The Dead Bodies Mean "I Love You" Part II
Masterpost | Part I
Denver is a pretty nice city. They’ve been here for a couple of weeks, staying in a little motel off the highway, eating out at diners during their busiest hours, becoming, for the most part, normal. Three weeks is just enough time for their story to calm down. Just enough time to give them a good cover. Just enough time for Dean to go stir-crazy.
“Sam, I hate it here,” Dean complains, kicking at the motel bed. “It’s too quiet and we have to be normal and assimilate and it’s boring.”
“Assimilate?” Sam repeats. “That’s an awful big word Dean. Sure you can handle it?”
“Haha,” Dean laughs sarcastically. “I’m serious Sam, I’m going to kill myself if we don’t do something, do you understand?”
“You could always go to the bar?” Sam suggests, pulling out a book. “Or read?”
“No one goes to a bar at three in the afternoon.”
“Well then entertain yourself, I don’t care. You said we’d go deep, so we’re going deep.”
“This is super deep. Like, bottom of the ocean, deep. We’ve never gone this deep before.”
“Well we’ve never had the cops so close on our tail before.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You’ve said that already,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Watch TV. We’ve got cable, for once. Watch that dumb doctor show you think is so cool.”
“Hey!” Dean aims a hit at Sam’s head. “Dr. Sexy is quality television!”
Regardless, Dean flips on the television and is greeted with, not Seattle Mercy Hospital, but with a news station on red alert.
“News of another potential serial killer grips the nation,” the anchor says. “There have been nine murders committed in the past month, all in Pontiac, Illinois. So far the victims have been prostitutes, murderers, and thieves. These murders have all happened in sets of three, each on a Thursday. Three is a common holy symbol used in many religions.”
“Dean,” Sam hits his brother, as if Dean isn’t already riveted to the screen.
“Little is known of this mysterious killer, but locals are calling him Castiel, the angel of Thursday. He is said to be 6’ with dark hair. We have a video clip of him killing a young woman, Meg Masters, in her own home, unaware that she was video chatting with her mother. This video has not been tampered with and viewer discretion is advised.”
A grainy clip shows up on the tiny television screen. Dean leans forward, eyes narrowed. The woman is very pretty with long dark hair, a round face and sinful smile. From behind comes a man, dressed in a suit with trenchcoat. He reaches out and grabs the woman by the hair, pulling out an odd silver knife and dragging it across her throat. Blood gushes out and she doesn’t have a chance to scream as the blood blocks her lungs. She gives one last twitch and falls off the chair. The man comes up to the screen, lighting his face.
Even on the low quality webcam feed, Dean can tell this man is gorgeous. Deep blue eyes, sharp jaw line, and dark hair mussed up in all the right ways. He says some prayer in a language Dean doesn’t recognize, but he’s going to remember that voice forever. That low scratch of gravel with a hint of power. Something like heat coils in his stomach.
“We encourage everyone to keep an eye out for this man, as well as the Winchesters. They are all considered armed and very dangerous.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Sam asks, turning off the television.
“Naw,” Dean shrugs. “He’s not that special.”
“I dunno, Dean,” Sam shakes his head. “He looks like he’s just getting started.”
“He’s not dangerous,” Dean’s voice is harsh. “Alright, Sam?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to check it out at least,” Sam continues. “Pontiac? That’s not that far. We could probably make it in a couple days. And I know something that’ll keep your mind occupied.”
“Do you?” Dean looks skeptical. “This isn’t going to be another Lisa incident, is it?”
“I swear I won’t try and hook you up with any chicks,” Sam says. “Especially not chicks with kids. I didn’t mean that kind of occupied. I meant... the other.”
“You’ve got a hunt,” Dean grins.
“I’ve got a good hunt.”
“You said we were going deep.”
“We were, but we can’t let this guy take our press, right?”
“I’ll bite then, what’s this hunt?”
Sam smiles.
---
They are calling him Castiel. The man smiles. He likes it. There’s a nice ring to the name. Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Although, he muses, he doesn’t mean for the murders to happen on a Thursday. It must be fate.
He wishes he could call his family. They would have loved to hear his success. To know he has finally found his calling, that he has finally found his angelic name. He is no longer Christopher Milton. He is Castiel. Angel of the Lord. Doing His holy duty wherever it may take him.
Sam and Dean Winchester are a threat, and they need to be taken out as soon as possible. It is His will and Castiel will obey. He has been chosen to purge the world of evil and wickedness, to bring about peace and prosperity.
He says a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for being chosen. He already has victims chosen for next Thursday, and with His grace, he will send them to be judged.
---
“There’s a couple up in Oak Park that are a pair of homicide detectives,” Sam tells Dean as they move their gear into an Iowa car. “It’s only two hours from Pontiac.”
“And you say they’re a good hunt?” Dean slams the trunk closed.
“They’re a great hunt,” Sam smirks. “They keep their house secure, they’re always packing. They’re going to be a challenge.”
Isaac and Tamara Wilson are the top homicide detectives in Oak Park, Illinois. They are the perfect hunt. Smart, dangerous, and a little big sadistic. It’ll be tricky enough following them home, much less killing them. It’s been awhile since Sam and Dean hunted partners. The last time was Gordon Walker and his Jesus freak buddy, Kubrick. That had been a fight to the death and it was exhilarating.
Dean needs that exhilaration again. Sam feels a bit guilty, hoarding Madison to himself, but he couldn’t help it. After all, he was the one who got into her apartment. He was the one that made her feel safe and secure. He got to see the light in her eyes die when she realized what Sam was going to do to her. He got to hear her whispered “no no, please, no, please” before gagging her. The desperation in her tears as he slid the knife across her butter-smooth skin. The pleading in her eyes, begging him to stop.
Sam is getting hot just thinking about it. The power he holds just because he has the blade, because he has the strength, because he refuses to bow down to the corrupt power that is in place. Madison had been another pawn, another piece on the tilted chessboard of criminal justice.
Sam and Dean are determined to fix it; to start a new game of life.
---
Oak Park lives up to its name. It’s close to Chicago and beautiful, grass and trees and quaint houses. Isaac and Tamara live in a chic house near the police station. Sam and Dean are sitting in their stolen Honda down the street, watching the comings and goings of the couple. Learning their schedule.
Tamara leaves first, picking up coffee for the station. Isaac leaves not ten minutes later. They work all day, mostly pushing papers. They come home together at 6 and spend their evening inside, enjoying each other’s company.
“They’re going to be a fight,” Dean mentions, pointing out their weapons.
“They’ll be that much more difficult to break,” Sam snarls. “We should go. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Dean nods. “We need to find a place to stay the night. See any abandoned houses nearby?”
They find an empty house half a block away. The yard is yellowing, the pavement cracked, and the windows dusty. A perfect place for a couple of serial killers to camp. They wait until nightfall to break in.
The inside is just as dusty as the outside. Sam hauls in the television and hooks it up, careful to keep the curtains closed so no one can see them. Dean tosses a takeout bag onto the floor, dropping his duffel next to it.
They sit next to each other in comfort, the television on but fuzzy, the sound crackling. Sides pressed tight together, they pull out their food and crack open beer bottles. Burgers for Dean and a salad for Sam. Dean is always making jokes about Sam worrying about his figure. With their lifestyle, who cares?
The news station that’s on is playing a clip of an FBI agent. He’s dressed nicely and looks sharp, his mouth set in a determined line. The name scrolls at the bottom of the screen. Victor Henricksen.
“I assure you we’re doing all we can to bring the Winchesters into custody. They are pushing their luck and when they mess up, we’ll be there to catch them.”
Dean looks at his little brother and lets out a laugh, “If that’s the best they’ve got then I say we’re home free!”
“Hallelujah!” Sam cheers, tapping their bottles together. “So you got a plan for tomorrow?”
“I thought we’d break into their house and wait for them to come home,” Dean shrugs. “I haven’t had any fun in months and you took Madison.”
“I don’t mind,” Sam grins. “There’s a fight just waiting to happen with these two. You saw the way they walk, the way they’re always looking behind. They’re just begging for something to come after them.”
“Yeah, something,” Dean scoffs. “Not us.”
Part III
Denver is a pretty nice city. They’ve been here for a couple of weeks, staying in a little motel off the highway, eating out at diners during their busiest hours, becoming, for the most part, normal. Three weeks is just enough time for their story to calm down. Just enough time to give them a good cover. Just enough time for Dean to go stir-crazy.
“Sam, I hate it here,” Dean complains, kicking at the motel bed. “It’s too quiet and we have to be normal and assimilate and it’s boring.”
“Assimilate?” Sam repeats. “That’s an awful big word Dean. Sure you can handle it?”
“Haha,” Dean laughs sarcastically. “I’m serious Sam, I’m going to kill myself if we don’t do something, do you understand?”
“You could always go to the bar?” Sam suggests, pulling out a book. “Or read?”
“No one goes to a bar at three in the afternoon.”
“Well then entertain yourself, I don’t care. You said we’d go deep, so we’re going deep.”
“This is super deep. Like, bottom of the ocean, deep. We’ve never gone this deep before.”
“Well we’ve never had the cops so close on our tail before.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You’ve said that already,” Sam rolls his eyes. “Watch TV. We’ve got cable, for once. Watch that dumb doctor show you think is so cool.”
“Hey!” Dean aims a hit at Sam’s head. “Dr. Sexy is quality television!”
Regardless, Dean flips on the television and is greeted with, not Seattle Mercy Hospital, but with a news station on red alert.
“News of another potential serial killer grips the nation,” the anchor says. “There have been nine murders committed in the past month, all in Pontiac, Illinois. So far the victims have been prostitutes, murderers, and thieves. These murders have all happened in sets of three, each on a Thursday. Three is a common holy symbol used in many religions.”
“Dean,” Sam hits his brother, as if Dean isn’t already riveted to the screen.
“Little is known of this mysterious killer, but locals are calling him Castiel, the angel of Thursday. He is said to be 6’ with dark hair. We have a video clip of him killing a young woman, Meg Masters, in her own home, unaware that she was video chatting with her mother. This video has not been tampered with and viewer discretion is advised.”
A grainy clip shows up on the tiny television screen. Dean leans forward, eyes narrowed. The woman is very pretty with long dark hair, a round face and sinful smile. From behind comes a man, dressed in a suit with trenchcoat. He reaches out and grabs the woman by the hair, pulling out an odd silver knife and dragging it across her throat. Blood gushes out and she doesn’t have a chance to scream as the blood blocks her lungs. She gives one last twitch and falls off the chair. The man comes up to the screen, lighting his face.
Even on the low quality webcam feed, Dean can tell this man is gorgeous. Deep blue eyes, sharp jaw line, and dark hair mussed up in all the right ways. He says some prayer in a language Dean doesn’t recognize, but he’s going to remember that voice forever. That low scratch of gravel with a hint of power. Something like heat coils in his stomach.
“We encourage everyone to keep an eye out for this man, as well as the Winchesters. They are all considered armed and very dangerous.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Sam asks, turning off the television.
“Naw,” Dean shrugs. “He’s not that special.”
“I dunno, Dean,” Sam shakes his head. “He looks like he’s just getting started.”
“He’s not dangerous,” Dean’s voice is harsh. “Alright, Sam?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to check it out at least,” Sam continues. “Pontiac? That’s not that far. We could probably make it in a couple days. And I know something that’ll keep your mind occupied.”
“Do you?” Dean looks skeptical. “This isn’t going to be another Lisa incident, is it?”
“I swear I won’t try and hook you up with any chicks,” Sam says. “Especially not chicks with kids. I didn’t mean that kind of occupied. I meant... the other.”
“You’ve got a hunt,” Dean grins.
“I’ve got a good hunt.”
“You said we were going deep.”
“We were, but we can’t let this guy take our press, right?”
“I’ll bite then, what’s this hunt?”
Sam smiles.
---
They are calling him Castiel. The man smiles. He likes it. There’s a nice ring to the name. Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Although, he muses, he doesn’t mean for the murders to happen on a Thursday. It must be fate.
He wishes he could call his family. They would have loved to hear his success. To know he has finally found his calling, that he has finally found his angelic name. He is no longer Christopher Milton. He is Castiel. Angel of the Lord. Doing His holy duty wherever it may take him.
Sam and Dean Winchester are a threat, and they need to be taken out as soon as possible. It is His will and Castiel will obey. He has been chosen to purge the world of evil and wickedness, to bring about peace and prosperity.
He says a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for being chosen. He already has victims chosen for next Thursday, and with His grace, he will send them to be judged.
---
“There’s a couple up in Oak Park that are a pair of homicide detectives,” Sam tells Dean as they move their gear into an Iowa car. “It’s only two hours from Pontiac.”
“And you say they’re a good hunt?” Dean slams the trunk closed.
“They’re a great hunt,” Sam smirks. “They keep their house secure, they’re always packing. They’re going to be a challenge.”
Isaac and Tamara Wilson are the top homicide detectives in Oak Park, Illinois. They are the perfect hunt. Smart, dangerous, and a little big sadistic. It’ll be tricky enough following them home, much less killing them. It’s been awhile since Sam and Dean hunted partners. The last time was Gordon Walker and his Jesus freak buddy, Kubrick. That had been a fight to the death and it was exhilarating.
Dean needs that exhilaration again. Sam feels a bit guilty, hoarding Madison to himself, but he couldn’t help it. After all, he was the one who got into her apartment. He was the one that made her feel safe and secure. He got to see the light in her eyes die when she realized what Sam was going to do to her. He got to hear her whispered “no no, please, no, please” before gagging her. The desperation in her tears as he slid the knife across her butter-smooth skin. The pleading in her eyes, begging him to stop.
Sam is getting hot just thinking about it. The power he holds just because he has the blade, because he has the strength, because he refuses to bow down to the corrupt power that is in place. Madison had been another pawn, another piece on the tilted chessboard of criminal justice.
Sam and Dean are determined to fix it; to start a new game of life.
---
Oak Park lives up to its name. It’s close to Chicago and beautiful, grass and trees and quaint houses. Isaac and Tamara live in a chic house near the police station. Sam and Dean are sitting in their stolen Honda down the street, watching the comings and goings of the couple. Learning their schedule.
Tamara leaves first, picking up coffee for the station. Isaac leaves not ten minutes later. They work all day, mostly pushing papers. They come home together at 6 and spend their evening inside, enjoying each other’s company.
“They’re going to be a fight,” Dean mentions, pointing out their weapons.
“They’ll be that much more difficult to break,” Sam snarls. “We should go. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Dean nods. “We need to find a place to stay the night. See any abandoned houses nearby?”
They find an empty house half a block away. The yard is yellowing, the pavement cracked, and the windows dusty. A perfect place for a couple of serial killers to camp. They wait until nightfall to break in.
The inside is just as dusty as the outside. Sam hauls in the television and hooks it up, careful to keep the curtains closed so no one can see them. Dean tosses a takeout bag onto the floor, dropping his duffel next to it.
They sit next to each other in comfort, the television on but fuzzy, the sound crackling. Sides pressed tight together, they pull out their food and crack open beer bottles. Burgers for Dean and a salad for Sam. Dean is always making jokes about Sam worrying about his figure. With their lifestyle, who cares?
The news station that’s on is playing a clip of an FBI agent. He’s dressed nicely and looks sharp, his mouth set in a determined line. The name scrolls at the bottom of the screen. Victor Henricksen.
“I assure you we’re doing all we can to bring the Winchesters into custody. They are pushing their luck and when they mess up, we’ll be there to catch them.”
Dean looks at his little brother and lets out a laugh, “If that’s the best they’ve got then I say we’re home free!”
“Hallelujah!” Sam cheers, tapping their bottles together. “So you got a plan for tomorrow?”
“I thought we’d break into their house and wait for them to come home,” Dean shrugs. “I haven’t had any fun in months and you took Madison.”
“I don’t mind,” Sam grins. “There’s a fight just waiting to happen with these two. You saw the way they walk, the way they’re always looking behind. They’re just begging for something to come after them.”
“Yeah, something,” Dean scoffs. “Not us.”
Part III