Based upon a gifset of Dean and Castiel winking/smiling at camera's while doing outlawed stuff

Dean sat in front of his TV in the outskirts of Seattle. Well, he said his TV, but he actually meant the telly that he 'creatively borrowed' from a shop a few block down. He smirked as he raked his hand through his hair. Today had been a brilliant day. No killings (okay, correction, not a brilliant day, but a damn good one), two car chases and take-away burgers, a successful break-in and TV. And damn good TV at that.

That's what Dean Winchester liked the best about this life. He could go anywhere he wanted, whenever, however and nobody would stop him. So sometimes his little brother showed up to join the fun, but they'd agreed to go their separate ways in separate countries. Dean would operate here, in the States, and Sammy - the little overachiever - went to England where he'd attend Cambridge and indulge his serial killing tendencies.

It suited Dean, this life. On the road 80% of the time, killing people just for the fun of it. Well, people. If you can call rapists and murderers people, then sure. He was killing people. His uncle Bobby had taught him and Sam very early on never to kill an innocent person. If you have these tendencies to kill, at least use 'em for good. Dean didn't always like it, but it earned him a clean conscious.

The Brothers Winchester. They were both renowned and feared, something that Dean revelled in. He loved all the attention. In the right bars, his reputation would get him any girl he wanted. That and his good looks.

Any girl.

Then why, lately, did he not show interest in any of the girls that threw themselves at him? He'd been in six different bars in the past month, but the girls there didn't affect him in the slightest. Not one of them got him hard.

So he'd taken to sitting in front of the TV and watching news and cheap porn that was so bad it was laughable. News was getting more and more interesting, because since last May, there was another serial killer on the lose in America. At first, Dean had seen him as competition. At least six of his planned victims were taken by this man known in the circuit as 'The Fallen Angel'.

He used to be some hotshot in the Government, but he had fallen from grace after brutally murdering his father. Rumour has it that Senior wasn't good at keeping his hands to himself when his daughters were concerned. Dean had done some research, asking around. 'Castiel', Senior had called him. But that's about everything there was to know about the man that was his competitor.

He smirked as the news came on. It had been in the newspapers this morning, 'The Fallen Angel' strikes again, murder of three rapists. Dean knew the signs now. Knew exactly what to look for, how to read between the lines to know for sure that it was Castiel.

The 8 o'clock news started with the murders. Confirmed to be the Fallen Angel, blah blah blah. There were images recorded.

Excellent, Dean thought. Maybe he was finally getting some response after two weeks.

Because it had started out as a competition. But now, they communicated through the news. It had started with a simple wave, to catch each other's attention. Castiel had written Dean's cover, The Hunter, on the wall in his victim's blood and had waved cheerily at the camera. Nobody knew his cover, that was good. People were still speculating as to who this mysterious hunter was, and this was last June.

Dean smirked as the handsome man with the long raincoat and the black hair came into view. There were three men lying around him, dead, their faces masks of terror. Good man, Dean thought.

Castiel turned to the camera, and it was as if their eyes made contact through the screen. The Fallen Angel smiled at him, as if to say, look, aren't you proud of what I did? They won't ever rape again.

Dean smiled. The man looked good, he had to admit it, but sometimes he was such a child. Well, this called for a response of course. He turned off the TV and went to his file cabinet. Inside were both the files of all of his victims and the files of those who still deserved to be his victims. Someone closeby…Seattle, Seattle…

He smirked. "Gotcha!"

—Destiel—

The man in front of him was begging, laying on the ground, sobbing softly. "Please…please, have mercy."

Dean laughed. "Mercy? Did you have mercy when you killed Eva Miller? Or her mother?"

The man, Gustav Evans, sobbed even louder. He looked pathetic. They all did, Dean had found. In the end, all of them were pathetic. "Please! I - I - I will be better! I will! I will stop killing, please just let me live!"

Dean laughed. He looked around for the cameras, and spotted one in the corner. The bank was deserted, he'd chased all of the employers and visitors out. It would take at least fifteen minutes for the police to arrive. Then he had to have delivered the message, and he had to be out of here. "Have you any idea how many times I've heard that before? You guys never do."

"Oh God…" Evans moaned, tears streaming down his face, but Dean didn't feel sorry. The bastard deserved it. "W-who are you? Why are you doing this to me?"

Dean looked at the pathetic asshole with contempt and pointed his gun at the man's face. This was going to be a shot meant to hurt. "I am Dean Winchester." He clicked the safety off the gun, and the bullet sprang into place. His finger tightened on the trigger. "And you're a dick." He squeezed the trigger hard, and he felt the shot tremble through his arm. He blinked once, and then Evans was screaming, making Dean smirk. The bullet had hit home, right through the man's eye socket. It would take a full minute for the brain to register what was happening, and then it would be over. Dean still had his gun trained on the man as he looked straight into the camera, imagined Castiel sitting behind a screen, and winked. You did a great job, kid. he thought, hoping it would show in his face; he wasn't the most expressive of guys.

When Evans blew out his final and most painful breath, Dean turned his back on him and the camera, quickly making his way out of the bank and into his Impala, which was ready to go. Now he just had to wait for response. His phone rang, and smiled when he saw his little brother's name. "Sammy!" he said, cheerfully.

"Who was it this time?" Sam said as a greeting, laughing. "When you're happy, it means you've killed someone, so who was it?"

"Gustav Evans."

"Ah yes. Good choice."

"Thanks. How ya doing, little brother?"

"Good. Haven't killed in a few weeks, but I think I'm managing."

"Still wanting to kick the habit?" Dean asked, shaking his head. His little brother, always trying to be the better man. "I swear to you it won't work. You'll kill again."

"I don't know, Dean, I feel kinda good this time." Sam said, his voice sounding pondering.

"Yeah, well, just make sure it's someone guilty of something more than stealing a candybar once."

"You know me!"

"I know you get out of control when you don't satisfy your need often enough."

"Anyways, I gotta go, I've got a big final coming up, so I have to study."

"Yeah you go study. I'll be over here killing my time alone." He snickered at his own joke and he heard Sam chuckle softly. "Love you, Sammy."

"Yeah, love you, too."

Dean threw his phone on the shotgun seat and stared at it for a moment. He missed having Sammy there sometimes. But he'd promised Sam could go to college and so he would cope. For Sam.

He turned on the radio, and caught a special news bulletin. "Dean Winchester strikes again. Today at 4.32pm, notorious mass-murderer Dean Winchester casually strolled into Seattle's biggest bank and started shooting around. Funnily enough, he released everyone but local police officer Gustav Evans, who is at this moment being transported to the morgue.

Dean burst out laughing. He'd shot a cop? Well, who was in trouble now? Who cared, the man deserved it. Nobody probably knew about Eva Miller and her mom, and the countless of others this man had raped and murdered. Well, Dean could care less what others thought of him. He'd done the most right thing he could do, in his circumstances. He switched channels, still chuckling and stopped at a classic rock station. Now this was what one could call heaven. Good music, being on the road, just had a good kill.

He loved life.

—Destiel—

Two days later, there was a new report. Another victim of the Fallen Angel, in Detroit this time. Dean leaned forward as he stuffed his mouth with a cheeseburger, paying close attention. No video images. Strange.

"However, police do report a note on the victim's body. Here's what it says." The note appeared on screen and Dean read it with fascination.

Hunter, it said, I believe it is time we meet up. Make. A. Move.

That was all. Wait, that was all? Dean groaned in frustration. Damn the Angel! Now he had to go and make another victim to find out where exactly. Make a move. He was about to do just that, when he remembered something. That line was familiar to him. Make a move. Someone had once said that to him. A good long while ago. But who and where?

"Make a move, soldier! Or are you a sissy?!"

Dean staggered backwards, and caught himself in the arm chair. He hadn't heard that voice in a very long while. Frankly, he had hoped he would never hear it again. The voice of the man who raised you, but never allowed you to love him, would rather be forgotten.

But how did Castiel know about his father? Sure, he used to be a Senator, but still… Didn't matter. He knew where to go now. The place where John Winchester taught his eldest son all the tricks of being in the army. The place where serial killer Dean Winchester was born.

—Destiel—

It took Dean two full days to cross country to Kansas - traffic was hell -, and the closer he got to Lawrence, the heavier his heart felt. He had no idea what to expect in his shitty little home town, but he did know that he didn't like the fact that he was going back there. Dean had, since his 18th birthday, forcibly denied the existence of that town.

The other thing that bothered him was his meeting with the Fallen Angel. He had no idea what the man wanted from him, but he had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He associated that feeling with the feeling he used to have while looking at girls…no. He shoved the thought away. It was ridiculous to even thing about such a thing. He wasn't gay.

Why was he even thinking this? What was wrong with him?

He shook his head and stopped his Impala near the park he hated more than anything else in the world. This is where the Fallen Angel and him will meet for the very first time. Inexplicably, Dean felt nervous as he approached the park, and it had nothing to do with the park itself. He was about to meet the man he had been silently communicating with for weeks.

It was like a blind date, only between two serial killers. It was strange when you thought of it. Serial killers are usually each other's competition. "Dean Winchester." It wasn't a question.

Dean's whole body shook as a low voice came up from behind him, and he spun on his heels. The owner of the voice was right behind him. "Get out of my ass!" he shouted, because he had nothing better to say.

"I was never in your - oh…"

Dean stared at the man in front of him. He was shorter than Dean had thought, and his voice was way, waydeeper. The kind of deep that shook him to his core, and - heaven forbid - excited him. He squinted his eyes at the man in front of him. Castiel Novak was not at all what he'd expected. "You're the Fallen Angel?"

The man chuckled lowly. Dean had somehow imagined Castiel to have a slightly higher voice than this. This was more intimidating. "Disappointed?"

"I wouldn't exactly say that." Dean felt his eyes go up and down the Angel's body, and found himself enjoying what he saw. He blinked a few times and shook his head.

"It's good to finally meet in person." Castiel cocked his head to the side, and Dean could feel the blue eyes on his body. Was this revenge for his own uncontrollable eyes? He felt extremely uncomfortable.

"Likewise, I think."

Castiel laughed, and Dean had never felt so small before. The man before him was more intimidating than he had ever imagined, and yet, deep inside him, coiled a deep desire. Whatever was happening to him, he liked it. "Let's go for coffee, shall we?"

"Wait. Why meet here?"

"Why meet in the place your father trained you? Why meet in the place my father trained me? Why d'you think?"

His father trained him? Well…that was unexpected. Castiel suddenly turned and started to walk away, and Dean had to take double strides to catch up. This was going extremely well, and yet completely horrible. He had no idea what was happening to him, but he could feel himself straining against his now too-tight jeans. "Castiel, what's…?"

"Ah, so you know my name?" Castiel chuckled. "Excellent. I must say that I admire your work, Dean Winchester. Never killing the good guys, always the bad. I wish I could do that. I try, but my urges are so changeable…" He shook his head with a sad smile, and yet again Dean was glad he could control his urges until the right moment. "You're probably wondering why I wanted to meet." Dean nodded, deciding not to speak, because he was too much freaking out inside. There was like a battle going on inside him; Straight Dean against Gay Dean, and Straight Dean - the Dean who had always prevailed - was losing badly.

But he couldn't really help it. Castiel had crawled under his skin with all his flirting over the news, and his winks and smiles and little waves. And now Dean was staring right at the guy, and the guy was hot as in burning-like-hell-hot and Dean couldn't help but feel slightly aroused.

"Well, I wanted to offer you something. A proposal of a sort."

Dean cocked his head, and then forced himself back into his body. He had to stay himself, this was an embarrassment. "Yeah? Shoot."

"Poor choice of words, but okay." Dean smiled while Castiel chuckled, and then got serious. "I need your help. I have a gang on my ass, that I can't shake."

"A gang? You're a serial killer, you don't get involved with gangs!"

"Well, I did, sadly." Castiel smiled, as if he didn't really mind it at all. "It was before my serial killer time. I was…well, not a nice man. I got into all kinds of shady businesses. And these guys, God's Messengers, as they call himself…well, they were the shadiest of all. And I owe them money."

God's Messengers, Dean had heard of them. Not very nice people. Even for the bad-guy circuit. "Sucks. What do you want from me? I don't have cash."

"I know. But what I want from you is something far different." Dean's stomach coiled, and he scolded himself for feeling so damn hopeful. "A partnership. You and I, we watch each other's backs, help each other with kills. You're good at disappearing. I'm not, I could use your skills."

A bargain then. Dean could do that. "But what's in it for me?"

Castiel leaned back in his chair, raked his hands through his hair, and Dean's heart sped up. "The pleasure of my company." he said, grinning smoothly. "I'm kidding. I'll help you with whatever. Your confused sexuality for example."

Dean, who had just taken a swig of his coffee, hastily spat the remainder of the swig back into the cup. The rest of it disappeared into his nose as he coughed and tried to get air back to his lungs. Castiel leaned over and patted him strongly on the back, laughing as he did. "How did you…? I mean, what do you mean?" Dean asked, red with embarrassment and lack of oxygen.

Castiel smiled softly. "I recognize the look of straight guy who suddenly realizes he's also attracted to guys. I've seen it on many man's face, including my own. You've been wearing it since the moment you lay eyes on me."

Dean half-smiled. This man was good, he should be a police detective instead of a serial killer. "Hmmm. Interesting theory."

"I know I'm right, Dean. Why do you think you kept flirting back? I expected you to stop after my first wink - I thought you'd realize I was flirting instead of daring you - but you didn't. You kept on flirting with me." Castiel put his hand on top of Dean's hand, and Dean smiled softly. Whatever was happening, he'd mostly accepted it, and given into it. Castiel was good-looking guy with great manners and an incredibly sexy voice. "I can see the way you look at me."

"What way?" Dean said, his green eyes trained on the Angel's blue ones. He was now actively flirting with the man in front of him.

Castiel leaned forward, and whispered in Dean's ear, "Like you want to throw me down on this table and fuck the hell out of me."

Dean blushed a little, but the images Castiel just painted in his head were far from unpleasant. He shifted nervously as he grew harder in his pants. "Well, what if you're wrong?" he said, lowering his voice to a deeper tone. He saw Cas shiver.

"Then I'd be highly disappointed. But I'm not wrong."

"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" Dean murmured sexily, and his hand slid under the table to Cas's knee. Castiel inhaled sharply.

"I think I'm allowed." the Angel whispered. He opened his eyes and looked at the Hunter. "I have a hotel room right across the street." That's all Dean needed to hear. Nervous, yet excited for this brand new adventure, he grabbed the lapels of Cas's raincoat and pulled him in, slamming his lips against the other's. "You fee like coming then, I presume?"

Dean smirked at the double meaning behind Cas's words, and nodded. "Heck yeah."