Nothing got Dean Winchester off quite like the sound of a bullet sinking into someone's chest. He relished the way a perfect shot could erase a whole person, a whole life, right from existence. The power it flooded through him rushed down to his toes. People called him sick, twisted, tortured. But they didn't know. They had never watched something beg for its life, express its fear aloud, completely at the mercy of a stranger. Animals don't scream, but humans, do they scream.
As a child, Dean was at least pseudo-normal. He didn't like the other kids and mostly kept to himself. Teachers encouraged his father to try to bring out a little life in young Dean. However, when they found out his mother had died when Dean was only four, they quickly became quiet on the subject. They let Dean carry on and play with his magnifying glass and ants, and sit in the back of the room. A few teachers had tried to give Dean the 'special' treatment, but Dean had none of that. He would stare blankly at any teacher who tried to sit him down and talk about what games or sports he liked.
As he grew older, one thing Dean did enjoy was hunting. It was a past time of his father's, and Dean accompanied him on many hunting trips. He took to it quickly, and practiced his shooting in all of his free time. His father was just glad to see him interested in something, and encouraged it.
Not long after Dean left highschool, his father died too. That was when Dean snapped completely. Suddenly deer weren't enough anymore. Dean wanted to go bigger. He needed that surge of power, and animals were just too easy.
The first time Dean had killed someone, he had planned it for months. Dean hadn't always done well in his arithmetic or on his spelling tests, but he was smarter than anyone had ever given him credit for. He had meticulously gone over every possible error again and again. Fingerprints, trace materials, shallow graves. Anything that could give him away. And finally, at 25, Dean was ready.
Electricity powered through him as he milled around the outside of the bar. That stupid blonde bitch from highschool was inside. She had gotten all pissed when Dean had been making out with another girl. She called him names, called him worthless. She was so insignificant no one would miss her if she disappeared. She could just drop off the face of the earth, poof! All gone.
She stumbled out, alone. Dean smirked. She never had been the brightest. Dean slipped out from the shadows and walked up to her, his hands in his pockets. The girl stumbled again, and Dean reached out and caught her. "Whoa there, you alright?"
The girl mumbled out a slurred affirmative. Dean let out a laugh. "I don't think so. Come on, let me take you home."
The girl looked up at him quizzically as they walked to the car, leaning heavily on Dean. "Do I know you?"
Dean pretended to look confused. "I don't think so. In the car, there you go." Dean opened the door to his '67 Impala, and the girl half fell/half sat down in the seat.
"Well you're cute." The girl said, trying to smile seductively, but she suddenly lurched in her seat, feeling the alcohol churn in her.
Dean was mostly worried about getting vomit in his car, but continued to keep up the act. "You aren't half bad yourself." It was a complete lie. She'd been hotter in highschool. Still had nice boobs though.
The girl said very little the rest of the drive, and Dean kept silent as he navigated the Impala down back roads, away from traffic cams. They finally arrived at a desolate cabin in the middle of some woods.
"Where are we?" The girl mumbled, finally picking up on the fact Dean had never even asked her address.
Dean let out as suggestive smile. "Just thought you'd maybe want to spend some time alone."
The girl's eyes brightened. "Oh, yeah, that sounds great."
Dean opened the door to her side of the car and helped her out. "It sounds better than great, sweetheart." He ran his eyes along her body, pretending to be interested.
They went into the house, and Dean told the girl to head into the bedroom. He would be right there, he assured her, go ahead and get started. As the girl stumbled off to the bedroom, Dean went into the kitchen. He slipped on a pair of gloves, and reached under the sink to grab a few trash bags. Stuffing the bags in his pocket. He wrapped his hand around his gun, and headed into the bedroom.
The girl was sprawled out naked, and Dean smiled at her. She smiled back, until she saw his hand wrapped around the gun.
Fear flashed in her eyes for a brief second, just before Dean shot a bullet straight into her chest. He hit the heart, every time. Aiming for the head was faster, but it was messier. And this was no business to be messy in.
That being said, Dean was quick to staunch the bleeding with the sheet she laid on. He held it there for a while, waiting till the dark red spot stopped swelling across the fabric. The sheet was tossed in a trash bag, followed by her clothing on the floor. Those would all be burned later. Dean peered into the bullet wound, and taking a long pair of tweezers out of his jacket, extracted the bullet, and pocketed it. No need to leave evidence.
He then shoved the dead body into the other trash bag, lifting her limp frame and bending it. He broke a few bones to get her to fit properly, but it wasn't like she felt it. Shame, he thought. Body tied up in the bag, Dean tore the rest of the sheets off the bed, and stuffed them in the first trash bag, throwing his gloves in last.
He put both bags in the trunk of the Impala, and drove off to a deserted bridge, way off in the middle of nowhere. It overlooked a deep lake, and Dean tossed the body in, watching it sink rapidly below the surface. He set the second bag on the pavement, and doused it with gasoline, dropping a lighter onto it. The mess burst into flames, and as soon as it sputtered out, Dean got up and drove away.
And he felt fantastic.
Killing became habitual for Dean, and no matter how many times he did it, he got the same rush every time. It was an unquenchable thirst. Dean had made a name for himself by now, people all over the world want him dead. He'd gotten past the point of just covering up his tracks. Now he just knew how to hide. It was amazing how little people paid attention to the news. For a long time, Dean was the only big name out there. But now there was someone else.
Dean didn't know how he felt about the competition. The thing about his life was that there never really was much competition. So, Dean decided to try the new guy out. See what he was made of.
When Dean finished his killing spree that night, in a small little office building, he looked right up into the security cameras and winked. That would be the news that night, Dean was sure of it. And he was sure the new guy would be watching.
Making sure he was still in the line of sight of the video cameras, Dean grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and scribbled a note. He placed it a top one of the bodies, and walked out, feeling the rush of a kill surging through him.
Let's play a game.