Disclaimer: Don't owe sadly.

A/N: Well here's the next installment :) Enjoy!

Chapter 4

Time slips away. The first sunrise almost blinds Dean. It takes a few minutes crouching near the ground in a small clearing on top of a mound, arms raised over his face for his eyes to feel like they're no longer burning. Squinting, he takes in various shades of purple streaking across the sky. There's the rolling hills overlapping each other with blue hues the faintest dusting shadows of trees. It's a cold beauty and for a moment Dean thinks that it's one of the most beautiful pure things he's ever seen.

For a moment, he lets himself break away and enjoy the moment. The deadly pristine of Purgatory caresses his weathered face with sharp little daggers of ice. She hovers so briefly between the black hearted night and white veined day. Parting his lips, Dean stands there still as a statue soaking up the eerie calmness. Blinking, he feels a shift in him, something shutting down while another part awakens. Inhaling deeply, he tastes the wetness of water, the tinge of blood, the chalk of rot. He watches with simple eyes, his nose and tip of his ears turning red as cuts of orange-red slash into the sky.

The sun rises, the faint yet harsh rays slicing through the trees. Off in the distance, a dark cloud erupts into the sky. Breaking his gaze towards the cloud, Dean snaps out his trance reality sinking hard and fast into his stomach. The chiming of limbs is almost as if Purgatory is giggling at thinking that this little human thought it was beautiful here. Narrowing his eyes, Dean notices that the cloud is flying against the wind, realization dawning on his face on how fast the cloud is moving towards him, the tale-tail hints of wings and long tails screaming one word to his mind.

Dragons.

Without a moment to spare, Dean dashes down the tiny hill and back into the darkness of the dense woods. Just as his brown jacket slips away from the light, does a ray from the sun break free, the piercing blue-white curling in and around itself. The long being twists as if almost laying itself open to the world. The dragons spot the opening, banking like a flock of crows towards the light. Distraction obtained, the light almost seems to hug into itself as if curling wings before launching off into the distance, the dragons giving chase.

Dean wipes the sweat from his brow, feeling exposed out in the day-light despite being crouched right alongside the tree-line. To his left is a small meadow, overgrown with thin tall grass that sliced his clothing into thin paper cut tears. Running his thumb over the rim the bone handle of his knife, he shifts staring at the cluster of needles before his boots.

A faint crack of a twig and Dean fights to keep himself still, to appear to be unaware. He's been waiting for a while, letting himself bleed in order for some creature to catch a whiff of blood. His palm aching from the swallow cut, Dean counts down, honing his ears to take in each light step of some monster inching closer and closer.

He waits till there's the slight huff of a snout. One millisecond and he could die here. But he won't. He's going to get Cas, get out of here…get to Sam. First Cas. Closing his eyes, Dean takes a breath, clearing his mind of everything.

First Cas.

Gotta find Cas.

He lunges left right as slim form flies by. He feels its faded clothes of what looks like some frilly French 17th century get-up. Boots skid along the dry ground halting his body into a quick stop. His left hand launches himself forward as the right one flicks his knife flush with his forearm. The creature stares up at him through long grimy blond locks, golden cat-like slits flashing in surprise.

Dean slices quick and fast, knowledge of where exactly the most pain can be caused with the smallest of slices burning with clarity. Wrestling with the creature, Dean swears he tastes sulfur on his tongue as he pins the monster to the ground. Towering over the creature lays still, those golden orbs fixed up at him with fearful anger.

"Where's Cas?" Dean's voice is tight as he tries to keep the tense situation in his court. One false move and he'll be this cat's cat-nip.

"I'll kill you," sneers the monster through a row of fangs.

"Not today," Slicing deep and upwards along the chest, Dean stops short of reaching the jugular. "Now, where's Cas? He's a man in a tan trench-coat, white scrubs, black hair and blue eyes."

The monster laughs, as if all its wounds mean nothing to it. "You smell like a human, though its been awhile since I've seen one. Mmmm, come to think of I miss the taste of human flesh."

Dean realizes in soaking in that long sinister smile that this creature isn't taking him serious. That nothing here will take him as a threat. He'll be the human, the weaker species that can't defend itself. That is the number one special on the menu.

Taking in a deep breath, he fights to remember that cold clarity of the sunrise. "It's all about simplicity, my boy," an old familiar voice hums in the back of his mind. And it clicks, the sunrise and why he stopped, this place in general…the rules. It's all simple. Black and white. Monster. Human. Hunter. Hunted. Simple.

Something dark rumbles deep within him and Dean remembers the last time he let it out to play. Remembers the worried, borderline scared looks Sam sent his way when he plowed through every demon searching for Lisa and Ben. Tilting the blade upwards and letting it skim just deep enough to let blood trickle out, he makes it trek up the neck and stop just below the chin.

Eyes narrowing into slits, Dean lets his lip curl into a tight smirk. "The angel." He can barely recognize his voice, so steadfast with a dark promise. It works. The creature pauses as if sensing the change that this isn't some regular old human.

Knowing now that he has a captured audience, Dean lets the sulfuric words fall out of his mouth. "Tell me where the angel is or I'm going to show you just what this little human can do."

In the end, Musketeers reject didn't know anything. Without sparing a glance at the remains, Dean cups his shaking blood-stained hands close to his body, hugging the knife near the warmth of his chest. Walking pointlessly in the direction he was facing, Dean is only able to make it a few trees down before he collapses on his knees and throws up. It's barely anything, the nerves making his stomach twist in unimaginable knots.

He lost it. He knows that and vowed to himself to never go down that path again. But it is the only way. The only way to survive in this never-ending chase, to create a picture of something he's not suppose to be rifled with. He never told Sam but one of the reasons he enjoyed torturing was the mere fact he or Alistair just had to say his name and his next victim was quaking. No need to prove himself over and over again or deal with any sass or opposition. They knew who he was and what he was capable of and it was addictive having that power.

Sam. Guilt swells in Dean that he barely hears the nearing cackles of what sounds like hyenas. Sam would be disappointed, chew him out for giving in. But he wouldn't understand, can't and doesn't need to know. Swallowing down, Dean tilts his head pained eyes taking in the dark-skinned cluster of the next batch of monsters tearing into the remains as if it was a feast. "Sorry Sam."

Pushing Sam out of his mind, shaking loose his guilt, Dean slowly rises onto his feet. He can't think like that, not anymore. In fact, he can't even imagine Sam in his head. It's dangerous and he needs to survive. Needs to find Cas. Yeah, that's it.

One of the monsters looks up, its black eyes shining in joy alongside the bright red smile.

Find. Cas. Focus on that. Let everything else go.

Keep. It. Simple.

"Hear that Cas," Dean prays silently, "I'm going to hunt you down." Simple. Enough to calm his nerves, to settle the guilt back down.

Pure and simple.

High pitch sniggering creeps into his ears. Face hardening, Dean pivots and bolts between the trees, feets running fast and sure as the pack give chase to even fresher meat.