Flame of Vengeance part 2

[caz2y5]

Now...

Dean could smell it the moment that he rode into town. The stench of the demon clinging to the area like it was a skunk burrow. He had been on the trail of this demon for three weeks. Beezul had managed to evade him longer than most of them had managed. It meant that this was one he needed to catch. One that he hoped would have the information that he needed, even if he had to wring it out of him.

Impala nickered, shaking out her mane as Dean climbed down from the saddle. She could smell it too. The faint underlying fragrance of blood tainting the air and Dean sighed as he hitched the reins to the post in front of the saloon. It was still an hour till sundown. If he didn’t want to endanger the few people who lived here he had an hour to find the demon and convince it to come with him peaceably.

His spurs jangled as he stepped up to the doors, swinging them open and making his way to the bar. He ordered a whiskey and leaned back against the bar; looking around the room he was sure the demon was in the saloon somewhere. He just wasn’t sure if he was upstairs with one of the gals or if he was one of the men in the card game in the corner.

Dean let his duster fall open to reveal the low slung six shooter on his hip. Almost every pair of eyes went to the gun before looking away. Every pair, except one. The man looked like the professional gambling type. All white teeth behind a fake smile and a pinstripe suit. As he watched the man deal the cards Dean realized why the guy hadn’t been concerned. The demon wasn’t scared of a little pea shooter. Dean grinned; the demon wasn’t the only one with an ace or two up his sleeve.

Finishing the glass of rotgut in one swallow Dean thunked the glass on the bar and made his way over to the table. The broad rim of his hat was pulled low and Dean had to raise his head to look the demon in the eyes. “Deal me in.”

“I didn’t take you for a gambling man, Rider,” Beezul replies, voice slick and deep. The demon grinned at him, there is a flicker of the demons true countenance. Teeth pointed, dirty and cruel looking, black demonic eyes and rotting flesh. Then it’s gone and Beezul gestures to the empty chair. It’s most likely some trick and the seat leaves him with his back to the door, not a good spot to be in when confronting a demon. Dean runs his tongue across his bottom lip, looking around the room before pulling out the chair.

The doors behind him swung open before he could sit, though. The newcomer made the hair across the nape of Dean's neck rise, the sensation like someone walking over his grave. Dean saw the color drain from the demons face. And then Beezul stood, flipped the table and sent cards and money clattering to the floor.

The demon ran, heading towards the back of the saloon where there was obviously an exit. Dean glanced to see what, other than himself, had Beezul so spooked. A man with messy hair and a tan coat stood in the doorway, a quizzical expression on his face as he tilted his head sideways and watched the demon run toward the door. Dean noticed a dark shadow of some kind like a cape behind the man’s shoulders, but Dean had to move and give chase to Beezul before he could really make out what it was.

Dean couldn’t let Beezul escape. The demon knew where he could find Alastair and Dean wasn’t about to let the demon get away. He hit the back door at a sprint, kicking it open as he barreled through it. The door opened onto an alley and Dean frowned, uncertain as to which direction the demon had run.

There was a yelp and Dean ran, turning the corner of the building into another alleyway. Only to find the man with the black shadow like cape had Beezul pinned to the wall by his throat.

“He’s mine stranger, this ain’t got nothing to do with you.”

The stranger pressed his palm to the demons forehead and it was like Beezul lit up from the inside. Light flared out from behind Beezul’s eyes and under his skin. It reminded Dean of a jack o lantern.

The stranger wasn’t even looking at Beezul as the demons insides went off like fire crackers. Instead he stared intently at Dean, head tilted slightly to the side and his deep blue eyes like steel. When the stranger pulled his hand away from the demon its dead husk crumpled to dust before scattering on the wind.

“You will come with me,” the man stated with a voice that sounded like gravel with a whiskey chaser.

“Like hell I will.” Dean realized why his hackles were up. “You ain’t a demon are you?”

The stranger moved blindingly fast, pinning Dean to the wall with a forearm across his throat. Eyes the color of the sky bore into him and made him blink in surprise.

"You are the rider,” the stranger spoke, his voice deep and reverberating in the narrow alleyway. It wasn't a question.

"Hey, what the hell?"

Dean couldn’t push the man off no matter how hard he struggled. The blue eyed man looked at him like he was some kind of foreign object or great puzzle he was trying to see the answer to. Or maybe he was some kind of bug that the guy was trying to figure out whether he should squish it or not.

Then Dean felt a pressure on his abdomen, the man’s fingers digging into his skin and Dean bit down hard on his lip to keep the scream that was forming in his lungs from making its way out. He was going to die in agony without having redeemed himself and that thought stung almost as badly as what the man was doing to his insides.

There was a flare of light between them. Dean had no idea where it was coming from but it illuminated the shadow that seemed to cling to the man’s back like a cape. The man had wings. Jet black and it was almost as if they were made out of the ether. They shifted between being solid and shadow as Dean watched. The feathers ruffling slightly as the strange light reflected off them.

Then just as suddenly as it started, it was over. Castiel, that was the man’s name. Even if Dean had no idea how he knew that, stepped back with his eyes wide. Dean also knew that whatever it was that Castiel had done to Beezul he would not be doing to him.

Dean slumped a little and looked down at himself, half expecting his gizzards to be hanging out. But he was fine. His shirt wasn’t even ruffled. Castiel just kept staring at him with those bright blue eyes and it seemed a little unnerving, the questioning look that shaped his features.

“You have wings,” Dean stated, since out of all the shit that happened to him today that was most likely the least weird. He had never seen a demon with wings before. Even though there was a feeling in his gut that told him that Castiel wasn’t a demon at all.

“You can see…” A look of surprise crossed Castiel’s face. He glanced behind himself like he was looking at the shadow for a second before turning back a frown across his features. “This is not right.”

“You’re telling me!” Dean grumbled as he stood up and away from the wall.

“You’re not supposed to be able to see them.” Castiel’s wings shifted behind him like the guy was shrugging them. "You are the Devil’s bounty hunter. You are not supposed to be a righteous man."

“Oohwee mister have you got your wires crossed. I ain’t the devil’s nothing,” Dean chuckled. The fact that Castiel had called him the righteous man was kind of amusing even though there was nothing funny about the predicament he found himself in. He glared at Castiel, trying to figure him out. With those wings, he sure as hell weren’t no man and his nose was telling him he was not a demon.

“Tell me what in the hell you are!” Dean demanded angrily.

“I’m an angel of the lord,” Castiel replied, “and you will come with me, Dean Winchester.”

“You keep saying that but I ain’t going nowhere with you….Why are you here?” Dean refused to believe for a second that this man was an angel. No way in a world like this where people died senselessly.

“I am here to destroy the demon Zarathos.”

“Yeah well good luck with that. I’d like to help but I got other fish to fry.”

“I do not think you understand. You are the demon. It is inside you.”

“I got a demon in me?” The angel’s words stung like a blow to the solar plexus. Dean knew he was pretty screwed but having a demon in him, it wasn’t what he had signed on for. Not that he had really signed on for any of this.

The angel just nodded. “Zarathos is the rider. It is a spirit of vengeance and fire. How is it that you have not felt its presence?”

Dean hadn’t felt its presence but he’d never associated the burning writhing thing that lived inside him with being an actual demon. Although, now that Castiel was pointing it out it did kind of ring true. When he turned into the rider it was kind of like sleeping in the saddle. He never really knew where he’d been or what he’d done unless he had killed someone. Then he would be able to smell the sulphur or the blood. Dean had always considered it more like being unawares, though, more than it being because something else was in control him.

“It would seem, though, that you are free of the devil’s influence. Although I am uncertain as to how that occurred.” Castiel pondered on it. Generally those who had control over their demons it was because they had made some kind of deal. “What kind of deal did you make?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your darn business.” Dean glared at the angel. How the fuck had he known that Dean had made any kind of deal. Sure the demons knew about his deal. News travelled fast when you took joy in other’s misery and you had the evil bastards network working for you.

But this angel, if this guy really was an angel. Dean wasn’t sure if he should go with his gut feeling being true and believing the guy or if he should believe the fact that no-one in the history of ever, except for perhaps those bible thumpers down in Utah, believed that angels existed. Old Bobby Singer would most likely laugh in his face if he told the old trapper that he had met an angel. But Castiel was standing there in front of him wings slightly visible behind his back and the touch of doom that he had seen him deliver to the demon.

When Dean had been a young'un his mother had put him to bed each night with a kiss to the cheek and a whisper of “Sweet dreams Dean, and remember angels are watching over you.” But Dean had stopped believing that when his mother had died. After all the crappy stuff that had happened to him in his life. Since Sam… since the deal. Dean found it hard himself to believe that this wasn’t just some bump to the head.

“Can you… take it out of me?” Dean hesitated because he knew there would be a catch. There always was when you dealt with things like this. He should really know better than to ask, but since the angel was here to do just that then it was really just asking for something that Castiel was already planning on doing.

“I am afraid that I already tried. It seems that your souls have become bound. I am unable to remove it without killing you.”

“Great,” Dean expounded with little enthusiasm as he scrubbed his hand down his face. “I need a drink.”

“You drink?” the angel enquired, still watching him with the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen.

Dean wondered if maybe the angel wasn’t a little touched. If maybe all angels were like this or just this one. “Yeah, sometimes I eat too,” he said with a grin. He still wasn’t sure about turning his back on the angel but at least he knew he was safe from being burnt out like the angel had done to Beezal.

“How is it that you come to carry the power?” Castiel asked as Dean led them back to the bar.

"Let’s just say I didn't read the fine print," Dean explained as he leant against the bar and held up two fingers to the bar tender. The man poured two whiskey shots. “Leave the bottle.”

“Well look Cas, I ain’t real happy to know there is a demon in me but you can’t take him until I hunt down the bastard with my contract and shoot the fucker’s brains out.”

Castiel frowned, the nickname was obviously a contraction of his actual name but it was strange to hear it spoken that way. “Killing the holder of the contract will do nothing to negate your contract.”

“Might make me feel better after I’ve wrung his neck though,” Dean said with a quirk of an eyebrow before downing the whiskey. He paid for the bottle and grabbed it before heading out the door.

“What did he offer you?”

Dean glares at Castiel for a second, then he looks away and continues down to where Impala is hitched out the front of the saloon. It’s not a question he is ever going to answer.

“I will need to speak to my superiors. See if they will permit me to let you live until your quest is completed.”

“That’s real generous of you.” Dean’s voice drips with sarcasm as he shoves the bottle into his saddle bag and unhitches Impala. “Hey you wanna tell me,-” Dean turns to ask the angel why his brother had to die. But Dean is the only person standing in the deserted street.



Bill Harvelle worked for the pony express. He kept a supply of horses for the mail riders, that delivered the mail to the places that the rail hadn’t reached yet. The men would ride to the farm where they could get themselves a meal and a fresh horse. But other than that the Harvelle’s had few visitors.

The small farmhouse was steeped in shadow as the sun set. The sky painted with purple and pink hues and it was a welcome sight when Dean realized that was where Impala had led him. He’d met the Harvelle’s as a boy when he had started riding the trail with his father. Bill had been working the trail and they would sometimes end up riding back to his farm to rest and wash the dust from their throats.

Normally he would just put Impala in the barn and come into the house through the kitchen door. Ellen would most likely cook him a meal or have a fresh baked apple pie cooling on her window sill. The Harvelle’s daughter Jo would most likely bound up to him excitedly and ask him a million questions, the worst of which would be ‘where is Sam‘.

Dean almost pulled on Impala’s reins to lead the horse away. But there was something about the stillness of the farmhouse that bothered him, setting his nerves on edge and Dean stopped. There were two horses hitched to the post in front of the farmhouse. Dean could see the express rider symbol on both the saddles and the brand on the horse‘s flank.

It wasn’t the riders being there that was unusual, it was the fact that the horses weren’t in the stable. The express riders didn’t stop. Dean had helped plenty of times to take the saddle from one spent horse and put it on a fresh one whilst Ellen and Jo hurriedly made sandwiches as the rider waited to be on the road again.

Dean slid out of the saddle and brushed his palm over Impala’s shoulder. “Stay here, girl,” Dean whispered. He knew his horse would stay put even if she wasn’t hitched. He made his way to the front door, eyes flitting to each of the windows but not even the curtains moved in the breeze.

If Dean couldn’t feel the sensation of being watched he might have gone around to the kitchen door. But instead he made his way up to the front door. It was so quiet that even the sound of his spur’s jangling with each step as he made his way up onto the porch seemed too loud. Dean knocked at the door and after a long moment, in which Dean was certain that he had heard hushed whispering, the door opened.

“Can I help you?” Bill looked really tired. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Dean.

“Dwight down at the general store, he told me you was looking to sell two fillies? I was wondering if I couldn’t help take them of your hands.” Dean was fairly certain that there was someone behind the door, given how narrowly Bill had opened it.

Bill scratched at his jaw like he was thinking. “Well I don’t rightly know what to tell you Mister.” Bill shifted just slightly and Dean was certain that there was a revolver in the man’s ribs. “But I sold them two fillies along with a mule about three months ago.”

Dean didn’t need to think hard to figure out what Bill was telling him. There were only two of them but one of them was with Jo and Ellen. Dean wasn’t sure if he could do anything. If this guy got a shot off with his gun the other guy would be alerted and sure Dean could save Bill but they may not get to the girls in time.

“Well if that’s all you better be heading on back home, Mister,” Bill told him, starting to close the door.

“Actually sir, if and you wouldn’t mind. I would like to water my horse?” Dean asked, a plan already formulating in his head as to how he was going to rescue the Harvelle’s.

“You can use the trough by the barn,” Bill told him a small smile crossing his lips for a second before the door shut.

Dean turned and had to remind himself to keep calm and walk as he made his way down to Impala. Without a backward glance at the house, Dean led Impala toward the barn. The water trough was by the far side of the barn and Dean was able to leave Impala so that she was in view of the house and he wasn’t. He unbuckled his rifle from the harness and stroked a hand down Impala’ shoulder as he whispered, “Stay here girl.”

As soon as he was on the far side of the barn Dean broke out into a sprint. He moved along the side of the barn and stopped, back flat against the wall as he peeked around the corner at the house. The fireplace was on this side and there were no windows facing him so carefully Dean carefully made his way from the edge of the barn to the side of the house.

Once Dean reached the house he flattened himself up against the wooden shingles of the wall. One quick glance told him the back of the house was clear and Dean turned the corner, keeping himself flush with the wall. The first window was a few feet along and Dean kept his knees bent and his rifle held across his chest.

The window was closed and holding his breath, Dean tilted his head, bringing it up and on enough of an angle that he could see into the room.

The kitchen was on the other side. Dean had spent many an hour sitting at the large oak table in the center of the room, eating apple pie with Sam and Jo that Ellen had cooked in the stone oven by the fireplace. The kitchen had certainly seemed more inviting then with Ellen smiling as she split peas or washed dishes in the cast iron sink and Bill and Father had talked in hushed tones as they stood and smoked by the line of copper cooking pots that hung from the mantle.

The place still smelt like freshly cooked pie but that was the only similarity. A stranger with messy blond hair and clothes still dusty from the trail sat at the kitchen table. His back was to the window but Dean could see the rifle propped beside him and his broad brimmed hat sitting on the table beside a half-eaten pie.

Ellen and Jo were in two kitchen chairs that sat back to back. Their wrists were bound behind them and rope was lashed around their waists tying them together. Jo had a bandanna tied over her mouth, her face red from crying. Ellen was staring daggers at the man who just ignored her as he at the pie.

A second man entered, just as grubby and dirty as the first, his gun slung low on his hip. He was dragging Bill by the scruff of his shirt, shoving him to the floor by the women. Dean ducked back down before the guy could look up and see him. Just like Dean had thought, two guys holding the three of them.

“What did I tell you?” A gruff voice wafted through the window. “You’re supposed to be watching them not stuffing your god damn face.”

Dean flinched as the pie pan and what was left of the pie came sailing out the window as he made his way beneath it. But the argument between the two men seemed to continue as Dean kept moving. He stayed close to the wall and hurried toward the door. If he could get inside while they were fighting he might be able to get the jump on them.

The back door stood open to a small wash room with a stone floor. Boots lined the wall and there was a hand pump that pumped water to the house from the well across the yard. There wasn’t a door between this small room and the kitchen. Dean held his breath, adjusting his rifle so it was braced against his hip and raising his revolver as he crossed the threshold of the small room and stepped into the kitchen.

“Reach for the sky,” Dean growled, his voice low and threatening as he aimed both his guns at the two men. They were standing in the space between the kitchen table and the window, the backs toward Dean as the bickering stopped. Dean could see by the look in their eyes that neither of them were going to stand down. Dean lowered his revolver and shot Blondie in the leg.

“I said hands…”

A solid force hit Dean square in the chest flinging him back through the doorway behind him. In the same instant something invisible wrenched both guns from his grasp and they skittered across the floor to the feet of the two men. Dean was pinned against the wall in the washroom. What felt like a heavy weight pressing against his chest and arms and legs so he couldn’t move.

“Fucker shot me!” Blondie snapped reaching down and picking up Dean’s revolver as the darker haired man picked up Dean’s rifle. There was a sudden sense of fear roiling in Dean’s belly because he couldn’t move and because Blondie’s eyes went jet black as his face curled into a snarl. Blondie raised Dean’s revolver, pointing it at him as his expression changed to a smirk. Obviously black eyed Blondie got the irony of being shot with your own gun.

“No Dean!” Bill yelled from where he was sitting on the floor near the two women. The man wasn’t tied and he surged to his feet. Bill rushed toward the blond man in an attempt to stop him from pulling the trigger. The dark haired man leveled the rifle in Bill’s direction, the same smug smirk and coal black eyes trained on the people Dean had come to save.

The air was rent with the loud retort of the rifle being discharged. Dean could only watch wide eyed as time slowed. The sensations of what was happening came to him in the wrong order. There was blood on the blond man’s face as he smirked and turned back to point the revolver at Dean. The sound of Ellen screaming filled the silence. He could smell gun powder and blood and something that could have been rotten eggs. Then something hit him in the chest with a force like being kicked by a mule. Smoke billowed from the muzzle of his revolver and then with a loud bang, time started to flow the right way again.

Whatever had been holding him against the wall let up and Dean collapsed to his hands and knees to the stone floor. Something was wrong with him but he wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Heat had started radiating out from the spot on his chest where he’d been hit and he looked up. Looked into the kitchen and felt his stomach twist into a knot.

Bill was lying on the floor. Half twisted where his shoulders and head sat up against the base of the wall. Dean could see the slick smear of blood where the man had slid down the wallpaper to where he was now slumped. There was a mess of blood in his clothes and an even bigger pool of it slowly seeping out across the floor.

Ellen was screaming, somehow she had managed to get herself free of the ropes and was now kneeling over her husband. Her hands pressed desperately to the wound in Bill’s chest but it didn’t seem to be stemming the blood that continued to seep out across the floor. Dean had done that. He might not have pulled the trigger but he was the reason it had happened. It was because of him that Bill was now dying or dead. Dean had failed them just like he had failed Sam.

There is a sound in Dean’s ears like the roaring crackle of a fire and it’s so loud that it’s almost drowning out the sound of Ellen and Jo screaming. The heat in his belly spreads, flaring over his skin and raising goose bumps as Dean watches the two men. Their eyes still black like the starless sky as they point his own guns in Dean’s direction. Dean hopes that their aim is true and its over quickly.

The shots never come. Instead fire moves through Dean’s veins and smoke starts curling from his eyes. The smell of burning flesh is rank in his nostrils and Dean knows that it’s his own flesh. Dean arched up, swaying on his knees as he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Trying to stop the pain that was tearing through him. To stop the heat that was making his skin pop and fizzle.

Flame belches out of the fireplace and Dean screams. Screams until he is horse and keeps on screaming as the flaming pain burns through each of his nerve endings and his skin starts to steam and smolder. The heat builds and builds and all Dean can do is scream and watch as his hands burn and the flesh turns to embers.

By the time Dean makes it to his feet there is a hysteria to his screaming and flames lick across his face as it eats away his flesh.

Everyone in the room stares at him with wide eyes and the thing that used to be Dean Winchester snarls at the demon as he points a boney finger at him. “You have spilled the blood of the innocent.”

His voice is deeper, like metal scraping over gravel. Dean turned to face the demon that had shot Bill.

“Oh fuck, it’s the rider!” the blond demon shouts. The dark haired demon tries the wrist flick again but the rider doesn’t budge. Instead the rider strides forward, the dark haired demon backing up until he is against the wall and the rider closes his outstretched hand around the demons throat. He lifts him up against the wall and snarls. “Prepare to know the true meaning of hell!”

The fire around the riders head flickers for a second and then the demon is screaming. Flame and ash erupting from his gaping mouth as glowing cracks appear across his skin. When the rider lets the demon go he crumples into a pile of ash on the floor. Then the rider turns and faces the remaining demon.

The demon empties his gun into the rider. The only effect it seems to have is that the rider looks down at his chest for a moment. The demons eyes filled with fear and he throws the empty revolver at the rider. Then the demon turns and runs from the house.

“Running won’t save you!” the rider growls. He steps in the direction the demon ran but then stops and turns to look at Bill and Ellen. The flame around his head flickering again and fading from the yellow to a blue flame. The man is clearly not long for this world and Ellen has tears on her cheeks.

“You stay away from my pa!” Jo screamed as she appeared in the doorway behind him. She brought the rifle in her hands to bear and fired. The buckshot hitting the rider in the chest.

“Jo, no!” Ellen called out. The rider bent and picked up the empty revolver and his hat. He slides the revolver back into its holster before placing the hat on top of his flaming skull. Then he turned and followed the demon out the front door of the house.

Once on the steps the rider put his skeletal fingers between his teeth and whistled. Impala cantered from the barn up to the bottom of the steps and as the rider took her reins, running a bony hand over her shoulder, the fire from his hands engulfing the horse.

Her mane and hooves became flames. Fire flared from her nostrils and eyes and parts of her flesh peeled back to reveal bone and more flame. Then the rider stepped up into the saddle, took one last look back at the farm house and tugged at the reins.

“Hey yah,” the rider called and the horse took off at a gallop, leaving a trail of flaming hoof prints as they disappeared into the night.



Dean was slumped so far down in his chair that his head was almost resting on the wooden table in front of him. If he could he would just give up and let Crowley have his soul. This fighting thing was for the birds. He felt like he’d been rode hard and put away wet, he’d been on the road searching for so long.

There had been no word of the demon. Nothing. He had decided that enough was enough and had risked riding into town after sun up. There were no demons around. Dean had made sure of it before he entered the town. But that didn’t still mean that one could show up and pick a fight with him for kicks.

He’d walked into the saloon just as it opened and now here he was sitting in the same corner he had occupied all morning and Dean had no intention of going anywhere till sun up the next morning. That meant he could spend the day drunk the evening sobering up and then he could sleep in his saddle if he needed to.

From his spot in the corner he had been able to just sit and watch the patrons come and go. There hadn’t been many. Apparently there weren’t many strangers in town other than himself and one grizzled miner-looking gentleman who sat at the bar and grumbled every time the bartender took too long to refill his glass.

It wasn’t until later in the afternoon, when Dean was nursing a happy little buzz that he noticed the feeling in the town. It seemed heavy with anticipation of something that was about to happen. It was like the place was holding its breath for something. Like the desert before the rain. There didn’t seem to be any evil intent or demon-like feel so Dean had dismissed it as nothing.

Letting out a sigh Dean raised his head. He straightened and curled his fingers around the bottle of whiskey on the table and started to pour himself another shot. That’s when he saw her.

She had long flowing red hair that covered her shoulders but didn’t hide anything that the dress revealed. It was a deep sea green with black lace. The corset, low cut, did wonders for her cleavage and showing off her slim figure. There was a split up the front of the dress that revealed the tops of black stockings held up with garters and a pair of marching dark green panties with black lace frills.

Their eyes met across the room and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if this vision of loveliness was what the town had been holding his breath for. Dean licked his lips as she moved closer. Her hand brushing over his chest as she moved around behind him. Her breasts pressed against his shoulder as she whispered softly into his ear and her hand trailed back down his chest and lower.

“I’m Anna. Let me wash the dust of the trail from your weary frame with something better than liquor.” Her fingertips brushed across his groin for only a second but the invitation was clear enough as she walked away from him.

Dean watched her back as she made her way toward the stairs. The sway of her hips and the way her hair hung down over her bare shoulders were more than enough of a temptation to follow her. But it was the look in her green eyes as she cast her gaze back over her shoulder at him before she climbed the stairs that had Dean moving out of his seat.

She leads him up to his room and Dean’s fairly certain that he’s supposed to pay for this. No pretty girl but the kind you paid for walked around in public with their undergarments showing. But right now he didn’t rightly care. It had been far too long since he’d shared in any kind of human companionship and he’d drunk enough to not really care about his reason for having done so in the first place.

Anna pulled at his clothes and worked them open as Dean unbuckled his belt and dropped his guns to the floor. He was naked by the time she pushed him backward and onto the bed. Dean licked his lips moving back and straightening on the bed as Anna pulled open the lacing of her top and the dress fell away. Her skin under her clothes was milky white like the girl ain’t ever seen the sun and she was so beautiful that it made Dean’s heart race.

Dean ran his hands over her thighs and up over her hips as she straddled him. She was so warm and delicious as she writhed over him that it took Dean a good minute or two to see the shadow of her wings flared out behind her.

“You’re an angel?”

It was a tie as to whether the bigger surprise was that angel’s knew how to fuck or the fact that when he pointed out that he knew that she was one, she grabbed him by the throat and kept him pinned beneath her. Dean felt the press of her other hand across his abdomen before the pain of it screeched through his veins and light erupted from inside him.

He pulled at her wrist trying to get free of her choking grip as he reached out with his other hand. If maybe he could grab something to fight her off with. There’s a lamp on the bedside table and Dean smashes it against her head. She doesn’t even flinch as it shatters and rains glass down over Dean. He’s so screwed. He can’t fight her when he’s not the rider and the afternoon sun streaming in through the window meant that he couldn’t become the rider.

There is a blur of movement and suddenly Anna screamed. Her head flew back and light shone out of her mouth and eyes. Dean tried to see who was standing behind her but the haze of lack of oxygen, her wings and the glowing light made it hard to see. The light grew brighter and brighter until Dean couldn’t see at all and he thought that his eyeballs might be on fire. He closes his eyes and the lack of oxygen makes him slip into unconsciousness.



The hotel room was small, its only entry points a single locked and barred door and a similarly locked small glass paneled window. The furniture consisted of a wooden chest at the end of a wrought iron double bed against the far wall. The room still smelt of sex and Dean was still naked. The blankets kicked down around his legs as he murmured in his sleep.

There was something in the room, that was what woke him up. That and the memory of the curvaceous redhead sliding her hand into his insides. In one quick move Dean grabbed his revolver from its holster where it was slung over the head of the bed and clicked down the hammer to fire it at the stranger.

There was a slight movement of the shadow before him and the lamp by the side of the bed flared to life, illuminating the small room. Castiel was standing there. His long coat still free of dust and his head tilted to the side as he stared down the barrel of Dean’s gun. He didn’t seem to be concerned by the fact that Dean was pointing a gun at him in the slightest.

“Jesus, Cas I almost shot you!” Dean snapped.

He kept the gun aimed at the angel for a moment, then he sighed, raising the gun away from the angel. He used his thumb to click the hammer back into place. He glanced down at himself and pulled the covers up over his chest so he wasn’t as bare.

“I apologize,” Castiel tells him as his blue eyes followed the movements of Dean’s hands.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks, running a hand through his hair. That redhead had to have been a dream. Because this was definitely not the same hotel room.

“You were in flagrante with my sister Anael and she was trying to kill you,” Castiel explained.

Dean frowned for a minute. “Flagrante? What the hell?” Dean glanced around the room. The redhead was an angel and he couldn’t see her. He glanced back at Castiel, the memory of the light coming out of her eyes like it had with the demon that Castiel had killed. “The redhead. You killed her?”

“I did not wish to see you destroyed,” Castiel explained.

“Where are we? How did we get here?” Dean asked.

“We are in a hotel room in a town called Snake Gulch. It is a room I hired for myself.”

Snake Gulch was a good ten days ride from where he’d been staying. Had he been naked that whole time? Dean frowned and looked around for his clothes. “How long was I asleep?”

“Only about an hour. I brought you directly to the room. No one is aware of your presence here.”

It didn’t make Dean feel any better about it. The fact he was naked didn’t help either. Castiel bent down and when he straightened he was holding out Dean’s pants. Dean took them and threw off the covers before dropping his feet off the bed and onto the floor.

“I need to know what kind of deal you made.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair, again ignoring the angel’s question as he pulls his jeans on. He keeps his head down even though he is aware of the fact that Castiel is still watching him with those bright blue eyes. His shirt is in the angel’s hand when he raises his head to look for exactly that. Dean stares at the shirt for a second before raising his eyes to look at the angel.

“Please tell me what kind of deal you made?” Castiel’s voice is almost soft in the way he asks.

“Why do you keep asking about the god damned deal? It won’t change nothin’ by knowing.” Dean pulled his shirt on in frustration.

“You’re right, it will not change the circumstances. But it will tell me whether you deserve to be saved.” Castiel’s voice carries that deep resonating command again. “Let me help you.”

“What makes you think I need your help?”

Castiel glared at him and Dean is pretty sure the angel is about to remind him how he needed to be saved from that redhead. “Where you been anyway? You‘ve been gone for like a month.”

“I went to speak with my superiors,” Castiel explains.

“You get lost?” Dean asks with a frown. He pulled his gun belt from where it hung and put it on. The buckle had two prongs and Dean always found it fidgety.

“I had no difficulty finding my way,” Castiel stated tilting his head to the side slightly as though confused. “Time is not relevant where I come from.”

“Alright. So what did they decide?” Dean asked as he slid his revolver into the holster that was now firmly attached at his hip. He always felt better with his gun belt on.

“I have been ordered to destroy the demon Zarathos.”

“I thought you said that would kill me too.”

“Yes I believe it would.”

“So you’re here to kill me then?” Dean asked, his hand hovering at his revolver. He doubted that a bullet would stop the angel though. Especially since they didn’t stop demons. Dean licked his own bottom lip as he watched Castiel

“I would be going against my orders if I didn’t,” Castiel stated with a sigh. Then he sat on the side of the bed. “Although I find myself wishing to do so. I think I should help you instead.”

Castiel looks at him and his head tilts slightly to the side. “I have chosen to protect you from my brothers.”

“Won’t that piss off your bosses?” Dean asked an eyebrow raised as he looked at Castiel.

Castiel leans forward, resting his elbow’s on his knees as he regards Dean. “I would be labeled a traitor. My brothers and sisters will try to destroy me on sight.”

Dean stares at the angel, not even sure what he should say to that. This guy was willing to give up everything to help him.



Castiel was in need of a horse. Dean had stated in no uncertain terms that he was not willing to fly around the countryside on the angel express and leave Impala behind. Quite frankly Cas liked the idea of being able to ride a horse. They seemed like a mostly placid animal for getting from one place to another but he still would have preferred to fly. Impala certainly was not having any of the two in the saddle nonsense. So instead he took Cas to the livery.

“Hello?” Dean called out into the barn. It appeared to be empty. “We want to buy a horse?”

Dean walked further into the barn and the few horses began to whicker and kick at their stalls. Dean still could not sense a demon. The place was clean but something was setting them off. He would have put it off as being himself but when he turned to look at Castiel the angel seemed on alert.

“Dean!”

A sensation like fingers teasing across the base of his skull and sending electricity down his spine. He isn’t sure what’s caused it because it’s definitely not the telltale sulphur stench of a demon. It’s the way that Castiel’s eyes widen and the angel moves faster than Dean thought possible that gives away the fact that it’s an angel. By the time Dean has turned to face it though, Cas is already standing between him and the tall dark skinned man that was facing him.

The other angel brought down a blade. Silver arcing through the air and slashing across Castiel’s wing. It all happened in a flash of too-fast and then Cas was stumbling back against him. Dean could smell the air was tinged with blood and it made the rider writhe inside him at the scent. He knew that the blow had been meant for him and that Castiel had protected him. The colored man didn’t seem nearly as impressed as Dean was by the angel’s actions.

“Castiel why are you protecting this demon?”

“I am not protecting a demon Raphael. I am protecting an innocent soul.” Castiel stood tall, raising his chin defiantly against the colored angel and his two henchmen. “This is the task our father made us for.”

“He is not an innocent. He sold his soul to the demon Crowley. It is already forfeit,” Raphael informed him, a snarl of anger in his voice and Dean could see it sparking like lightning in his expression as the archangel’s gaze flicked from Castiel to Dean. “Now, if you do not step out of the way the next blow will not be so kind.”

If it wasn’t still daylight Dean would already be the rider and shooting hellfire rounds at the angels to teach them not to mess with him. As it was he could feel the rider struggling to break free. Normally he would fight it, keep the rage and flame hidden, but he knew that with Cas wounded and outnumbered three to one that it would be foolish to keep the rider down.

It didn’t take much to let the rider consume him. A cry of pain left his lips as flames licked slowly over his skin. It sputtered slightly as it struggled to catch on any part of his body that wasn’t shrouded in the shadows of the barn. Didn’t make it hurt any less though. It only took a few seconds even though it felt like an eternity to Dean and the rider stepped forward, bathed in red flame that flickered blue in places.

“You spilled innocent blood,” the Rider snarled as he stepped closer to Raphael. “For that you will be punished.”

The two angels rushed him, brandishing their blades and the rider laughed. The whip looped at his side, bathed in flame as he uncurled it and used it to whip one of the angels. The burning leather of the whip curling around the angel’s throat and pulling him off his feet. At the same time the rider fired his revolver at the other angel, hellfire belching from the muzzle as it blasted a hole in the middle of the angel. Only problem was the two angels just shrugged it off, the hole closing instantly and the other just moving back to his feet and untangling the whip from around his throat.

One of the angels got close enough and the Rider manages to grab hold of the angel’s wing. The angel cries out and the stench of burnt feathers filled the room. Now that the Rider knew what the angel’s weak point was he laughed and stepped closer. Reaching for the other angel’s wing as the one already in his grip struggled to get free.

“Raphael!”

With a shout, Castiel drew the angel‘s attention to the barn door. He’d drawn a circular symbol on the wood with his own blood and in that second of hesitation Castiel presses his hand to the mark. Light fills the room and the flame around Dean snuffs out like a fire starved of oxygen. It doesn’t really matter though, when the light fades the angels are gone and Cas is slumped against the door of the barn.

Dean doesn’t know how long they have until the angel’s return but he isn’t about to stand around and find out. He makes his way to one of the stalls finding a horse that seems the least skittish and giving it a quick once over to make sure it isn’t lame or hobbled in some way then he harnesses and saddles it with some of the gear that’s slung beside the stall.

“Can you ride?” Dean asks as he leads the horse to where Cas still stands by the entrance to the barn. The angel’s skin is waxen and Dean holds the back of his palm to the angel’s brow. He isn’t exactly sure of what the angel’s normal temperature but to him he seems to be burning up. Cas just stares at him, a little bewildered.

“Cas! Can you ride?” he asked again and blue eyes turned to gaze at him.

“I am wounded but I will not fall from the saddle.”

It was good enough for Dean. He shoved the reins into the angel’s hands and whistled for his horse. A few moments later Impala cantered up the main street and whinnied when she stopped next to Dean. Dean trailed a hand down over her muzzle and smiled. He had sugar cubes in his pockets. Well that was, so long as they hadn’t burnt away when he had been the Rider. He manages to retrieve one that was in a reasonable condition and held it out to her in his open palm.



There was an arroyo in Arizona that was like a great cleft in the middle of the open plain. The ground around it was rocky and red dust for a hundred miles in each direction but from the top of the cliff where the ground fell away it was a good two hundred foot drop to the tree line. A person at the top of the arroyo would have to ride for at least an hour in either direction to find a safe passage down into the split in the earth. It was wide too, stretching out for miles. Enough that a small forest had sprung up and you could not see the bottom of the great rent in the earth for the trees. The sound of water floated up from far below but one couldn’t see where the water flowed.

Impala could find her way down the treacherous cliff trail in her sleep but Castiel’s horse needed to be blinkered and led. Castiel walked slowly in front, following Impala who lead the way with her head held high. She whinnied every so often and Cas’ horse would whinny and walk faster in response. Dean couldn’t help but grin at the fact that the two horses seemed to have become friends even though Cas’ horse looked more like an Indian pony than the thoroughbred that Impala was.

Once you were below the tree line the Arroyo was like a private oasis. There was a natural spring that erupted from the wall of the cliff and poured down into a small enclosed rock pool before flowing down through the trees and disappearing into a small crack in the far cliff face. There was a series of caves that had been carved into the cliff face by the water and a rocky outcropping that one could camp under and the smoke from their fire would dissipate rather than wafting visibly up out of the small canyon. Dean and Sam had been here many times in their lives because it was secure and secluded. It made a great place to put your back to a wall and be able to see whatever was coming.

Castiel’s wing was still bleeding, but light no longer glowed from deep inside the gaping wound. The angel was exhausted though like the wound had drained his strength and Dean had to help Cas down from the saddle. He had only the one bedroll and he laid Cas on top of it.

“Can I do anything to help?” he offered when Cas winced as his wing tried to fold against his back.

“I just need to rest. Time to heal.” Cas looked beat and Dean couldn’t blame him. They’d ridden hard for two days straight to get away from the town. They’d ridden like the devil himself had been on their tails and even the horses were exhausted. Cas shifted, forcing himself to sit up and Dean placed his hands on the angel’s shoulders to stop him.

“That don’t look much like resting.”

“I need to draw sigils to protect us.” Cas sighed as he slumped back down onto the bedding. “It will prevent the others from finding us while I rest.”

“Okay then tell me what to do and I will do it.”

Castiel frowned at him and Dean just glared at him. He wasn’t about to take no for an answer even though he understood why the angel might be hesitant to teach him something like that. But Dean couldn’t see how it mattered, the angels were after the two of them now, not just him. Dean watched as the angel contemplated it and then with a sigh Cas nodded.

“You must draw them with blood. One over there and one here,” Cas explained as he pointed to a rock out cropping near the entrance and another on the rock wall behind them. Then Cas proceeded to draw a circle in the dirt with the tip of his finger and a number of symbols on the inside and outside. Dean stayed where he was squat down beside him and watched until Cas was finished, then he leaned in and drew it again beside Castiel’s, copying the pattern.

“Like this?”

Cas nodded although he corrected the curl on one of the symbols. Then the angel lay down and closed his eyes. The angel’s wing still looked pretty bad.

“Hey Cas, do I need to bandage this or something?” Dean asked as he tried to look closer at it without actually touching. Even though he wasn’t currently the rider he didn’t want to do anything that could hurt Cas’ wings worse than they already were. Cas didn’t respond though.

“Cas?”

The angel was unconscious.

Dean sighs and hopes that the angel manages to regain consciousness at some point. He’d started to like the guy. It doesn’t take long to do the sigils and take care of the horses. He hobbles Castiel’s horse to Impala knowing that she won’t wonder far. Then he sits beside the angel and waits for Cas to wake.
part III