BACK THEN
Cassie's hair had been nearly to her ass, sleek and black and curly as all hell. Dean's hair was shorter. Damn near a crew cut. And lighter. He was just growing out of having been a blond kid. Her room was tiny, but she was an RA, so she had the whole space to herself. That was convenient, considering how much fucking they did.
They hadn't spent every single waking moment in her room, but only because he'd had investigating to do. And she had classes. A couple of times, they went out and saw a movie or ate in the cafeteria, mostly on her suggestion. Dean figured it was because she didn't want him to think she was a slut.
He never thought that. He did, however, think that he was going crazy. He kept having these vivid images of snuffing her: with a pillow over her face as her tiny hands clawed at him. Or with his bare hands, thumbs crushing her trachea. He saw himself gutting her with a bowie knife. And blowing her face to bits with a shotgun. He imagined bludgeoning her with a fucking crowbar. He had clearly heard her skull cracking loudly and felt the bits of brains and little shards of bone sticking to his cheeks and eyelids.
Mostly, these images would come while he was fucking her. As troubling as they were, they added a ferocity and grit to their lovemaking that he wouldn't have traded for healthier thoughts - like picket fucking fences and walks on the beach - in the moment. Once his lust was slaked, though, he would stumble to bathroom, grip the sink, call his reflection a sick fuck and splash freezing water over himself until the dark fantasies subsided.
He'd never had those kinds of thoughts with any other girl. Then again, he'd never felt exactly like this about any other girl. Maybe it was just a result of his fucked upbringing. That was what he told himself, because what the hell else could it be? It was just his mind's way of reminding him that he would never be normal. He also knew he would never act on any of these whacked out visions.
Until that day.
The crazy thing was that he couldn't even remember what they had been arguing about. There had been an unhealthy dose of squabbling between them, as if to balance out the mind numbing sex and the inexplicable intensity of their almost instant connection.
What Dean could never forget was grabbing Cassie by her shoulders, shaking the shit out of her and smacking her face. It was much less than he had wanted to do, but it was something he had never done and that she had obviously never experienced before. They both stumbled away from each other, wide-eyed and stupefied. He had covered his gaping mouth with the offending hand, unable to even utter the pitiful apology that was a broken record in his head.
She slumped down on the foot of the bed, running her own knuckles over the place on her cheek that still stung from the force of the blow.
With all those violent thoughts, Dean had known before that something was wrong. Something was off, but he had been able to control it. On that day, the suspicion that she must be haunted—or something worse—hit him full force. It had to be her. He had never experienced anything like this before: such a powerful desire to hurt, to kill someone who was innocent. Someone he… He had been too immature to use the word love, even inside own head, but he couldn't deny that he cared for Cassie.
Dean had thought of leaving the dorm, but he was afraid she would lock him out and never see him again. So they both stayed in the room, silently ignoring the other's presence. For a few hours, she read. He sat in a corner on the floor like a grounded toddler, waiting for her to be ready to talk to him.
And he thought. His mind raced over all the possibilities. The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that Cassie was cursed. That was no big deal, as far as Dean was concerned. He had dealt with curses before. The problem was that if he was going to get rid of the curse on her, he was going to have to question her. Find out who, why, how.
The thing was, it wasn't just a case. It was Cassie. This was his college girl and he didn't think he was going to be able to get to the bottom of it and lie to her. He wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore. Some lonely fucking part of him wanted to finally come clean about the 'family business', even though he had been warned against it his whole life. He had never told anyone. His dad knew who he really was. And Sam. That was it.
Dean had decided to start with something like an apology, although everything he could think of seemed inadequate. Finally, he took a deep breath and murmured to the floor, "So, you hate me?"
At first, Cassie just pretended he wasn't there, like she hadn't heard anything. It drove him nuts. Made him want to break a window with her face and chuck her out of it. Being upset with her only made it worse. He kept his back pressed to the wall, palms pressed to the floor, elbows locked. He resolved to end himself if he ever hurt her again.
Eventually, she looked up from her textbook. After a moment, she shook her head, straightened her back and tilted her chin up, "It just better fucking well not ever happen again."
"I swear, it won't." In a heartbeat, he crossed the space between them. He knelt and wrapped his arms around her waist. Looking up with glassy, penitent eyes, he muttered, "I'm so sorry."
She kissed his forehead.
When they fucked, it was better than it had ever been. It lasted longer, felt even more intense. It had been like he was touching someplace deeper inside of her. Dean had intended to make it all romantic and gentle. To his credit, it had started out that way. Somehow, he had wound up behind her with his palm around her throat. They were like a pair of half-crazed dogs in heat. He licked up the sweat pooling in the center of her back and bit her ear. "You want me to fuck you?"
A voice in his head echoed —'You want me to fucking kill you?'
Cassie whimpered and the urge to finish her surged through him like a serpent, cold and scaly beneath his skin, through his marrow. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. The feeling morphed into an all encompassing acidic burn. Then, it became a need to fuck her into the mattress. To slit her throat while he came. To smear himself with her blood. It would be over in a matter of seconds and then she could never leave him. Then, he would stick a pistol into his own mouth and be done with this fucked up world.
The thoughts tortured Dean and ratcheted up his lust until he could hardly contain himself. He thought, 'Oh god, please let her be close.'
Cassie's body tensed and a primal scream tore her throat as she collapsed forward. Her legs squeezed together on his hand, cramping the fingers that were still massaging her clit. Her mouth opened like the fucking pearly gates and poured out Dean's favorite sound on earth: his own name being choked and gasped and panted.
The muscles inside of her clenched and roiled around him sending wave after unbearable wave of heat through him as he clung and fucked and shouted against her shoulder. He bit down. Too hard. Tasted blood. Cursed himself and came harder than he ever had before or since.
When it was over, he fell against her back, certain that if she moved he would choke the life from her body and that it would feel just as good. It would feel like a fucking orgasm to kill her.
'Shut up, Dean. My god. Please stop it,' he pleaded with himself.
Finally, when it felt safe, he peppered kisses and feverish apologies into her ear. She clutched his arms tight around her and shuddered, tears slipping down her cheek. "I love you."
He hadn't said it back: hadn't said a word. It was a cowardice he would always regret.
Later, when they were both awake, Dean brushed his lips against her hair and decided it was time. This thing was getting out of control. He needed to end it. He needed her help to know what to look for. His best guess was that she had been hexed by a past lover. Or haunted. That made the most sense, but she had never talked about anyone around her who had died. He would go about it carefully. He wouldn't alarm her if he didn't need to. He sniffed loudly, preparing himself.
"Cassie, what do you think happens after you die?"
She chuckled and turned in his arms to face him and see if he was seriously asking that question. "Okay, Random. … I guess I still believe in God and heaven and all that. What about you?"
"I don't know about God… Probably not."
Her face had fallen a little at that, although she had already known that he wasn't religious—not that she was behaving like the church girl she'd been raised to be. At least not with Dean Winchester around.
Dean shook his head. "Heaven? Probably not either. I don't honestly know what happens on a good day. I guess you just stay dead. What do you think about ghosts?"
"Ghosts? Seriously?" Her expression was bewildered and still slightly entertained.
Fear gripped him in the gut. A red flag waved frantically in his mind, warning him to stop. Turn back while he still could. But he couldn't. He had to know what was cursing or haunting her. This was the only way. "Yeah. Do you believe in ghosts?"
She frowned, "Um… No. Not really. Dean, are you okay?" She held her hand to his sticky face to check for fever. They were both a sweaty mess, but he didn't feel any warmer than he should be.
Dean was far from okay, but he had started this. He had to finish it. He swiped a few unruly curls off of her damp forehead. She hadn't had bangs back then. Just long ringlets that he'd love to twirl around his fingers. "What if I were to tell you that ghosts were real? And witches and vampires. Pretty much every creepy fucking thing you can think of."
She had stared at him for a long time, the look on her face signaling doubt and amusement. Then, confusion. Then, fear. "Have you seen a ghost?"
"Several." There was, of course, an even greater likelihood that she was cursed, but Dean didn't have as much experience with curses. The last thing he wanted to do was enlist his father's help if he didn't absolutely have to. He was going to pursue the haunting theory first.
"Okay." It took a moment, but Cassie rolled off of the bed, stood up and used her fingers to peek between the blinds.
It was well after midnight. Nothing was happening outside. She just needed a moment to process the madness going down in her own room.
Dean was so gorgeous. So charming and goofy. Incredible in bed. Really, earth shattering. She'd had no idea sex could be like this. After she'd finally agreed to go out with him, he had become irresistible to her. So, they had nothing in common. He wasn't exactly a Rhodes scholar. But he was so easy to be around. Even when they argued, it was that classic feeling like an old couple who'd been bickering forever. Who might go on driving each other crazy forever.
"I, um … All right." Dean swiped a sweaty palm over his spiky hair. "Time for me to come clean." He wiped down his mouth and chin. "That's what we hunt. Me and my dad. Not… bail skipping scumbags… Dead ones. Evil things that haunt and hurt people."
"Ghosts." Cassie nodded, her voice surprisingly even.
"And other things." He nodded, relieved to have spit it out and have her obviously understand.
Cassie took a deep breath, swallowed; bit her lip and looked at the wall behind him, the space around him, the ceiling above him for what felt like an hour. Her lips parted, cheeks puffed a little as she exhaled shakily. She had known it was too good to be true. She just felt blindsided. Like an idiot for not having anticipated this elaborate getaway scheme. Cassie was sure she knew what he was doing—with the slap, and now this ridiculous story. He was trying to escape. Making himself out to be a dangerous nut so that she would run like the wind. Even with the real fear swelling in her chest, she couldn't help trying to stave it off. Wanting him to change his mind. "Why are you doing this?"
Cassie hated the catch in her own voice: so needy and clingy.
Dean ignored his own floppy, flaccid penis. He had never let any girl see that before. He climbed out of the bed and walked toward her. When he saw her back away, he stopped.
"I told you it was okay," she pleaded, bucking against her own nature and better judgment.
It took him a moment to understand what she was talking about. "No. Don't. It's not okay."
"Not that it's… It's not okay, but… I forgive you. You don't have to act like a fucking lunatic." Her nose stung, throat started to close up. She searched frantically back and forth between his breath-taking jade eyes.
"Cassie, I…" He carefully stepped toward her. His own mind rebelled: 'You what, Romeo? You think she's haunted. Say that shit out loud, jerk wad. Spit it out. What do you think she'll say to that?' "You're upset. I'm doing this wrong."
She wanted him to stop pulling away from her, but she knew it was over. So, she willed herself to accept it. More than accept it, to take charge of it. With another deep breath, she whispered, "Get out."
The words burned her throat on their way out. But it was good pain. It should hurt. It was like ripping out one of your own vital organs. That is what she had let him become and it was right that she should suffer for the mistake.
"What?" Dean's head reeled, but he stayed glued to the spot.
"You heard me. I said leave." It was easier for Cassie the second time.
"What? Why?"
"You're not going to jerk me around. Get out. It's over." Her back straightened and she kept her breath and tone of voice even.
"What? Cassie, no. I swear. I'm not bullshitting you." He tried again to approach her.
She grabbed the first book she could reach from the table and hurled it at him. "I said get OUT!"
Dean flinched and raised his arms in a half-assed attempt to protect himself. She had good aim. And a strong arm. Fucking softball.
"Do you want me to call security? GET OUT! Get away from me! I mean it! Leave me alone!" She was shouting now and throwing everything she could find, including her precious term papers. They fluttered to the floor, posing no threat but making an awful mess.
A bottle of lotion they had once used as lube connected with his forehead and hurt like shit. "Okay. Okay, I'm leaving. Can I put on my fucking clothes? Jesus."
She watched him dress, trembling and cold. It was like watching a horror film. Like being in a horror film. She clutched an electronic pencil sharpener in her had, ready to hurl it if he said another word.
The corner of Dean's eye was bleeding from the some projectile she'd thrown. He held up his hands to show he meant no harm. "Look, I…"
She reared back as if to throw.
"Okay." He slipped into the hallway.
Something banged against the door from the other side. Two coeds with pastel colored towels wrapped around their bodies gawked at him and giggled to one another. He stood there, dazed. Dean turned around and nearly knocked on the door again.
Cassie pressed herself to the other side, with one eye shut, the other peering through the peephole at him. She willed herself to back away and sit down on the foot of her bed, perfectly still as if she had an iron rod in her back. Her throat burned, face stung. Her whole body tremble. She shoved down a hiccup of a whimper, swallowing it. Refusing to cry.
Dean walked, unseeing. He wasn't even sure how he had gotten back to the motel when he collapsed, face first and fully dressed onto the bed and fucking cried himself to sleep. Like a four year old.
It had been his plan to give her a chance to cool off. To go back the next day and make it right. Explain himself. Find out what the hell was making him want to hurt her and make it stop. That was the plan.
His dad had come in before dawn, kicked his foot and growled, "Got the bastard. Get packed."
It took Dean a moment to wake up and fully process what was going on. "I need to see Cassie."
"Son, I told you…"
"I need to say goodbye." There was a hell of a lot more that he needed to say.
"If you feel like you need to see her one more time, it's better if you don't."