I do not own Supernatural, for starters. For seconds, this is the first I have written for it. (Funny that it's an AU.)
For this on Tumblr: AU idea: Dean and Cas are two world renouned serial killers, and begin a game of cat and mouse, leaving each other messages in their victims, winking/waving at each other on security cameras. Eventually, it's going to come to a head when they both pick the same victim; Sam Winchester.
But please enjoy!
On October 12th, the newspapers' front headline coined the name of a new serial killer- The Angel. It was a seemingly ironic name- everyone believed angels to be sweet natured, the creatures that kept their children safe. But now it meant fear. Anyone who watched the news, read the papers, could explain the name, but that didn't mean they wanted to.
No one wanted to talk about the artistically carved angels' wings on the backs of each victim. No one wanted to admit how well done, how precise. So no one admitted it.
Until, three months later, somebody did. But this somebody did not bother to tell friends, family. The public doubted if this admirer even had friends or family.
The second killer was called the Demon for the same reasons the Angel had received its name. Only now, people lived in terror of the beautifully done skeletal wings. Nobody had to worry about admitting the beauty of these wings- they held more terror than beauty. Nobody has fond thoughts of a demon.
Except, it would seem, for one, and even that one had even fonder thoughts for an angel.
He leaned further back into the driver's seat of his '67 Impala as he lowered the binoculars from his eyes. He had hoped the house he sat across from would hold his next victim- there had been such promise. But he watched the family move around the dinner table and saw they were ordinary- boring. Too boring for him.
He twisted the key in the ignition and drove off, leaving the family unawares.
He returned to the motel room of the night, pulling in neatly and again twisting his key. He sighed and stared out of the windshield at the door to his room. They had such promise. But then...it had slipped away.
He pushed open the car door with a creak and slipped out. One door slam and six steps later, he stood at his motel door. He reached in his pocket for his key as a feminine voice spoke behind him.
"Could you help me, sir?"
Maybe the night wouldn't be wasted after all. He turned around to eye the girl standing behind him, her hands wringing themselves constantly. Large brown eyes looked up at him from beneath too-long bangs.
"What's wrong?" He asked as he slid his key into its lock.
"I locked my key in my room...but I don't want to walk to the office alone..." She swallowed thickly.
He could understand. There were two killers on the loose- and no one knew where they were. The office was a ways down the street, on the other side of the many rooms the motel contained. He thought only a moment before nodding.
"I just have to grab something out of my room, kay? Then we'll go."
Relief washed over her face. "Oh, thank you."
He shrugged. "No problem." and entered his room. She stood awkwardly in the doorframe until he looked back and motioned for her to enter. "You can come in. I'll only take minute."
"'kay." She said quietly and stepped inside.
He discarded his jacket on the single bed and asked her. "You aren't staying with anyone that would have a key?"
She laughed, but it was obviously forced. "No, no, I'm on my own."
He nodded once as he pulled up his suitcase. "You sound like you have been for a while."
Her face showed her disconcertment. "How can you tell?"
He shrugged. "I've been alone for a few years. It's easy to read in other people."
"Oh..." She looked around the room. Nothing made it look lived-in except for the one suitcase that now sat on the bed as he rummaged through it and the pizza box- open and empty- sitting on the table.
"You can sit. I have to piss." he motioned towards the chair.
"I'm okay." She waved one hand.
He nodded and headed into the bathroom. She stood, arms crossed protectively, by the door. When he emerged again, she stood a little taller. He made his way to the small fridge beside the table.
"Want anything before we head down?" He asked politely. "I have...water, water, and beer."
"Um...water, I guess." She shrugged- a nearly imperceptible movement of her shoulders.
He pulled a bottle from the fridge, back to her. He opened it and neatly slid a tiny capsule in from his palm. He turned to her, smile on his handsome face, and stepped forward to hand it to her before returning to fetch his own drink.
"Thanks..." She murmured as she raised the bottle to her lips.
He sipped a water slowly, listening to the breaths behind him. It didn't take long for them to quicken, a confused gasp escaping before a thud resounded throughout the room. Only then did he cap his drink and slide it back into the fridge. He turned around and eyed the girl on the floor. Slowly, he walked over to her and bent down.
He reached into her pocket and pulled out her wallet. He flipped it open and pulled out her driver's license.
"You're Cassie, huh? Nice to meet you." He lifted her effortlessly in his arms and headed for the door.
"I'm Dean Winchester."
He carried her to the Impala, resting her partially against it as he pulled open the back door. He carefully laid her inside and closed the door. He glanced around once, but the world was asleep. He made certain his motel room was locked before returning to the driver's seat.
The night turned out to be promising after all. She probably wasn't the best of people he had sent to the Angel, but she would do. Why else would she have wandered into his path?
He didn't believe in any god. But he believed in an Angel.
Blue eyes scanned the newspaper in interest. The Demon had struck again. The papers were days late, of course- the girl was said to have died the week prior, perhaps a little more. But they knew one thing for sure- the markings were the one and only's.
He folded the paper neatly and set it on the table. Now it was his turn. He had been sent a sweet little thing- he would have to do one better.
It took a month to find the perfect response. In the end, he found it in Duluth Minnesota. She had fought harder than anyone had before- he enjoyed it.
But now she, too, lay cooling in the grass. The Angel set his lantern aside and set to work on her back. It took less and less time as he practiced. But tonight he put his entire being into it, tracing the most elaborate design he had yet procured.
When he was done, rivulets of blood running down her sides, he added one more small touch. She smiled in grim satisfaction before lifting his lantern and leaving her to be found. He knew she would be- her mother slept only miles away.
Dean bit into his bacon and nearly spit it back out. The other patrons of the small motel complimentary breakfast only continued their tittering as they all watched the news. Every voice was fearful, sad, broken.
But he felt his spirits rising. The Angel had responded.
Even better, the Angel had acknowledged him.
For, as the grim newscast explained, a tiny pair of skeletal wings had been carved into the girl- Jo, they said- below the atypically-detailed angelic pair.
Dean smiled to himself and finished his breakfast. He threw away the paper plate on his way out of the door. His bags were already in the car, waiting for him. The Angel would expect a response. He just hoped he could find the right one.
He didn't find one person.
But he found a bank.
A bank called "Angel's Trust."
Really, how could he pass that up?
At six o'clock exactly, Angel's Trust rang with screams and gunfire. The Demon stood amidst it all, openly smiling to the camera. He winked once as he shot the final, blubbering teller in the head. One small wave and he shot the camera.
Later, the police would find tiny versions of the usual skeleton wings on each of the victims. The Demon must not have wanted to stick around to be caught.
No one could explain why the Demon had suddenly stepped into the public eye- literally. No longer was he-and now they knew it was a he- hiding in the darkness of the night. It sent fear into the hearts of each detective on the case- if the Demon was stepping out into the light, would the Angel be next?
To say the Angel was pleased would be an understatement. He had expected to wait a week- maybe two weeks- before he heard back from his Demon. But no. The day after his message reached the news, he saw his Demon for the first time. He was enthralled. The man had the nerve to look at the security camera and wink at him.
Now he knew what his Demon looked like. Now that was just icing on top of a very delicious cake.
Dean was feeling good.
He propped his feet up on the table and leaned back in his chair, waiting for the news to come on. His Angel had to have appreciated what he did. Now it was his turn to repay the favor.
And oh, did he return the favor.
A politician's headquarters!
A wide grin crossed Dean's face as the Angel- his Angel- looked to the camera and grinned. The room was an absolute disaster. But the Angel stood there calm as could be- calm but for the manic gleam in beautiful blue eyes.
Dean watched as the surveillance tape ended and the news host spoke about the seeming battle between the Demon and the Angel.
He disagreed. It was not a battle. Not in the typical use of the word, at least. Yes, they were competing- but the end result, the prize...that had yet to be named. And Dean was curious- oh-so-curious- as to what they were playing for.
In the beginning it was simple. He admired the Angel. He created the antithesis of the Angel's work. He looked for people he thought the Angel would enjoy, send them with his own mark into the void.
And then the Angel went and stepped it up.
And the Demon would be damned- well...- if he didn't step right up to meet him.
The video of the Angel would be all over the internet by morning. Already the video of the Demons was everywhere- usually followed with a "Have you seen this man?" And of course eventually someone would see him and know who he was. But until then, he was good at laying low and hiding.
But now it was his turn again. Now was not the time for laying low. The Angel had started this game of cat and mouse, but the Demon refused to remain the mouse for long. Out there was someone waiting for him to find them.
He had better start looking.
Once he found the person, the one he knew the Angel would adore, he decided he had to make it special.
The person was enough to be a single present, but the presentation was what mattered now.
So the Demon sent an anonymous letter to one Sam Winchester.
Already the Angel was preparing for his response to his rival. He had an idea of what the Demon enjoyed. And, lucky for him, he found just the person to send. But after his previous display- an entire headquarters!- he had to pretty it up.
So he visited one Sam Winchester.
Sam Winchester led a normal life. He spend his days studying to be a lawyer, his nights alone in his apartment. Some nights not-so-alone.
But tonight he felt very alone indeed as he again read the paper he found in his mailbox. It was not a threat, so much, as a promise. A self-proclaimed invitation.
From the Demon.
He didn't know what was worse. This letter in his hand or the look he got of the Angel that day. He had called the police, gone down to the station to describe what he had seen. But all he had seen was the Angel walking down the street.
And now this letter.
Sam locked his doors and windows before crawling into bed. He left the lights throughout the apartment on, hoping they would ward off his nightmares. Instead they cast shadows on everything.
He fell into a fitful sleep around midnight.
When he awoke again, there was a cloth over his mouth and a sickly taste in his mouth. He tried to scream but nothing emerged. He sank back into darkness.
Dean smiled as Sam sank back into sleep. He rolled the man over quickly, taking a moment to admire the expanse of skin. It was one of his larger canvases and he would do it justice.
He knew of the police visit Sam had made that day.
So he was less than surprised when the Angel himself entered the room.
Dean stood still, eyes staring at the Angels' own. They were more intensely blue in person. The Angel strode forward, keeping eye contact with his Demon the entire time.
"Is this for me?" He whispered in Dean's ear.
A shiver passed down Dean. "I hope you like it."
"Well, I seem to have gotten you the same thing... we must have similar tastes."
Dean's lips curled into a smile. "I think I can handle that."
The Angel stepped back and looked down to Sam. "Come on, then.
"Let this be a present to ourselves."
The news was flooded.
Are the Angel and the Demon Working Together?
The world was in a panic. Local police had gone to one Sam Winchester's apartment after he never turned up for classes for three days straight. They found all lights on- all except the bedroom light. When they flipped it on, they filled with dread.
Down one shoulder and side, an angelic, feathery wing lay imprinted in flesh. Down the other, a skeletal, boney wing. Each in their distinctive styles. Beside Sam's head lay the letter, as pristine as the day he received it.
There was no sign of the Angel or the Demon.
People could only guess if and when they would return. Some guessed they would never show their faces again- they had completed their game, had found each other, and would either kill each other or find comfort for damned souls in each other. Some guessed they would return, even worse than before.
And who can say who is right other than the Angel and Demon themselves? But they have yet to answer.