Dexter drums his fingers on the steering wheel in anticipation.

Tonight's the night.

His body is tingling and humming with the thrill of what is to come. His Dark Passenger has settled in, taking control over Dexter Morgan; Widow, Father, Former Family Man. Miami Metro's best blood spatter analyst.

The dissonant melodies that plague Dexter Morgan; Ongoing Project Normal Human Being, ease away in to a beautiful harmony inside him, and his interest piques as his current subject staggers back in to his sight.

"Dexter," Harry warns. He's materialized in the passenger seat of Dexter's car. "You are pushing your luck,"

"It's fine," Dexter looks at his foster father, and the apparition glares back.

"There are witnesses everywhere," He gestures to the witless people staggering about across the road.

"I don't think they know their own names, much less anything else," Dexter double checks the syringe he's got waiting up his sleeve. "They're not exactly reliable witnesses," He moves to leave the car.

"But witnesses, no less, Dexter," Harry calls after him. "What's the first rule of The Code, Dexter?"

"Don't get caught," Dexter smiles, "I won't," And he closes the door, Harry having already vanished.

Castiel. No know last name. Always seen waltzing about stiffly with those two Winchester brothers - Sam and Dean are meat for later on; they're not an immediate threat. They don't seem to know my deepest, darkest secrets just by looking at me. This 'Cas' guy needs to be dealt with first. Quickly. Cleanly. Unambiguously. - saving their hide and looking a little too at ease with everything. Or perhaps he's hideously awkward with everything. It's hard to tell. Everything about this man sets Dexter and his Dark Passenger on edge.

His Dark Passenger drags him from his thoughts and tells him to get out of the light, and cross the street a few hundred yards down. His green eyes avert and he spots Cas staggering round the corner of the bar into the dingy alley next to it, and his heart thrums happily in his chest as he opens the hood of his car, then trots after the dark haired man. "Hey, sorry to bother you," Dexter jabs his thumb vaguely over his shoulder, acting out his damsel-in-distress routine, "You don't happen to have a cell phone I could borrow do you? My car has broken down and my phone is dead." Dexter balks for a moment as those brilliant blue eyes he has ever seen lock with his and stare at him, hard and judgemental. He hopes the other man doesn't recognise him. Dexter absently notes that Castiel is probably one of the less brutal looking people to end up on The Table, but a pretty face isn't enough to absolve the sins of anyone.

"You're lying," Cas grunts, his voice rough and thick from alcohol. If he does recognize Dexter, he's making a jolly good show of hiding it. After the earlier performance at the crime scene, Dexter finds it hard to believe he doesn't realize exactly who it is. This makes it both more dangerous, and more exciting. The Dark Passenger chuckles dryly. Dexter panics for a moment, before his Dark Passenger regains control and he smiles, feigning shock and innocence. "My car is just across the street... Look, I have a son, I need to get back to him, just... please. I just need to ring my sister. Get her to come pick me up." Dexter starts back towards his car, smirking as Cas begins to follow him. He rounds the car, eyes scanning for any unwanted company as he opens the back door, reaching in for his needle and swiftly pulling on his gloves, disguising it with a piece of paper with Debra's number scrawled on it. Cas has taken one step too close to Dexter, and Dexter takes full advantage, grabbing the other man, covering his mouth and injecting him in the neck, allowing the other man's body to slump in to his arms before hoisting him in to the back of his car. He gives one final glance around. Home and dry. The street appears empty.

His Dark Passenger positively vibrates with delight as Dexter continues his ritual, not even pausing to consider how prepping to murder someone comes so easily to him. The peace within him is almost warm and cuddly. It is like his own kind of comfort blanket. He works in perfect silence as he lays Cas out on The Table and gets to work securing him to it. His Kill Tools are already laid on a smaller table. The slides ready for the drop of blood to be pressed between them and added to the collection. As an impulsion, he straightens out the tools before turning back to Sleeping Beauty. There are no photos in this Kill Room. It is a first. Dexter is somewhat of a creature of habit, and it is putting him slightly off kilter not having the usual visual backup with which to taunt his victim. He will have to improvize. Cas somehow looks out of place on The Table. Almost… Angelic? Not like the usual rough looking criminals Dexter usually has on The Table, scarred, tainted by a life of crime and drugs and dishonesty. Peaceful. Almost Angelic. Pity he'll be dead within the hour.

Dexter could swear he had recognized an all too familiar look in the eyes of this man in that alley. He'd had the look of a man carrying a burden he couldn't share, not even with the people closest to him. Dexter knows that face very well; he sees it in the mirror every day. Maybe Cas has his own Dark Passenger. A shiver runs through him as he remembers the shadow wings. Maybe Dex can have more fun with this than the usual intimidate-kill procedure he normally follows. Maybe that will help fill the void of the photographs.

Dexter enjoys watching his victims slumber. He takes the time to remind himself why they have ended up there; picturing them performing whatever horrific acts they had done to capture Dexter's interest in the first place. Of course, he has nothing solid on Cas. Nothing beyond just a feeling. With what he knows of Dean and Sam Winchester, simply knowing that Cas is allied with them gives him reason enough to believe that he has probably had a hand in some sort of illegal activity; likely some that has ended up with fatalities.

Dexter likes to try and predict their reaction when they come around. He doesn't have to wait long.

A dry chuckle sounds from The Table, and Dexter hops down from his perch. Oh good.

"I don't see any Reapers,"

Dexter dismisses the comment.

"No one is going to die here," Cas croaks.

Dexter pulls on his leather gloves, looking from his hands to Cas. "I'm afraid that's not the case."

Cas smiles gently as Dexter approaches him. "God won't let me die," Cas murmurs, closing those crazy blue eyes for a moment, then opening them and fixing Dexter with another inhuman stare.

Dexter forces himself to look away; he can't lose focus now. "God, huh?"

Cas blinks, as if shocked by Dexter's dismissive attitude. "Yes. He wants me to pay for my sins, and death is a mercy." His voice is flat and deadpan. He truly believes what he's saying. He wouldn't be the first religious mass murderer; using their God as an excuse for their own heinous acts. Brainwashed beyond their control, somehow believing that any higher power wanted him to actually take the lives of others. Delusional.

Dexter smiles thinly, moving towards Cas' head. More specifically his cheek, with his scalpel, dropper and slides in hand. "That it is. But some people don't deserve to live." He runs the blade over Cas' cheek, frowning at the total lack of reaction to the cut, then collects the blood and presses it between the slides. Another icy smile crosses his face as his eyes lock with Cas' again.

"What do you know about me, Cas?" Dexter leans in close, a gesture of dominance which is usually responded to with some degree of submission or fear from his victim. Nothing. It is frustrating. Yet fascinating.

"A lot." It falls flat. Empty. He speaks as if he could look in to Dexter's eyes and read back every thought, every word, every action, every emotion. Or lack thereof.

Dexter watches Cas' eyes move to look down at his own trussed body.

"I know you kill people." Cas' voice lacks any depth or emotion. There is something unnatural about it. He speaks the words as plainly as if he has just offered a statement about the weather. A sure sign that he has been around enough death for it to fail to bother him.

Dexter flinches. Barely. He tries for a stab in the dark with his response. "You've killed people, too?"

"I have had a hand in a number of deaths." He confirms. The smile that crosses his face seems out of place in such a situation, but it is void of any humor. "A few million, if I think about it. More than I wish to remember." The pain in his voice, his eyes is unmistakable. "But I do." It is added as an afterthought. Cas closes his eyes. "I remember every soul."

This one is genuinely repentant. Maybe I'll make it quick. Maybe. Dexter internally shakes off the niggling sense of pity for the man laid before him. "Why'd you do it, Cas?" The name feels foreign in his mouth, and he spits it out with distaste.

Cas' eyes scan the his bleak surroundings sadly, and heaves a sigh. "God. To start with. Then Leviathan." He replies morosely.

Religious killings. I should have known. The man looks like some sort of holy tax accountant. It would account for the air of weirdness around the trio. "That some kind of a drug?"

Cas chuckles. "Something like that."

Dexter ponders whether trying to wind Cas up would be worthwhile, but given that he has woken up in a plastic covered room, pinned to a table with plastic wrap, and had exchanged words with a fellow serial killer about their own personal death tolls, and he hasn't so much as raised his voice in concern, he lays odds that he probably wouldn't get far. He rather fancies pushing something sharp and long and pointy in to Cas' heart and watching the life drain out of him. He is picking out his weapon of choice when he hears Cas begin to chortle. It's a rough, inexperienced sound, like he hasn't used it a great deal. "Something funny there, Cas?"

Cas draws in his breath loudly before he answers. "That won't work." Cas' eyes drift to the blade Dexter has picked out.

Dexter eyes Cas and the blade dubiously, torn between dragging more information out of this frustratingly intriguing individual or just stabbing the shit out of him and getting it over with. He is dragged out of his inner turmoil as he notices Cas' steely gaze on him again.

Dexter freezes, this time, his mind made up that he is going to obliterate this man within the next minute. The way Cas is looking at him is making him rethink his 'ridiculous' notion of his mind reading talents.

"I remember you. Your soul stood out to me. Just like Dean's." He speaks Dean's name with devotion, admiration. Cas smiles, he actually smiles, and those sinful blue eyes sparkle. He looks like he's just cracked a joke.

The joke's on him. Dexter feels antsy, his Dark Passenger screaming for its release now. It's dizzying, overwhelming. He ponders asking exactly how many people Cas has killed, but decides he's fooled around long enough. It's time. He needs to do this, to get his release, to satiate his Dark Passenger. No more playing games. "Thank you." He replies simply, taking his place at the top of The Table, positioning the blade professionally on Cas' chest, closing his eyes and taking that deep breath, this is it, leveling out his head, readying his arms to apply just the right pressure. He allows his Dark Passenger to take complete control of him, whilst Dexter can relax and kick his metaphorical feet up. He opens his eyes again and looks in to Cas' fiercely blue eyes, a little unnerved at the total serenity in them, wondering distantly if they will look so vibrant with no life in them. He'll soon find out. Dexter begins to apply firm pressure with the blade, and Cas' eyes stay on him, his expression stoic and unreadable, yet somehow there is still the slightest hint of a smile in his eyes. Perhaps this guy is a lot more like Dexter than he had imagined. Dexter closes his eyes once again. Three, two, one…