Guest Review Response: Nah, it's a two-sided love. Dean's just... volatile. You'll see. Thank you!

A/N: Aaaand to the conclusion of this story. We're finally here!

Eleven: The Victim

9:20 AM

Dean was glad his house was not being patrolled. He'd been worried when he'd sent the clips to the reporter this morning that they would think he was coming back home. It was a little handy that Cas had their contacts. Perfect little payback. Not as bad as the shit Cas had pulled, but… Dean couldn't do something that shitty to him.

His heart sank when he thought of Cas. He hoped his husband was doing okay. He would have woken up by now and he would have seen it… but Dean didn't regret that. Cas was being an asshole and he deserved that one.

He realised his house was almost empty. Either the cops hadn't heard of Occam's Razor, or Sam had had some hand in this. Dean made sure no neighbours were watching as he found the spare key and let himself in. The house was completely silent. Sam seemed to be asleep, even though the kid never slept this late and Dean wondered why. He headed to Sam's room, only to find that his assumption had been true. His brother was snoozing away.

"Sammy?" Dean took a seat on Sam's bed beside him and noticed the dark circles around his eyes. He immediately felt horrible about waking Sam up, but Dean didn't have a choice. He didn't have too much time here.

His brother, however, opened his eyes, and they instantly widened when he saw Dean. "D-Dean?"

"Yeah," Dean stroked his hair back. He smiled. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?"

"You mean you ain't happy to see me after so long?"

Sam chuckled, pushing himself up on his pillows. "I saw you two days ago, dude," he said, voice hoarse and feeble. "What did you do, though? Police had come over a couple of hours ago. I was too out of it, honestly."

"Oh, I didn't do much," Dean smiled. "Small scandal." He paused, fingering the bedcover. "I gotta go now, Sam. You'll take care of yourself?"

Sam blinked at that, realisation hitting his eyes. "Don't do it."

"What?"

"Cas told me what you're planning. I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to pursue it."

Dean wanted to say screw Cas and Cas is a fucking traitor and a selfish fuck and Cas sucks, is a dumbass, so don't mention his name, but he didn't say any of that. It hurt. He hated that it hurt. He hated that it had come to this. So he pushed Cas out of his mind and cupped Sam's neck, pulling him forward only to plant a kiss on his brother's head. "I'll be fine, okay? You sleep. Cas was wrong and I took care of it."

If anything, Sam was more awake than before at that statement. "What did you do to Cas?" he asked, voice slightly louder, brows furrowed and jaw clenching.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing life-threatening."

"Where is he?" Sam sounded dead serious about it, and Dean knew he wasn't letting this go.

He shrugged. "Can we not talk about it?"

"Where is Cas, Dean?" Sam asked him slowly, again, and his voice was calm but Dean found himself pressing his lips together, looking down at his hands.

"He's in Cleveland," he said at long last. "He's alive."

"Alive."

"I put some Xanax in his whiskey…"

Sam's eyes widened again, jaw falling open. He scrambled up, disturbing his bedcovers as his feet touched the floor. "Are you fucking crazy?" he asked Dean. "Have you lost it? You poisoned him?"

"Nah, he'll be awake…"

"Are you sure?"

"I added a small dose," Dean told him. "Stop being a pansy about this."

"A pansy," Sam scoffed. "Right. You mix a sedative with whiskey, pull some stupid crap, which, by the way, I am going to find out about whether you tell me or not the moment I switch the news on—"

"It's just a fucking sex tape," said Dean.

Sam nodded. "A sex tape. After you laced his drink. Wow, Dean, that's not fucked up at all."

"I did not lace his drink before or while I was fucking him," said Dean, the thought making him cringe. Did Sam really think he'd do that? "It was after, okay?" he said. "We fought, I did it. He slept. I did not touch him after. I know I was a jerk, but gee, thanks for having so much faith in my abilities as a fucking rapist."

"So you recorded having sex with him without his consent?"

"He knows I record sometimes."

"I bet he does, but I also bet he made himself clear about how private he wants to be about it."

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean growled. "Stop hammering me about this crap already! It's not even as bad as what he's done."

"Oh." Sam rested against his headboard. The curtain behind him fluttered, and Dean realised he needed to be out of here already. "It's bad, is it? What he's done for you?" Sam continued, not paying attention to Dean's urge to get out and do his job. "You're going to explain that shit to me, Dean."

"What do you wanna know?" Dean asked him. "He struck some deal with the feds and he wants me in prison, okay, Sam? That's what he did. What I did was send a sex tape to a reporter. Through my phone. On my way here. I haven't revealed his location or shit and my phone is probably under some car now 'cause I got rid of it."

"Great, so while Vargas is after your ass," said Sam, "Cas is trying to reduce jail term for you on the—and I need to say this, but very, very valid and possible situation that she catches you. She's here, by the way. She's in this town at this moment. She can barge through that door and handcuff you right now."

"Cas wants me to surrender anyway, so if you wanna call Vargas, just do it already, okay?"

"Stop being melodramatic."

"I'm not." Dean felt the pain well up but kept it buried. He didn't seem to have escaped Sam's attention, though, and had to look away when his brother's expression softened. "My own husband wants me to go to prison," he said. "You happy? Go gang up against me with him, why don't you?" He didn't have the willpower to yell anymore, but yelling would be better than having some gross breakdown, which he totally was not going to have right now. He ignored the lump in his throat.

"I get why he said that," Sam said slowly, "and I told you not to be melodramatic. Can we have a legitimate discussion here?"

Dean swallowed once, twice, and gathered himself. "It's easy for him to say that. To ask me to go to prison. It's my ass on the line here."

"It is," said Sam. "And if you think you're not screwing everything up for yourself right now, when Cas called and told you to not come here, when you knew what could happen—"

"That's a risk I'm willing to take!"

"It's not a risk, Dean. The only reason you're sitting here in your home, talking to me, is that I requested privacy for today for a bit and they respected it."

"Why the hell—?"

Sam's jaw clenched. "Jess is dead."

"What?"

"I was in the hospital all night. I told Vargas to look for you at Whitefish. But the TV channels and newspapers have you plastered on them anyway."

"How did Jess—?"

"Fire," said Sam. He turned away, swallowing audibly. Dean just stared blankly, not knowing what to say.

He raised his hand to put it on his brother's shoulder. "Sammy, I'm sorry, I—"

Sam shrugged him away. "You're an idiot. You shouldn't have done that." His eyes flashed. "Charlie and Kevin aren't coming back. Cas was looking for a good place to let you stay put. Even with all that shit there was a solution and now…"

"Cas wanted me to go to prison," Dean repeated. "And he wasn't going to take the blame."

"Which is what you wanted him to do. He could have given up long ago," said Sam. "He lied for us. So you would know he was here for me, and so he could legitimately be here for me. He was with me at the hospital every fucking day, okay?"

"Yeah, I get that."

Sam shut his eyes. "No. No, you don't. You don't get how hard it was for him. You think the fact that he's out of prison is all there is to this, but you have no idea. You don't know the look on his face every time someone mentioned you, or whenever he saw you on TV. Or when he spoke about the shit he had to say to the psychoanalysts at the FBI about you, that he clearly didn't want to say. You don't know what I saw when I told him I was going to visit you, and he couldn't. You weren't there two days ago when you'd left Montana and he was trying to stop you from coming back. Dean, if they catch you today, you die. There will be no deal for you. He just didn't want you to die."

It was dawning on Dean, all of it, and he thought of last night when he'd cuddled with Cas and added the pills to his whiskey and that fight and…

He felt sick to his stomach. He shouldn't have done that. He needed to go right back to Cas. He needed to make sure Cas was okay. He needed to go back.

He'd also come all this way for something else, and that was important, too. No one even knew Charlie and Kevin were dead yet… not even the feds. Jesus. He needed to do this. If he ran away now, the Bradys would find his next hiding place and sabotage him again. If he was successful, he could apologise to Cas. They could take Sam with them and go away and maybe move to another country and just live better lives.

But Dean's task right now was important.

He made up his mind as he stood up from the bed. "I gotta go."

"Where?"

He stared at Sam a whole moment before he could reply. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll be back for you." When Sam stared back at him, angry and remorseful, Dean knew in the deepest pit of his heart that his promise was a lie.

Before he left he put Cas's letter from two days ago back in his dresser, hoping his husband would find it and remember that it hadn't always been this bad.

~o~

9:39 AM

Cas somehow gathered the strength to stop shaking after what seemed like an entire hour and he had no idea how he did that, for he was limp as a dead person. He wiped his face with the backs of his hands as he composed himself. He'd never been so humiliated and heartbroken and upset. Not since that… incident at Banks's house.

That had been so many years ago. Cas still remembered the details. They came back to him in the nights sometimes and Dean would wrap himself around Cas and murmur words of comfort. Dean would pull him out when his brain replayed the scenes when they were doing something as normal as going through their chores. When Cas would stop and think he was somewhere else, in that basement, with Banks looming over him…

He swayed, blinking. His breaths were quick, but not as fast as his heartbeat. He couldn't do this. He'd reached his breaking point. He couldn't do this anymore.

He needed to get home now. Home to Dean. And Sam, too. They needed to figure out a way to run away, all three of them.

Cas was tired of running away. He was tired of being so lonely and living his life in fear.

It took him a few more minutes to start moving again, to reach for his boxers. He was nauseated and clammy from whatever Dean had made him drink. His mouth was dry, an unpleasant taste lingering in it. Cas continued to dress, boxers, jeans, and finally his t-shirt. He stuffed his hoodie into his bag and smoothed his hair, trying to look and feel presentable as he checked around that he hadn't missed anything. He couldn't afford to drive back to Tyngsborough. The news channel had said the FBI was investigating Whitefish for Dean and it wouldn't be long before they figured out that no one was there and Cas couldn't risk taking a long time to drive back now. He needed to help Dean run or hide, whatever it was. He would always help Dean.

His phone rang just as he was exiting the house. It was Sam. Cas took the call. "Hello?"

"You okay?" Sam sounded calm and angry at the same time.

"Yes, Sam, I—"

"Dean's here."

So Cas had been right. Dean probably left immediately. "Oh," he said. "In the house?"

"No."

Cas didn't ask where on the off chance that someone was actually tracking the burner phones. "I am coming back," he said. "Sam, can you book me a plane ticket?

"Cas, the FBI…"

"I think they have guessed our situation by now," Cas told him. "I have my other phone switched off, but I know Vargas must be trying to get in touch."

"She is." Sam paused for a moment. "She thinks you killed Jess."

"Wait, Jessica—?"

"Is dead. Last night."

Cas took a sharp breath. "Sam, I'm sorry. I know she meant—"

"You and Dean don't get yourselves killed," said Sam. "Please."

"I'll try, Sam," Cas replied, letting himself back into the house and shutting the creaky door behind him.

"No. Promise me."

Cas sat down against the wall again. "You know I can't do that. You know every police force in the country is after us."

Sam seemed to understand that. "Okay," he said. "But be as safe as you can. I told the FBI that Dean is in Whitefish so they think you're there, too."

"Thank you."

"Will you guys come back?"

Cas swallowed. "We'll try."

"And…" Sam chuckled lightly, "if… if you can't, or don't… take me with you."

"We will."

"Yeah, and if you guys don't do that, I'll fucking go with you, okay? I'll force myself in, I don't care—"

"You're different," Cas told him. "You have a good life."

"No, screw it. I don't want that."

There was a moment of silence. Cas drew circles through the dust with his fingers, thinking about what he was promising Sam. If he and Dean didn't keep it, Sam would be heartbroken. But… was there even a way to keep that promise now?

"Sam."

"Yeah."

"Would you be able to book my plane ticket?" Cas asked him at long last. A change of subject would be good. Trying to sound positive about this would work.

At least, Cas hoped it would.

"I honestly think you should book the ticket yourself," said Sam. "In case—"

"They'll probably arrest me," said Cas.

"Then drive."

"What if Vargas realises he's in town before I'm there?"

Sam seemed to think about that for a while. "We'll deal with it," he said, at long last. "We'll deal with it, okay?"

"All right." It sounded like the worst solution ever, but Cas needed something to agree with right now.

"Good." Sam's voice lowered, concerned and gentle. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yes, Sam. You?"

"I'll be all right. I'll see you."

"For sure." Cas ended the call, rubbing at his eyes, and then headed back inside the house to help himself to some of the snacks he had carried along. He had a long day ahead of him.

~o~

10:01 AM

Dean Winchester and the Sex Tape. Belle was sure this case would stick with her for her entire life. She didn't know if the tape was a challenge or some kind of revenge thing against Castiel. Castiel wasn't in town. There was no one in Whitefish, according to the local police. She really couldn't even reach Castiel via phone right now, which meant he was avoiding being called precisely by her; it also meant no wiretapping. She needed the trace on their burner phones sped up because she knew now that those existed.

She'd called Sam. He'd sounded disoriented and he was definitely still home. He said he hadn't heard from Dean or Cas and he sounded too out of it to be lying. She'd be checking up on that anyway.

The message Dean had sent to the reporters was traceable to somewhere near Buffalo and then it seemed he had destroyed the phone. He'd also changed the plates on his car, so Belle knew it was no use chasing after a '67 Chevy Impala. But. Buffalo. Did this mean Dean was heading to Tyngsborough?

Whether he was or not, Belle had a plan. And if she didn't get a hold of Castiel in twenty-four hours, she was about to play dirty and have Sam taken into custody. She knew Dean and Castiel would never sit quiet at that, even though she'd met only one of them until now. They'd emerge from wherever they were hiding: whether it was Tyngsborough or some part of Whitefish they'd missed.

Sam was the best bet she had right now.

~o~

3:43 PM

It had taken Cas a lot of strength and willpower to think through the massive headache he'd acquired, to gather his wits and plan his journey back home. By the time he'd fed himself he'd already lost about half an hour and he was restless as it was. At the same time he could also feel fatigue seeping through every inch of him.

He stole another car to drive to Tyngsborough, his thoughts on Dean the whole drive: all six hours of it. Their talk from last night. The fact that things were bad. Dean was going to get caught. Cas knew it, he felt it somewhere in his gut. He hadn't seen Dean in so long and… and if the police got him, Dean wouldn't go quietly. He was accused of killing a federal officer (Cas had done that, Cas had done that). Dean was eligible for the death penalty.

Would Cas ever see him again?

He wasn't ready to let go of Dean. He never would be.

Oh god. Oh god.

He and Dean: they were bad people. They were awful people. Cas had spoken to the families of their victims, all of them heartbroken, still regretting not being able to say goodbye… the funerals of their loved ones held after so long and… and… he and Dean had done this to those people. Those people, who might have done bad things, but had had families.

Even after all this, Cas didn't feel that he or Dean deserved to die.

How ironic, because they actually did, if they worked with the same logic that they'd used to choose their victims.

It was… it was time to accept punishment. He knew he'd spoken to Vargas about this, and it seemed so long ago now, but she was right that he and Dean needed to be punished. It was over.

The realisation brought an odd sense of calm to Cas. He reduced his driving speed and pulled over to the side of the road. He needed to make a phone call. He needed to know where Dean was.

He got a hold of Sam within a couple of rings. "Cas?" His brother-in-law still sounded tired like before, and Cas found himself being concerned.

"Sam? Are you all right?"

"Yeah." Sam cleared his throat. "What happened? Where are you?"

"Worcester. Do you know where Dean went?"

"No, but I have an idea," said Sam. "I would go… but I don't want to draw attention to him. They're probably watching me."

"I know."

"You need to speak to him. I tried, but you really should."

Cas scoffed. "You think he'll listen to me?"

"He loves you."

Cas's throat tightened. After what he was about to do? Would Dean still love him? "Sam, I can't be sure of that anymore," he whispered.

"No, Cas, he—"

"Sam."

"Yes?"

Cas swallowed. "If I'm unable to keep my promise to you, I would just like to tell you… I'm sorry."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing that I shouldn't," said Cas. "But you have to accept my apology. I care for you and do not wish you to get involved. But you, like Dean always says, are going to be fine."

"The hell I am, man, what the fuck—?"

"Sam, please," he interrupted, voice shaking. "Please understand; that's all I ask."

"Cas, don't."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Cas?"

"I have to go now," he said. "Please stay at home and take care."

"You can't give me that bullshit!"

"I know. I apologise. I have to go."

Before Sam could continue, Cas cut the call and leaned back against his seat. He knew Dean wasn't in Boston yet and like Sam, he knew exactly where Dean was, too. He was about to wait the day out and plan his murder and maybe it might not have been Tyngsborough exactly, but Cas knew a place close enough for Dean, which was safe because no one would think to look there.

Cas smiled. He was breaking a lot of promises and vows today. He needed to get back to his husband.

A while later when he pulled up outside Charlie's house, he called Vargas. She picked up immediately, sounding like she was about to burst in through the phone line and swoop down upon him. "Where are you?!"

"Lowell."

"And you've been there this whole time? I was trying to contact you last night. Jessica Moore is—"

"I need you to write down an address," said Cas, interrupting her.

"Why?"

He took a deep breath. "Because it's where I will be with Dean when you send someone to find us."

~o~

4:24 PM

Dean cleaned Charlie and Kevin's bodies. He wiped off the blood and smoothed their hair. He straightened their clothes out. He put them both on the bed because they needed to be comfortable. And then he watched over them.

No one even knew they were dead. Charlie had no family; she'd been in the system like Sam and Dean. He'd hired her because of that. As for Kevin… where was his mom? How come she didn't find it weird that he wasn't home? She was a hardworking lady; maybe she was at a business trip herself, Dean couldn't be sure. They didn't have many friends who would come looking for them either; Charlie's final exams must be approaching and everyone must have been studying.

Cas couldn't have informed the police because it would raise the question of how he knew they were dead.

This was a horrible way to die, rotting away until someone found you, until you became something horrendous and gruesome rather than someone whose loss should have caused grief. Dean wouldn't forgive the Bradys. He was going to tear them apart. Piece-by-piece. He didn't care.

He tucked Charlie's hair behind her ear and laid a hand on her cold forehead. Oh God. Oh fucking God. She and Kevin should never have died. Dean might have been ruthless and a killer but he'd truly loved these kids. If by some miracle he could reopen his diner, he couldn't fucking imagine it without them.

His thoughts and memories were broken by a sound from the hallway. Dean alerted himself. Who was that? He reached for his waistband where he'd stashed a gun, listening closely and realising that the lock was being picked.

His heart rate sped up, senses on high-alert, and he was coiled up, ready to spring, gun in hand when he heard unmistakeable shuffling footsteps. Sounds he'd known for years now.

Oh.

Dean chuckled, wiping sweat off his brow as he entered the living room. Damn, that had been stupidly scary. The cops weren't here yet. Not at all.

When the door opened the next moment, Dean wasn't surprised to see his husband walk in. Cas took two steps and stopped, gaze roving over to meet Dean's and then moving downward like he was observing Dean for the last time.

Dean let him. "You done checking me out?" he asked at long last. "'Cause I already know I'm hot as fuck."

Cas's eyes switched back to look into Dean's, but he didn't reply. Dean waited like that for a moment. He folded his arms. "What's up?"

Cas shook his head and continued to stare at him like he couldn't talk, happy and heartbroken at once. Dean wanted to grab him, but he stayed put. There was something off about Cas.

Finally, Cas seemed to gather himself as he moved back to shut the door and lean against it. Dean could see his fists clenching, shaking a little, and he looked tired and faint. He tried not to think or feel guilty about the whiskey and sedative combo.

Cas managed to speak a moment later. "Why, Dean?"

Dean swallowed, listening to the accusation and grief and sadness in his husband's voice and steeled himself. "You know why," he said. Realisation hit him like a ton of bricks; Cas's posture and expressions and gestures and everything else. He knew what was going on. He knew why Cas was here.

Dean sighed. "I know why you did it, too, and I'm not mad, okay? Let's not fucking be mad at each other for once."

"Did what?"

Dean snorted. "Seriously? It's over now, dude. What's done is done. So tell me," he raised an eyebrow, "when are the cops coming?"

~o~

Cas couldn't be angry with Dean for any length of time. That had never happened in the twelve years they'd known each other. Someone always apologised before too long. Sometimes, pride got in the way, but most of the time, they had no pride when it came to each other. They'd been laid bare and naked and vulnerable in front of each other. Cas knew Dean's very soul and vice-versa. However in the last twelve years, Cas had never done anything like this. He suspected he'd never do it again in the future, either, because of the kind of morbid outcome this could have.

When Dean looked into Cas's eyes and asked him where the cops were, Cas didn't know what to say. He felt remorse and love as well as marvel that Dean probably didn't hate him, could still read him, and was not reaching to kill him.

Maybe Dean wouldn't hate him for this.

Cas cleared his throat. "How do you know about the police?"

Dean smiled. "You mean you didn't call them? It was obvious what you wanted. Last night."

Cas looked away at the dully-wallpapered wall. Charlie and Kevin were probably lying dead inside. They were about to be discovered. The police were going to think Dean had killed them, but…

"Cas." Dean nudged him gently, and Cas heard him take a step forward. "Talk to me."

Cas continued to stare at the wall. "I'm going to be confessing, too."

"Okay. And? We'll share a cell, have sex in communal showers while Sam runs around and ruins his life trying to bail us out?"

Cas needed to sit. Everything was reeling. He swayed, but Dean's hands caught him by the shoulders. "Look at me," Dean said. "Please."

Cas's eyes snapped unwillingly from the wall to meet Dean's green ones. He'd always loved Dean's eyes. So green, so gorgeous, so full of life. Those beautiful eyelashes surrounding them. Dean's mouth, always saying kind things to Cas even after they fought, kissing him in every place possible like he was the most appreciated person on the planet…

"Dean." Cas's voice barely left his throat. The whole world could be dissolving around him right now but he didn't care. "Dean, we're not good people," he said.

"And what made you think so, Cas? You were all aboard the killing train until you met that idiot FBI lady."

"I spoke to some of the families of our victims. I realised what it was like to miss family."

"Wow, empathy."

The sound of distant sirens infiltrated the quiet between them. Cas folded his arms. "No. It was not empathy. It was because I felt the same about you being away from me. I realised… Dean, we've become the very people we kill."

Dean seemed to have no reply to that. The sirens got louder. It was happening.

"They will imprison us," said Cas, "but we can have a deal, Sam will help us, and—"

"You're kidding, right? There's only one thing that's gonna happen when they get through that door, Cas. They're gonna kill me."

"They won't. You deserve a trial. We both do."

"In a few years, then," said Dean. He shrugged. "I'd rather they did it now."

"No, Dean."

Dean stopped holding him and stumbled back. "Cas," he said, "search your heart and tell me again that that lady is just going to make a magical deal with us and everything will be fine. We killed a fucking federal agent, man. We're going to the electric chair. And before that, fucking prison. There's nothing else for us here."

The cars were stopping. Cas heard doors open and shut as he looked at the curtained windows of the apartment. They were only on the second floor, and—

"You didn't kill a federal agent," he told Dean. "I did."

"Doesn't matter," said Dean. "It was a fucking combined effort. We're involved in more than one state. We've killed a fuckload of people. I don't think they want us alive."

"We can try."

"No—"

"Dean, please."

"Dammit, Cas, listen to me!" Cas blinked, still dizzy, realising Dean was holding something out to him. However, he knew the silver shimmer before he reached for it and looked at the bowie knife he'd been handed. "Tell them I tried to kill you," said Dean. "Go on. You know how to do it."

There was a knock at the door. "FBI, open up!"

Cas's breath caught in his throat when he realised what Dean was asking of him. "Dean, I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Dean said over more knocks. "Yes, you can. Take care of Sam. Send him away from this shit. Away from Palo Alto and even here. Maybe Minnesota. Look it up."

"Dean…"

"With Jess and I gone, he'll need you," Dean pressed. Behind him, someone started to bang harder against the door. "Come on, there isn't time."

"Sam wants us both alive, Dean."

"Cas, please!" There was another bang. Dean's brows were furrowed, expression desperate and distressed. "I don't want to go to prison, okay?"

"Dean, I—" Cas was interrupted when Dean took two steps forward, grabbing Cas's face in his hands.

He kissed Cas's lips. "I love you."

Cas's hair stood on end, every cell in him freezing, as Dean kissed his lips over and over again. "I love you," he whispered between kisses. "I love you. I fucking love you."

It was the first time that Dean had said that. Cas had always imagined, wondered, and thought of a number of ways he'd react to that, but none of those scenarios had even been close to this. Tears formed in his eyes, escaping, wetting both their cheeks, and the door was starting to weaken under whoever was breaking it down on the other side.

At long last, Cas kissed Dean back, his breaths hitching in his throat, unable to form words. No, he wanted to say. I love you, he wanted to say, but he couldn't. He was helpless and stagnant but Dean didn't stop.

"I love you," he said again. "I always will. You have to help me. Please, Cas." Dean's voice broke.

The door gave way a bit more and Cas clenched the knife in his hands. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay," he said when Dean pulled away. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry."

"It's all right." Dean palmed his face, breaking apart for just a second. He thumbed away Cas's tears. "It's all right, babe."

"You never say babe." Cas's breaths were coming in heaves, emotions consuming him whole and he knew it was now or never. Dean nodded, came in for another kiss as Cas made up his mind. Before Dean could pull away from that, Cas held him there, one arm around Dean as he brought the knife down with the other, running it across Dean's throat, getting both carotids.

Dean choked and went limp, falling into Cas, warm, syrupy blood oozing, and Cas let the sob bubble up his throat. The banging against the door was stronger, more frantic, and Cas did not have to wait another second before bringing the same knife to his own carotid.

If Dean didn't live then he couldn't, either.

The cut was painful and only lasted a second. However, the bliss that followed was eternal and incomparable.

~o~

Sam Winchester's dishevelled sleepiness confirmed that he knew nothing about Dean or Castiel.

Belle had finally knocked the door down at Charlie Bradbury's small apartment, only to realise she was minute too late in capturing Dean. Before her was not only Dean but also Castiel, both dead, having slashed their own throats. Just a mess of blood and two more dead people in the other room, identified as Charlie Bradbury and Kevin Tran, both of whom seemed to have been dead longer than Dean was back at Lowell.

Apparently, there was another killer whom Belle had to investigate. If Castiel was to be believed, it was someone from the Brady family. She should have listened to him before.

It was a bloody mess; a tragedy, because they might be killers (now she suspected Castiel was just as involved as Dean), but killers deserved a trial, too. Belle believed in justice and it was just sad, what had happened. So when Belle saw Sam like this, a man so much younger than her, an innocent, who had lost everything in the last twenty-four hours, she couldn't bring herself to tell him the news. She couldn't do it. If he didn't know, she couldn't be the one to tell him.

"What's the matter, Agent?" he asked mildly. "Is there something you need?"

He looked like he'd barely even opened an eye through the day, let alone watched the news. Belle swallowed. He had no idea. She hated talking about dead people. "Uh," she said at long last, "I need you to come with me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Routine questioning."

"Is this about Jess?"

Belle felt something drop in her stomach. "Y-Yes."

He looked at her for a moment and ran his hand through his long hair, miraculously righting it. Belle would have marvelled that, had she not had too much on her mind.

"Okay," he said. He reached for his keys and cane and limped after her to her car.

The drive was silent. Sam had rested his temple against the passenger seat window, and if Belle didn't know better, she'd think he was asleep. However, she did not like the quiet. There was something odd about it… something sinister, the gruesomeness of what she'd discovered an hour ago pressing on them.

"So," she said, reaching for the radio, "would you like some music?" She hated making small talk. It made her so uncomfortable. Anything was better than that horrible silence, though.

Sam didn't reply at first, making it all worse. Just when Belle thought she should go ahead and play any goddamned tune that came up, he shifted his head and she could feel his eyes on her. "When were you going to tell me?" he asked her mildly.

"Tell you what?"

"That Dean and Cas are dead."

Belle almost stopped the car and Sam snorted. "It's all over the TV, don't be surprised."

There was something odd about the way he spoke. The change in his demeanour seemed to have dropped the temperature inside the car by a few degrees. She watched as he gathered himself to his full height, towering over her even while seated. He'd never been that way in the time she'd known him. He always seemed shy and smaller than his actual height.

Not anymore.

Belle shuddered. What was going on here?

Sam spoke again, voice mild and low. "I didn't want to kill her," he said.

"Kill whom?" Belle pressed on the gas pedal. Shit. Shitshitshit. No, seriously, what was going on here? Sam wasn't a killer. He was barely involved in this case. His psych evaluation had been so clean and—

"Jess," said Sam, interrupting Belle's thoughts. He had no weapons on him, none, and there was still something that suggested…

No. There was no way Belle was dying now. Not like this. She couldn't understand how she'd missed it. She'd never been taken on a ride. Never. And yet, Sam was here, doing just that.

"How did you kill Jessica Moore?" she asked Sam as calmly as she could. If she didn't startle him, there was a small chance she was making it out of this alive.

Somewhere, a voice in her head laughed at her, sending shivers through her spine.

"She was in the bathroom," said Sam, his voice and posture and words doing nothing to soothe Belle. "There were candles. I lit them and put one next to a curtain. I put pills in her water. Enough to get her immediately tired. Two milligram Xanax."

Belle pushed harder on the gas pedal. "What role did you play in the other murders?" she asked. "With Dean and Castiel?"

Sam leaned back on his seat, a small smile playing on his lips. "They listened to me."

"So…"

"I told them where and who and when. They enjoyed the stalking and the killing." He scrunched up his face. "I don't like to actually kill people."

So he was the freaking mastermind. Great. Isabelle swallowed. "When we started discovering the bodies…"

"It was planned. Dean is an exhibitionist. He was bored. Cas wrote the novels to add another edge to it, but that was subtle. I did warn them about it, but it wasn't our work that drew Henriksen to them."

"The Bradys."

"Yes."

"Do you know why they want to kill you?"

Sam laughed, and nodded. "Yes, I do. Even Dean didn't know why."

"And will you tell me why?"

Sam looked at her, lips still smiling but eyes dead. "I'm not an idiot, Agent."

Belle didn't have time to react when his hand tugged at the steering wheel. She screamed as the car careened and meandered, tyres screeching and slipping on asphalt and finally shutting her eyes when Sam rammed them into an oncoming bus.

~o~

Dean, we need to get rid of Dad.

They say when you're dying your whole life flashes before your eyes. Scene by scene by scene. As if you need to be reminded of what you did, of your virtues and your sins. It's a strange concept, really; this, and the fact that no one could tell you if it is true or explain why it happens, makes it stranger.

Sam had thought it would be like a movie theatre; in HD, with clarity, and a final moment to relive it all. He hadn't quite expected the quality of it all to be this bad, though. Not so grainy and choppy. Not about some of the worst things about his life.

Dean. Kill that professor.

His brother held him tight. Okay, Sammy.

There were voices around him. They spoke in languages he didn't understand. Something brought excruciating pain in his chest and he knew that all these people with the voices were useless in what they were trying to do.

We need to find Bobby's killers.

Damn right we do, Sam. Cas, you with us?

Yes.

I will find them, said Sam. I will tell you both what to do. Listen to me.

And they obeyed.

People were panicking. He heard ambulance sirens. Useless. All useless. They could do nothing for him now.

You're a freak, Winchester, I like you.

Shut up, Brady. A pause. Me, too.

Stolen kisses behind pillars. Butterfly lips on Sam's ears and neck. Hands touching him. Brady's sweaty body against his, their quiet gasps and moans disturbing the stillness of the air. Hands touching him more, caressing his cheek. Punching him. Knees against his stomach. He pleaded. For the first time in his life, he pleaded.

The hands just hit him some more. They fought. They shouted. Neighbours heard and classmates were concerned. They broke up. Sam wouldn't have any more of it.

Oh, come on, Winchester, don't be a wuss.

Go away, Brady.

Sam met Jess after. She was beautiful. Gentle. Kind. Too kind for him. Too just for him. She never touched him wrong, but even her presence could never make Brady leave.

Hands grabbing Sam's hair to hurt him. Pushing him against the same pillars they'd had their best kisses against, but to beat him this time, to get him back. It was too much. It was more than Sam could take.

So he pulled Brady into a kiss. Behind that pillar. Suggested a vacation. Let's go, he said. We'll drive. We need to set this right.

Brady agreed. They drove. They talked. They kissed. They drove some more. Brady had his sunglasses on, singing tunes from the radio. Sam reached for Brady's pants. A grin. Hands past the waistband.

Oh yeaaaah, Sammy boy. I don't even know what you're doing with that Jess.

You like it?

Go on.

Sam made magic with his fingers. Brady gasped and grunted, eyes shutting for a moment, when Sam took his chance. He placed his other hand on the steering wheel.

Brady opened his eyes. What are you doing?

Sam grinned. Getting it to the shoulder. I wanna fuck you.

Another flick of his finger.

Oh yeaahhhh. Brady shut his eyes again. I'll pull over, baby. Keep it going.

Sam moved his free hand. The car swerved violently. Brady jolted from his grip.

What the fuck, Winchester?! He was too late, though.

An oncoming truck. Crash and bang and the next time Sam woke up, Brady was gone for good.

Sam's shirt was wet and sticky. His eyes were heavy. Someone had a stretcher for him. But Sam? Sam didn't care for anything. He let his eyes shut and he listened to them. Heard every word of their panic. And he heard more.

Sammy?

Two people in the bright light, holding hands. He laughed because he knew who they were.

He was home.

||End of Book Two||

OOOOOOOO

Epilogue

BREAKING

MASSIVE VEHICULAR ACCIDENT IN TYNGSBOROUGH, MA. CAR CRASHES INTO BUS, KILLS TWO

In a tragic incident on Westford Road, a crash killed two, including a federal officer, Special Agent Isabelle Vargas and her passenger, Sam Winchester. The accident, shortly following the deaths of Dean and Castiel Winchester, is suspected to have been initiated on purpose. However, confirmation is awaited. The car collided headlong with a bus, killing its passengers almost instantly and injuring the bus driver.

Two more bodies were discovered on Barker Avenue in Lowell, where the Winchesters were found earlier today. It has been a busy, gruesome day for our police departments, but investigations are ongoing, and updates will be forthcoming.

When Dean and Castiel's home was stripped down for investigations, the police discovered a large box underneath a floorboard in their bedroom. It contained jars, a half-dozen of them with preserved human hearts, all of which were labelled neatly. The victims were all recent, from less than two years ago, whose bodies had been found after their murders unlike the ones before them; from the time Winchester decided on his exhibitionism.

In the end, there was one last jar tucked away deep inside Castiel Winchester's wardrobe. Henry Ericson, the label read in block letters, a confirmed victim, but what made this one different was a card underneath.

Dean,

I hope you are doing well. I love you.

C

Detective Benton had been the one to discover it and morbid curiosity took over when he read the message. What was this? Had Castiel been involved, too? Had this been some kind of gift from Dean?

He flipped the card to see more writing on it. It was in Dean's hand, the mighty and cruel Creature having penned down the smallest, promptest reply to his husband.

Cas,

I don't know if I'll be alive when you read this.

The next sentence was a little shaky, written after what seemed like hesitation or fear or uncertainty: Benton really couldn't be the judge of that.

I love you, too.

D

The End

Notes

About Sam. This fic idea was conceived last year after the DCBB and I wanted to write Murder Husbands with a twist. And I really love Sam so of course he was going to be huge. That's how I settled on making him the mastermind. There is something here-Sam wetting his bed, setting the fires, these are part of an urban legend called the Macdonald Triad. This triad includes a) bed-wetting until an older age; b) firesetting; c) killing and torturing small animals. Earlier on this triad would be used to diagnose homicidal tendencies but I have to clarify, this is just a myth. Such children are often extremely abused and neglected and need to be helped, rather than be called homicidal. Also, psychopathy is a legit mental condition and I do not support the idea that all people with psychopathy are bad people. As for this particular fic I wasn't exactly feeling very sorry for them in the end because, well, killing has got no excuse.

Medical terms

BKA: Below Knee Amputation
TKR: Total Knee Replacement
LSCS: Lower Segment Caesarian Section
ITR: Inferior Turbinate Reduction
CABG: Coronary Artery Bypass Graft

The instruments Cas used to cut Henriksen up are the Satterlee Saw, Liston and Ruskin Bone Cutting Forceps and the Liston Amputation Knife

Thank you for reading! Please leave some feedback if you have time! Thank you for staying on with me for this ride!

I have more gen as well as Destiel fanfics on my author page, one of my recent ongoing projects being Fireflies in the Dark. Do check them out if you feel like. Thank you!