The Dead Bodies Mean "I Love You" Part IV
Masterpost | Part I | Part II | Part III
Victor rubs his forehead. This is completely out of control. Sam and Dean by themselves are bad enough, but now this Castiel guy shows up? At least with the Winchesters, they know who they are. They have their files, have their MO, they have everything about the Winchesters. Except for the boys themselves.
Reluctantly he pulls the files open again. He skims over them mindlessly. He’s almost got them memorized anyway.
Sam Winchester: Born May 2, 1983. Height: 6’5”. Brown hair and brown eyes.
Dean Winchester: Born January 24, 1979. Height: 6’1”. Brown hair and green eyes.
Mother: Mary Winchester- deceased. Died in a house fire. Suspected Arson.
Father: John Winchester- deceased. KIA. Member of the Lawrence Police Department.
After the death of their mother, John, Sam and Dean Winchester hunted for man named Alex Anderson, who went by the name Azazel and committed dozens of arsons around the country, including the one that killed Mary Winchester. It was later confirmed that Alex murdered John Winchester, which led to the two Winchester sons killing Alex. Autopsy of Alex show various wounds not synonymous with his death (i.e. pulled fingernails, burns, incisions), suggesting torture before death.
Six months later, they killed the other victims of Alex’s arson. The Winchesters had contacted each of these persons and had planned on taking Alex to court. They all refused and were systematically killed. The list is as follows: Ava Wilson, Andy Gallagher, Ansem Weems, Jake Talley, Max Miller, and Lily [no last name found]. Autopsies confirm that a small pentagram was incised on their skin post-mortem in various places (i.e. shoulders, palms of hands, feet, neck).
Since then, the Winchesters have killed at least thirty more [File 623A] and it is believed the number will continue to rise.
Victor slams the files shut. He doesn’t know why he bothers. These boys are smart. They know how to keep their tracks hidden, how to stay underground. Most importantly, they know how not to leave a trail.
There’s one thing that keeps bothering him about the Winchesters. Why? What’s the motive? What reason do they have to keep on fighting and keep on killing? They’ve got their revenge, why not stop? What pushes these boys to keep killing day after day?
Ronald comes in with a mug of coffee and sits across the desk from Victor.
“Did you get the reports for the Wilsons’ death?” Victor asks.
“Yeah,” Ronald sighs and shakes his head, holding out the folder. “Nasty business. They’re getting worse.”
“You’re telling me,” Victor sighs.
He glances at File 623A. It’s a huge box filled with the Winchesters’ victims. Files, autopsies, crime scene photos. Reluctantly, Victor drops the files of Isaac and Tamara Wilson into the box that’s already filled to bursting.
---
Castiel frowns at the news. The Winchesters are in Oak Park, a mere two hours from where he is, and yet they did not come to visit. Perhaps he isn’t good enough to gain their rage. Perhaps they don’t take him seriously.
That simply won’t do.
He looks at the stolen crime scene photos, spread out on his kitchen table. Issac wasn’t really a body anymore, just parts strewn out. Tamara had been in one piece, other than her heart which was torn from her chest. As usual, they were marked with a pentagram.
It’s ironic, the marking of the pentagram. Protection from evil, protection from what the Winchesters stand for. If Castiel wants to bring them out, then he needs to be stronger. He needs to threaten the Winchesters. He needs the Winchesters to track him down. Castiel needs them to look for him, so that he can fully bring God’s wrath upon their heads.
He picks up a sheet of paper, stained with pizza sauce and beer. There’s only two words on it scrawled messily. Lawrence, Kansas. It was their home, his informant said, sacred ground for the Winchesters. No better way to bring them out than by attacking their very heart.
---
Dean speeds down the highway as fast as he can. They’re in a fancy Mazda with a Nebraska plate, getting as far from the crime scene as they can. Dean has his music loud, Renegade by Styx blaring from the speakers. They’ve both got cans of soda open (Dean never drives drunk), celebrating their victory.
“Thanks, man,” Dean says. “I really needed that hunt.”
“I know you did,” Sam grins. “Damn that was a good hunt.”
“I’ve got one question though,” Dean asks. “What was it like holding her heart?”
Sam’s face melts into ecstasy, “It was the best feeling. Pushing my hand in her chest, warm blood up to my elbows, her heart still beating as I ripped it from her chest.” He shivers and takes a long pull from his soda.
“I should try it sometime,” Dean mutters. “If it’s getting you all hot and bothered, it’s gotta be good.”
“You know me,” Sam laughs. “God, it was almost as good as Madison.”
“But not as good as Jess,” Dean corrects, despite Sam’s glare. “Come on, Sam. We both know she was your favorite toy. You waited months before killing her.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Sam’s voice grows husky. “The time and energy it takes to make them feel safe, secure. To have them trust you completely and then watch the light fade as they realize it was a lie.”
“I know what that’s like!” Dean argues. “Give me some credit, man.”
“You like to hurt them,” Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re sadistic and you want to torture them.”
“And what do you want to do? Seduce them?”
“I want them to feel the cold bitterness of betrayal,” Sam’s voice is hard.
“That’s my boy!” Dean cheers. “A little poetic though, have you been reading Shakespeare again?”
“Oh, shut up,” Sam laughs.
Dean reaches over and places his hand on Sam’s thigh, squeezing lightly. It stays there until they reach North Platte.
---
Sam’s phone pings. Blearily, he wakes up, pulling his arm out from under Dean, and checks the time. 3 am. Who texts at 3 in the morning? Groaning, he rolls over, ignoring Dean’s whimper at losing contact with his brother. He flips open the phone, winces at the light, and scans over the text.
Found her. Las Vegas.
He’s instantly awake. Garth isn’t the greatest informant, too touchy feely, but he does his research and he’s damn good at it. He’s been handing information to the Winchesters for several months now, and he’s never failed, never squealed. Mostly because he knows if he fails then he’s next on their list.
Sam texts back: you sure?
Dean whines again, reaching for Sam. Sighing, Sam reaches out and puts his hand on Dean’s chest, rubbing small circles until Dean sighs back into sleep. He rolls his eyes. Needy big brother. His phone pings again.
100% Good luck.
Sam flips the phone shut and rolls back next to Dean, who instantly curls up to his side. If Garth is right and she’s in Las Vegas, then they’re only fourteen hours away. Fourteen hours away from sweet revenge. Content, he falls asleep with dreams of Bela Talbot screaming.
Part V
Victor rubs his forehead. This is completely out of control. Sam and Dean by themselves are bad enough, but now this Castiel guy shows up? At least with the Winchesters, they know who they are. They have their files, have their MO, they have everything about the Winchesters. Except for the boys themselves.
Reluctantly he pulls the files open again. He skims over them mindlessly. He’s almost got them memorized anyway.
Sam Winchester: Born May 2, 1983. Height: 6’5”. Brown hair and brown eyes.
Dean Winchester: Born January 24, 1979. Height: 6’1”. Brown hair and green eyes.
Mother: Mary Winchester- deceased. Died in a house fire. Suspected Arson.
Father: John Winchester- deceased. KIA. Member of the Lawrence Police Department.
After the death of their mother, John, Sam and Dean Winchester hunted for man named Alex Anderson, who went by the name Azazel and committed dozens of arsons around the country, including the one that killed Mary Winchester. It was later confirmed that Alex murdered John Winchester, which led to the two Winchester sons killing Alex. Autopsy of Alex show various wounds not synonymous with his death (i.e. pulled fingernails, burns, incisions), suggesting torture before death.
Six months later, they killed the other victims of Alex’s arson. The Winchesters had contacted each of these persons and had planned on taking Alex to court. They all refused and were systematically killed. The list is as follows: Ava Wilson, Andy Gallagher, Ansem Weems, Jake Talley, Max Miller, and Lily [no last name found]. Autopsies confirm that a small pentagram was incised on their skin post-mortem in various places (i.e. shoulders, palms of hands, feet, neck).
Since then, the Winchesters have killed at least thirty more [File 623A] and it is believed the number will continue to rise.
Victor slams the files shut. He doesn’t know why he bothers. These boys are smart. They know how to keep their tracks hidden, how to stay underground. Most importantly, they know how not to leave a trail.
There’s one thing that keeps bothering him about the Winchesters. Why? What’s the motive? What reason do they have to keep on fighting and keep on killing? They’ve got their revenge, why not stop? What pushes these boys to keep killing day after day?
Ronald comes in with a mug of coffee and sits across the desk from Victor.
“Did you get the reports for the Wilsons’ death?” Victor asks.
“Yeah,” Ronald sighs and shakes his head, holding out the folder. “Nasty business. They’re getting worse.”
“You’re telling me,” Victor sighs.
He glances at File 623A. It’s a huge box filled with the Winchesters’ victims. Files, autopsies, crime scene photos. Reluctantly, Victor drops the files of Isaac and Tamara Wilson into the box that’s already filled to bursting.
---
Castiel frowns at the news. The Winchesters are in Oak Park, a mere two hours from where he is, and yet they did not come to visit. Perhaps he isn’t good enough to gain their rage. Perhaps they don’t take him seriously.
That simply won’t do.
He looks at the stolen crime scene photos, spread out on his kitchen table. Issac wasn’t really a body anymore, just parts strewn out. Tamara had been in one piece, other than her heart which was torn from her chest. As usual, they were marked with a pentagram.
It’s ironic, the marking of the pentagram. Protection from evil, protection from what the Winchesters stand for. If Castiel wants to bring them out, then he needs to be stronger. He needs to threaten the Winchesters. He needs the Winchesters to track him down. Castiel needs them to look for him, so that he can fully bring God’s wrath upon their heads.
He picks up a sheet of paper, stained with pizza sauce and beer. There’s only two words on it scrawled messily. Lawrence, Kansas. It was their home, his informant said, sacred ground for the Winchesters. No better way to bring them out than by attacking their very heart.
---
Dean speeds down the highway as fast as he can. They’re in a fancy Mazda with a Nebraska plate, getting as far from the crime scene as they can. Dean has his music loud, Renegade by Styx blaring from the speakers. They’ve both got cans of soda open (Dean never drives drunk), celebrating their victory.
“Thanks, man,” Dean says. “I really needed that hunt.”
“I know you did,” Sam grins. “Damn that was a good hunt.”
“I’ve got one question though,” Dean asks. “What was it like holding her heart?”
Sam’s face melts into ecstasy, “It was the best feeling. Pushing my hand in her chest, warm blood up to my elbows, her heart still beating as I ripped it from her chest.” He shivers and takes a long pull from his soda.
“I should try it sometime,” Dean mutters. “If it’s getting you all hot and bothered, it’s gotta be good.”
“You know me,” Sam laughs. “God, it was almost as good as Madison.”
“But not as good as Jess,” Dean corrects, despite Sam’s glare. “Come on, Sam. We both know she was your favorite toy. You waited months before killing her.”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Sam’s voice grows husky. “The time and energy it takes to make them feel safe, secure. To have them trust you completely and then watch the light fade as they realize it was a lie.”
“I know what that’s like!” Dean argues. “Give me some credit, man.”
“You like to hurt them,” Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re sadistic and you want to torture them.”
“And what do you want to do? Seduce them?”
“I want them to feel the cold bitterness of betrayal,” Sam’s voice is hard.
“That’s my boy!” Dean cheers. “A little poetic though, have you been reading Shakespeare again?”
“Oh, shut up,” Sam laughs.
Dean reaches over and places his hand on Sam’s thigh, squeezing lightly. It stays there until they reach North Platte.
---
Sam’s phone pings. Blearily, he wakes up, pulling his arm out from under Dean, and checks the time. 3 am. Who texts at 3 in the morning? Groaning, he rolls over, ignoring Dean’s whimper at losing contact with his brother. He flips open the phone, winces at the light, and scans over the text.
Found her. Las Vegas.
He’s instantly awake. Garth isn’t the greatest informant, too touchy feely, but he does his research and he’s damn good at it. He’s been handing information to the Winchesters for several months now, and he’s never failed, never squealed. Mostly because he knows if he fails then he’s next on their list.
Sam texts back: you sure?
Dean whines again, reaching for Sam. Sighing, Sam reaches out and puts his hand on Dean’s chest, rubbing small circles until Dean sighs back into sleep. He rolls his eyes. Needy big brother. His phone pings again.
100% Good luck.
Sam flips the phone shut and rolls back next to Dean, who instantly curls up to his side. If Garth is right and she’s in Las Vegas, then they’re only fourteen hours away. Fourteen hours away from sweet revenge. Content, he falls asleep with dreams of Bela Talbot screaming.
Part V