Title: Paradise Angel
Warnings: Graphic Violence, Mild Sexual Things, Minor Character Death

Re-written Sep. 01 2014

Blood.

There were splashes across the ceiling. The spatter that was pooled on the floor was slowly running into the corners of the floor.

The house had a bad floor plan; left the entire foundation tilted.

Castiel crouched down, smiling to himself for having had the forethought to leave his trench coat in the car. His breath came in shuttered breaths as he ghosted his fingers over the pools of blood. It had been long enough since the kill for the blood to clot at the edges. His mind pulsed calmly as he thought through his forensic countermeasures. The blood on the floor was thick enough for him to glide his fingers over without leaving a finger print, or, at least it looked like it. A smirk passed across his lips as he dipped his middle finger into the rapidly cooling red velvet. It clung into the swirled grooves of his fingertip. A droplet slid down as he lifted his finger to his mouth. His tongue dragged softly, lapping up every bitter taste of copper.

A dark chuckle slipped past his lips as he stood up.

The scene before him was colorfully morbid. An old house, filled with history and about to be demolished, and a bloody angel laid across the floor for him. He'd been cut up and sliced open; arms splayed so that they would create a barrier for the red ink. Some of the blood had been dragged with careful, painter like touches, to spread across in the spade of wings. His skin was in beautiful ribbons, flayed open with deep, methodical cuts.

It wasn't at all what he'd been expecting when he'd walked into the abandoned building.

"How sweet, "Castiel mumbled as he turned around, rubbing his fingertips across his still bloodstained lips and walked out of the old home.

There was a trail of gasoline that had been left for him that led to the electrical box. The wires had been pulled out and exposed. He dug into his pockets and cradled the 50 cent, thrift store, zippo in his hand before striking it and letting it drop to the start of the line.

The air burned hot behind him as he slid into his car.

…

"You think he got it?"

"Dean, you're obsessed."

"Shut up," Dean said as he threw one of his towels towards his brother.

Sam was a jackass whose input wasn't needed. Sure, he'd veered out of his comfort zone a little but Sammy should've been happy. He was always talking about expanding his horizons. He'd never admit it out loud but yeah he was being a little reckless. He knew they were being followed, but instead of being worried about it he'd felt thrilled. It wasn't like it was a cop or the FBI or some shit, they were too good for that, but it was like a game. He'd long grown an appreciation for the strangers work.

It had developed into an unshakeable fascination. Perhaps even an unhealthy affection for this ghost.

Sam rolled his eyes and picked up the remote for the tiny, outdated motel room TV. The sheets were scratchy on his skin as he flipped through channels. He snorted when he stopped on a local news network.

"I think he got it."

Dean stopped scrubbing his wet hair with a second towel and walked out into the main room to catch the broadcast. His heart pitter pattered as he watched the flames grow higher and higher, engulfing the entire building. As the weakest part of the house started to crumble, collapsing with a loud groan, Dean felt his dick pulse with interest. His love letter had been received and responded to. He hadn't even been sure if the person it was intended for would've been able to find it. The person, man or women it didn't really matter in Dean's book, was a better tracker than Dean originally gave them credit for.

Clever little thing.

Dean licked his lips.

"Dude, could you please get the hell back in the bathroom. Your dick's starting to block the TV and I think I want to vomit."

"Oh come on Sammy! It's a natural and beautiful thing!" Dean chuckled as he dropped the towel from his head to cover his crotch. Before he walked back into the bathroom, he threw the towel he'd been holding at his brother. Dean closed the door in glee as he listened to his brother yell and violently throw the towel at the door.

He stepped back into the shower again, turning it to a lukewarm temperature, and ran his hand down his chest before grasping his dick lightly. Dean ran his thumb along the thickest vein before cupping the soft head of his cock and squeezing.

He imagined a warm and pliant mouth underneath him.

…

Castiel felt like he had to do something special.

Something monumental.

They'd been leaving little love notes for quite some time now. Since accidentally stumbling onto each other's kills and disposal sites so long ago things had started to… evolve. More than that, they (Castiel assumed from the two different styles of violent craft that it was at least a team) usually chose female victims. Gorgeous blonds in their late 20's. The old house had been a male, something he had never seen them do. It had to be a calling card, especially when the guy had been just his type.

It had opened up a line of communication. Castiel's skin hummed with anticipation at the possibilities and what it could mean. There hadn't even been the traditional torture marks across the body. Clean, deep cuts and slices across all the major arteries to spray and leak blood just in the way he liked. Their kills were never that messy with blood. Violent, very violent, but never splashed around. Castiel liked to think it was specifically done for him. Although, to be fair it could also simply be that torturing men did nothing and they'd had to try harder.

Either way, that type of behavior had to be rewarded.

Generally Castiel preferred his cuts neat and smooth. One slice across the neck or down an artery on the arm. His addiction was to the blood. The thrill was in watching the life spill out from underneath the skin, bright red, bringing with it the smell of iron.

A shiver ran from the top of his head, chasing down along his spine, sliding down to his toes as he walked into the small office building with a smile.

One main room. One main exit. He'd blocked the emergency one from the outside.

"This is going to be so much fun," he whispered as he caressed the blade hidden in his sleeve.

There were a few unfortunate bastards that had decided to work after hours for whatever campaign was running. He couldn't find the time to pity them. He'd followed a blonde woman to the building, glad that she'd stayed behind.

The first bleeder he stalked to the bathroom.

The second he caught in the hallway leading to it.

No noise.

Castiel crept towards the control room and grinned as he gently spliced open the neck of the security officer. He reached down and unclipped the keys to the main building from his belt. Reverently he ran his fingers over the edges of the keys as he locked the last back doors. Fire thrummed in his veins as he casually walked to the only door left. He waved a friendly hell o the people remaining in the room.

The blond woman looked confused, mouth open ready to ask what his business was. He would save her for last.

He had never felt as excited as he did then, locking the last hope for the people in the building. There was a glimmer in his eye as he looked up and stared at the security camera in the corner. He gave it a warm, small smile.

His switch blade slipped into his hand and he punched it through the closest man's jaw.

For a moment there was silence. Pure and complete silence.

It only lasted for a few seconds before they started screaming.

But that moment had felt like heaven.

Prior recon had taught him that no one in the office carried a weapon.

It meant he had the luxury of time to have fun.

Castiel sliced and gutted his way through the small crowd of eight, not giving anyone time to call the police, before he paused.

His body trembled a little before he got it back under control. His target wasn't in his line of sight. Not that it surprised him. He'd seen her slip underneath her desk when he'd gutted his second gift for his mysterious admirer. Castiel twirled the blade between his fingers as he lazily circled the office, passing the desk she was hiding under several times on purpose.

The more hope they had in their eyes the more pleasure he got out of drying them out.

A small quake from underneath the desk made him pause. Her foot had knocked against the leg of the table. He smiled and strolled his way to the front of the office, dragging his knife along the desks, and unlocked the front door. Castiel shoved it open and moved towards the desk as it loudly creaked shut again. It gave him enough time to walk back without being detected. He waited silently for her to feel comfortable to crawl out. He thought of his far away love as she stuck her head out from under the desk and she luckily looked left first. Castiel launched forward and placed his hand around her throat. He pressed his fingers into the edges of her neck and dragged her as she kicked towards the camera.

Castiel smirked as he slit her open and continued to take glances towards the camera while he carved a love letter into her body.

…

"He's just as fucked in the head as you are."

Dean grabbed the remote control from Sam and turned up the volume. "That's him."

The news anchor's voice repeated on a loop with a warning. The footage is graphic. If you have children in the room they may need to leave. The material was sensitive. Not suitable for those that are underage.

It was the only time Dean had ever wished for a true and stable home so he could've recorded it to re-play later.

"He showed his face. He- fuck he's gorgeous."

Sam shook his head. "I guess. And insane," Sam muttered as he tried to grab the remote back. Knowing his brother, he would stay on the channel for the next damn millennia trying to catch another showing of the video.

"Oh can it, not like Ruby was a good idea." Sam quieted. He couldn't really argue that. "No, I think… he might like me, ya know. Feel the same way I…" Dean's face split into an embarrassed smile. "He showed his face…" Dean whispered with reverence and awe in his voice. He ran his hand across the back of his neck and up through the rest of his head, trailing his fingers through his hair. He rubbed his scalp for a second with an open palm before letting his arm drop back down.

"No shit, Dean. You realize this is bad. He might not give two-shits about showing his face but if you keep responding to him we'll get screwed. I really don't wanna go to jail because you're hormonal."

"Quit being a damn wet blanket."

Dean let the remote drop onto the bed once the news program ended.

"He's perfect," he whispered as he tried to get ready for bed.

…

Castiel ran his hands down his body, roughly grazing his nipple as he slid his hand further down.

A shaky "Dean" stuttered past his lips as he watched a clip online.

There was the official version they played on the major news networks but 'Dean' had recorded a version on one of the dead patrons cellphone and uploaded it to several independent servers. It had gone viral already and while thousands of sites were taking it down it still existed in places. It had been tedious to find. 'Dean' had given him a very precious gift. Cared for him enough to show his face and brave giving out his name. His partner was nowhere to be seen.

For the most part Castiel never took trophies or stole, he had an obscene amount of money saved from his childhood trust fund. He'd been in a small coffee shop listening to an elderly couple speak about a recent massacre. A bank had been shot up.

He'd reacted on impulse. Castiel didn't own a laptop and wasn't going to find a public library to look it up at.

The man whose laptop he now owned had been so sweet and helpful. It was a shame. He'd been at the wrong place at the wrong time, but Castiel had priorities.

Being curious he had looked the event up. Even if someone were to put a gun to his head he would never admit to praying it was a response. Castiel hadn't believed in prayer since childhood.

For weeks since his own gift he'd been obsessively checking the news. Although he'd carefully tracked their travels through the country there hadn't been a body in a long time. It was starting to worry him. Of course he should've known just to be patient. Not a single network had a full name to pin to the two men seen in the security footage. That was fine. He didn't need a name.

For a moment he'd been anxiously confused as to which of the two men mowing down the crowd was the object of his affection. He would ever forgive himself for fantasizing about the wrong man. He was not unfaithful. The video was provided without sound but as the two men stopped in front of the security camera, just as he had, one of them winked towards it. Towards him.

Only one of the people in the building had been left untouched by the rain of bullets. The man cut his throat clean open and made sure he bled out on the floor before carving her name into his body.

The personal video was shaky as the man pulled up the guy's sweater and zoomed in on the damage.

Dean.

…

"Castiel," Dean muttered to himself in a pleased daze. They'd been running up and down the San Antonio River Walk, celebrating a night off, when they'd stumbled onto a crime scene. The sirens had been turned off but the lights had lit up the sky.

He'd managed to sneak one good look at the body before they bagged it up.

"Sounds a lot like Cassiel."

"Huh?" Dean rubbed the cloth over his handgun one last time. He pulled the slide out and loaded a bullet just to make sure it worked before dropping the clip out and popping out the round.

"I just thought it was funny." The footage from the office slaughter was playing for the fifth week in a row.

"It's not funny! I think it's nice. Not everyone has that name. It's unique. Who gives a shit what it sounds like. Now do we have a job?"

"Would you stop being so defensive over your boyfriend? Cassiel was the name of an archangel usually only featured in an old version of the Kaballah. I just think it's ironic that he would named, or name himself after such a holy and righteous being. I wonder if he's faithful." Sam typed away at his laptop to pull up a profile for their next project.

"What's with you and this religious crap?"

Sam sighed and looked to the side. "I am religious, Dean. Always have been. You know that."

"Hell no I didn't. That's news to me. I thought the churches were just a fetish."

"What did you think I was doing every Sunday?"

"I dunno, congregating with hookers and blow? Shit, if you're all up religion's ass what the hell are you doing with me? There's no God and even if there was, he sure as hell wouldn't be our cheerleader."

"Dean- just. There's righteous justice where violence fits perfectly. The Bible is full of it. God is wrathful. Just- fuck it," Sam sighed. While he worked with his brother he didn't quite get the same type of deep, searing pleasure from the kills that his brother did. The arson was the only thing he found even slightly exciting but they didn't participate in it often. He generally didn't pick subjects whilly nilly for fun either. He told himself it made him less of a psycho than his brother. He only killed those who deserved it.

Sam changed the topic. "You had your little romance and now you're gonna get us caught. Don't think you can just start talking about something else." Sam half rolled himself off of the bed. His feet smacked the ground a little harder than he'd intended. Frustration hummed in his veins.

"Would ya calm down," Dean muttered as he laid down onto his own motel bed. His brother's bad mood was getting to him. "I'm heading out for a little bit."

"Don't do anything stupid."

Dean rolled his eyes and slammed the motel room shut. It had been a little while since he'd received a message back for his work but he could understand. The blue eyed beauty had taken a massive risk showing his face, but it didn't help with the violently obtrusive frustration that Dean had been feeling. With the massive police presence he hadn't even been able to spend time admiring it. The news wouldn't be satisfying enough either at this point. Second hand viewing never gave him the right type of high.

He hadn't gone out looking for a target. They had to look and find them the right way, but he'd reacted before thinking. Dean needed to vent and ended up striking down and gutting a drunk stranger trying to force his way up a terrified woman's skirt.

He killed her because witnesses weren't allowed.

Dean smiled as he carved 'Cas' and a crude heart on the side of her body. He blushed as he pushed his blade through her skin. He wouldn't need to torture her and she wasn't his type. This wasn't for him. This was for Cas. Even if it was so cheesy it was nearly painful. Maybe he could keep Sam from finding out. He'd never heard the end of it.

Dean went home that night praying the other man would understand.

…

Castiel slaughtered three blondes in a neighborhood, carving the same symbol he'd seen on the online files into her body. Dean's work had been a little too graphic for the news. Luckily, Castiel was gifted enough to easily access locked police data. The hart on each blonde was practically a carbon copy. As it should have been, seeing as he'd printed it out.

The return gift he saw on the news after he'd laid out the three women once more had his name on it, the same crude heart laid out in the man's organs.

No one had ever loved him so much before.

…

"Fuck Sammy! You really do care!"

Sam shrugged his shoulders and gave a shy smile. Dean and Cas had been playing the game for almost a year now. It was the longest relationship his brother had ever been in. It looked like it was getting pretty serious and Sam no longer believed that it would fade anytime soon. Which meant he either had to get on board or leave. His fears about getting caught had been placated a little with how little evidence there still remained. The officials hadn't caught up yet and since going public they'd found much more private ways to communicate.

Yeah there was a lot of speculation. Serial killer romance. Words like 'depraved', 'twisted', and 'sick' decorated newspaper headlines.

He'd been convinced of the permanency of the situation when 'Cas' had sliced open a woman close to the Singer Salvage Yard and left her in an old, beat-up Chevy. Sam had disposed of it in an incinerator they kept in the late Mr. Singer's panic room.

"He cares about you, and other than his own kills, he seems to actively pick out bleeders that brought it on themselves. Real scumbags. I like him I guess. He's grown on me."

"Is that why-?"

"No," Sam took a sip of the beer he cradled in his hands. "From the bodies he's been dropping for half a year he's been trying to copy our MO. And with how personal the messages you've been leaving… 'Cas' hasn't turned us in or left any messy clues that could get us caught. He's been slicing up women the way you pick 'em. He's smart and even made those kills in Wyoming to distract from us. I've never seen you happier. You're my brother. I want you to be happy."

Dean smiled, a little embarrassed but grateful, as he looked through an online dating site to find a new target. "He's perfect, Sam. Perfect."

…

Castiel first searched the entire premise.

The news had gone quiet and there hadn't been any new kills that he had stumbled upon. He'd successfully trailed after them to the salvage yard although he'd missed them pausing and staying here.

Maybe he had come too close?

The area seemed to hold some level of importance for them. Perhaps he'd taken it too far by leaving a kill here. After not having heard anything from Dean in under a week. He needed to check back.

Two floors and a panic room in the basement. It couldn't have been left alone for too long.

The milk in the fridge was still a few days from expiring.

Birds fluttered against an almost empty bird feed as he stepped out the back door. An awful stench, a familiar stench, hit him as he walked out to the porch. Castiel doubled over, trying not to vomit. He had never been a fan of rot. Clutching at his trench coat he followed the smell to a beat up truck. The figure in it looked almost like a skeleton, if it weren't for the pieces of fly eaten flesh, slowly sliding off the bones. The high temperatures must have sped up the decomposition rate. The body couldn't be more than a few days old.

On the side of the truck door there was a carved message.

"If you hurt my brother I will destroy you. He's crazy over you and Dean loves for forever. A show of good faith. Our uncle, just the way you like it. S.W."

Castiel peered back into the car and let himself smile a little underneath his hand. It had been a sweet gesture even if time and heat had ruined it. He'd been very clear on Dean's feelings for him but the second man in the footage had been a mystery. For awhile Castiel had been terribly jealous, thinking the second man was Dean's partner. It was a relief to discover that they were brothers. As he walked away from the car a pleasant hum built up under his skin.

He'd essentially received the approval of the in-laws.

He walked back into the house and inspected the gasoline that had been left out for him. On the desk, where a large box of matches lay, were two pictures. He recognized Dean immediately and flipped over the image to look for a description. 'Dean & Sam 2009'. The second picture was of a beautiful blond woman. She looked a lot like Sam and Dean's torture pets.

'Mary Winchester 1988'

He tuked the two images safely into his trench coat pocket before lighting up the old house.

…

When Dean walked into the motel room, he nearly put a bullet into the wall.

Into him.

Sam was still out and he hadn't been expecting any other company.

He had to be hallucinating.

"C-Cas?"

The man sitting on the edge of his bed smiled, and God was it a smile.

Castiel stepped forward and didn't stop moving until the still raised gun was less than an inch in front of his face. He tilted his head to the side and moved closer, pulling the pictures out of his pocket and holding them out.

Dean watched with hungry eyes as Castiel placed soft kisses on the edge of the barrel of the gun before nuzzling into it. His tongue peeked out and gently licked at the smooth metal. He pulled back just enough to take the barrel into his mouth a little before pulling back.

"Hello, Dean."