It was supposed to be an easy retrieval. Castiel and his partner, Uriel, had stormed the motel, guns drawn and bulletproof vests fit snugly over their chest. They were ready with back up on their way and the serial killer inside was supposed to be surprised. They had underestimated him and before he knew what was happening there was a bullet going through his superior's head, splattering himself with blood and another going straight through his shoulder. A flesh wound, but it still sent searing pain through him. It all happened within a matter of seconds and now he's shoved up against a wall by Dean, a cry forced out of him when his arm is bent behind his back, handcuffs slapped on much tighter than needed to be.
"Better luck next time." Dean grins, shoving his hot gun into the back of his jeans as he holds the man to the wall. "You call your men off. You tell them you're on your way and everything went smoothly, understand me?" Dean growls snatching the radio from the side of Castiel's pants as shoving it to his face. With Castiel's hands restrained behind his back, There wasn't much he could do but comply to the demand. He told the others that they didn't find anything, that Dean wasn't here. The rest copied his command and he knew they were heading back to HQ, chalking this up to another failed tip. He was screwed. Dean dropped the radio and smashed it with one huge stamp. No get away attempts here.
Still holding Castiel against the wall he leans over and locks the door they'd just slammed into. He'll deal with the body bleeding out on the floor later but he needs to wait for Sam to get back before he can do any cleaning up. "You picked the wrong Brothers to mess with." Dean pushed his palm against the bullet wound. He may be a serial killer but his kills were very planned and thought out. He had a specific type, Castiel didn't fit and so, did not need to die. The FBI agent hissed at his wound flared with pain thanks to Dean's hand.
"The idea was to apprehend you both, not 'mess with' you," he ground out flicking his eyes back to look at Dean. He could feel the blood dripping down his arm and onto the dingy motel carpet. Castiel didn't think he was in any danger, at least, not yet. The brothers only killed a certain type. He didn't fit the M.O. So they might leave him alone. Uriel however..."Why did you kill my partner?" he asked hissing at the pain in his shoulder.
"Pretty sure he was pointing a gun at my head." The Winchester says with that nasty hint of sarcasm he has. "Couldn't risk my pretty face." He smiles dragging Castiel down to the floor. He leaves him for a second to grab his whiskey and a metal tin. He's not worried, there's no way out of this for him. That should keep him still for a minute at least. The Killer opens the tin and pours some of that expensive whiskey over a rag inside, holding it to the wound. "Hold still." Castiel clenches his jaw as Dean presses the alcohol dripping rag over the wound. It doesn't make sense for Dean to try and disinfect it when he's only going to kill him anyway.
"What are you doing?" The agent asks, twisting his head to look back at Dean. "Why are you doing this? Why don't you just...just kill me or knock me out and get away?" It doesn't make sense. This wasn't consistent with the data they had on the brothers. Deans eyes flick up dangerously as he pulls the rag away and pulls out the tweezers, coating that also with whiskey as he begins to fish the bullet out.
"You got a wife? Kids?" He asks ignoring the initial question. His brow furrows and his tongue darts out in frustration as he tries to find the piece of lead buried in the officer's shoulder, ignoring the dead body to his left sprawled out on the floor. Castiel shakes his head, biting down hard on his lower lip as the metal scrapes around inside him. "Only my brothers..." And Alfie, little Alfie who he's supposed to pick up from preschool after work. He's the one who's supposed to take care of him, and now he's stuck being held captive by one of the murderers he's been chasing.
"There we go!" Dean has this big grin slapped on his face as he pulls the lead out and drops it in the tin and swaps out for his needle and thread. "Ah don't worry about it. Family is all you need." He replies beginning to stitch Castiel's wound back together. "So we never got a formal introduction. Who are you." Castiel blew out a sigh of relief as he felt the bullet be pulled free from his skin. His head dropped against the wood of the door, taking a few more deep breaths. "Cas-Castiel Novak," he answered. Dean listened to Castiel's breathing. "Hang in there Novak, almost done." He grins, sometimes forgetting this isn't how stitches are meant to be given. Forgetting that normal people outside his and Sammy's life haven't done this a million times. Once it's all neatly pulled together he snips the end of the thread and chucks the box aside handing Castiel the rag to hold against it and sliding the bottle of whiskey over to him. "Incase you wanna numb it out." He nods at it. It's stolen anyway he can get more. "And stop worrying. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna go home after all this." He nods. He may have a bad reputation, but he's not a bad person.
"Sorry, my anxiety tends to spike when I'm around wanted killers," Castiel replies. How could anyone help but be nervous? He doesn't touch the bottle, because he knows he needs to keep all his sense if he was going to get through this. "And forgive me if I don't take your word on my chances of survival," he says. He shifts, turning to look back at Dean. "You've taken all my weapons, and my shoulder's injured...can you please uncuff me?" he asks. Dean is angry. Castiel won't take his word on his 'chances of survival.' he has no idea. Dean thinks it over for a couple of minutes and leaves dragging Uriel's body into the bathtub. He doesn't need the cops called on them again for blood stains all over the carpet. On his return he pulls Castiel upright and grabs the cuffs from behind him, leaning over his shoulder just before he unlocks them. "I'm just letting you know right now my hand to hand combat skills are probably a shit lot better than yours, so don't try anything." He growls as the lock snaps open and the cuffs fall to the floor.
That may or may not be true, but Castiel can't do much when his shoulder is injured. His movement is already limited. He can't hope to defeat Dean this way. Gingerly, he lifts his hands and rubs his wrists, trying to work the feeling back into him. "Why are you doing this?" he repeats, glancing to look back at Dean. Dean just blinks at him. "Because you broke into my motel room." He says blankly avoiding the more prominent question. Dean is lonely with hardly any contact other than his brother. Yes, He's a killer but what Castiel doesn't know is that they are cleaning up a big mess from an underground organization. On paper, those guys may have looked good, but they killed a lot of innocent people and pinned the blame on someone else. And honestly, Dean's happy for the company. He just watches the man as he flexes his hands and rubs at his wrists. "I'll get you home. Just take my word for it for what it's worth."
"Which is literally nothing. I'm not in the practice of believing criminals," Castiel replies, maybe a bit harsher than he'd intended. He's not really angry at Dean, just at the situation he found himself in. How could he be so stupid? His partner was dead, dragged off to who knew here, though probably just the bathroom. He's completely alone, weaponless, injured, in the room with a known killer. He can't do anything. "When are you going to let me go?" he asks. "When Sammy gets back." He replied almost instantly. Sammy will come back and help him clear this whole thing up, like always. They always promised they'd never hurt innocent people if it wasn't necessary. Dean WANTED Castiel to go home. That is why he would /get/ home. From the bedside cabinet Dean pulls a pack of cards holding them out. "Wanna play snap while we wait?" He falls to a cross legged position on the floor. "You know unless you'd rather sit and eye fuck all afternoon?"
"Eye...what?" Castiel doesn't understand. Still, he moves closer and sits down across from Dean. "I don't...I don't know how to play. I've never heard of it" he replies. He wonders who this Dean is. This man who cleaned his wound and asked him to play a card game couldn't be the same man that just shot his partner. How was Castiel supposed to reconcile the two to create the older half of the infamous killers he'd been tracking for so long? Dean didn't necessarily have a split personality. He had a job. And his job included keeping up a very high guard and distancing himself from everybody other than Sam, who he knew he could trust. This Dean was the Dean that craved attention. Craved a friend, someone to love. The Dean who cared when innocent people got hurt and promised to return people home to their families. He'd done it before. True none of them had been FBI agents and probably wouldn't go back to the office and try to catch him again, but he was still innocent.
"Snap." He replies. "I put a card down and if your card is the same number you slam your hand down on it and the first person to slam the pile wins it." He grins like a kid. Under the false pretend that Castiel is his friend. "Alright..." Castiel agrees to the game because he can't do anything else. He sent his backup away. His partner's dead, and he's alone with a murderer. The best thing he can do is humor him, play along. He takes his half of the pile and starts to flip the cards. His mind is busy analyzing the new information. He wonders why Dean is doing this, what his motivation is. He tries to store every interaction, every emotion that flits across the man's face as he plays the game. Castiel's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't notice that his hands over a double card before it's too late. The agent panics briefly, wondering if he should have let Dean win.
Dean's hand lands on top of Castiel's. He was too late and Castiel had won this round. What he is expecting is wrong. Instead Dean laughs, Real genuine laughter. He slides the cards over to Castiel. He'd won them after all. "See you're getting the hang of it already!" He grins throwing another card down, watching the man's face. His smile falters for a second when he see's the agent's face. The realization that however much he wants it, Castiel is not his friend and Castiel is probably scared of him. He throws another card down, the tone a little less happy. "I'm not a bad person.." He says with his head a little more lowered than it originally was, his eyes on the cards. He bites his cheeks to keep himself still. "I know you don't see it." he continues looking back up to see the mans face. "-But i am. I save people. Good people." He doesn't need to explain to this man and he doesn't really know why he is.
"I know you're not..." Castiel stops, trying to think of a way to phrase it correctly. "I know you're not...bad. I know everyone you and your brother have killed are criminals, even if it doesn't say so on paper, but the thing is..." He's about to say something, something that he hasn't admitted to anyone, not even Uriel. "I think they're connected, but I can't figure out how or why. I know you know." He glances up at Dean before looking back at the cards. "You're not...you and Sam don't fit the profiles. You're vigilantes but you're not..." he bites his lip, trying to think of a way to explain it. "You're not crazy. you don't fit the profiles. You have no sense of self or religious delusions...it's like you're soldiers." Dean watches Castiel, the cards nearly forgotten. Did he really just hear what he thought he heard. Did he say he knew he was good?
"They are connected." He tossed another card down. "Underground criminal organization called S.T.O.C.K." He explains "Those people that we killed. They did horrible things to innocent people. People we knew. Our Family." He has to stop for a minute to pull himself back in check. "You really want people like that running around in a world where your kids are supposed to grow up?" He asks thinking of Ellen and Jo and the countless others that are now dead. "Most of the time i don't care that people think i'm bad. Because i know i'm doing something to save your God Damn asses without you even knowing it." He explains his face a little darker now. "So when you go home i don't care what you tell those son of a bitches, weather you tell 'em i held a gun to your head or that i shot your or tried to kill you but you tell 'em about STOCK. You get your men in there. Help us save some people." He breathes. Castiel listens with rapt attention, taking in every small detail Dean is providing.
"Do you have evidence?" he asks, leaning forward slightly. "Dean if you...if you have proof, anything you've compiled, I need to know. I need to know where to start looking." He stops, taking a breath. He can't believe he's going to say this. "Or you can come with me."
"I can't." Dean breathes. "You'd lose your job." He reaches over and grabs a leather book flipping to the back. He rips out a page and scribbles on it. An address, a couple of names and a long number sequence with 'door code' written above it. "The evidence is dead." He swallows referring to the witnesses. He slides it over. He feels terrible, He didn't expect this to go so well "And i'm sorry in advance..." He squeezes his eyes shut and wrinkles his nose "The boy's tied up in the car." He Opens one eye to see Castiel's reaction. He'd just heard the impala pull up as he was writing.
They knew the FBI was coming and so he and Sam had got a little info on Castiel and Uriel and a couple of the other officers who might turn up. Their daily routine, phone calls, voicemail and car plates. They knew he'd be picking the kid up from preschool and so Sam had it taken care of. Sam had been told to wait in the car with the boy beforehand. "Too late to say sorry?"
"The boy...who are you.." Realization hits him then, sending him scrambling to his feet. "You took my /little brother/?" He stares at Dean with a wounded gaze. Alfie must be terrified. He must be crying, wondering why this was happening and why Cas didn't come to save him. Castiel had always swore that he wouldn't let Alfie get tangled up in his job, that he'd protect him. He failed on both accounts. The paper is clutched in his hand, getting crumpled but he doesn't care. He glares at Dean. "I swear if he's hurt in any way I'll kill you," he threatens, moving toward the door. "He's fine! He's fine! I promise!" Dean tries to calm him. "Sam won't hurt him. They're probably playing cards or something just like us!" He says jumping up and pulling on Castiel's uniform jacket. "We knew if you didn't turn up to pick him up they'd send social services or something so i sent Sam to tell them he was your friend, you was stuck in traffic and he was gonna take the kid home. He's fine!" He repeats his hands still clutching the fabric of Castiel's jacket. Forgetting what it was like to stand this close to someone.
"You said he was tied up..." Castiel says, calmer now that Dean seemed so concerned with assuring him, genuinely so too. He studies Dean, looking for any trace of a lie in the killer's eyes. He's surprised he's not surprised by the slight fear in Dean's eyes, as if he was afraid Castiel would be angry with him. What surprises the agent is how close the killer is, and how Castiel doesn't feel threatened by it. He looks back into the man's eyes, blowing out a breath. "He /might/ be tied up. It depends on how compliant he was." Deans head falls against Castiel's good shoulder realizing how horrible that sounds. They're supposed to be the good guys, NOW how is he supposed to convince Castiel he's not bad. "Sam's waiting to take you home." He means it to sound like a statement, but it really just sounds like he's a kicked puppy. He rarely had the opportunity to talk to real people, people that he had no intention of killing anyway. As he talks his hand tightens in the fabric of Castiel's jacket a little more. "Don't slam it on the way out." He slides a key into the agent's hand.
For Alfie's sake, Castiel hopes he listened. He's usually a good kid, Castiel only hopes that this time he stayed true to that. "Dean..." Castiel raises a hand and places it on Dean's head. "Are you...are you alright?" he asks, unsure of how else he can phrase his concern. He doesn't understand why the killer is clutching onto him as if he doesn't want the agent to leave. He turns slightly, his little brother forgotten in the wake of this criminal's pain. "What's wrong?" he asks cautiously. After all this man still is a murderer. Dean presses his lips together in silence for a moment. "We didn't finish the game." Is the best way he can put it right now, without sounding like a douche bag. Some of the cards are still in his hand and he just wishes just for one day that Castiel /could/ be his friend. That SOMEONE could be his friend. He's so tired of being alone. So tired of this big game of catch me if you can. He's lost just about everything for these people and for what? to be branded a criminal and to live life off of credit card fraud. "You should probably just go." He breathes still leaning against Castiel. Castiel swallows. "We can finish the game...or we can all play a new one." For some unexplained reason, he doesn't want to leave Dean, not like this. Not when he looks so lonely and broken. He puts it down to wanting to find out more information, even if something is telling him thats not what it is at all. He swallows hard. "Or...you can come back to my place. To be honest, I don't know what I'm going to tell everyone back at the agency anyway...I can't really explain Uriel's Death."
Dean huffs. "Yeah right." he spits "Your place is probably rigged with more FBI ready to take me to the slammer. I bet you sent some code word out." He smiles to himself, trying to get his guard back up. Trying to remember how to shut people out. It seems so much harder all of a sudden as he perches at the end of the bed kicking at the cards, sending them everywhere as his pushes his palms into his eye sockets. He's an idiot for ever thinking Castiel would understand. He grabs his cell phone and leaves it in his lap.
"The FBI doesn't track it's own employees Dean," Castiel says softly. He doesn't understand the complete 180 that Dean's attitude has taken. "You heard me on the radio. I didn't say anything you didn't tell me to, and if I had, don't you think they would have been here by now?" He doesn't know why he's trying to rationalize with Dean, just that he doesn't want the man to be angry with him for whatever reason. "But I'm serious. I don't...I don't know what to do." He stands before Dean, and he's pretty sure he's pleading for his help. Dean is so confused. He does the only thing he can think to do. Call Sam.
"-Hey -Yeah everything's okay. -Just a bullet wound but i fixed it. -The kid okay?" He looks up at Castiel. "-Good. -Did you have to tie him up? -Right. Okay. -Just, Gimme five minutes." He chucks the phone to one side. "Alfie's fine. He's drawing on our diner receipts in his new markers that Sam got him from the store." He's relieved himself, so he has no clue how Castiel would feel. "So /if/ i came with you. To your place. Then what?" Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. The sickness leaves his stomach and a giant weight lifts off his chest. "Good. That's...good," he can't think of anything else to say concerning Alfie. He's just happy that his little brother's alright. At Dean's question, he shrugs. "I don't know what would come next. All I know is that I can't go back to the FBI. I'll be detained and they'll take Alfie away...I can't let that happen." He's not sure what he's supposed to do from here. He doesn't know. They never taught this at the academy.
Dean doesn't understand how to communicate with new people properly. He drops to the floor and picks up his cards and places them back on the table. "Well, we're outta cash for now, so maybe we could crash with you for a few days?" He asks because he really doesn't wanna sound like he's begging for the social interaction that he craves. "You know if you don't mind two psychotic serial killers around."
"Again, you're not crazy. You don't fit the profile and I know you don't hurt kids." The Winchesters had actually gone out of their way to protect the children that were caught in the crosshairs. "But if you did try to hurt my brother, you know I'd kill you." That was a promise he intended to keep, despite the fact that he seemed to be taking a liking to Dean. "You're welcome to stay with me as long as you continue as you are and don't hurt my brother."
"If i hurt your brother i think i'd rather just kill myself." He pulls his gun from the back of his jeans and caps the safety back on before tossing it in a duffel bag along with his cards, his phone and the very few other things he owned before pulling it over his shoulder. "I'm trusting you to not get me locked up." He says falling into Castiel's personal space again. "I'm a man of my word Dean. I'm not looking to get you arrested. I just want answers," the agent replies honestly, looking the other man right in the eyes despite their close proximity. "I won't lie to you," he says. Why would he want to, anyway? He wants to know what's going on. He wants to help the brothers and destroy the group they're after.
Dean is about to leave when the door knocks. He stares at Castiel dead in the eye thinking it's his back up, the guard shooting back up like a six foot thick brick wall. Castiel panics briefly when he thinks some of his fellow agents might not have listened to him. He fears for Alfie's life more than his own, because when the Winchesters have their backs to the wall they will do anything to escape. Alfie can become collateral. So when he opens the door and Sam's standing there with the kid he's a little taken aback. He looks a little confused. The giant of a man is standing in the doorway holding the tiny Alfie's hand. "He needs the bathroom." The Younger of the brothers explains with a lovely flower drawn on his cheek in red marker with a couple of scribbles on the other side. Sam watches over Castiel with caution, he stands in the doorway as if to block it, unsure if he'd make a run for it.
"We're gonna crash with him for a few days." Dean says handing Sam the duffel and pointing to the darker haired man. The Agents could see the resent that Sam had in his face. You couldn't blame him. How the police force had branded them while they ran around helping without so much as a thank you. When Alfie returns he's clinging to Castiel's leg.
"What's wrong?" Cas asks, leaning down to try and take his brother in his arms, failing as his bullet wound pains him. "Hey...why are you crying?" Alfie sniffles and buries his head in Castiel's pant leg. "There's a man in the bathtub and he's covered in blood!" He cries. Dean's eyes just widen. He dragged Uriel in there to stop the carpet staining and forgotten about him. His mouth slightly hangs open as Sam pushes past him to sort that out. "Sam i'm getting him outta here, i'll call you." He says pushing Castiel and Alfie out the door. Stupid Dean, he thinks as he mentally kicks himself. "Impala. get in."
Sam doesn't bother to argue with Dean, just nods. Castiel holds Alfie close, shushing him and attempting to soothe him. He can't explain it. He can't being to explain it. All he can do is follow Dean into the Impala and hold Aflie in his lap. He rocks him back and forth, trying to calm him down. trying to get him to stop crying and just breathe. He glances over at Dean, wondering what he thinks of all this. Dean just wants to say sorry. And keep saying it until Alfie is okay. If there is one thing in this whole damn world that he DOES understand it's keeping your little brother safe. He has an idea that will probably never work. But it's definitely worth a shot. He grabs his cell from his pocket and opens it pretending there's a call coming through.
"Hello? Uriel? -Hey wasn't you just covered in blood?!" Dean says looking over at Alfie with a fake shocked face "Really! -You was just playing? But what was all the red stuff all over you, Alfie saw it!? - Tomato ketchup! WOW" Dean fakes a laugh. "You really got us Uriel! Okay! I'll see you later! Bye! He closes it shut and tosses it into the back seat. "Hey Alfie did you hear that! It wasn't blood! He was playing and covered himself in Tomato Ketchup!" He keeps laughing to see if it will work. Castiel smiles a bit at Dean's attempt to make everything better. It was a bit pathetic, but it's...sweet, that he's trying. Castiel looks down at Alfie, waiting for his reaction. The little boy sniffs and looks over at Dean, then at his big brother. "I-I don' like Uriel," he sniffs, wiping his eyes. "He's mean," he pouts. Castiel puts on a smile. "Well you won't have to see him again OK? He's not my partner anymore." while that's technically true, he can't help but feel a pang of sorrow for the other man. He can't help it. They were brothers in arms after all. Cas isn't sure what he'll do when his fellow agents come knocking, but he can't worry about that now. Instead, he wipes Alfie's tears away and mouths a 'thank you' to Dean.
A smile pulls at the side of his lips for a second as he looks down at Alfie. "Directions would be great." He says as he's just kinda driving around. "And please tell me you have coffee." He asks. He'd been awake for about 32 hours and if he didn't get some in him soon he'd hit the deck.
"I'm sorry," Castiel apologizes. "Turn onto the main road, then make a left onto Garrison street. Once you're there turn down Grace Avenue, we're the fourth house in." He focuses on cleaning Alfie up. "I'm sorry I couldn't pick you up today Alfie. I was very busy." Dean starts heading in that direction. Alfie snuggles into Castiel's chest trying to wrap his arms around him, even if they didn't really fit. Dean turns into Garrison street when His phone rings again. "-Yeah? -Sam i'll call you back gimme a minute." He slams it shut just incase he mentions anything about the body like he's sure he was about to. Castiel was carding his fingers through Alfie's hair. Back at the motel Sam shoved his phone in his pocket and waited for Dean to call him back.
"/We're/ the fourth house on the left?" he repeats. "He lives with you?" Dean asks interested as he pulls up the the house and parks outside. "No mom or dad? -Wait don't tell me YOU live with your mom and dad?" He asks because bringing a serial killer home probably wouldn't impress them. The agent gives a small amused smile "Our mother died after Alfie was born and our father left not long after. He's been gone for years. I am Alfie's guardian," Castiel says, looking over at Dean. He knows it's a very odd arrangement to most people. "My older siblings aren't around much either," he explained. Dean just nods. He doesn't give that sympathetic looks that most people give because he knows.
"Yeah. My mom died in a house fire just after Sammy was born and our dad he-" He looks at Alfie. "He lost his life for the cause." He smiles. That would roughly translate to /Got murdered by the people in STOCK/. He opens the impala door and he's careful to pick up Alfie's markers and every /single/ one of the boy's scribbles on the back of those receipts. "After you." He gestures to their house as he locks up his car. The fact that Dean takes the time to pick up all the crayons and all the little drawings Alfie made is an endearing sight to Castiel. He climbs out of the car and grabs Alfie's hand before walking up to the house. He opens the door and turns to the boy. "How about you take your markers and drawings from Dean and go into your room?" he suggests. The boy nods and takes all his new things before scurrying off to his room. Dean looks around before closing the door behind him. No FBI so far. looks good. Inside he's excited, he's trying not to show it but he feels like his whole body is shining. He dumps a bag on the floor and pads after Castiel. "Nice place. Is Coffee happening?"
"If you follow me into the kitchen it will," Castiel replies still feeling weird about this whole thing. Worried, he closes all the blinds and curtains just in case. He takes off his suit jacket and, after seeing the blood on it, decides to throw it away. In fact, he has to throw it all away thanks to the bullet hole and the blood. "Man." He sighs looking at the blood stains down his arm. He'd have to walk past alfie's room to grab a new shirt. "I don't want Alfie seeing me like this." He says with his arms outstretched looking at himself. Dean is quick to strip himself of his plaid old button down and hand it to the dark haired man. Castiel watches him. He's still in awe of how this man could be the cold hearted killer they'd been profiling for months. With a slow hand he takes it slipping it over his uniform to hide the blood. "I'll start the coffee..." Dean offers
"Sure." He's a little worried about Castiel going off on his own and then he thinks about Alfie. He doesn't think Castiel would risk a raid here with his kid brother in the other room. So when the agent leaves he starts making the coffee, for himself, Castiel and Alfie. He's been so used to making coffee for Sammy all his life he forgets that kids aren't supposed to drink that stuff. He takes the smaller of the cups into the kid who seems to be VERY happy with that coffee before returning to the kitchen. Moments later Castiel walks back into the kitchen, now wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He's carrying the small mug and Dean's shirt in his other hand. "I appreciate the gesture, but a five-year-old doesn't need coffee. God knows he's hyper enough as is."
"He'd have been fine." Dean waves it off. "Sam's on his way, he's just gotta do a couple of things first." The killer pads over to Castiel and takes the small mug from him, just an excuse to be closer, really. He pulls at the T-shirt slowly and then lets go. "How's that shoulder? We all good?"
"It's fine," Castiel assures, tilting his head back slightly to look up at Dean and meet his eye properly. "Thanks for patching it up. It'll scar but you did a hell of a job with the stitching," he smiles gratefully. Sure a shoulder wound wouldn't have killed him, but it still hurt like a bitch. "I've had a lot of practice." He smirks drinking out of Alfie's mug because he doesn't want to move from here. Dean and Sam don't have many clothes so he finds it weird that people can look so different when all they've done is change their shirt. He watches Castiel still occasionally pulling at the fabric. "I hope you've already paid this months rent because you're out of a job."
Castiel blinks thinking about it. " I own this house." Castiel sighs a bit at that. He's worked hard to build a good life here for Alfie and himself. He knew that didn't mean anything. People would still be looking for him. The FBI would see CCTV of him getting into the Winchesters car, taking them to his house. His life he was over. He can't believe he has to do it all over, somewhere new, somewhere where people wouldn't know them. "What do you suggest I do?" he asks Dean, vaguely wondering why the killer keeps tugging at his shirt.
"Well you know two very good people for finding places to sleep the night so theres one good thing." He tries to smile but that's no life for Alfie. "Isn't there anyone else who can have him? I've seen what happens to kids brought into this stuff, Hell, I'm one of 'em. And Sammy's broken." His brow furrows as he tongue darts out to wet his dying lips. He shakes his head. "This is all my fault." Castiel's been afraid of this ever since he's started talking to Dean. He knows that's no life for Alfie, knows his little brother can't grow up like this but...there's no one else. His older siblings don't want anything to do with the child, blaming him for their mother's death. Blinking back tears, he shakes his head. "I can't just...I can't /leave/ him," he whispers, closing his eyes and holding back tears. "Everyone's left us. I can't leave him."
"Hey!" Dean says knowing that look. He holds Castiel's face in his hands. "Hey, it's okay. We'll find a way. Alfie's gonna be just fine. I promise." He smiles for the agent. "You know i make good on my promises, you're home ain't you. Alive. Your kid brother here unharmed. it's gonna be fine." He pulls him into a hug just like he does with Sammy. Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean smiling. It makes his mouth twitch in an effort to return it. He nods when Dean says he makes good on his promises, because so far he has He hasn't broken his word. When dean pulls him into a hug the agent can't help but wrap his arms around him in return, burying his face in his neck as he fights off tears.
"I'll keep him safe." The older Winchester whispers as he strokes the back of Castiel's head. He notices a lot of similarities in himself and Castiel. Mom and Dad both gone, little brother to cafe for, all alone, trying to help the world in any way you can, and broken. Even if Castiel hasn't said it, or seen the cracks for himself, Dean knows the eyes of a broken man. That and he can't see another reason why he'd be crying in a murders arms otherwise. "I'll keep you both safe." He corrects. The darker haired man can't say anything, because he's sure that if he tries he'll start crying. The lump in his throat will take over and his voice will crack. Instead, he nods, taking shuddering breaths. Dean seems to be able to see right through him, without any effort or trouble.
"Hey come on, your coffee is getting cold. Don't waste it." He says as he rubs Castiel's back. He doesn't really make coffee much so he has no idea if it's actually nice, but he feels like he just shot Castiel and Alfie's life into little pieces. As much as he wants to stay here and revel in the human contact with the agent it's not fair for him or the kid. "I'm so sorry." He whispers with his eyes shut against the side of the mans head. "We'll stay tonight and we'll leave in the morning. I'll get Sam to hide the car."