The Monsters that Kill the Nightmares - Part V: Late May
Late May
It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Like coming home and being torn away. The greatest rush and the deepest low. And Cas thinks he likes it. He likes it a lot. He likes the satisfying squelch noise as he sinks his blade into her abdomen; likes the cutoff of the scream bubbling in her chest just before she dies. Next time he’ll cut the girls vocal cords though, he decides. He doesn’t like the screams themselves. He likes how limp she goes as the life leaves her body, how pliant she becomes, how easy it is to just leave her somewhere to be found; he likes how dangerous it. He’s a drifter, never in the same place for long. No one can connect her to him. She was just some whore on the street after all. Bitch tried to charge too much anyway.
He doesn’t like the way her blood clings and sinks into his clothing. It’s too sweet, too sickly, a bitter reminder of a night gone haywire. She provoked him, he’ll tell himself in the morning. Tried to be a greedy whore and Cas works too hard to keep what he steals to give it away so freely. So he empties her pockets before disposing of her body. Serves her right.
It’s sloppy and careless and the best thing in the world and Cas wonders why on Earth it took him so long to get to this point. He understands those boys now, understands why they do it. But can’t, for the life of him, understand why they would stop.
Unless they found something better.
And immediately Cas’ determination returns. Time to rack up the body count, bring those boys to him.
The next girl dies quicker. No screams, no pleading. Cas almost applauds her resolve - until he sees her hands clasped in her lap and her lips move as she mumbles prayers to an invisible power. “Prayers to things that don’t exist have never helped anybody, sweetheart. You might as well quit while you’re ahead.” She whimpers and he slits her throat for good measure, kneels in front of her and drives the blade into her heart.
He goes through girls like laundry. Sometimes he leaves them to be found, other times, there’s not enough left of the girl to bother. He’s gotten adventurous. Torturing, maiming, anything to be a little different - to capture someone’s attention.
He decides to stick around at one of the body drops. Watches as someone finds the body, screams (and he flinches because he still hates screaming), finally calms down and calls ‘911.’ He waits as the first cop car shows up. Then two, then three. He watches them call it in, and there’s detectives and M.E.’s, interns and more shuffling about, getting the area taped off. He doesn’t stick around long after that, slipping from the shadows and bolting down the street He’s seen enough. Ruining his perfectly good dead body. How could they? Staying around had been a bad idea.
He never slept with the girls - the main difference between what he did what the boys did. He had no desire to. He was merely using them to get what wanted. And he’d have what he wanted soon enough. He could feel it. He’d beat off at night to the thoughts of what they would do to him. In his mind he’d lay there and take it, like a good little boy - because surely, men like that, they’d want a pet, a toy, a slave. Men like that always did.
But pets and slaves had to earn their place, Cas told himself, earn the rights to have men like that; had to prove themselves to them. He’d come with their names on his tongue, and he longed for the day he could hear his name fall from their lips. It would sound beautiful he hoped.
There’s a night, not long before his first night with the boys, where he can’t take it anymore, thinks they’re taking too long to catch him. So he’s freaking out, jonsing for a kill and he doesn’t care whose throat he slits - woman, man - he just wants to watch the warm blood run down their neck, see the life leave their eyes. He’s out at a bar, scouting the crowd for a victim, when he sees them. They’re shoved in a corner, drinks abandoned on the table in front of them, eyes locked on each other, room forgotten. He can’t see if they’re saying anything, probably not though - it’s too loud in the bar for that - and he wants to go to them, fall in front of them and beg them to see what they’re missing, see how much he needs them. But he doesn’t. He abandons the bar and his hunt along with it, no longer caring about a kill for the evening. He has to be patient, they’ll find him eventually, make it all worth it. The wait will end. He just has to lead them to him.