I do not own Supernatural.


.o0Captivated0o.

It's that night when I truly discovered how unstable Dean is. I'm sleeping in our hotel room, the soft clean sheets swaddled around me as the air conditioner loudly rattles from the corner of the room. I'm dozing, not completely asleep when the door busts open.

Since Dean and I have been travelling together, he has killed three people. I had not witnessed him doing so, but him coming home stained in blood was a good indicator. When I had murdered the man who touched me, Dean had held him down and that had been the extent of me seeing him partake in murder.

But now he was dragging a man's limp form into our room.

"Shut the door." Dean's voice was vacant and harsh, green eyes hard as flint as he shoved the man into our small bathroom. I obeyed instantly, closing the blinds as well.

"What are you doing?" My voice is a hissed whisper, panic already making my heart rate spike dangerously. My fingers dig into the flannel cloth of my pajama pants.

"He's a fucking pedophile. I'm taking my time with this one. I couldn't find somewhere to stash em'." Dean grits. I stare as Dean drags a chair into bathroom and ties the man too it.

Dean isn't usually so sloppy. Bringing the man to our hotel was stupid, but sometimes he let his emotions control his actions. It would be his downfall. I knew Dean had a soft spot for children, he found their innocence refreshing in a world filled with evil and hate. So pedophiles were his favorite kill.

"Dean-" I ask in confusion. Everything is happening so fast. Dean's got a look on his face that makes me uncomfortable, I've never been uncomfortable around Dean before.

"Here, go see a movie." He licks his lips as he dips into his wallet and pulls out a twenty, pressing it into my hand. I stare at him in confusion.

"Are you going to-here?" I choke out, staring at the portly man who is limp and tied down firmly in the chair. Dean is a master of knots.

"Yeah, don't worry. I got bleach, I'll clean it up before you get back." His voice softens when he speaks to me, the steely look in his eyes eases a bit and relief blossoms in my chest.

"Dean you can't, what if someone hears? What if you get caught?" I'm desperately whispering to him, clutching the front of his favorite leather jacket. Dean looks shocked when I touch him, I've never voluntarily put my hands on him.

But I'm scared. Terrified that the man's screams won't be muffled by the thin walls and the sound of police sirens will be added to my nightmares.

"I won't, I'll keep his fat mouth stuffed like the pig he is." Dean bites out viciously, turning to send dangerous looks to the man. I shake Dean by his lapels and his attention returns to me, anger draining away as quickly as it came.

"You can't Dean, not here. I-I'll find somewhere, I'll look for an empty building-" I'm begging now. Both me and Dean can tell. I want to keep this away from me and Dean's strange relationship. I want to keep pretending that the blood on Dean's shirt isn't spilled from someone else.

I want to pretend this isn't happening. But I can't if he does it right in front of me.

"What, Cas? Did you think I talked them to death? Didn't think I'd get my hands dirty?" Dean steps away from my hold and I'm trembling.

It hits me at this moment that I'm not scared of Dean, or that fact that I'm about to witness a murder. I'm scared because Dean might get caught, he might get taken away from me and that is the most frightening thing I've ever experienced.

"Dean, no." I whimper as Dean eases into the bathroom, sliding behind the man. He grabs some towels and stuffs them in the mans mouth. The empty look slowly drains those green eyes I'm so used to seeing filled with affection and mischief.

"I'll show you, Cas. I'll show you what I really am." Dean takes out a knife and slowly eases it into the man's flesh.

More screams are added to my nightmares that night.


I believe perhaps what surprised me the most was how much blood was in the human body. The white tiles were stained with it, the walls smeared from when the man had managed to break on of the ropes and had tried escaping. Dean had placed the blade of his knife right through his face. His brain tissue has seeped out of the gash and hung like spaghetti from the back of his head.

I sat on the bed, my bare feet touching the ground as Dean wiped his blade on the mans soaked jeans. From my bed I had a clear view of the bathroom. The man had been surprisingly quiet, broken off moans and whimpers filling the room which could have easily been excused as someone making love.

Murder was so easy.

Dean was breathing hard, eyes glinting like the steel of his knife.

"You gonna stay with me?" Dean asks, swallowing hard around his smirk. He's out of breath from the exertion of taking anothers life. I stare ahead blankly, not fully comprehending him. There is so much blood.

"You gotta stay with me, Cas. I need you." Dean comes out of the bathroom and approaches me, knife still held in his hand. I should flinch, I should run or scream. Dean's obviously high off of the adrenaline rush, his cheeks flushes and his eyes lightened to a green gold.

When he steps in front of me I lean towards him, seeking the comfort only he can bring me, even if he is the source of my distress.

"You know I'd never hurt you." Dean murmurs, and he cups my face, smearing the mans blood into my hair and under my jaw. The cold steel of the knife presses sharply against my temple.

I whimper weakly and Dean lets out a shuttering breath. He licks his lips, leaning in close to me. Our foreheads bump together.

"You'll stay right? We're family." Dean breathes, lips brushing my cheek. I nod in his tight hold and he presses his thumb over my bottom lip, smearing it with blood.

He gives me a chaste kiss that taste like sin.


It's strangely a bonding experience to accept someone for all their faults, even if it includes murder. Dean and I are closer than ever as we continue our vacation down south to mexico.

We are stopped at a gas station in the first town right over the boarder. The weather is warm, but a cool breeze soothes my overheated skin. Dean insists we go see the ocean, since I had only seen it once as a child.

"Dude! These are the best slurpees in the world!" Dean laughs, shoving one into my hands. I sip at it and find myself agreeing. They had less of the syrupy consistency than the states did, and more ice.

"They are very good." I smile, sipping at the drink as Dean slides into the driver seat.

"So I'm thinking, we should head west." Dean says fumbling with the large map. I peer over his shoulder at it and he presses a kiss to my temple. I flush but pretend not to notice. Dean has been pressing chaste little kisses against me since my full acceptance of him. Some are in my hair, or against my temple, as if to thank me for being so understanding.

"I would like to visit the ocean." I say, turning to look up at him as our shoulders touch.

"We could live there, we could do whatever you want." Dean says, eyes adoring as he looks at me. I believe I am the first person to understand Dean's complexities so fully, and I believe he is the first to understand mine.

It's very hot in the car, the sun beating down against the leather of the Impala. We should be sitting further apart to avoid sharing body heat. But Dean and I have somehow fused and it's both awful and beautiful. If we were to separate now I think it would break both of us.

"I love you." I blurt out, my eyes still fixed solely on the map. My brow knits in confusion because it's true, it's so very true.

"W-What?" Dean stutters. I finally look at him and his entire face has gone beet red in a nearly comical way. I smile at him.

"I love you, Dean." I admit, and it's true. I do love Dean. It's this bond we share that's so profound I can't even begin to describe. It's almost disturbing how much I've come to rely on the serial killer.

"I love you, too, man." Deam says sheepishly, eyes flicking to mine shyly. He folds up the map and swallows thickly. I find his anxiousness endearing. I smile and pull him into a hug and he groans.

"Jesus christ! Stow the touchy feely crap!" Dean complains loudly.

"I believe you enjoy being coddled." I smirk as he snorts loudly, lifting his chin and slipping into his macho default mode.

"Whatever, let's just get going." Right as Dean starts the car the phone rings loudly from the glove department.

I look at Dean and he shrugs, reaching into the back seat to throw the map out of the way. One the phone I see Sam's number bleeping. I answer with a smile.

"Hello Sam." I greet. Sam calls Dean frequently, usually while driving so I am the one to answer. Sam and I had gotten over our initial hostility, upon realizing we would both be permanent fixtures in Dean's life.

"Dean Winchester ..." The voice is almost nasally, and most definitely not Sam's. My confusion quickly morphs into suspicion.

"No, this is Castiel-" I say with trepidation.

"Give me Winchester." The man commands. His speaking pattern is weird, an accent I can't place? Or maybe he swallows his words. But he sounds unnaturally calm, the calm that people have when they are truly dangerous, like Dean.

I hand the phone to Dean, whose face is grim.

"Who the fuck is this?" Dean snarls as soon as the phone touches his ear. Dean listens to the voice, face going pale with each grizzly word. When Dean finally hangs up he turns to me, swallowing around a thick lump in this throat.

"They got Sam."


A/N: Sort chapter, I know. Next will be longer. Try to guess who has Sammy. :)