An UnKindness of Crows

[reticentric]

~Part Two~

Castiel didn’t mind walking to Rufus’s bar though he could have stolen a car to get there much faster. He used to walk all the time however and think of article titles or clear his head. This time he focused on the rage brewing up inside of him. It churned and bubbled unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. He’d never known a person could get so furious that they could taste it, but he could. Like hot ashes in his mouth it settled on his tongue, thick and dry. Before this was over he’d probably be choking on it.

The crow stayed vigil on a set of dumpsters outside of the front door, ruffling its’ feathers whenever some drunk patron tried to touch it or threw a bottle its’ way. It observed the man as he exited and pulled his coat tighter around him, strolling down the street with cheeks flush from the alcohol he’d consumed. Castiel elected to sprint and cut through a dark alleyway to cut the man off at the pass in front of an electronic store with several televisions in the window all showing different programs.

He leaned against the side of the building nonchalantly. “Bum a smoke?”

The man looked up from his feet and startled, then broke out into a rather wide charming grin. He appeared to be just some corn fed Iowa boy but there was a distinct creepiness behind his charismatic smile. “I wasn’t aware that it was Halloween already.”

Castiel chuckled softly. “Did you know that Halloween has roots to the feast of Samhain? It was a…harvest festival to honor the dead.”

“Um, I did not know that,” He replied with an amused tone. “Are you some kind of clown that goes around teaching people about holidays?”

“No, but I am an educator of the dead.” Castiel looked up at him through his long lashes. “What do they call you? Names are important you know.”

Perhaps it was ego that made him answer, “Nick. Nick Monroe.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed them over. “Here. Maybe a few hits of nicotine will level you out.”

Taking the pack, Castiel slipped it into the pocket of his coat and sighed. He stared at Nick and clenched his jaw, unable to wash away the images of this intelligent seeming man defiling his sister again and again against her will. Pinning her to the floor, smoothing back her flaming red hair as if he cared and then slapping her across the face when she tried to fight back. Take him. He deserves your fury, a phantom voice whispered and he knew it to be true.

“I have a poem for you; just a small bit. It’s by a man named Alan Seeger.” Clearing his throat, he stood straight and bowed with a flourish of his right hand. “God knows ‘twere better to be deep. Pillowed in silk and scented down, where love throbs out in blissful sleep. Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, where hushed awakenings are dear… But I’ve a rendezvous with Death at midnight in some flaming town, when spring trips north again this year. And I to my pledged word am true; I shall not fail that rendezvous.” A beat. “I am Death, Nick, and you’re late.”

Before Nick could question his insane ramblings, Castiel lunged at him and punched him in the face. He grabbed him around the collar and slung him into the brick of the wall, watching as his head bounced back. Nick cried out and started swinging, catching Castiel across the cheek with a blow that should have broken his nose on contact but didn’t. Not to be deterred however, he grabbed a handful of Castiel’s wild black hair and forced him forward, slamming his knee up into his stomach.

Castiel coughed and Nick threw him onto the ground, kicking repeatedly about the ribs. “What the fuck is your problem, huh! You think you can get the jump on me?” He grabbed Castiel’s chin. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Laughing, Castiel nodded. “You’re the man who raped and murdered my sister.”

Nick chortled and let his boot fly into Castiel’s face, disorienting him a bit. “I’ve had a lot of pretty girls so you’ll have to be more specific. I get bored easily you see, so I want to be excited over and over again.”

Angered by the flip way he was talking about his victims, Castiel latched onto his ankle and tugged hard, making Nick crash to the ground. He stomped him in the chest and then in the face, knocking out several teeth at doing so. Nick rolled to the side and spit out a mouthful of blood, his hand inching down towards his belt and the gun holstered at the side.

Castiel noticed and grasped his fingers, bending them back until they broke with a sick snapping sound. Nick screamed, tried to crawl away but found himself pinned to the cold cement of the sidewalk. “The others. Who are they?”

“Fuck! What? Wh-what others? Who the fuck are you?” Nick grunted in pain.

“I am Death, now confess your sins.” Castiel wrapped a hand around his neck. “Six months ago you and your buddies killed two people in an apartment not far from here. I want their names.”

Realization dawned on the other man’s face and he cowered in fear. “Yo-you’re dead! I-I saw you hang!”

“I got better.” He tightened his hand. “Names.”

Struggling to swallow, Nick blinked rapidly. “Gordon Walker. Me-Meg Masters and her sick ass adopted father, he just goes by the name Azazel.”

“You weren’t working on your own…”

“We-Azazel got his orders from the big man. Alastair. He-he calls the shots in this city.”

“Alastair. I knew it was a mob hit. Did Azazel tell you why I had to die?”

“No just that you-you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong.”

Snorting, Castiel released him. He gazed down at the broken and bloodied man before him and shook his head. A car backfiring diverted his attention for a second and when he turned, two bullets caught him in the chest. Apparently Nick had reached his gun.

Castiel staggered back, fingered the crimson holes and watched them heal. An almost hysterical laugh bubbled out of his lips. “You ruined my shirt.” Hauling a stunned Nick to his feet, he spun him around and sent him flying head first through the window of the store.

Nick gave a garbled shriek, his feet scuffling on the ground as splinters of sharp glass cut into his throat and chest. A particularly jagged piece nicked the artery in his neck, sending blood flowing. He twitched as if he were having a seizure, his legs kicking out and his mouth moving without sound. It only lasted a moment and he’d bled out almost completely.

Castiel licked his dry lips and one by one the television monitors flickered to the symbol of a black crow. He exhaled, turned and simply walked away.

~*~

It was 10:15am when Dean made his way into the Lawrence, Kansas Police Department with two paper cups of coffee in his hand. He jogged up the stairs to the Homicide division and walked inside, stopping at the front desk to chat with the attractive older black woman sitting behind it. “Well if it isn’t the prettiest girl in the precinct.”

Missouri Mosley smirked at him. “Dean Winchester you call me a girl again and I’m gonna go upside your head.”

He flashed a big grin. “But every time I see you, you just get younger and younger. When are you going to stop saying no to going on a date with me?”

Laughing, she shook her head. “Stop fluttering those pretty green eyes at me and tend to your business. He’s already here-been here since eight.”

Winking, Dean continued on his way and into a corner office, closing the door behind him. Sitting on the edge of his desk, neck craned to read the file open on it was a handsome black man. He looked up and took the coffee offered to him, arching a brow. “Is this the good stuff or that shit from down the street?”

“The good stuff,” Dean replied smiling. “At least mine is anyway.”

Victor Henriksen was a decorated Detective that dedicated his life to protecting and serving. He was smart, brave and good looking but humble. Usually. He was also the only cop willing to give Dean the time of day about case related matters, even though most knew him because of his father. They just felt he was more civilian and thereby shouldn’t be privy to such information. Victor was different however; he used Dean’s way of finding out information as he would any other contact.

And Dean got to be integrated in official police business.

“So that asshole in my building has been ranting about George Jones and some hooker named Tawny lately. Not sure but I think I remember seeing a wanted poster for old Georgie boy. It’s not much but if my hearing is correct, he’s always picking Tawny up at eleven on the corner of Briar. She’s a drug mule so he says,” Dean explained lightly. “I figured you’d wanna know, just in case.”

“Thanks.” Victor sipped his coffee. “I’ll get one of the newbies to check it out. Let them get their hands dirty for a change.”

Dean sat down and peered at the photographs. “What the hell happened to this guy?”

“Someone put him through the window of Milligan’s Electronics.” He tilted his head to the side. “Well they put his head anyway. We found a .45 on him and there was gun residue on his hands so I’m having my people check the local hospitals for any gunshot wounds that might have come in last night.”

“Robbery?”

“No. Wallet was there and his jewelry. My guess is rival gang hit.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because this son of a bitch was Nick “Pretty Boy” Monroe.”

Dean frowned; he knew that name. “Why does that sound familiar?”

The other man grinned but it lacked humor. “Monroe had a rap sheet a mile long, mostly for sexual battery or attempted rape. Charges never stuck ‘cause the victims always backed out before testifying or the DNA evidence managed to go missing.”

Shrugging, Dean stretched his legs out, crossing his ankles. “Any leads?”

Victor shook his head. “No. Funny thing though, all of the tvs in the shop were switched to some black bird. We think it could be the other gangs’ calling card. They’re new though because I’ve never seen it before. Hope we’re not about to have a turf war on our hands.”

Dean chewed on his full bottom lip, the wheels in his head turning. “Want me to look into it?”

“No. The last thing I need is you getting shot in the ass messing with gang stuff,” His friend teased. “Though if you want something to do, you could check out this warehouse down near the docks for me. I keep trying to get a warrant to scope the place out-pretty sure there are drugs inside-but no judge wants to play ball. If it’s not too much I’d love some pictures of said drugs. Might help me get my warrant a little faster if I say an anonymous tip sent them to me.”

Excited about the prospect of doing something other than sitting in his car and waiting, Dean nodded quickly. “Sounds like a job even I can’t screw up.”

Henriksen snickered and wrote the address down on a slip of paper. “Yeah, just don’t get caught though. And not because it’ll be traced back to me and I could lose my job but because you could get arrested for trespassing or worse.”

“Ooh the threat of danger or a cavity search. I like it even more.” He drained the rest of his coffee, tossing the cup into the trash. “Don’t worry I’ll be careful. Not like you can afford to lose anymore hair worrying about me.”

“Always with the snappy comebacks.” Victor swirled around and sat down behind his desk. “No wonder you’re still single. Who would put up with you?”

Laughing, he rested his elbows on his jean clad knees. “Speaking of people too good for other people, how are you and Nancy?”

The Detective’s smile was brilliant. “We’re good. She’s still trying to get me to go to church on Sundays and I’m still trying to get her to stop eating cookies in bed. It works.”

“That’s good.” Dean glanced down, his mind flashing back to his last happy moment with Lisa before she left. It’d been a normal afternoon in one of their routines that consisted of making dinner, a salad to start with and setting the table; of which he usually did the latter. She had giggled at some random joke he’d made and slapped his knuckles for trying to snatch a cucumber.

The next night he was alone, eating take out in front of the television while Jon Bonham lay across his feet.

Noticing the change in mood, Victor cleared his throat. “So, how’s the family?”

Dean seemed thankful for the switch. “Mom and dad are good-they’re having a cookout soon and you’re invited. Sammy is-he’s great. Trying to make a name for himself as a big shot lawyer and still engaged to a girl way out of his league. I’m proud of him though never tell him I said that. He’d go all chick on me.”

Victor smirked. “Can’t have that, can we?”

Scratching at the back of his head, Dean plucked up the crime scene photo and examined it. “Man, I’ve seen some fucked up shit in my life but this… Whoever did it left him so the glass pieces would finish the job. Rough way to go.”

“Hm. Can’t say that I feel too bad for him though. He was a piece of garbage that got away with countless crimes. It would be so frustrating watching his smug ass strut outta court, knowing some poor woman was being denied her closure.” Pause. “I’d like him behind jail but…”

Dean arched a brow. “Yeah I get cha. Hey, maybe the killer was someone getting revenge.”

“I hope not. I’d hate to have to lock up one of his past victims.” Victor rubbed his chin. He stared at Dean knowingly. “I’m serious, Dean. This isn’t your fight. We’ll find out who killed this guy.”

“Okay.” Though he didn’t sound too convincing. “Well I should get to work before Jo burns the office down. Call me if you figure out something else exciting for me to do.”

“You could mow my lawn this weekend if you want to. Oh and my hedges need trimming.”

“You’re so funny. Every time we talk you get funnier and funnier…” He continued muttering to himself as he left the room. “…looking.”

~*~

With his camera ready and the cover of darkness to hide him, Dean parked a block away from the warehouse he was checking out and then ran, staying in the shadows as much as he could. The night was quiet and cloudy with respectable people long since gone to bed while tucked safely in their houses. Not to say that he wasn’t respectable but encroaching on private property wasn’t something regular people did. Still it was for the greater good so one couldn’t really argue. Right?

Shaking off those types of thoughts, he made his way over to a window and looked for a latch to break but found none. He sneaked around to the side and was confronted by a heavy padlock that looked nearly brand new. Smirking, he pulled out a bobby pin and started the easy task of picking it, something he’d taught himself when he was a teenager. After several hard shifts and useless clicks, it popped open and he smiled widely.

Jackpot!

Tossing it aside for later, he wrenched open the wooden door as quietly as he could and slipped inside. The building was dimly lit and musty with specks of dust floating in the air. Crate after crate lined the walls, stacked on top of each other and pushed into corners. On the sides were written things like penicillin or digoxin, but he found it strange to have that type of medication just wasting away in some moldy depot.

“I should have brought a crowbar,” He said to himself.

He looked around for a few and found an iron pipe propped against the wall. It took some wiggling but eventually he was able to pry open the lid of a crate. Inside under dry straw were tiny vials of liquid that claimed to be meds but he had his suspicions. He pocketed one for later and moved onto another box. After searching three he was about to give up, however was glad he didn’t when the forth contained enough cocaine to put down an elephant.

“Well what do we have here?” Grinning, he snapped several pictures. “Who doesn’t like a little coke with their aspirin?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” A voice demanded behind him.

Dean jerked around quickly, his brow furrowing at the sight of the little brunette in leather, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. “Ruby.”

She smiled. “Hey Dean. Long time no see. How’s Sam?”

He snorted. “Better now that he doesn’t have your crazy ass stalking him.”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t stalking him. I just happened to show up at places he went to.”

“Yeah. Trying to get him to leave Jessica.”

“No. I wanted a hot three-way with the both of them.”

Dean groaned in disgust. Every single time he met Ruby she managed to anger him and squick him out at the same time. He’d only known her for a couple of years; she was a thief by trade and he’d accidentally caught her on film once. She had bribed him not to turn her in and although he hated her, he hadn’t. She wasn’t a bad person really; she didn’t kill people or steal from working class joes. Besides getting on his last nerve she was alright.

“Didn’t know you were a druggie,” She mused.

“I could say the same to you,” He countered. “What are you doing in here?”

“Looking for something to fence for a profit. I saw a limo here last week and thought I’d get lucky with jewels or something.”

“And?”

“I found a suitcase of cash in the safe but other than that, just drugs.”

“You know that money is probably marked, right?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way I would be stupid to just leave it behind. Why are you here?”

“Work…”

Ruby arched a brow. “Well Sparky, how about you do your thing and I’ll do mine?”

“Fine with me.” He continued taking pictures. “Who owns this place anyway?”

She shrugged her slender shoulders. “No idea but I’m guessing some big wig gangster. Surprised there wasn’t some kinda security.”

Good point. “Guess whoever figured there was no need. Only an idiot would break in and try to steal something.”

Her big brown eyes narrowed slowly. “Or take pictures. It’s like a trail of bread crumbs to your stupid ass.”

Dean sighed deeply as his irritation grew. “Aren’t you done stealing yet? Your voice is getting on my last damn nerve, so why don’t you get on your broom stick and fly outta here?”

“You know Dean; you’re no joy to be around either. I’m kinda glad Sam didn’t go for me ‘cause there is no way I could put up with your dumb jokes or self loathing at not being a real cop.” She taunted. “But you wanna play with the big boys and act like MacGyver? Fine I’ll help.”

Dean attempted to ask what the hell she was yapping about, but pain bloomed at the base of his skull and next there was darkness.

~*~

When Dean’s eyes fluttered open, he realized two things. One, his head hurt like a mother-fucker and two, he was trussed up like a plucked chicken by his wrists with coarse rope to a sturdy pipe. How in the fuck had Ruby managed to get him up like this? Ruby. He’d never hit a female in his entire life, but next time he saw her ass he was going to put his foot in it.

“Fuck!” He cursed and rocked on his heels, yanking hard on the bindings. Dust drifted from the metal beam and he closed his eyes quickly so that he wasn’t blinded.

Glancing around, he noticed his camera on the floor and thanked God for small miracles. However if whoever owned this place caught him, an expensive piece of equipment would be the least of his worries. Basically he was screwed until someone found him and possibly dead if they did.

Tugging at his restraints until his wrists scraped red, he then began to try a see-saw motion in the hopes that something would pop loose. It didn’t.

He was in the process of ranting in his head when he heard it, the soft click clack of shoes on cement growing closer and closer. Well this is it he thought to himself. You were wrong Sammy, it wasn’t a heart attack from too many burgers.

A shape materialized out of the darkness, stepping under the soft yellow glow of one of the hanging lights and Dean blinked slowly, almost wondering if he were hallucinating the man standing in front of him. That seemed to be a better option than killer clowns actually being real. Why else would this dude have a painted face when it wasn’t Halloween?

The stranger tilted his head to the side curiously and moved closer, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. “Hm. Are you my virgin sacrifice?”

Dean gaped and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the craziness of that question or the fact that this guy had a voice like he’d spent the night chugging the good whiskey. It was deep and rough, totally out of place with his slight frame yet nonetheless intimidating. “Um, what?”

“Well you’re tethered here all alone like some kind of offering to a God. Much like the sacrificial lamb.” He appeared amused.

“Are you a God?” Dean snapped. “Cause you look like a clown that escaped from the circus.”

“I am neither God nor clown, but still apparently your savoir.” He smiled lightly. “Unless you don’t want me to get you down.”

“Dude, seriously, what’s with the face?”

“It’s part of a game. Now you answer me this. What are you doing here?”

Dean sighed. “I-I’m working, kinda. I’m a Private Investigator on a job. This horrible little troll knocked me out and tied me up.”

“So you’re a damsel in distress?”

“Are you gonna get me down or not?”

“What is your name?”

“Dean. Winchester. What do they call you? Skippy? Bobo?”

“Hello Dean. My name is Castiel.”

Dean stared at him; for a scary joker he had amazing blue eyes. Wide and bright and sincere. “Nice. So look there is a Swiss Army knife in my front pocket. Cut me loose and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Castiel wet his lips slowly and invaded Dean’s space, standing so close that their knees touched. He was an inch or two shorter than Dean but formidable in his own way, with an odd current of power about him. Dean swallowed hard as one of his pale hands brushed his belt loop before trekking downwards, his elegant fingers dipping into the pocket of his denim jeans. He didn’t want to keep staring into Castiel’s eyes but he couldn’t help himself. Against the white of the makeup they were all but shimmering, not to mention dancing with amusement at Dean’s predicament. They were gorgeous.

Dean felt heat creep into his neck at the feel of Castiel’s fingers searching for the knife, brushing his car keys and the solid space where thigh met hip. Just a little more to the left and he’d strike gold.

“Usually I make people buy me dinner first before they get to second,” Dean replied, his stomach muscles twitching. Was there something wrong with him? The bizarre guy in the ill fitting coat wearing lipstick was kinda turning him on a little. Yeah there was totally something wrong with him.

Castiel snorted and pulled out the knife, flicking it open. “What do they have to do before they get to third?” Not waiting for a reply, he leaned in, lifted onto his toe tips and started cutting.

His scruff brushed against Dean’s cheek and he had to admit it wasn’t a horrible feeling. It was the opposite really and it did weird things to his knees. “Heh so uh, you never said what you’re doing here…”

Castiel’s breath was warm against Dean’s ear; it made him shiver. “Besides saving handsome virgins?” Pause. “I wanted to see what was inside the crates. I’ve known about this place for a while. I…got a feeling nothing good was happening here. The cocaine will be sold on the streets and the medication will be sold to the needy for outlandish prices.”

Dean grunted as he was finally released and rubbed his sore wrists. “Yeah well, that’s what happens. Best you can hope for is the cops raiding this place.”

“Lately I’ve been handling things my own way,” Castiel remarked. He picked up the camera and handed it along with the knife to Dean. “You should go.”

“Why?” Dean wanted to kick himself for asking. “I mean…”

The other man smiled softly. “I’m going to set the building on fire.”

It took Dean a moment to realize that he wasn’t kidding. His expression was resolute as if what he planned to do was the only possible solution. It didn’t make sense but then again nothing about this guy made sense. Confused but not willing to be burned to a crisp, Dean nodded and hurried out the way he came. He jogged over into the open expanse of the parking lot and waited, and then cursed himself for waiting. But this guy was-well he was interesting. He was weird and he smelled all earthy. Dean couldn’t help it; he wanted to find out what his deal was.

Call it his investigator Achilles’ heel.

Groaning at the rawness of his wrists, he checked the cam memory and was happy to see the few photos he’d snapped had survived. He’d take them to Victor tomorrow and-

Suddenly Dean found himself in midair before slamming painfully onto the ground on his shoulder as the entire warehouse exploded into a bright ball of yellow flame, the sound heard blocks away. He felt pieces of half melted glass hitting him about the face, the smaller ones getting stuck in his hair. The heat was beyond intense, and so was the pain rattling up Dean’s spine.

“Fuck!” He yelled through gritted teeth. He looked around, his eyes watering and burning as charred wooden boards rained from the sky. Where the hell was crazy guy? “Castiel? Castiel? Cas!”

“I thought I told you to leave?” Castiel kneeled beside him, and Dean didn’t have time to wonder how he managed to get behind him.

“Dude, you blew up the building. You-you blew up the building.”

Castiel blinked slowly. “Yes. I told you I was going to burn it down.” A beat. “You’re hurt.”

Oh, right. “Yeah I…” Shifting, he sat up. He could tell the vial in his pocket was crushed from the wetness seeping through the fabric of his coat. “You John McClane-ing your way out of there dislocated my shoulder.”

“My apologizes.” Castiel gripped his right bicep with one hand and braced him with the other, jerking up hard in one swift motion.

Dean yelped but the pain lessened. “Thanks. I think. Why did you blow this place up anyway if you don’t mind me asking? To stop the coke from reaching the people?”

Chuckling, Castiel pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered him one before lighting up himself. “Yes. And to send a message to the dealers that this sort of thing will not be tolerated any longer. You should really go now. The police have been notified and are on their way.”

He waved away the cigarette and stood on shaky legs. “Yeah. Ya know those things will kill ya.”

Castiel nodded somberly. “I think I will be alright. It was nice meeting you, Dean.”

Dean snickered; what the hell? “You too, Cas. Try not to explode anymore warehouses.”

~*~

“Hello? Dean? What’s wrong?”

Dean sat against his headboard, the remote forgotten next to his thigh as he scratched his fingers behind his cat’s ear. “Hey Sammy. I-sorry for calling so late. Nothing’s wrong I just um, can’t sleep.”

“Dude, it’s four in the morning.” Sam grumbled deeply. “I have to prep for a case tomorrow.”

He immediately felt guilty for waking his little brother up but he didn’t know what else to do. After showering, eating a frozen pizza and then trying to doze off, he found himself staring at the ceiling. His mind working overtime with thoughts of Castiel and his bad ass move of destroying all those drugs. Like some kinda wild west renegade or something.

Of course he told Victor none of that when he checked in, wanting to know what the hell went down and if he were in still alive. He’d made up some story about faulty wiring and managing to get out before the place went up like a roman candle. Naturally Victor didn’t seem that convinced and said that he would be checking into things.

“I know and I’m sorry but I-tonight was weird.” That was a nice way of putting it.

Sam yawned. “Weird huh? You slept with Jo?”

“What? God no. I said it was weird, not my last night on Earth,” He replied with an eye roll. “I met this guy while on a job and he was like, crazy. Full on, naked on the corner quacking like a duck crazy. He even had a crazy name.”

“Uh-huh,” His brother said lazily. “When are you going out with him?”

Dean’s face went blank. “Why would I go out with him? Did you hear what I said? Crazy.”

“No I heard you.” Sam chuckled. “And what did he look like?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Well you thought he was worth telling me about this early in the morning, and if I know you which I do, he has to have something you found interesting about him.”

“He’d painted his face like a sad clown.”

“You always were a little kinky.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk. Oh I know did he have nice eyes? Were they round and soulful, and did they look right through you?”

Stupid Sam. “I don’t know. They were…big and blue-and odd shade of blue. He’s probably a serial killer or something. I was probably a few minutes away from ending up in his freezer or as a coat.”

Sam yawned again. “Okay. Still if you plan to bring him to the cook out you should let mom know so that they have enough food. Call me back tomorrow night and finish telling me how amazing he is. Night Dean.”

A dial tone sounded in his ear and Dean frowned as he dropped the receiver back onto its cradle. He wasn’t mad however; in fact the whole situation was sorta funny. Sam knew him and yeah, he’d only call this early about some random guy if the guy wasn’t so random after all. But could you really blame him? Some dude in a suit shows up with wild bed hair and a voice that could only be described as audio sex to help him outta a tough situation; who wouldn’t still be on that hours later?

Not to mention the face stuff. It made Dean wonder what he looked like normal.

And if he would ever see him again.

“Am I crazy to sort of want to?” He asked his cat. His reply was a soft purr. “What do you know? You eat grass.” Turning off his bedside lamp, he snuggled under the covers and closed his eyes.

Part Three