Title: Sound of Madness

Summary: Samuel has the "apple pie" life while Castiel returned to war. Dean has been left behind with nothing more than a fractured 'profound bond' and a dwindling sense of sanity. This leads the Righteous Man to say yes. But to who?

Rating: M for adult situations and language.

Pairing(s): Future Destiel and possibly others.

Spoiler(s): If you've seen up to "Swan Song" (Season 5, Episode 22) you should be fine. Who knows though. I may mention later episodes or not.

Note: I do not own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form. Don't we all wish we did though? On with the story!

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all."

A laugh. "I will catch you if you fall Dean."

"Well, it's a long way down man. Hell, the taxis look like Hot Wheels!"

"If nothing else I have been true to my word since we have met. Do you not trust me?"

"Hey! No need to play the trust card, I simply-"

"Dean."

"Alright, fine. Just...promise me you won't let me become a smear on the pavement."

"I swear it on my grace, Dean."

"Okay. Okay, let's do this."

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped over the edge.

Three months earlier.

Dean scrunched his eyes against the onslaught of sunlight streaming into the most recent motel room. A low groan of annoyance left him before he moved his arm over his face to try and block it out. "Sammy, close the Goddamn curtains!" Silence. "Sammy!" He practically growled as he was annoyed, sitting up and glaring at the window. Momentarily blinded and irritated, he opened his mouth to curse out his brother but any promises of violence died. There was no one else in the room. How did he forget?

A sigh left the hunter as he fell back against the mattress, digging his palms into his eyes. After the end of the Apocalypse with Micheal and Lucifer cast into the Pit without Sam, things were quick to change. Free from the need of the many, he had quickly put a stop to any involvement with the hunting business. He had not been willing to wait for another chance at normalcy. Normal was subjective though, at least to Dean it was. On a daily basis they had robbed graves, decapitated the creatures of the night, and tugged at the feathers of angels. To people that had never seen behind the veil that obscured the supernatural, it would all seem so bizarre and worthy of a trip to the psych ward. To people like the Winchesters it was normal. Dean let him go however.

A sigh left the tired man as he was brought full circle to his original thoughts. Samuel, dear Sammy, finally had a chance to be normal. Not willing to wait for another, the moose had up and left his eldest sibling for the apple pie life. "I want a real life, Dean. I don't want to pretend to be someone else. We just saved the world. I think we deserve a break. A permanent one that doesn't involve one of us being a corpse." That had been six months ago. The Winchester brothers kept in contact of course. Was it selfish to say that the Righteous Man felt bitter about hearing Sammy act so carefree after such a short time? Yes, yes it was. He was happy for his little brother though, happy to see him assimilating to normal society. No demons, ghosts, wendigo, succubi, an-

He paused at the A word. Even now it was still a sore spot, much more tender then the one left by Sam. Castiel had returned shortly after his untimely demise by Lucifer's hands was brimming over with relief and mirth. Not that Dean would ever admit anything more than astonishment of course. Alas, it was never meant to be. Restored and improved, the Angel of the Lord had seemed to forget a few of his human qualities he had gained during his powerless days. The wellfare of Heaven, brought into chaos by the loss of Micheal, was more important than any fragile friendship. "No Paradise. No Hell. Just more of the same. I mean it Dean. What would you rather have? Peace or freedom?" So Cas left for another war that neither Dean nor Sam could help with.

Finally finding the will to roll out from under the sheets, he found his way to his duffel bag and pulled it open. Dean wasn't even surprised to see books in there anymore. They were casually pushed aside followed by rock salt, bullets, a few dozen markers, some kind of stake. When had it become so difficult to find clean clothes? After a brief scuffle with a few more hunter necessities, a faded ACDC shirt and worn, torn jeans. The perfect uniform. "Dibs on first shower this morning." Never mind that no one was there to counter his claim.

Now where did the circumstances leave Dean? Micheal's Sword fingered the keys to his precious Impala as he sat, silent, in a baby blue booth of a mom and pop's diner. He could almost feel a gaze boring into his face and hear the crunch of salad leaves as a fork was thrust through him. Looking up though, he saw no one; it was just him by his lonesome. No rabbit food, no blue eyes. Looking down at his faded jeans, he rubbed his knees thoughtfully and sighed. Dean realized he was doing that a lot recently.

"Coffee?"

Jade eyes blinked up at the waitress dully before he focused on the pitcher of black gold in her hand. "Oh! Uh, yeah. Please." He offered a tired smile to aged woman who held pity in her eyes. Must look as bad as I feel, he mused bitterly looking down at his untouched cheeseburger. Dean sometimes wondered what normal people would do if they knew what stalked them in the dead of night. Wondered what it would be like to be acknowledged. Maybe then people wouldn't be so quick to come up with reasons on why he was bruised from head to toe with blood stains on his jeans. It only made Dean realized how alone he was without Sam and Castiel. Hell, even having Crowley or Gabriel around would be a welcome reprieve. He paused at the thought. Maybe this is why I could never go back to Lisa; my friends are spawns of Heaven and Hell. Or dead.

He groaned and let his head hit the table. "Who needs normal anyway?" came his quiet grumble. At least Sammy had been somewhat normal. Sitting up properly, the oldest Winchester brought the cup of caffeine to his lips. "Cheers." The cup was raised slightly before he downed half of it.

One salt-and-burn later, Dean found himself at the local watering hole. Being a Friday afternoon, the entire bar was alive with the young and old, drunk and sober. Before Lucifer nearly took Samuel with him to the Pit, before Castiel and his too-blue eyes, Dean Winchester had been a ladies man. Others called it being a whore but the Righteous Man himself called it stress relief. The hunt was not life threatening, the talks were not with families half mad with gried, and the reward wasn't waking up to live another day. In layman's terms, it was as close to the apple pie life he could get.

Now it was just like getting a taste of ash. The sultry looks from a plastic blonde went unnoticed and only the cold shot glass in his hand kept him in the plain of reality. Tonight, Dean simply wanted to forget.

Forget his brother who had left the hunter life.

Forget the beasts after his head.

Forget blue eyes and the smell of sunlight.

Fuck.

Dean downed his shot and enjoyed the burn. "Fucking angels." He waved down the bartender for a second, third, and forth shot. By the n-teenth shot, the hunter realized that alcohol had made his memories more acute. While before he had simply looked like a man down on his luck he now looked as pathetic and lonely as he felt. He was on the verge of tears, something Dean would never acknowledge sober, let alone admit out loud. Everything had molded into a giant puddle of loathing and confusion. Why did everyone he care for leave? Why couldn't Sammy stay? Hell, why couldn't Cas?

The stool next to him creaked. "At the rate you're going your liver is going to shut down." The voice sounded amused, strangely enough.

Looking up at the stranger, it took him a moment to realize it was not a woman seeking a bedroom conquest with him but a man. This wasn't by any means new. He somehow attracted both sexes but normally Dean never bothered with the rougher gender. He had been using that word a lot lately- normal. Normal was before Castiel wasn't it? Now Dean did look him over.

There wasn't much to see; he had a hood draw to hide his face and was clad in mostly black. It clung to his body however, giving him the estimation that the man was about his size and build. The most interesting thing on him was the silver bands on his right thumb and pointer finger that were decorated with rough black stones and engravings. Dean wasn't entranced by his physical display but his verbal one. When the stranger chuckled and brought a glass to his lips, it sent a warmth through him. "It's alright if you don' want to share your problems with a stranger. I wouldn't blame you. "

The hunter blinked a few times and swallowed. That voice was British, but not the annoying whine of Crowley's accent or the quiet hum of the man that lived in a blue police box. "Here." A cup of scotch was set before the lonely man and he raised his own. When the bartender had come by, Dean had no idea but accepted the glass. The stranger raised his own and flashed him a Cheshire Cat smile. "To bleedin' hearts, family, and solitude." The smile must have been contagious because before the eldest Winchester realized it he was returning it to the stranger and clicked their alcohol together. "Amen to that."

That night, Dean Winchester did not return to his hotel room with a women. He did not return alone either.

Blood. That's all he saw, all he felt on his hands. The screams of Hell never quite penetrated his state of mind as he admired the red between his fingers, against flesh that was not his own. Bringing his other hand up he pressed the thin blade onto the taunt belly and slowly pushed it past the epidermis, through muscle and into the softer tissues.

There was a yell of agony the followed as he carelessly shoved his hand into the opening made only moments before and coiled an intestine around his fingers. He squeezed. While the flesh of a woman was soft and her center warm, this was far more enjoyable than any copious amounts of sex. How tender and hot it was, how he felt the pulse of organs moved agianst his palm. It was what man was in their truest form.

A sudden pull and the rope of entrails became exposed to the flames of the underworld. Looking down at the coil of pink around his wrist, he recalled something about the small bowel being almost three times as long as a man was tall. Was it true? He grabbed another handful of the organ and started to pull it out from its place inside the body, listening to the wails of horror as his victim watched more and more of their innards became visible. Five feet...ten feet...twenty feet. A frown marred his features when the end of the bowel meet it's larger brother. Well, it certainly was long.

"Please...Stop! N-no more.." The low moan made the sadist pause. That voice…It sounded familiar. His brow furrowed in thought. He couldn't remember just who he was disemboweling; maybe a woman? A man? Staring at the angry red mouth that the small intestine was pulled from, he trailed his eyes upward. A set of male pectorals, an Adam's apple and then- The small intestine was dropped onto the floor made of ash and blood. There, pinned to the rack with barbed wire, was none other than Dean Winchester, Sword of Micheal. He was staring at the mirror image of himself.

Dean woke. He was drenched with sweat and the sheets sticking uncomfortably to his limbs like a second skin. The world was in water color and trying to roll onto his side only blinded him. What the hell? Blinking a few times, the eldest Winchester realized he was staring at the red numbers of the hotel alarm clock. 8:13 A.M. blinked back at him. He found himself mesmerized by the red lights as his groggy mind pieced together the night before.

There had been the burn of alcohol and blurring lights. There had been...someone. Someone with dark hair, shaggy but soft, and blue, no, green eyes. A set that reminded him of the ones he saw every day in the mirror; haunted, tired, corrupted- Maybe that was what had urged him to seduce the man into his bed instead of a busty bar babe. Someone who was just as broken as he was. Dean took a deep breath before slowly rolling over. Empty. Swallowing down his bitter disappointment, he slowly sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Well, he mused, that is the point of a one night stand. It was a bitter thought really, one that made his heart ache and his soul cry out for someone, anyone, to save him as he had done for others.

But now was not the time for such wishes.

Perhaps a shower would be a moment of peace. Taking a deep breath and finally standing he headed toward the tiny hotel bathroom. The blonde passed the aged bathroom mirror without much thought before suddenly doing a double take. His own jade eyes reflected back as did all the scars from various battles. That was not what had captivated him however. He hesitated before raising his hand to stroke the hand print on his shoulder. To hell with all the other marks; none of them had a story compared to this one. The mark of a "profound bond". While the rest of the old wounds were faded to greys and browns, this one always kept a pinkish hue as if it had been made recently. Dean covered it and splayed his fingers out to match the print. It was so warm, so alive. The vague recollection of Cas saying part of his grace was in him came to the front of his mind. Dean always wondered what that actually meant. Was it like a soul bond of some sort? Something intimate? Maybe it was something taboo for an angel to do. Well, it was too late to ask now.

Finally turning away he turned on the shower. The pipes groaned and creaked with the action of pushing water through, making the hunter question his choice in hotel rooms. It wouldn't be the first time. All that mattered was that the hot water came out, well, hot and clear. It did. Satisfied, the pants and boxers were removed before entering under the spray. Sigh. Even if Dean would probably never see Heaven again at least he got a taste from human pleasures. The ones that still had any power over him anyway. Dean easily spent twenty minutes enjoying the warm embrace the shower offered before deciding he should actually clean himself.

The shower groaned as the water was turned off and the curtain was thrown aside. Brushing his fingers through his slick hair, Dean took a deep breath. He was tired, oh so tired. But he did not have the luxury of taking a vacation. Taking the first step out of the tub and onto the tile floor, Dean Winchester went about his usual morning routine. Dry off with a towel, toss said towel, brush teeth, be admired by another man-

Wait.

Dean snapped his attention to the left of the mirror, toothpaste foaming oozing down his jaw. Blink. Though it was a delayed reaction he jumped and turned around, toothbrush gripped tightly in hand. There was a pregnant pause between both men as they looked at one another, one startled and wary and the other amused and unconcerned. The man from the bar suddenly held up his hands in surrender, a sheepish smile forming on his lips. "I come in peace, I swear." Dean Winchester could only blink owlishly at him and gulp. Well shit.

Author's Note: If you are reading this I thank you for reading my story! It's my first attempt at fanfiction so please don't be too incredibly harsh. Criticism is always welcome however! Opinions, thoughts, concerns, wants to continue, all welcome in your review! In fact, I'm not sure if I'll even continue this…But if I do, I have some semblance of a plan in mind.

Cheers,

Moe