A/N: Hello! Sorry for my absence!

I've been busy with internship and the big bang fic that I'm co-authoring with the lovely SPNxBookworm (who is a lovely person and is my perpetual cheerleader, btw).

I am so sorry the updates are slow, but I'll work harder when I get time. Originally, I intended to finish this before season 10 began but I guess that's close to impossible now so I'll be continuing it as an AU fic because I really want to tell this story. Hope you guys will stay with me!

This chapter is kinda gory too. And there's sex.

Thank you for the lovely support, guys! You're awesome.

This chapter is for a good friend whose birthday I always post on, but am late by several days this time. Thank you.

Review response (cjsjjsd): Haha, I'm here now. Thanks! :)

Six: On a High

Dean stared at the racks that stood in front of him. There were many of them — with numerous souls mounted, one on each, all of them naked, begging and pleading.

"Please."

"Have mercy!"

"No!"

"Why am I here?!"

Dean blinked at them, hand shaking with want at the thought of the Blade in his hands. Beside him, Crowley tapped at his elbow and Dean turned around, to see the demon holding out a scalpel with a pleased smile on his face. "Thought you might like it."

Dean sniggered. "Never took you for a fan of all the gore, Crowley."

"I'm not," Crowley replied. "I am simply adopting one of Abaddon's ideas." He paused. "She wanted to build a demon army and she tried to demonise souls by ripping them off humans. And as much bloodshed as that was, it was fun and effective only for her. This is more efficient — for my very own demon army."

"Demon army?"

"Yes," said Crowley. "The ginger whore killed too many of my old followers, but I like the idea of the army. I need new followers too. And the sooner I build it, the sooner you get my people on your side to help you fight Metatron."

"Fair enough," said Dean. "But…" he looked at the countless racks. "I gotta do all those? I got other places to go too, you know? I'm not your bitch over here."

"You don't have to torture them all," said Crowley. "You just have to train my interns. And, like Alastair, you have to keep making offers to let these people off the racks if they put more souls on the rack. That way, our count increases."

"Yeah, I get that," said Dean. "So where are your interns?"

"They'll be here," said Crowley in reply. He held out the scalpel again. "Go pick your favourite soul."

"Oh, I ain't using that," said Dean, and before he knew it, the Blade was in his hand. He felt raw energy surge through him, and he breathed easier in the placental torture dungeon, before looking at Crowley's sceptical eyes.

"What is it?" he snapped at the demon.

"Oh, nothing," Crowley replied. "Just keep that ugly thing away from me."

"Oh, so you are scared that I'll kill you," said Dean triumphantly.

Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. "I know you won't."

His attitude infuriated Dean because damn, the sleazeball was right.

~o~

He screamed the moment Dean touched the blade to his face.

It was a small man — short, stocky and balding, and he reminded Dean of Metatron. This was why Dean chose him in the first place. And he was so fragile — skin yielding under the touch of the Blade, blood bubbling up easily and streaming down, and his face scrunching up as his mouth opened in a scream.

"Oh, no one's going to listen to you here," said Dean, digging the sharp edge to the front of his neck, over the thyroid, so that blood started flowing down sluggishly, collecting in the hollow above the man's sternum. Dean made two linear cuts near the clavicles and started tracing a bloody line to join both of them.

The man hissed, grunted, gasped, whimpered, and yelled. He cried, and Dean cut. He screamed, and Dean cut more. The sounds were music to his ears. The metallic smell of flowing blood alerted Dean. He twisted his Blade around pink flesh, slicing chunks off slowly until he could touch bone.

"Please," the man gasped. "Please."

Dean cut off the guy's thumb in response.

The man crumbled, tears leaking out of his eyes, and Dean went for his middle finger. "That's before you can flip me off," he muttered. He felt like he was in a trance, mind and soul (or what was left of his soul), dancing to the familiarity of the act, and his hand acting on its own accord as he carved up more and more.

The crunch of bone underneath the Blade was the best of it all. It sent thick marrow leaking, and the screams that ensued calmed Dean more than anything else. And damn, he had never felt so good all his life.

Dean turned his gaze to the man's face, noticing the absence of skin and hair, and he leaned forward. "What is your name?"

"Doug," the man whispered. "Doug Spencer."

"Why are you here?"

Doug looked at Dean with pleading eyes. "M-My daughter… sh-she was dying… leukaemia—"

"Oh," Dean said, dismissing the story with a wave of his hand. "You made a deal."

"Yeah," the man whispered. "I… she'll be o-okay?"

"Should be. The leukaemia's gone, right?"

"Y-Yeah."

"I made a deal for my brother too, you know," said Dean, propping his elbow against the bloody rack. "He turned out to be an ungrateful son of a bitch." He waved his hand again. "Anyway. I got an offer to make. You up for it?"

"W-What offer?"

"You have two choices. I could put you back together and we could have another go at this." Doug's breath hitched, and Dean smirked at him. "Or," he said, "you put another soul on the rack."

He didn't have to be a genius to figure out what choice Doug would make. It wasn't even thirty minutes, and the cowardice of the human race was showing.

Dean thought about his thirty years on the rack, and shook his head. Thirty years. Man… that was a long, long time ago. He'd be so much better at all that now, but he'd been human, and it had been so hard. Probably because people were so fragile. They broke like crisps.

Anyway, Crowley's job was the easiest job ever.

~o~

"You look… different."

Dean flashed his black eyes at Sam and revelled in the alarmed expression on his brother's face. Ahh, the eyes were freaky. Dean smirked. "Of course I do, Sammy. My eyes change colour now."

Sam flashed him a classic bitchface. "I didn't mean… I meant…" He swallowed. "What did Crowley make you do down there?"

"Just some gross stuff," Dean replied. Sam needn't have the details of this. "You know what demons do."

Sam let out a sharp breath. "So you killed."

"Yeah, but no one who wasn't already dead," Dean said. He shrugged. "Sam, listen, you don't want the details, okay?"

"Dean—"

"Sam, you really don't want to know," Dean insisted. "I'm doing this to earn Crowley's favours so we can get his help when it comes to Metatron. At the end of it, we will be killing both Crowley and the douchebag and we'll finally win. Until then… does it really matter? Means to an end and all, right?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah."

Dean went forward and patted his back. "You find that case or what?"

"Um… working on it," Sam replied. "You were gone hardly an hour."

"I guess," said Dean. "Hell time's longer. So where's this potential case?"

"Idaho," Sam replied. "Werewolves."

"Great! Let's leave!"

"Dean, I didn't say that it's an actual case. It could be one, that's all."

"Then we'll have a good time in Idaho and come back," said Dean. "Where's Cas?"

"He's in Heaven," Sam replied.

"Call him," said Dean. "We'll do this together."

"Dean—"

"Come on, Sammy, don't be such a party pooper!"

Sam sighed again. "Okay." He reached for his phone. "We'll leave soon as he's here, right?"

"Sure," said Dean. "Pack your stuff."

"Yeah," Sam said, putting the phone to his ear and going ahead to his room. Dean watched him walk away and smiled to himself. If there was a hunt, it was a good thing, because he was feeling great after the session with the soul on the rack. It was like his mind had opened up. He could see and feel clearer now. He felt like he was at peace with everything around him. And he was ready to gut some werewolves.

If there was no case, though, Dean would make sure to put a smile on his little brother's face by the end of the day.

~o~

It turned out that there was, in fact, a case in Idaho. It was in a small town whose name Dean couldn't care to remember. They took Castiel along with them and asked about, interviewed the victims' families, and concluded that there was a real werewolf problem. Full moon had been just the previous night, and the moon's waning cycle was about to start, which meant that Sam and Dean didn't have much time to catch the werewolves red-handed.

They found a motel and Dean pulled out their silver knives to sharpen, while Sam continued with whatever research he could manage. Castiel was just mostly silent and confused, because he wasn't much of a hunter.

Dean put his newly sharpened knife inside his duffle and smirked up at Castiel who was sitting at the table, leaning his face against his arm, which was propped up at the elbow. He had a pondering expression on his face.

Dean waggled his eyebrows at him. "What's up, Cas?"

"Heaven," Castiel replied dazedly, and Dean chortled.

"Thinking about me?"

"A lot," Castiel replied earnestly, and Sam let out a cough behind him.

"Yeah, I figured I'd do that to you," Dean said. "Don't worry, we'll get plenty of time."

Sam coughed again. Castiel turned to him. "You should probably take a cough drop, Sam."

Dean scoffed, while Sam turned around, looking amused. "Cas, there's no need to pretend," said Dean. "Sam knows."

"About what?"

"That we almost fucked. We could—"

There was a sudden noise of the legs of a chair dragging, and Sam stood up. "That's it, I'm outta here."

"Aw, Sammy, you gotta hear—"

"No, no, it's cool," Sam said, red rising up his cheeks. "You two…"

"You don't have to leave," said Castiel. "We aren't about to do anything."

"Even so…" Sam shut his laptop and slid it into its bag. "I'm just… I'm in the car." He slung the bag over his shoulders, grabbed his jacket, and rushed outside. Dean and Castiel followed him with their gazes, and watched, as the door shut behind him.

There was awkward silence. Dean looked towards Castiel. "Well, we could always do what he thinks we want to do."

Castiel looked unsure. "Dean… I… not now."

"Sure." Dean picked up another silver knife and showed it to Castiel. "You wanna help with this?"

"Okay," Castiel replied, before coming to sit next to Dean, so that they could sharpen the knives together.

~o~

They left for the werewolf hunt at moonrise.

"So, did you enjoy?" Sam teased Dean and Castiel as they got into the Impala, so they could get to the end of the town where the attacks were taking place.

"We sharpened knives," said Castiel.

"Is that supposed to be a euphemism, or—?"

"No, we literally sharpened knives," Dean replied, as he steered the Impala through moonlit roads. "Get your mind out of the gutter, dude."

The night air was chilly, blowing in through open windows and cooling the inside of the car. Dean hadn't teleported with Sam and Castiel because he wanted to be as normal with them as possible. He already got the feeling that they were more uncomfortable around him than they were letting on. He didn't want to worsen it.

They stopped a little distance away from the site of the attacks. They had come here earlier and scoped the area. Since it was a werewolf, which they'd dealt many times with, they weren't very afraid of being unsuccessful. Plus, the only human amongst them was Sam.

The moon shone brightly upon them, large and round, surrounded by clouds. The sky was pitch black and the silver of their knives shone when they stuffed them under their jackets along with their guns. Castiel stayed in the car, while quietly, Sam and Dean made their way into the cover of trees.

There was a howl from the distance. Dean felt every hair on his body rise in alertness as he trained his ears to listen for more. His senses being heightened, he could make out the distant sound of running feet. And when he poised himself he saw them, emerging from a thicket, clad in torn clothes, their faces rising in the air as they growled menacingly.

Dean clutched at his knife inside the jacket, and Sam seemed to realise what he was going to do, when he clamped a hand around Dean's wrist. Dean pried his brother's hand away before jumping out of the bushes and drawing the werewolves' attention. A split second later, Sam came out too.

The creatures saw them. There were two instead of the estimated single monster, but Dean didn't care. It didn't matter. One was male, while the other was female. Dean gave them a wide smile, flashing his eyes before them. "Come and get us, bitches."

The effect was instantaneous. With another growl and a flash of claws, the creatures rushed towards them. Dean stepped in front of Sam and aimed a kick at one, before punching the other on its belly.

The werewolves were strong, but Dean's blows were stronger. They both fell back with a howl. Dean charged forward. "Come on!" he snarled. "Get me!"

The male took the opportunity to leap upon Dean but he stopped it easily by clasping its neck and lifting it in the air. It whimpered and Dean threw it back again, turning to face the partner, who was getting up, and getting ready to attack.

"Come on," he said, putting his hand inside his jacket, so his fingers were brushing against the silver knife. "Come on."

It came forward, claws raised, but Dean's hand had shot out, carrying the silver knife with it and slicing the creature on its wrist. It gave a howl of pain and fell back, and at that moment, it was hit by a silver bullet. It staggered and crumpled to the ground, while its partner was hit by another bullet.

The gunshots were followed by silence. Dean stood there with his knife, blinking at the bodies before him. Dammit, he had wanted to have some more fun.

A hand clasped his shoulder. "Come on," said Sam's quiet voice in his ear, and he started to tug at Dean to get to the car. "We can't stay here, Dean. Come on."

Dean followed, fury starting to build all over at being interrupted from his fun. He turned to Sam and nodded, and started following him, a voice whispering seductively in his ear as he walked after his brother's hulking figure.

You should kill him.

He's my brother. He's my brother. Mybrother. Mybrother.

Kill him, he doesn't understand. He's foolish. He will break.

And Dean remembered the feeling when the Blade touched Doug's skin. The crimson rivers of blood. The metallic smell of it. Sizzling, bubbling flesh from the torches. Cracking bones.

He stopped and bent over, hands on his knees. Sam turned around. "Dean?"

"Go ahead," he said. "I'll follow in a second."

Break his bones. Scalp him. Carve his eyes out. Watch him beg. Watch him weep.

Dean swallowed, and steadied himself. No. He's my brother.

"You okay?" Sam asked, coming back to Dean and placing a careful hand on his shoulder.

Dean pushed his hand away. "Yeah," he said. Or, that was what he wanted to say. But as he straightened himself, he ended up saying something else.

"You just proved your worthlessness again, by interrupting my fun so yeah, I'm okay. But learn to accept your own happiness in mine sometimes, sometimes, instead of being so fucking selfish."

Dean had no idea what that had to do with anything, or why he said that, and he had no idea why he felt so triumphant when beside him, Sam's face fell.

~o~

They drove on continuously and silently for a few hours, until Sam said that he needed a break from sitting in the car. They rented a room at another motel and the moment they'd kept their bags in, Sam collected his coat and announced that he was going to hit the local bar. Dean was surprised, because that was usually his gig, but he didn't say anything. He could still feel the high from hitting the werewolves, and from the soul carving earlier, and he watched Sam leave, as Castiel settled on one of the twin beds.

Dean saw him, and felt a sudden urge grow in him. Castiel was staring up at him, eyes narrowed, expression calculating. "Why is Sam upset?"

"How should I know?" Dean lied. "He's always upset about something. Must be PMSing."

"You are being inappropriate."

"Am I?" said Dean, coming over and sitting next to Castiel and abruptly laying a hand on Castiel's crotch. "More inappropriate than this?"

"Dean—" Castiel began to protest, but stopped when Dean met lips with him. He kissed Dean back a little late, but with equal enthusiasm, and Dean slowly undid Castiel's fly and pants, before sliding his hand down the waistband of his boxers.

Castiel sighed against Dean's lips and Dean pushed his tongue in, while simultaneously tracing circles with his fingers inside Cas's boxers. "Dean," Castiel sighed lazily, and Dean pulled away for a moment.

"Shhh," he said, taking off Castiel's trenchcoat and pulling down his pants. He undressed Cas and himself quickly, until they were naked, and he pushed Castiel against his shoulders, so he was laying on the bed. After placing a tube of lube on the nightstand Dean got on, straddled Castiel, and connected their lips again.

Castiel's hands held on to Dean's back while Dean stroked Cas's hips and went lower, caressing his thighs, before lifting up Castiel's legs and wrapping them around his waist. He reached for the lubricant and started applying copious amounts everywhere.

Castiel sighed and moaned. He appreciated every stroke, every caress, and showed open pleasure for what Dean could do with his fingers. When Dean felt ready, his nerve fibres bursting with excitement, he braced himself, and held on to Castiel's shoulders.

He pushed once.

"Dean—" Castiel gasped, and Dean felt everything swim about him as he pushed again.

"Dean…" Castiel's voice was low, and Dean shut his eyes, thrust again.

"Dean, please," Castiel whispered.

Dean smirked, feeling Castiel's nails digging into his skin, and he pushed again. Castiel's legs slid against Dean's waist, as he let out what sounded like a whimper.

"Yeah, oh yeah…" Dean growled, heaving himself up again.

"Dean…" thrust, "please…" thrust, thrust.

"Oh, yeah," Dean agreed, going at it again.

"Dean…" Castiel repeated, "it… hurts…"

"It's… the good… kind of hurt…" Dean said between gasping breaths as he pushed more. Castiel's eyes were screwed shut, and a single tear was escaping the side, although Dean didn't know how it was possible for Castiel to feel pain.

"Dean!" Castiel pleaded, but Dean shut him up with his own lips before continuing.

Castiel, however, wriggled away and gasped. "Dean, stop!" he managed, in a breath, before trying to push Dean away from over him.

And, Jesus, for the first time, Dean realised that Castiel wasn't writhing in pleasure under him, wasn't enjoying, but was squirming to get out of their embrace. At that moment, he felt himself climax but he pulled away and fell to the side, disappointment flooding over him. What was wrong? What had gone askew between them?

Castiel sat up in his place and glanced at Dean, before getting out of bed and starting to look for his boxers. Dean propped himself on his elbow. "Cas?"

"What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?" Castiel snapped at him, once he had located his boxers.

Dean felt the anger come back up. "Oh, I don't know, Cas," he said, "maybe I'm a demon now, and had no idea that you could feel pain."

"My grace is too weak," Castiel replied. "I am regressing into a human-like state."

"You should have fucking told me, then."

"And maybe you should take your partner into consideration when you feel like having sex," Castiel retorted. He put on his clothes and began to exit the room. "I'll be back whenever Sam finishes at the bar."

"Go on, then," Dean chided him. "If you're such a fucking delicate darling. What do you think it feels like the first time?"

However, Castiel left the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving thick silence in his wake.

Dean sat up and grabbed the lampshade on the nightstand, before throwing it at the wall and clenching his fists, while the voice in his head ordered him to kill Sam and Castiel.

~o~

Sam got up from his stool at the bar, his head feeling pleasantly buzzed, but not enough to put him out of commission. He threw a few dollar bills on the table, ignored the wink from the bartender and pulled his jacket closer around himself as he made to leave.

He took a deep breath when he stepped into the moonlight. It was way past midnight, almost dawn, and Sam enjoyed the atmosphere as he put his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders, bracing himself to face his brother again.

Sam hated to think of it like this, but Dean not being Dean was bothering him much, much more than he had thought it would. He knew that at the very core, Dean was still the same, but that was masked with so much more, Sam didn't know what to think anymore. And he was afraid of what Crowley was making Dean do, and of the bloodlust that Dean was showing after completing Crowley's task. They were already on a time constraint here and Dean turning into a demon ahead of schedule would just be a terrible thing to happen.

Sam wanted to cure Dean. He wanted to do it with his own blood. He wanted to find a way to heal Dean of the laceration. He wanted to turn the tables, to return everything to normal before they were hit by any more calamities, like they usually were. Sam didn't want to let Dean down again. He wanted to do something meaningful — useful.

You just proved your worthlessness again by interrupting my fun so yeah, I'm okay. But learn to accept your own happiness in mine sometimes, sometimes, instead of being so fucking selfish.

Dean might be a demon, and demons were specifically out there to make people feel like shit, but there was truth in Dean's words. Sam never wanted to hear this again, or for Dean to even think of it. He wanted to make Dean happy. He wanted Dean to tell him that something Sam did pleased him. He wanted to make Dean smile, and to prove to Dean that yes, Sam found his own happiness in Dean's happiness too.

But he was such a screw-up.

Such a big, fat, terrible — what was that?

Sam stopped in the middle of his thoughts and his steps when he heard something behind him. The hairs on his neck stood up, making him hyperaware, and belatedly, Sam realised that he was being followed. He put his hand in the inside pocket of his jacket and curled his fist around the ever-present angel blade, before turning around.

Two demons stood behind him, the eyes of the large bodies that they possessed flashing black in the white moonlight.

A/N: Well? ;)