serial killer au - part i: the thrill.
summary: It’s all blood and broken bones. Castiel Novak doesn’t cheat. He gets orders, meets the victim, and kills them. Like Kurt Vonnegut once wrote, so it goes.
A/N: this part is not official yet, chances are there will be some slight changes when the whole thing will get uploaded on livejournal and ao3.
He walks down the street, cigarette dangling between his pink lips. He exhales two perfectly, killing, blue stripes of smoke through his nostrils. He tastes the cigarette in his mouth, tastes on his lips and his tongue as he inhales the killing machine again. It’s not that cold anymore, but he’s still wearing the dirty overcoat. It’s the sign towards his brother, meaning he’s ready.
As he passes a glass window a little further down the street he gives himself permission to take the time to glance at his reflection. He smirks at it, at that thing. See, Castiel Novak, youngest of three, smartest of three, fastest of three, he did not choose this life himself. It was his brother, Michael, who had started up their own, little family business. It has been like this since Castiel was eight, when Michael ‘accidently’ smothered Father after they had been fighting again. It made the eldest brother feel powerful, strong – because after the sorrow and the loss and the pain came the adrenaline, and somehow, Castiel and Anna started feeling it, too. They had to, they didn’t have a choice, because Michael’s bloodlust almost felt contagious. The eldest brother was in charge back then, and he still is now – Anna and Castiel couldn’t do anything but follow into the inevitable.
They didn’t all end up in the life, not fully at least. Anna is a police officer now, nota bene, which might come in handy in case one of the brothers screws up. But they never do, never did either.
His name used to be Jimmy Castiel Novak, and he was supposed to marry a girl and have children and be happy. Then they basically became orphans – absent mother, assassinated father– and Jimmy became just Castiel, a kid born in Pontiac, Illinois whose father had killed himself. He got a new identity, he became another person, but his mind kept thinking in the same way. He sometimes laughs at the bittersweet irony of it all. Castiel, the name of an angel, for such a disguised devil – it was so brutally wrong, but so perfect nonetheless.
Don’t go misunderstanding it, though. They don’t do it all for the kicks – Castiel doesn’t. They do it for the money that comes with it. Michael gets the clients, Cas gets the orders and sometimes even teams up with the older brother to finish the thing, Anna covers it up in case they screw up. They’re not in need of money, not anymore, but Castiel will need it one day. That day will come soon, he hopes.
He takes another long drag from his cigarette before throwing it onto the pavement. He’s supposed to get information about his next victim any minute now. Big deal, this one. A guy named Dean Winchester, who, according to Michael himself, did nothing wrong. But as long as the client is willing to pay enough money for it, they don’t really care. Dean Winchester is approximately worth $250,000 , which is a lot for such a small business such as the Novak’s.
His phone rings, and Castiel doesn’t need to think twice who it is. Michael.
“Castiel, dude. Where are you?” his voice booms, getting straight to the point.
He lets out a dramatic sigh before answering. “Calm the fuck down, Michael. I’m there, River Street. In front of Starbucks. I was about to get myself a cup of coffee when you called,” he replies, chuckling at the fact his brother is about to have a fucking panic attack.
And indeed, “CAS!! FOCUS!” is being yelled from the other side of the line.
“Chill, dude. Buy yourself a pack of Marlboro, or something. Now, tell me, have I ever let you down?” he replies, a smug smile dancing across his face. He knows the answer, obviously. He hasn’t.
“You know how I like to play my games, Mich,” Castiel adds before hanging up on his brother, who is probably cursing the living crap out of the him right now.
He enters the coffee shop and walks over to the huge line behind the counter. He waits until he has his coffee to call Michael back. Because the older brother might be in charge of this whole thing, he has a temper as big as an elephant. “So…” Castiel starts when the beeping tone clicks and gives a sign that phone has been picked up.
“Dean Winchester. About your age, twenty-four. Comes to this coffee shop every Tuesday, I guess that’s all you know so far. I was informed by our client that he orders a double espresso shot before sitting down at the same seat in the far back, by the window. Brown hair, green eyes, -gosh, the dude has freckles, what the hell?- , uh, what else…leather jackets, apparently. Oh and bowle-“
“Found him.” Cas interrupts, because indeed – there he is. Sitting by the window, reading a book, the familiar espresso cups confirming his thoughts. He’s handsome, Cas thinks before he focuses again.
“How does our client even know all this stuff?” the younger brother permits himself to ask. Michael sighs in return, “Zachariah had him watched by some of his people until he tracked us down.”
“Makes me wonder why he couldn’t finish the damn job himself” Castiel replies with an eyeroll. Michael can’t see him, of course, but he knows. Cas knows he knows because he hears Michael’s knuckles crack at the other side of the phone. A warning.
“Don’t screw up, Cassy,” Michael growls before hanging up, even though he knows he can trust the younger brother. They did this so many times, it almost became routine.
As he approaches the stranger and saw what book he was reading. An old copy of Vonnegut’s ‘Slaughterhouse-Five’, and he can’t help but bark out a laugh at the thought that the man in front of him might end up the same way as a lot of the characters in it. So it goes.
Dean Winchester looks up and raises his eyebrows at the sound. He sees Castiel and frowns a little. “Can I help you with something?” he asks.
Now the fun can start, Cas thinks to himself before putting on his innocent smile.
“No, I was just uh-Vonnegut, huh?” he says, pointing at the book.
Dean Winchester smiles at the book before smiling back at Cas. “Yeah, one of my favourite books, if I must be honest.”
“You mustn’t” Cas snorts, even though it isn’t really funny. He does a thumbs up at the man while he sips from his coffee. He looks around and sees all the other seats are taken in the coffee shop. Good, Castiel thinks as he puts on his lost puppy face. He looks around the shop again, eyes so-called scanning for a free seat in a way he’s sure Dean can see it. He tries not to laugh when Dean himself politely asks to him sit down with him, if he’s not planning on standing up the entire time and if he isn’t busy.
Castiel hides the promising smile that is dancing across his face for a few seconds. Dean Winchester does not know it yet, but he is walking right into Cas’ trap, eyes wide open and smiling.
It is a dangerous game, dangerous life, but Castiel glides through it like it’s nothing. He cannot remember otherwise. His first kill was when he was twelve, with the help from Michael, obviously. The man he’d killed was named Gordon Walker, and Castiel smiles bitterly whenever he thinks about it. Let’s face it, who would not trap into two big, blue eyes and pouty lips telling the victim he needed a ride home. It was a quick job, his quickest one so far, finished in about twenty minutes.
He likes playing his victims like a predator likes playing his prey. It usually takes a month at worst, one day at best. He approaches the victim, befriends him or tries to make a business deal pretending he is a salesman. Then, when they least expect it, he captures them. Sometimes he tortures them for a while, playing around with knives and ropes. Sometimes, he just kills them right away. In the beginning it was hard, but now it’s not anymore. It’s not like he gets off of seeing the lights die down in the victim’s eyes, but since he’s basically forced to do this he might as well try and enjoy the show. Michael, who just likes coming straight to the point, sometimes makes fun of his brother for it because he was supposed to be the one who didn’t want this life. He still doesn’t, to be honest – he just became good at wearing masks.
When his phone beeps a few hours after he left the coffee shop, he isn’t even surprised to find out who just texted him.
Dean W.: Hey Cas, how about we grab a coffee together tomorrow? Same place, same time? Let me know. – D
He smiles a little. He smiles because it is working. He smiles because apparently, the fun is about to start.
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