangs coming from outside the window. He frowns over his shoulder at the scene unfolding below.

"What is that paper floating about?"

Dean glances around Cas. "Confetti."

Castiel nods solemnly. "Ah, yes. It's a parade."

And Dean actually laughs, deliriously happy, or maybe just delirious, but it feels great all the same. Because maybe the night had been awful, but it's a new year now, a new start, and Dean couldn't be more ready to face it than he is, with his angel by his side.

"You want to go join the celebration?" Dean asks after he finally calms his laughter.

Cas shakes his head, glancing up at Dean through dark lashes. "No. I think I'd rather we celebrate in private."

Dean smiles down at him. "Yeah. I can get on board with that."

So I ran the whole of my emotional gamut with this fic. First I was super excited and really enjoying writing it. Then I hated it, was convinced it was the worst thing I had ever written in my entire life, actually cried over it. I considered just scrapping the whole idea and never bothering with anything out of the box ever again. Convinced myself I was an awful writer and who was I fooling by evening trying? But then, when reading back over it and editing it tonight, I actually became very proud of it. All I know now is that I'm glad it's over. I spent a week straight on this bad boy, and almost 10k words later, I'm ready for a break lol.

All the same, I hope someone finds it at least a little enjoyable, because that was my goal- at least one person to garner some enjoyment out of this possibly cracky idea of mine (also to write a TNBC au because I'm obsessed). And happy Halloween! I've already had my festivities, and shall be doing the Wiccan thing of staying in in observance of the Pagan new year. Maybe also celebrating the Dean Winchester way as I still have several coupons for Halloween candy lol. But! I hope you guys all have a blast, whatever way it is you plan to celebrate! And if my fic factors into that at all, kudos to me!