A/n: Shit guys, I'm completely sorry for not updating any of my stories for so long. Lots of stuff has been going on. If I was talking to you through messages, apparently any of the old ones got deleted with the new upgraded private message system. Anyways, I'm working on getting promoted once again. Only shit's happening. I'm not being trained right, they're making me do everything and I was left all alone without an alarm code. Let's just say the DM was SO not happy about that. I'm just glad he said it wasn't my fault when I apologized. Out of all the stores to train me, I get like the worst ones at training people. sucks ass. So fingers crossed that things get better.

Title: Homicide && Psycho therapy (Winchester style)

Rating: T for mentions of a crime scene. If reading about dead people or horrific events isn't your thing. Don't read, since the main characters are always dealing with death. Dean is a Homicide detective and Castiel is a criminal psychologist.

Pairing: Future Destiel. If man love isn't your thing, that's fine. Cause I said FUTURE destiel. Which means it isn't happening yet... I think. It all depends on my writing partner too. LOL. As for any other pairings, I have no idea either.

Co-written with: Blakely G

He has a fanfiction, his link to his profile will be located on my profile if you want to read his stories!

He plays Dean Winchester, I write for Castiel.

Since we're basically doing it role-play style. The perspective is going to change every line break.

CHAPTER ONE

CASTIEL's POV.

"That's why you did it. I know how you feel. You wanted justice, you saw no one else offering it so you took matters in to your own hands. So tell me.. Was it worth it?"

"No... nothing changed. I thought it would. For that brief moment, everything seemed like it would be better. That those pills would be off the streets that were responsible for taking my Andy's life. But then Rachel told everyone not to worry about it. That she would take over and keep the pills selling. I couldn't have that so I killed her too. But it doesn't change anything. It wasn't going to bring Andy back."

"No, it isn't. But you prevented others ending up on that path."

Before the man wearing a fine dark blue suit could say any more, he was interrupted by a detective stepping in and shutting off the tape that had been recording the confession to the case that had just been cracked. He nodded at the detective and then towards the woman that had gotten her justice for the indirect murder of her son. That was how she saw it, that the woman, Veronica had been responsible for distributing the pills that the suspect's son had ingested and then wrapped his car around a tree.

Castiel hadn't been kidding though, he knew how it felt to want to take matters in your own hands and see justice prevail. But things didn't always work out the way you wanted it to. To be honest, Castiel felt that it was best to leave it all in God's hands. But a very good friend of his would scoff, though respect his beliefs. But here it was, killing the person who took a family member from you wasn't going to change things. If anything it would make you feel worse.

Castiel was speaking of one of the only people that seemed to just gethim. Despite only knowing the guy for only a little over a year. Who was he talking about? Dean Winchester. The guy was a saint among men. Not only did he devote his time to tracking down heinous murderers but he practically sacrificed himself when it came to others. Was it healthy? God no, but that was why Castiel was thankful for his faith. Otherwise, who would pray for Dean? He constantly was in Castiel's prayers for the man who hunted monsters in this world to be safe, to get out unscathed while he caught the bad people. While he solved crimes and surrounded himself in the darkness that the world has succumb to.

The brunette walked out of the interrogation room of a police precinct he was visiting. They needed someone of his expertise to get the woman to break down and confess to the crime that they felt she was capable of. What did this mysterious blue eyed man do? He was a psychologist, but not just any problem solving, shoulder to lean on go to guy. No, he helped the world catching and understanding criminals. From serial killers to rapists or distraught mothers seeking justice for losing their most precious thing in the world. Her child. It was a pain staking, stressed inducing job, but look at it this way. If he didn't do it..who else would? Thankfully though, Castiel wasn't alone in this world. No, he had a rather large family for support.

Though, if anyone watched how they interacted, it would be more than clear that he was the odd ball. The black sheep of the family.

Castiel James Novak.

Most people called him by his full name. Others in high school would for some strange reason forsake his first name and call him Jimmy which was a nickname branching off from his middle name. He never understood why. Perhaps they didn't understand his namesake? It didn't matter though. The only person that dubbed him a nickname that he actually liked was Dean Winchester. What did he call him? Cas. So simple yet so much more. Better than what his brother and sometimes his sister called him. Cassie. Castiel shuddered mentally just thinking of it. Why would they call him by something so feminine? It was another thing he never understood but never bothered to question.

Regardless, Castiel was the baby of the family. A baby yet he was twenty eight. But maybe they were just over protective because of the fact that he was indeed...innocent. He blamed his virginity being intact due to never having time or an opportunity for a relationship. Castiel didn't approve of one night stands, didn't like the idea of giving a piece of yourself to some drunken stranger you would never see again. No, that wasn't for him. He wanted commitment. Which seemed scarce now and days. Was he afraid? Maybe a little.

Balthazar would tease him about it but it wasn't out of malice, so Castiel didn't mind. Balthazar was his older brother by two years. Then there was Anna, his only sister who was thirty one and acted more like a mother than anything. Which was understandable since they didn't have a mother anymore. Castiel had never known her and never would. She had died giving birth to him, which was probably why his father didn't really ever want anything to do with him.

Oh yeah, Castiel was just the illustration of a picture perfect family.

But thankfully his brothers and sister didn't blame him for what happened. They did their best protecting him from their father. No, no, no, don't worry. He wasn't abused or anything obscene like that. Just a little neglected sometimes, but for the most part, his father got over his pain he was dealing with when Castiel was nine. It took years but he was there for his son until Castiel turned eighteen.. Then he vanished without a trace.

Castiel has been trying to find him ever since with no such luck. His brothers and sister have given up already, but Castiel has faith that his father is out there somewhere.. at the very least still alive. His other older brothers are Gabriel and Michael. He has a couple of cousins too, but their dicks. So he doesn't talk about them. Notice a pattern with the names, with the except of Anna, all of them are named after angels. His mother had named Anna, which is why she is different. His father had been a popular well loved priest.

Now where was Castiel headed? To the usual place. It had been a rough day and he needed a drink. Needed to unwind with his friend. Castiel wouldn't be surprised if Dean brought his brother Samuel along. They were kind of a package deal. Which Castiel didn't mind because Samuel Winchester was a good man as well. He was lawyer who worked hard on sentencing criminals or protecting the innocent. It was funny how they were all working for the greater good. For justice and to protect the people who couldn't fight the evil for themselves.

Castiel got into his car which was a plain Honda civic. It was nothing like Dean's car. Now his friend had the best looking car ever. He started the ignition and drove to 'The Roadhouse' which was owned by Ellen Harvelle. She was a little rough around the edges but she too had a kind heart. It was easy to see. Or perhaps it was just easy for Castiel because he could read people's insides well. It didn't take too long before he was seated on a stool, a beer in hand and talking to Ellen about how the day had gone as he waited for Dean.

DEAN'S POV.

Crime scenes aren't something you get used in the homicide division, ever. You find ways to cope with the images that are seared into your retinas, but you never 'get used' to seeing someone brutally murdered. You never 'get used' to seeing a room, an alley way, a sidewalk covered in blood. You never 'get used' to seeing men, women, children killed and thrown aside as though they were nothing more than trash. Every crime scene is considerably different and yet eerily the same. There is always a person, or what was a person now just a shell, lifeless and empty waiting to be found and waiting for the family to make the final decision; burial or cremation.

Every time you step into a particularly bad scene you always say 'this is the worst of my career' until the next one rolls around and that one because the worst of your career, the cycle is vicious and constant and every person working homicide knows it. Having to tell the family members that one of their loved ones is dead, that has to be one of the worst moments. The reactions vary from person to person; some are stoic, other screams, some faint, hell he's even had someone throw up on his shoes it all depends on the person. How many times has he said, 'I'm so sorry for your loss' to a sobbing women or a man trying to be brave for his family by holding back tears that want nothing more than to fall? Too many times and he still doesn't know how he forces himself to get up in the morning and do it all over again. No, that's a lie. He knows how he does it. It's all for the justice, it might not bring closure to a family but he sure as hell can catch the culprit to bring them justice.

The man who dedicated his life to helping to the grief torn families and to helping the poor souls who could no longer help themselves was Dean M. Winchester. Detective Dean M. Winchester, though the title of detective lost its luster some time ago. Yeah he still flashes his badge to the ladies every now and then but the cocky smile that is flashed along with it doesn't hold the bravado it once had. His job is really all he has besides his younger brother and the few friends he's managed to hang onto, but that doesn't stop him from admitting every once and a while that the job really gets to him at times. Like the case he was just called to, for instance.

Home invasion turned homicide; the guy who broke in chose the fight instead of the flight response and turned his gun on the residents of the house, two of which were just children. He wasn't sure if any of them made it or not, he only got a partial explanation but was promised a full update as soon as he arrived. He had been at home when he had gotten the call to come out so he had quickly shooed out the pretty waitress he had over, pulled on his pants and shirt, jumped into his car, and now Detective Winchester was driving as fast as he could to the crime scene where his coworkers were already sealing and assessing the area. He had somehow convinced the head of the police force that his '67 Chevy Impala would make a good undercover car, but then again it was no surprise at all. Dean was known for being able to charm his way in and out of sticky situations.

As always Dean managed to get to the crime scene in record time, pulling up to the curb on the opposite side of the house to stay out of the way of the ambulance that was starting to pull away. If an ambulance was there that meant someone survived right? He hoped so and he felt terrible for thinking this, but if there was a living witness it could make his job easier. Dean got out of his car and shut the door to the Impala harsher than he had intended to, only glancing back at it for a second before he jogged across the street.

He flashed his badge the cop on the other side of the crime scene tape and the man gave him a slight nod, Okaying him for ducking under the tape. Dean headed for the front door, scanning the outside of the house carefully. He was looking for anything really, a shoe print, a cigarette butt, or recently disturbed earth to tell him someone had been there. When his scan left him empty handed he turned his attention back to the front of the house. The door was wide open and Dean could see from where he was that it had been kicked in by the intruder. That was what probably woke the family up, not very subtle entry. Dean stored that thought in his brain as he saw the officer who contacted him in the doorway, a grim look on his face. With a look like that it must be a bad scene so Dean took a deep breath before approaching.

"Got here in record time like always Winchester."The man, Hendrickson, said as soon as Dean met him at the door.

"Expect anything less? Now go ahead and give me the run down."Dean said as he continued to scan the building for anything of significance.

The house on the outside looked large, well more like long, and was painted a soft blue color. Dean noted some blood on the outside of the doorframe before he stepped inside. His nose was overwhelmed with the smell of bleach though it looked like nothing had been cleaned. The front room of the house was very spacious and had antique looking furniture. It had three windows but the drapes were closed on all of them so the room was only lit by the light coming through the open door behind him. In the middle of the room was the body of the first victim, the father Dean supposed.

The man appeared to be in his late thirties to early forties, with dark hair and was dressed in a white under shirt and pajama pants that matched the color of the outside of the house. He was lying on his stomach and it looked as though he had been trying to get into the hall where the bedrooms were when he was killed. A drying pool of blood was underneath him and Dean wondered briefly where the bleach smell was coming from. From what Dean could see the man had been shot three times, the shot that killed was to the back of the head. The green eyed man looked over at Hendrickson, who was also looking at the body, as he waited for him to start speaking. The other man lifted his head to look at Dean before giving a nod and stepping closer to the body.

"The first victim was the father Eric Morris, thirty-eight, who came into the living room when the door busted open," Hendrickson began to explain as he walked around the dead man to stand on the opposite side of Dean, "It appears the he turned to go back into the hall and was shot three times. Once to the right shoulder," Bang, "Once towards the lower back," Bang, "and once to the back of the head," Bang, "which was the shot that killed him."

Dean just nodded and bent down to get a closer look, a thoughtful expression on his face. The man's gray eyes were open, staring sightlessly in the direction of the far wall. The man stood back up and glanced over to Hendrickson who lead him into the hall. The hallway was long but narrow and there were four doors. Three doors were on the wall in front of him and one at the end of the hall on the same wall as the opening to the living room. That door lead to the kitchen he was told, while two of the doors were bedrooms and one was a bathroom. Hendrickson lead him to the last door on the right which was the master bedroom where the parents slept. The room was large with a king size bed in the middle of the farthest wall, a bookcase on the wall to the right next to a door to the closet, and a large dresser on the wall to left. The mother's slender body was crumpled in the doorway; just a step into the room, her red curls covering her face from Dean's searching eyes. She was wearing a thin, pink nightgown and long white socks and Dean noticed how she almost looked like a doll.

"The second was the mother Julia Morris, thirty-four. She was heading to her husband when the intruder came down the hall. She was shot one time in her forehead," Bang, "and was killed instantly." Hendrickson said slowly, watching Dean's eyes travel around the room. He knew the man wasn't going to like what he saw next, but despite how horrible the fact was, he knew it would make Dean work harder to find who did this so it worked out in his favor.

Once Dean was finished in the master bedroom walked back into the corridor and over to Hendrickson with a solemn shake of his head, mumbling about how he was going to track this guy down. Hendrickson nodded and motioned for the other man to follow him down the hall. He stopped in front of the last door on the right at the other end from where the parents' room was and stepped aside. It was a large room, though not as big as the master bedroom, which had two twin size beds that were only separated by a small, black nightstand. On the right side of the room the blankets were bright red just as the tall dresser and colored see-through storage containers that were stacked against the wall.

The covers were thrown back and were lying partially on the beige carpet. The left side of the room was practically a mirror of the right, except for everything that was red on the right was orange on the left. The major difference though was the body that was lying on the left bed. It was obviously the body of a teenager, maybe sixteen, his shaggy hair laying messily in his face and his arm hanging limply off the bed. He was facing the left wall and from where Dean was he could see the boy's eyes were opened as was his mouth slightly. He was wearing a white undershirt that was too big for him, 'Probably his father's', and black boxers, both of which were covered in blood.

"This was the room for the son's Aaron, twelve, and Jasper, sixteen. When Jasper heard the intruder break in and gunshots fire he threw himself from his bed and laid on top of his younger brother to shield him. When the intruder came in here he shot at Jasper six times. Twice in the left shoulder," Bang, Bang, "twice in his back," Bang, Bang, "and two hit him in the left leg." Bang, Bang. "Aaron wasn't hit, but by the time he got his brother off of him and got to the phone the intruder had vanished and Jasper had bled out. Aaron was in shock when paramedics arrived and wouldn't talk to anyone. The neighbors said they heard what they thought were gunshots, but none of them saw anything. Poor kid, having your brother shot on top of you?"Hendrickson shook his head in disgust and turned toward Dean, who's only sign of emotion, were his clenched fists and the flash in his eyes.

"That sick bastard…"Dean grated out eventually as he walked farther into the room. These kids really hit home with him. Jasper was four years older than Aaron, just as Dean was four years older than his brother Sam, and there was no doubt Dean would throw himself in the way of a bullet for Sam seeing as the two were extremely close.

Dean was done in this room; he needed to walk away before he disturbed the crime scene by punching a hole through the wall. He turned on his heels and headed into the kitchen directly across from the boy's room. It was a spacious kitchen and it reminded Dean of some cozy cottage a retired couple would want. Defiantly odd decorating style the two had. Dean walked around the area but when he found nothing he walked through the entry way that lead into a dark den. This room seemed to have a Zen theme and Dean noticed it had a few valuable items, including a large flat screen television and a stereo system. What kind of robber breaks in and kills the family, but leaves the valuable stuff? 'That makes no sense…' Dean mused as he went back through the kitchen, down the hall and into the front room. When nothing seemed missing from there either he huffed slightly and added it to his notes he had been taking down.

He flipped to the first page of his notes and read through them, running one hand through his hair. 'Father was killed first with three quick gunshots, bang, bang, bang. The mother was next, shot once through the head, bang. Then last the son, shot six times in the back, twice in each area a shot hit. Twice into his shoulder, Bang, Bang. Then to his back, Bang, Bang. Then his leg, Bang, Bang. Why he shot so many times? Maybe since he didn't get a head shot he just wanted to make sure the kid was dead? That doesn't sit right with me though.'Dean ran a hand down his face and shook his head; he needed to talk to Aaron, since he was their only lead at the moment.

"Aaron's not talking and hospital said they wanted to watch him over night, so you'll have to wait for tomorrow to interview the kid."It was as if the man had read his mind.

"Right then. I'm heading back to the office. Want to see if I can dig anything up that'll lead to this son of a bitch."And with that Dean left the house and got in his car, pulling away from the curb and speeding off before anyone could aye or nay.

He sat at his desk silently for a long time, digging through the Morris' background looking for anything that could hint at what had happened to them. 'Nothing, there's nothing here! God, these people are so squeaky clean it makes me want shower.' Dean exhaled slowly and looked around at his research. He had to have missed something. As he picked up his first pile and began looking through it again another officer walked over. The man decided against saying whatever he had in mind at the last minute, he could clearly see Winchester was in what they called his 'hunter' mode and didn't want to distract him.

He backed out quietly and Dean hadn't even noticed he was there. By the time Dean sat back in his chair with an aggravated sigh the whole day had flown by. 'I spent all day researching and found zilch? Man, Sammy would have something to say about that.'A small smirk appeared on the tired man's face as he stood up and told everyone he was calling it a night. He needed to go get Sam and head to the bar where he knew his friend Castiel was waiting. He gave a quick wave to whoever was in the room and left the building, getting in his car and driving over to the place where his brother worked. Dean didn't know how Sam always knew when he got there, but as soon as the car pulled up the taller man was out the door, down the stairs, and hopping into the passenger seat. The younger man had a look on his face that said he had a long day and Dean knew he had the same so the car ride was silent until they reached the bar.

Like usual Cas was sitting on a barstool already, nursing his drink and talking with Ellen. Dean and Sam flashed the woman a smile, which she turned as she set to beers on the bar next to their friend. Dean took the barstool next to Cas and Sam sat on the other side of his brother, both lifting their beers and taking a drink at the same time.

"So a detective, a shrink, and a lawyer walked into a bar." Dean joked to the blue eyed man with a smirk, nudging him slightly with his elbow. "Had a long day Cas? Everybody seemed to today. Speaking of my day, answer this. A supposed home invader kicks in a front door, kills a whole family, and leaves without taking a thing. In a house filled with valuable stuff. Does that make sense?"

Dean glanced between Cas and Sam, the latter shaking his head with a thoughtful look that rivaled his brother's. Dean's eyes fell onto his good friend as he turned toward him slightly, resting his elbow on the bar and leaning against it.

CASTIEL'S POV.

Castiel could tell the boys were there coming to join them without even having to look up and see their faces. Perhaps it was the feeling of change in the air. Almost as if he could just feel his friend's aura or some of that weird mumbo jumbo as Dean would call it. He didn't even know how to put in to words or break it down how he knew. Perhaps he had been just simply watching Ellen's facial structure. When she had turned because of movement that caught her eye, she got that smile that was only reserved for someone who she had saw as family. He heard the chair scraping the floor despite all the noise in the place and felt a heat radiating near him. Castiel wondered if everyone felt this way when it came to sitting next to someone like Dean Winchester. The man had a large sum of charisma, spirit and a limitless amount of love to give to those people in his life that he had let in.

"So a detective, a shrink, and a lawyer walked into a bar." Dean joked towards Castiel and the blue hair in question felt a slight nudge at his own elbow. His eyes flickered downwards at the touching. He made no comment towards it but returned a slight smile in Dean's direction. "Had a long day Cas? Everybody seemed to today. Speaking of my day, answer this. A supposed home invader kicks in a front door, kills a whole family, and leaves without taking a thing. In a house filled with valuable stuff. Does that make sense?"

Castiel heard the question and his own eyes flickered towards Sam seeing him shake his head. Clearly he was just as stumped as his brother. The blue haired man loved it during times like this. When they didn't have the answers they seek but Castiel did, human behavior was all he had ever sought to learn. To see what made people do what they did, find out why and break it down for other people. Namely, Dean's type of people. Helping the police detectives put together profiles of the criminally crazed and help them find what they were looking for.

That or sometimes get a reading on one of the suspects they had in custody and see if they were telling the truth or spinning their web of lies. "Clearly the supposed home invader did invade a home.. but being a burglar would imply that he was after something of value. Yet nothing was taken. Clearly he was there on other business. How many times were these people shot? If it's more than once it was anything but out of panic or fear. He wanted them killed. If not himself, then he was there on the business of someone else. If it was personal, it's a crime of passion. Perhaps they were black mailing the suspect. It's all conclusive without some shred of evidence to go on. There's a number of possibilities but with so many anomalies, I can not provide decent answers."

Castiel's expression showed that he was indeed sorry for not being very helpful. But he was speaking from what he had to go on. Maybe Dean would get lucky and the person would of left a piece of DNA behind. Though it was doubtful. If he had shot the other people so many times, it was possible it was a job, thus the person would of been careful. Castiel didn't know but he could speculate. Though speculation got you no where. Castiel fingered the label on the beer bottle for a moment before taking a drink, he had been idly drinking the first beer due to the waiting period but now that the boys were here. He could figuratively drink himself silly. Literally, he planned on getting a little drunk. "Ellen, three shots of tequila, please."

"Buying a round for the boys? That's sweet." The older woman said lightly, musing to herself as she quickly went to action. Grabbing three shot glasses, slamming them down on the counter quickly and filling them to the brim with the golden liquid fire. At least it felt like fire when it was going down. But a good burn. "Those are for me, you can get them a round of whatever they want though." Castiel said with his own source of humor that seemed to be buried down underneath his usually literal sense of everything sometimes. As if to prove his point, he started on the left one, downed it, set it down and proceeded to quick shot the next two in rapid succession. He shook his head as the liquid ran down, burning so good. It didn't take long after that for him to get approached by a woman. Long dirty blonde hair, light blue eyes and a slim figure clad in a little black dress suddenly was there next to him. She had set her hands on his shoulder which had then stiffened under her touch. She didn't know.

She wouldn't know and she couldn't know.

He didn't like it when they did that. She didn't seem to notice, perhaps she was too intoxicated to. Perhaps she didn't care. But Castiel HATED being touched by most people let alone people he didn't know. There were exceptions for this rule, the most obvious was Dean. Then came the rest of the people he saw as family or friends; Sam, Bobby, Ellen and the small rest of the exclusive list. But this woman, how could she know? She wouldn't. He hadn't taken a breath since she had set her hand on his shoulder one full minute ago, it was almost as if he was frozen on the spot. He hadn't even heard what she had said to him. Trying to rewind the moment and process what he had heard. He assumed she had said something along the lines of 'hey there honey, what's your name? I'm Chasity.' If anything, that sounded like an escort's name. He turned slightly in her direction, eyes almost glaring daggers at her hand until she finally noticed it and released her hold on him. Castiel rolled his shoulders, now unburdened by the stranger's weight. If someone had thought him not human, it would almost look like a bird stretching it's wings. But that was preposterous. Despite what he had just done and the fact that his body language clearly screamed that he wasn't interested, she smiled at him warmly, putting on the charm.

"What do you say? We get out of here?"
"I say that your lacking a father figure, someone that never told you how special you were. Someone that wasn't there when you needed him so you turned to what you do as a way to receive the attention from men you never got when you were a child." The woman looked at him appalled before she rose her hand to strike him across the face. But Castiel shot her a look that was even more deadly than before, making her hesitate, falter in her movements. She then scoffed and stamped off, calling him a jerk. The brunette shook his head and ran a hand over his arm, trying to brush off her hands that had been on him. The story behind him not liking physical touch had been only relayed once. Castiel had made Dean swore never to tell anyone else about what had happened to him as a child. Judging by the weird and shocked looks he had received from Sam, Dean had kept his promise til this day.

Ellen hadn't seen the exchange thankfully, she had been busy off serving a couple of men down the line. Sam had looked at him in shock still before finally speaking. "Dude! Harsh much? I mean, that was a pretty nice look girl. You totally didn't have to psychoanalyze her. It's no wonder your never gonna get laid." Castiel didn't speak up for his own defense, he was fine with letting Samuel think whatever he had wanted to. But before any more questions could be raised, he stood up from his seat, grabbed his wallet and laid down a couple of twenties. Then he grabbed his beer and licked his suddenly very dry lips. His eyes sought out his best friend's, clearly giving him a silent message like they had always done from time to time. They said that if he wanted to talk, that he'd be outside. One last second of eye contact, then he turned on his heel and vacated the premises. Standing outside, under the light, leaning against the wall.

His thoughts went back to his past and how it shaped him to become who he was today.

Sure, he hadn't been abused as a child, just neglected from his father. It wasn't his family who had caused him any harm. It had been a stranger which made it hard to trust people. But it seemed like the only person he had never had any qualms with trusting had been Dean. Sure, he had been weary at first, but the man's personality could disarm anyone of the walls they had worked hard to build around them. Castiel, try as hard as he can and act as tough as he does. Castiel is a victim. No, he's a survivor. Like everyone, he does have a story, for the most part, everything had been find until a year ago. It seemed like everything happened a year ago. But it was the event that altered his perception of the world, of how he viewed people. He had already been a psychologist, but he never thought about studying criminals or helping the police catch them until his encounter with Alastair. Castiel wonders to this day if he'd be here, standing there drinking a beer, just being able to breath had Dean not came in time. Dean Winchester saved him.

Dean Winchester was the reason he was still here.

Castiel had never really needed to tell him much because he already just knew.

If Dean hadn't reached him in time, Castiel would of been Alastair's seventh victim. The man was a demon when it came to his work that he had considered art. He had in a way been an artist with a blade. All his cuts were perfect and most of them healed. But there was two scares in particular that would never heal. They would always be a reminder of what he went through, of what he survived. Alastair had always called him an angel. Said it fit him because of his namesake. That he was going to make him into a real angel. Alastair in his own sick twisted way, had meant well. As a criminal psychologist you learn to look at things the way they saw it. Some people wanted justice like the case he solved today. Others had wanted revenge. Some thought they were doing the work for whatever deity they served. Alastair. He had his master pieces. The last victim they had found had been a woman named Ruby. Castiel didn't bother with last names, it was too hard sometimes to think of the victims as something more than bones used to catch a killer. It was hard to try not to think of them as people anymore. It never got easy, if work like Dean or himself did ever got easy.. then it was time for a reevaluation on your way of thinking. Clearly that meant something was wrong.

His scars were his main reason for his insecurity. He told most people about his opinions on one night stands, that was true. But the real reason he didn't want to get into a relationship? It was more than just not having time. It was the fact that he didn't want anyone to see just how damaged he was.

His twin scars?

Perfectly shaped and crafted as wings on his back.

If Castiel thought of it as a tattoo other than it being cut by a skillful blade, he'd say the markings were in fact beautiful if just a little haunting. It was pretty detailed and even though Castiel remembers all the pain he felt, he doesn't know how he managed to make it stay after all these years. They are very faded, a mar on his skin more than anything. But they run from the shoulder blades to his hip bone. They probably did look like a really weird tattoo, but it didn't make it feel any better.

Castiel didn't think he'd ever let anyone get that close to him again. The blue eyed brunette glanced around the parking lot and suddenly got a weird vibe that he was being watched. He drank his beer once more and finished it off. He should just leave, he always soured the mood with his attitude. Maybe he should take a trip to his own slice of heaven, find some peace from all this chaos that was his life. His thoughts cut off to the sound of the door opening. It was most likely more patrons making their drunken way home. Dean had his brother after all, he didn't need someone like Castiel bringing down his day and making it worse.

After all, Dean had to witness the lifeless body of a whole family. Castiel knew Dean would need someone to talk to about that. That's definitely something that you don't or won't be able to sleep after seeing.

Thoughts? Like? No? Let me know. If this is not well received, I'm not posting any more of it. So if I don't get any reviews, I'll take that as a sign you guys don't like it. No. This is not me threatening for reviews or withholding chapters like some people do. I write these stories for YOU. If you don't like it, then why bother posting it?