Author's Note: Some of you may be confused as to why I didn't put this in the crossover section. I didn't, because let's be real, no one would check out this pairing. Also, this is a Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran story. Just told in a new way. So it's not technically wrong, haha. For anyone who is confused, Dean Winchester is from the show Supernatural. Most of you probably already know that though, if you've bothered to click on this story. If not, I tried to include enough info for a reader to still understand what's going on. Hope you enjoy it!

Don't know, don't own

Dean Winchester was sick of hunting the supernatural scumbags of the world. His brother, Sam, was dead. Well and truly dead this time. Sent to heaven. Or so the angel Castiel had told him. His parents were dead. Bobby was dead. He had no-one.

He'd kept at the hunting for awhile after Sam died. He even went international. Traveled to all different countries to hunt things that were local there that he'd never or would never encounter in America.

The last place he'd been was India. He was tracking a shape-shifter that'd take on the shape of a Bengal tiger who was terrorizing local villages. It'd killed 10 people already. He'd tracked it into an old sewer pipe and put a silver bullet in its skull, but not without garnering a few scratches of his own. The shifter/tiger had raked its claws down his chest, and now he had a few pretty scars to show for it.

It was interesting at first, hunting internationally. It sharpened his skills. Gave him something new to do. But even that got old after awhile. He became sick of the job, something he never thought he would do. He'd already tried out the whole apple pie-white-picket-fence style life with the girl and kid the first time he thought Sam was dead, but that didn't suit him. The kid wasn't his own, but still, he did feel bad leaving them behind. But it was better all around if he kept to himself. Nothing changed the second time around.

He was done now. He hung a 'Gone Fishing' sign on the little house he'd bought, in case any other hunters came looking around for him, and had thrown away all his old cell phones. Burned his fake IDs. The whole nine yards. He closed his eyes, stuck a pin on a random place on a map, packed up his stuff and he was gone.

That's how he ended up in London, England. He'd had his baby, the Impala, fixed so that he could drive it on the other side of the road. He hated seeing his baby torn up like that, but it was better than leaving her behind.

He got some new fake IDs upon his arrival. Not for hunting though. It was to avoid anyone finding him and trying to drag him back in. It was a clean slate. Besides, he wasn't the Dean Winchester he used to be. Not anymore. Life had hardened him into an uncaring man. Almost to the point Sam had gotten to when he'd lost his soul. He just didn't care about anyone or anything anymore. Hell, he didn't have no one and nothing to care about.

So he took on a new alias. He combined the name of his dad's two best friends from his time in the military. He took the name Sebastian from one of his father's buddies, and took the surname Moran from his other buddy. And thus, Sebastian Moran was born.

He didn't live much cleaner than he did in America. He lived in a dingy apartment in the heart of London and made most of his money hustling pool and running credit card scams. It wasn't as easy to do when he was staying locked down in one place. He became too familiar to people. So he began moving around some more, across the UK. But always, for some reason, found himself drawn back to London.

And that's where he met Jim Moriarty. Most nights, and days if he was being honest, were spent drinking and smoking, and then it was back to his apartment with some girl, or even a guy if he was really wasted. He got into fights almost once a week, usually more.

The only time he was ever well and truly sober was when he was practicing his sniper-skills. It was a hobby he'd picked up after the first couple months in London. He'd used a sniper rifle before during his hunting days, but usually preferred a handgun. There wasn't much use for distance shooting really, in that line of work. But like anything, it was something new to do, and he found he quite liked the machine. It was beautiful in a way that handguns were not. Dean, no, Sebastian, wasn't a very poetic kind of guy, but he found a kind of artistic value in the whole thing.

He'd practice everywhere. It started on the roof of his building, shooting tin cans in alleyways, near the feet of stray cats to see how high they'd jump and how fast they'd take off running. Then he got bolder. He marked out more specific targets. He'd find his target, and then judge from the ground level where he'd need to be placed for the perfect shot. He'd walk into a shop and mark boxes of cereal or canned goods with little red 'Xs'. Then he'd take up his position on a roof and see how many shots he could get in before the cops showed up.

Then he'd go down and check out the damage like the rest of the civilians, chatting frantically about what happened and why. He really went to check out his shots. He wasn't all that great at first. It was a lot harder than he first expected, but over time he became flawless. He could nail anything, moving or stationary. And surprisingly, it never got old, but he did itch for a challenge now and then. But that could usually be drowned out with a few shots of whiskey and a good old fist fight.

Sebastian was stumbling out of a bar, cigarette hanging from his mouth and patting his pockets for his lighter, when he realized he wasn't alone. The first attacker came from his right. Even buzzed he could handle him easily enough. Then another came from around the corner of the bar. Two on one. He'd faced worse. It was when two more joined the party that he began to have some trouble.

He'd managed to knock out one man before his arms were twisted behind his back and fists began raining down on his face. He took a punch to the stomach before he was able to get out of the man's grip. After that he clashed two of the thugs' heads together, and took the other out with a knee to the stomach, then a right hook to the face.

He shook out his arm, and then flexed his right hand slowly, looking at his bloody knuckles. He stretched his jaw, heard it pop, and brought a hand up to wipe the blood from his nose. No serious damage. He sniffed and searched for his dropped cigarette. He picked it up from the ground. It was slightly damp but not bad. He nicked a lighter from one of the guy's pockets, and had just lit it when he heard clapping.

The sound echoed between the building walls. He looked around for the culprit, his quick eyes darting about. He didn't need to search long, because a small, lithe figure stepped into the moonlight a few yards away from him.

"Well done, well done. I must say, I am impressssed." The man's tone was lilting, hinting at an Irish accent. South Irish, Sebastian guessed. Probably Dublin. But it was hard to tell because there was something sinister about it. He could detect the malice simmering behind it.

He took a drag of his cigarette, exhaled, and then spoke. "Am I supposed to care?" he retorted, leaning against the wall of the bar.

The man was wearing a suit that probably cost more money than Sebastian had ever owned at one time in his life. His hair was black, and his eyes were almost just as dark. He was attractive, Sebastian noted without much thought. It was one of those nights where a nice pair of tits and long legs just weren't enough for him. But something about the man's smile, feral in its intensity, led him to believe that this was not a man to be messed with, despite his seemingly small frame.

"You should," the man drawled, taking a couple steps closer, his hands placed lazily in the pockets of his black slacks. "I am your new boss, after all, Dean."

He inhaled sharply. No one here knew his name. No one. "Who the hell are you?" Dean, no, Sebastian, demanded, all thoughts of getting this man out of his clothes and back to his apartment gone from his mind.

The man smiled that feral smile again. Sebastian's thoughts jumped automatically to 'demon'. It'd been a couple years now since he'd hunted, but he still kept salt with him as a precaution. And he still had the tattoo on his chest he'd gotten with Sam to ward off demonic possession. He might be rusty, but he could still kick some demon-ass if he needed to.

"Oh, right, sorry. It's Sebastian now, isn't it? My mistake." The man fricken' giggled. Giggled. "And you should care, Sebastian. That was a test for you, after all, and you passed it. Congratulations."

Sebastian clenched his jaw as the man stopped a couple feet from him. "That was you?" He pointed at the four men lying on the alley floor.

The man nodded. "I see they managed to mark up that pretty face of yours a bit."

"-What did you expect? You set four guys on my ass," Sebastian protested, feeling the sudden need to defend himself to this man, although he wasn't sure why. Why should he care what this man thought of him?

The man held up his hand. "Ah, ah, Sebastian, no interrupting Daddy when he's speaking." Sebastian shut his mouth, resisting the urge to tell this douche-lord to eat it. Once again, he didn't understand why he was listening to him.

"That's a good boy," the man continued. He waved his hand at the pile of men. "No matter, practice will make perfect." He smiled again, almost adoringly at the bloodied men. It was then that Sebastian realized that he was dealing with a man, or whatever he was, who wasn't entirely sane. Someone who wasn't all there in the head. And for some reason, excitement coursed through him. This was something new.

"I've seen your work, Sebastian. Which is why I'm here. I'm quite a fan. My particular favorite works of yours are the grocery shops. You've gotten quite good over the past year. I'm also a fan of your older work as well." His eyes glinted as they flashed up to meet Sebastian's. He knew exactly what this man was referring to. His hunting days. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably, and it had nothing to do with the brick wall biting into his back.

"So what do you want from me?"

The man stepped closer until he was only a couple inches from Sebastian's face. The man's eyes flickered down to his lips before moving back up. "So, so much," he drawled. Sebastian swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, and unconsciously wet his lips.

The man trailed a pale, bony finger down Sebastian's face, lingering over the forming bruise on his cheekbone, and then the crack on his lip. He moved down, his fingers spreading slightly as they traced over the scarred claw marks on his torso. They were perfectly aligned, as if the man knew exactly where they were.

"You work for me now, Sebastian Moran." He smiled, ghosting his lips over Sebastian's, and laughed. "I've always wanted a pet tiger."

Sebastian scowled at that and pushed the man away. There was only so much taunting he could take. The man only laughed louder. Madder. "Oh, we're going to have so much fun, you and I."

"Who are you?" Sebastian demanded again.

"Jim Moriarty. Hi," he trilled, wiggling his fingers. Sebastian shook his head, not quite understanding this man's change in moods. It was boarding on manic. And yet, it only caused the excitement to flow through him faster.

Jim Moriarty straightened out his suit then, tugging it back into place. When he looked back up at Sebastian, his face was business-like. "My address is on the card, which you'll find in your pocket. Your first order of business is to kill these men and bury the bodies. Once that is done come to the address. I'll have you properly fitted for some suits, and we'll go from there."

"I don't kill innocent people," Sebastian declared. He may not care about anything anymore, but he wasn't a cold-blooded killer.

"Trust me, darling, these men are far from innocent."

Sebastian stood his ground, folding his arms across his chest. Jim Moriarty rolled his eyes dramatically. "They're thugs employed by demons. They kill innocent people for a living. I found them loitering in a nearby parking lot. I thought it would be a nice welcoming gift for you. Sentimental value and all."

His face contorted then, becoming truly deadly for the first time all night, and Sebastian realized where this man's true height came from. "Never question me again, Sebastian. Not if you value that pretty little head of yours. Now clean this up. I haven't got all night you know." And then he was smiling again, his eyes alight with laughter.

"I do hope to see you soon, Sebby." Jim Moriarty winked. He snapped his fingers and a car pulled up around the curb.

"What should I tell people when they ask what's happened to me?" Sebastian didn't really care what people thought. He didn't have any real friends. He just wanted to see how this man, his boss, would respond.

"Tell them you've gone fishing."

Sebastian shook his head and let out a breathy laugh as Jim headed for the car. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

"Oh, and one more thing," Jim called from the car. Sebastian looked back up, exhaling. "If I ever see you smoking again after tonight, I will put the cigarette out on your arm." He smiled brightly. "Au revoir, darling." He blew a kiss and the car peeled away.

Sebastian looked at his burning cigarette, and then at the pile of unconscious bodies on the floor. He'd dug up hundreds of graves in his lifetime, and hidden almost as many bodies. Four would take no time at all. And he knew just where to bury them.

Sebastian shook his head again, and smiled to himself. He tossed the cigarette on the ground and smashed it under his boot. He reached into his coat pocket and felt the sharp edges of a card waiting for him.

It was then that Dean Winchester, no, Sebastian Moran, knew that he would follow that mad bastard Jim Moriarty to the ends of the Earth for the rest of his life.

I'm possibly considering continuing this. Maybe. If anyone is interested, let me know. If not, still, reviews are loved and appreciated! Thanks for reading!