To Dance (Supernatural AU)

Chapter 1

"No, Ella. You must let me speak to Castiel Novak now!" Bonnie was pacing the white rug in the den of her and Deans condo in New York. "It is a matter of utmost importance and it must be handled immediately."

Dean was sat with his arms crossed over his chest on the black velvet love-seat only a few feet away from Bonnie's frantic pacing back and forth. They have been engaged for some time now and they didn't need distractions, like Castiel Novak writing some bullshit article about Deans beautiful fiancé, putting them off schedule. They were to be married on Christmas Day. It was supposed to snow in New York quite heavily that winter and Bonnie had high hopes for the ultimate White Wedding. That was his Bonnie, always making a show out of the most important things in life.

"Just let me speak to him!" She was getting irritated and Dean couldn't help but chuckle. Bonnie quickly turned towards him and shot him daggers, "So you think this is one big joke?" She snapped at him.

Dean put his hands up in defense and shook his head, "In my honest opinion, I don't think you should let one shitty journalist ruin what you've worked so hard for."

He slowly rose to his feet and approached her, wrapping his strong arms around her petite waist.

He whispered in her ear, "If it makes you feel any better, I think you're a marvelous dancer."

Bonnie pushed herself away from him and rolled her eyes, "Don't you see that I'm trying to take care of business?"

He glared at her and quickly snatched his leather riding jacket and helmet off of the couch adjacent from the love-seat.

Bonnie quickly hung up the phone and chased after Dean the best that she could in her stilettos.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Out," Dean responded briefly and slammed the door shut, making the expensive paintings around it shake. Bonnie swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat as she walked back to the den and plopped down on the couch. He could not keep that shit up, Bonnie had already taken two years of it before they were engaged, and four more months on top of that. Dean was a runner, he didn't face his problems. He knew that he had Bonnie no matter what he did.

She shifted and glanced at the crack on the table. Sighing, she wanted to fix it, but she knew she would need to call someone to do it. Dean used to be good at things like that, that was until he started drinking. Now he seemed like he didn't want to help with anything if it involved fixing, literally and metaphorically.

He used to be so loving, so gentle; the Dean that she fell in love with in high school. Then his father died and his brother went off to college; after that he had never been the same.

Bonnie had her own problems too, she was no angel. She had a slight drug addiction when she became a dancer with Broadway and every payment that she received from the theater she blew on cocaine. Her partying days were long over, but the memories of Dean having to pull her out of the fire more than once haunted her.

She built a name for herself around the world and she was hellbent on not allowing one sleaze of a journalist ruin her ever-growing reputation.

...

"Bonnie!"

She jumped out of the love seat that she fell asleep on and looked around the dark living room. How long had Dean been out? She glanced at her phone and saw that it was half passed three in the morning.

"Bonnie!" Dean shouted again and she heard him stumble through the hallway and knock something over. It shattered, so she assumed it was the vase that held her gorgeous tulips that Dean had brought her after her last show.

Bonnie quickly made her way to the light switch and rubbed her eyes when the room flooded with light. Dean was a wreck; he was sopping wet and his hair was dripping into his eyes. It was raining?

"Come here, baby," he slurred, "Give me a kiss." He approached her and grabbed her by her waist. Bonnie tried to push him away, but Dean had always had unmatchable strength against her.

"Dean, no," she said firmly and reached backward to unwrap his arm from her. "Ow...babe. You're hurting me."

He kissed her neck and eventually bit down on it, breaking her skin; she shivered and tried again to untangle herself from his embrace, but he only tightened his grip.

"You're mine tonight."

She pleaded again and again, and finally slipped out of his drunken grasp and sprinted to the far side of the cracked coffee table.

"Dean, not like this," Bonnie was through with the horny monster that Dean had always become whenever he was under the influence. She knew that he would always mix his drinking habits with something other than alcohol; he'd been a drug addict since he'd started his modeling career. "You're drunk! What else have you done tonight?" Bonnie tried to sound calm, tried to reason with him in his hallucinogenic state, but he kept lurching towards her. Giving in to him was the last thing she wanted to do, the last thing that she wanted to give him, but even like that Dean was irresistible. His long arms reached out and grabbed the back of her neck; she hissed and tried to peel his fingers off of her, but she wasn't strong enough.

"You're gonna do what I want you to do," he slurred in a low murmur, the smell of liquor wafted her sense of smell and she shuttered to think of what Dean had planned. What sort of sexual torture was she in for tonight?

She grabbed the lamp off of the mantel of their large marble fireplace and tossed it at him, hoping that it would keep him at bay. He just kept coming, she ran to the bedroom and tried to lock the door, but Dean was too quick. A large fist connected with her cheek and she fell to the floor.

...

Bonnie woke the next morning with a pounding headache, it was absolutely painful for her to move as she swung her legs off the side of the king sized bed. Her toes gently brushed the freezing hardwood floor under them and she shivered. She was wearing the same dress she wore last night, only it was torn at the neckline and she had no panties on underneath. A pool of tears welled in her eyes as she rose and slowly made her way to the bathroom, wincing with every step that she took.

It only took her a second to realize that she would need makeup on her nearly flawless face.

He always gets too rough, she thought and gently touched the bruise right above her left cheekbone.

She shimmied carefully out of her now withered dress and turned the knobs on the shower to lukewarm. Every single one of her nerves was standing on end when the semi-cool water bounced off her pale skin. Her mind immediately went to her plans for the day; she had to go to Rents Publishing and find that scumbag journalist, Castiel Novak. Many scenes played out in her mind of how she would confront him; get him alone and unleash her wrath, or be cordial and kindly ask him to retract his earlier article, or just put the fear of God into him and threaten his job. She sighed and realized that she would have to get to know this man first, and if it ended with him refusing to take those distasteful words back, she would have to get Dean involved. Tears welled in her chocolate eyes and she let the water run over her face so that it would trick her into thinking that she wasn't so weak.

That was more blood than she wanted to shed over the matter.