I've had this idea, thanks to can't_find_a_perfect_name & her story "hold me tight and don't let me go" She practically kicked my muse to make me write this.
As always, I end up in the supernatural fraction, because in my universe there's always going to be something supernatural about the boys. – Sue me. I really tried to make it not supernatural, but the thing is: It simply didn't work …
The beginning is a setup and therefore slow-going …
I've decided to try another writing-style … It's written in present-tense, it gives it a different kind of dynamic I think … It fits the topic just fine I noticed ^^
~ The Black Beast ~
WARNINGS: AU, serial!killer!dean, hunter!sam, angel!castiel, bunker!fic, hurt!comfort, hurt!sam, protective!dean (later on), unrelated!wincest, , slow!built, love!story, graphic!contect, blood!and!gore(there will be blood. I'm not so sure about the gore though), soul!mates, graphic!content
DISTURBING CONTENT AHEAD! YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!
DISCLAIMERS (As I always forget to mention them): I DO NOT OWN SUPERNATURAL, except for this plot. AND I'm still playing in Kripke's sandbox to fuck his well-built castle up. On purpose. Because I can.
~ The Black Beast ~
So here we go with a small summary:
A serial killer, A hunter & an angel – what do you think will happen, when Sam tries to capture a serial-killer named Dean Winchester as it seems he's bound to the man in some way?
REVIEWS feed the muse, by the way ^^ Just saying ?I don't want to sound needy, and I promise I AM NOT the needy one.
My muse is.
Gladly she doesn't claim blood-sacrifices …
~ The Black Beast ~
Darkness Surrounds You Chapter 1 ~ Another Kind Of EvilDean Winchester loves this.
He wallows in their screams, their yells, and especially the small sounds they use to make. The desperate ones. The ones they spill before they die, when they're on the brink of death, but don't know yet. That very moment, when they're still fighting, still hoping, and though, it is dawning on them, that they are promised to death.
He loves the way they scream. The way they writhe beneath him, for him. Crimson red covering their faces, chests – hell, their entire bodies. When it splatters out of their mouths when they cough up their own blood, when they drown on it. The gurgling noises, when it fills their lungs, and the desperation and pain written all over their faces. The pure fear in their eyes. So raw. So true. There are no lies when they die. No evasiveness's.
And then he takes all hopes away from them. He shows them, that he's going to take it away from them and that special expression in their eyes, when they realize that they have to surrender. That there is no escape.
That's what gets him off each and every damn time.
Because it's so beautiful. It's like he can FEEL their souls leave with their last exhales.
That, right there, when he sinks the blade of his knife right beneath their sternums into their flesh. That's the absolute truth.
That tiny nick to their bronchial tubes, that makes them last for hours and hours before they eventually die. Drown on their own lives. Because blood is life.
It is inevitable.
Dean Winchester is inevitable.
~ The Black Beast ~
Samuel Campbell is a hunter. A damn good one too.
He's the knight in shiny armor, saving you from the beasts under your bed, in the alleys and damn fucking everywhere, where monsters hide away at night or bright daylight.
Other than that, he's a kind man. Loves dogs, and has a heart for everything alive, that's not trying to kill him.
Well, he's not an idiot, or dumb to believe that. He's pretty much the opposite. But he considers the options carefully.
He won't go after a vampire, only because someone said that the thing's been killing the town's folk. Nope. Sam has to see for himself with what or who he is dealing with. He is surveying them, trailing them. He needs proof. Because he knows that there are damn well creatures out there, who are no murderers. There are creatures out there, who have normal lives, living among humans without ever harming them.
Because if he does not consider someone as innocent before becoming their judge and their hangman, who will?
~ The Black Beast ~
And then, there is Castiel. The Angel. With a stick up his ass and the most rational thinking being Sam has ever met.
But they are friends.
Occasionally they are going on hunts together – mostly when they involve Angels and/or Demons, like the one they are onto right now.
It all started with a vision. Visions Sam's having ever since he turned 18. Visions about demon-hordes, about yellow eyes gleaming in the dark and the end of the world.
He has dreams too. Dreams about a man with forest-green eyes doing ineffable things.
And when these dreams come to him during his waking hours in form of visions, he knows that they aren't just dreams. He then knows, that what he is dreaming is real. That these things are really happening.
And he needs to stop this. He needs to stop that man from doing this.
Sam feels desperate for it, because he can feel him. He can feel how he feels, when he watches these people die. Drown on their blood. He can see the peoples' fear, and their hope and he can see their lives drain away.
It makes him shudder. It makes him feel sick.
Because he knows he's going to be too late to save the man's next victim.
He and Castiel had taken too long to find out where the tree in his vision belonged to – which city or village it showed him in the vision.
They are on their way nonetheless now.
Because it's the only lead they have, until Sam's next vision, blinding him, giving him the headache of his life and will leave him in a hazed and foggy mind for hours afterwards.
But if that is what it takes to save lives. – He is in-game.
The thing that bothers him though is, that he knows that the man who is killing these people is human. He also knows, that the man wasn't born this way. He can feel it.
He knows, that someone had taught him, made him do the things he is doing now. So, he is debating with himself, if he will be able to kill him or if he will hand him over to the authorities. Or if he will capture him and take him back to the bunker.
Because Sam has only visions that are bound to demonic occurrences. Which means, that the man is not only a serial killer, but has ties to hell and probably a certain yellow eyed demon.
Sam is not sure yet.
He will decide when he gets there, not so much to Castiel's liking.
The angel thinks, that the human – used for whatever purposes by demons – needs to be killed. He has said that about dozens of times by now.
But Sam doesn't want to hear it.
After all he's a human being, and maybe – only maybe – he will be able help the man in some way.
If helping an obviously psychotic killer is even possible.
Sam wants to try anyway. There is nothing he has to lose but his life. And his life does not mean anything if he can't help a hell-bound soul to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
~ The Black Beast ~
He and Castiel are wearing their suits and are pretending to be special agents. They examine the crime scene and are talking to the coroner.
There's nothing new to learn about the killings.
It was definitely The Drowner. Not a very compelling name for a serial killer and they may will come up with something else soon.
On the other hand, it fits. He's making his victims drown on their own blood. A nick to their bronchial tubes, and they die a slow and painful death.
Other than that, there are no finger-prints and there won't be any DNA either. Just like the other nineteen times he's got the drop on some poor bastard before.
So, they still have squad, when they return to Sam's cherry-red '68 Ford Mustang and head towards the motel in which they decide to spend at least this night in.
They book separate rooms, like they always do. Because Sam likes his privacy, and the angel doesn't have any clue about not getting into Sam's private space.
It's not like Castiel needs the motel-room, but Sam figures it's not necessary for the angel to stand outside Sam's motel-room until he emerges from it the next day.
Besides that – it feels kind of weird knowing, that Castiel waits outside the entire night while he's sleeping.
~ The Black Beast ~
When Sam wakes up the next morning, Castiel's there – with coffee and breakfast, without knocking or making himself noticeable. He just sits at the small table, is staring at Sam with a blank expression and waits for him to wake up.
"Cas. – That's creepy.", Sam says hoarsely and shakes his head. "I thought we talked about that."
Castiel cocks his head to the side, his blue eyes looking at him questioning. "I sensed distress.", he answers clinically.
Sam huffs out a breath. Because that's just what Castiel is like.
They both know it's his way of showing that he's caring about Sam. That he is worried. The angel can't help it.
Sam can't either. "It's fine, Cas. – Only a nightmare." They both know it's not only a nightmare. There's more to it. A whole lot of more. More death. More blood. More of that man torturing people. It's a whole lot of more.
"So. – Figure you were out researching?", Sam asks and sits up. He rubs over his face and groans as the muscles in his back ache from the uncomfortable mattress.
"I did not find anything that may lead us to the killer or his next victim.", Castiel informs him and he looks at the paper-cups of coffee before him on the table. "I ordered a Half-caff-double-vanilla-latte. BUT, I do believe the sturdy man behind the counter put three shots of vanilla-syrup in it."
Sam chuckles – again. "It's fine, Cas. It doesn't matter."
"It does matter." Cas is damn cute sometimes. – But he's so not up Sam's alley. "I want you to feel better."
Yeah, the angel knows, that Sam's not alright. He knows, that these nightmares are tearing on his nerves and insides, because he feels like he's failing each time the man kills someone else.
And Sam can't stop him. Not yet.
Though, they seem to get closer.
His nightmares become more intense; his visions more vivid.
~ The Black Beast ~
Castiel usually doesn't eat.
But today he does. With Sam – keeping him company. Which he usually does not either.
Sam tries to convince his friend, that he doesn't have to stick around, and that he doesn't have to act like this.
And Castiel tells him flat out, that he thinks, that Sam might need more human company.
Sam telling him, that he does not need any company at all seems to disturb the angel. He even seems offended by Sam's words, which is so not Castiel-like at all. So, Sam takes it back and tells him, that there are exceptions like having an Angel around.
Anyway.
They eat. Sam packs up and they're on the road again. Four miles after leaving the town behind, their car breaks out of the lane, when a sudden ache flashes through Sam's skull, blinding him for mere moments.
Sam jumps into the breaks on instinct and Castiel's grabbing the steering wheel hindering the car on driving down the ditch. It hurls along the road until the breaks take grip and the car stops.
"Sam!", Castiel calls out, grabbing his friend's shoulder.
But Sam doesn't hear him anymore, when a second stab of hot white pain takes a hold of him and dares to squeeze his brain to mush. Sam yells and gasps, and cradles his head in his hands.
Then he's there.
Feeling what he feels. Smelling what he smells. Being who he is. Dean Winchester.
Filled with bliss and pure satisfaction as he sees life drain from the woman's eyes. The picture before his eyes wavers and flickers.
He sees the sign of a town called Ravenna, Nebraska.
He sees a motel – Green Leaves. Surrounded by trees, a small parking-lot, and that woman again. Flashes of blood-splatters covering her face in a white room. At least it seems to be a room and then the flickering is back and then there is darkness for moment.
Another wave of pain washes over him, and he sees the man's face in a mirror, staring right back at him. He grins. Droplets of crimson on his face. He feels the heavy weight of a knife's hilt in his hand and he feels loss.
There is desperation too and – memories. Memories he can't remember – but the man does.
Dean – his name's Dean – and he hates the memories. And he loves them. And it's weird, because Sam has never felt him like this before.
They have to be closer than they have ever been before.
The scene moves again and it morphs into a bar and that woman again. He thinks she's pretty and that she's going to look even prettier the moment her soul's leaving her meatsuit.
And Sam wants to vomit, he can already feel the bile rising in his throat when he smells blood. Her blood. And when he hears the gurgling noises, he's done.
Sam can't take this anymore. He needs to get out of the vision, he wants to run, but he can't he is trapped in this man's life.
And when he thinks it's never going to finish, it ends. The scene is fading away, and he's back in the car. Castiel is beside him, hand on his shoulder, holding him upright in the seat.
Castiel is talking to him, but Sam can't hear. Not yet anyway.
Sam feels drained. His head is giving him hell and fine tendons of the vision are still latched onto him, giving him the chills.
He can't talk yet. He can't form words to even start to express what he has seen. He doesn't want to anyway. Sam feels like crap, he feels like he is going to puke any moment now, so he wrenches the door open and lurches forward to not mess the car up.
Castiel's behind him – if it isn't for the circumstances – Sam would have laughed. Because it sure looks funny how Castiel must be hoovering over his back – That's pretty much how Sam imagines mountain-lions look when they're having sex. – Well, not exactly, but he still thinks it's kind of funny anyway.
Castiel is holding onto him, saving him from toppling over and burying his face in the concrete and puddle of bile beneath his face. When he's done retching, Sam feels better. A lot better.
The headache is still there, but it's not that bad anymore and he feels like sitting up again.
He's panting heavy and the dull ache in head increases again when the motion of sitting up strikes him like a sledge-hammer.
Sam's glad that he's not alone. That Castiel's there. And he loves him for that – like a brother would love him.
"He's close."; Sam says. "He's in Ravenna." Sam sucks in a steadying breath. He knows he can't drive like that.
"You need to lay down.", Sam can hear his friend say, and he's so on board with the suggestion. Even if he wants to, he can't drive. – Not with his vision blurry as hell and the sensitivity of his eyes to the daylight. So, he gives in, and lets Castiel maneuver him into the backseat.
"Green Leaves.", Sam said with a grunt and tugs on the angel's trench-coat. "The motel's called Green Leaves."
Castiel as much as pats his shoulder and throws a blanket over the human form. He then places one of the water-bottles from the trunk in Sam's hand, and tells him to drink.
Sam ponders that, but he decides not to. Not yet. Not until he's sure he won't puke on the backseat. Instead, he pulls the blanket over his head and welcomes the darkness beneath it.
~ The Black Beast ~
A/N: Thanks for reading ? Action's coming up in about 2 chapters or so …