A/n: This seems to happen a crap ton. I apologize again for the long hiatus I had seemed to be on. Hoping to recover from it soon. There's just so much stuff happening at work and a lot is riding on me. I bet if I can get this off without a hitch and with success... I bet I can make asst. manager before the year is up. : D

Title: Homicide && Psycho therapy (Winchester style)

Rating: T for mentions of torture.

Pairing: Future Destiel.

Co-written with: Blakely G

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 TWO

DEAN'S POV.

The bar was full of patrons; some that were there so often they seemed to be a part of the furniture and some whose presence didn't jog anything in one's memory. There were some people that he only knew by their face, others by name, and even some by nicknames he had given them, most without their knowledge. It was a place to go when you were down on your luck and needed a pick - me - up, or when you were celebrating a good day, or even just a place to stop at after work to unwind and socialize.

The bar smelt of cigarettes and booze and it was constantly filled with chatter as men laughed over a drink or argued of a missed shot at pool. The atmosphere always seemed to be the same, it was hard to explain but it had calming feel to it but not enough that one would want to put their guard down completely. Ellen, the owner, portrayed herself as hard and unnerving but she was a very caring woman deep down, especially if you really get to know her, and she was a loyal friend. Dean had been going to this bar since he had settled down in the town, about a year after he was actually legal to drink. The fact that he had been here so long was a surprise to him honestly, but he had grown fond of the place he where lived in.

Being a Winchester, settling down in one spot always sounded like an impossible feat, since Dean and Sam had been shuffled around all across the U.S as children and teenagers with their father. It had all started when Mary, the boy's mother, died in a house fire when Dean had been four and Sam was barely a year. Actually little Sammy had been exactly six months when a fire had started in nursery he was sleeping in. John, the boy's father, had run in to see his wife had been stabbed in the stomach, Sammy crying in his crib, and the window wide open. John grabbed Sam as fast as he could and thrust him in Dean's arms, telling him to get out of the house as he tried to go back for his wife. Mary had been in the far corner of the room though and by the time John tried to get to her the room was engulfed in flames and there was no way to save her. His only option then was get out and make sure that both of his son's were safe so he gave on last look into the nursery and flew down the stairs, scooping up Dean, who was holding tightly onto Sammy, in the front yard and carrying the boy's away from any danger in the house.

He might have carried them away from the danger of the fire, but at that exact moment the boys were thrust into another kind of threat. John became obsessed with finding who had set the fire, finding the one who had killed his wife, and threw himself into the world of being a private detective of sorts. He packed his kids into his '67 Chevy Impala and began learning about similar cases and the law and things of that nature. He got a license to work as a private detective and started working any cases he could get, traveling across the country if he had to. Dean became in charge of watching over Sam at all times, and had practically raised the kid by himself. Their father would put them up in a hotel or sometimes rented a place if they were staying longer than normal and it wasn't uncommon for him to leave Dean to fend for himself and his little brother for days, or even weeks at a time. Dean stayed close to Sammy at all times, teaching his first words, watching him take his first steps, listening as he read his first book. All the while He watched John dig himself deeper and deeper into obsession and guilt about Mary.

It took him a while but John had eventually found out that the man that police had at the top of their suspect list was a sociopath who called himself Azazel. The Winchester's had known him as the 'Yellow Eyed Demon' for the longest time because the man wore contacts to distort his eye color. The eldest of the Winchester family started looking up everything he could on the man, though it wasn't much. Azazel was good at disappearing for years at a time, only to reappear and disappear once again. That's when John knew that this case was going to take a lot longer than any he had worked. He recruited his kids and began teaching them the tricks of the trade. He started drilling them on how to find a lead, how to tell if a suspect or witness is lying, and what the best databases to use were. The learned how to lie through to get information and were taught Marine drills to make sure that they could take down any suspect if needed. They knew how to use firearms and the proper technique on how to hold a knife.

All those years though, Dean had never seen his father than anything less of a hero. His father had been the one to get him interested in the police force in the first place, he was the reason Dean was working the homicide division. He felt he had to live up to what his father would want of him; he had to continue the search to take down Azazel. Sam might have rebelled every step of the way but Dean had been John 'perfect soldier', he learned to follow every order without question. It was something that had caused a rift between Sam and Dean plenty of times though they always managed to push it aside. The two were very close brothers; Dean would do anything for Sam and vice versa, just as their father had wanted. Sam had been Dean's only friend all of his life, unlike his younger brother who made friends where ever he went. That was until Dean had met Cas of course.

It had only been a year, but Dean felt he had known Cas a lot longer than that. The man might be social awkward and kind of oblivious at times, but he had a way of calming the detective down that only he and Sam knew how. The two friends had first met in an unfortunate circumstance that Dean never liked to think about but they had bonded pretty quickly and the green eyed male trusted Cas just as he trusted his brother. In fact he thought of the psychiatrist as his brother really, despite the short amount of time that they had known each other. They had been through quite a bit already, that would bond anyone he assumed. Speaking of Cas, Dean was pulled from his reminiscing of his childhood when the male answered him about the case he was working on. Dean listened to every word, nodding and staring at his friend with interest in his eyes.

"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 are a number of possibilities but with so many anomalies, I cannot provide decent answers." Dean nodded with understanding, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his beer. The look on Cas' face told Dean that he was sorry that, that was all the information he could provide and the male clapped his hand on the other's shoulder in appreciation.

"You're right; there are a number of scenarios. Though what you said, about how many times they've been shot, it does make sense." The more and more he was thinking about it the more he was feeling that this crime was personal, and he had a feeling it had something to do with the son, Jasper. He had been shot six times, more than any of the other family members. He was also the only one who hadn't been shot in the head; he had been hit in the shoulder, back, and leg, the perpetrator leaving him to bleed out instead of killing him quickly as he had done with the mother and father. Dean needed to talk with the kid's friends to see if maybe he had fallen into something he shouldn't have, like drugs or a bad relationship.

Once again pulled from his thought's the brunette looked over at Cas as he ordered three shots of tequila. Ellen asked if he was buying a round of all of them, though something told Dean that Cas had a different idea in mind. "Those are for me, you can get them a round of whatever they want though." Dean shook his head with a smile at his friend, and downed the rest of his beer at the same time as Sam. It was a weird brother thing they did often, take drinks or bites at the same time. They never mean to do it on purpose, it just sort of happens, especially if they're not having a conversation where one could be talking while the other was eating or drinking. Sam seemed to notice as well as he sent Dean a small smile before he asked for two more beers, once for himself and for Dean. As Ellen set the drinks in front of the young brother's, green eyes wandered over to his friend, sensing the other tense beside him.

It was some blonde with big tits that Dean would have in any other situation gone after, but at this moment all he could see was her hands. She had them perched on Cas' shoulders, chirping some stupid drunk information to him. Dean could tell Cas didn't hear her, he could see how uncomfortable his friend was even if she couldn't. God, Cas remember to breath. Before Dean could speak up to the woman, whatever she said her name was, Castiel turned his head toward her. Dean couldn't see his expression but he guessed he was glaring at her and she removed her hands from the man's shoulders. He knew Sam was watching from behind him, probably wondering if Cas was going to go with her, but for the moment Dean paid no attention to his little brother. He had no idea about what Dean knew was happening, he had been sworn to secrecy after all and there was no way Dean would betray his friend's trust.

"What do you say? We get out of here?" Once again Dean tried to speak up and get the attention off his friend, tell her he was too drunk to make those kinds of decisions, but Cas had another idea in mind.

"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 look of shock on the woman's face told Dean that what Cas had said rung some sort of truth and he watched her raise a hand to hit him. She hesitated though and stormed off back to the group that she had walked in with, a group of girl's that were drunk enough for Dean to decide that they had been here too long. Sam spoke up from behind his older brother and Cas stood up with every intention of leaving the bar. Cas' eyes found Dean's and he nodded without a word, understanding what he was telling him. As the other male strode away Dean shot Sam a warning look that rivaled his father, telling him to drop it in one glanced. Sam gave him a confused 'you better explain later' look that he was so good at before he let his brother get up and follow his friend outside, making a quick stop at the woman's table first.

"I'm sorry for my friend. He gets like that when he has one too many, but I think that guy over there is lonely and looking for some company." Dean smirked, motioning his head in his brother's direction. He left before she could say anything and walked outside, shivering slightly as the cool air hit him.

Eyes scanned the area carefully, locking onto his friend who was leaning against the wall. He was looking up at the sky and seemed to be deep in thought. Dean knew what he was thinking about but he was the only other one who did. The blue eyed brunette suddenly scanned the parking lot as though he thought someone was watching him and Dean rose an eyebrow, though he chalked it up to the fact that he was actually watching him. The doors behind him opened and a group of drunk men stumbled out of the bar, laughing and talking with each other loudly. The bumped into Dean, who turned to look at them, but they paid him no mind at all. It was like he wasn't even there. Dean turned around to face his friend once again and walked over to him, leaning against the wall next to him. He didn't reach out to the male, feeling he should wait until he knew Castiel had calmed down before he made any physical contact. All he could think about was Alistair and Dean knew for a fact that that was all Cas was thinking about as well.

The air relaxed after a while though, their presence next to each other seeming to settle atmosphere around them. After a moment of comfortable silence Dean finally spoke up, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't listen to Sammy, Cas. You know him. If he isn't getting any, then he thinks no one's getting any." He chuckled and gently nudged his friend's shoulder with his own, hoping he wasn't causing any physical comfort with the touch. He pushed himself off the wall and walked a few steps in front of his friend, his hand in his pockets. He looked up at the sky for a long moment before he turned around, his expression blank. It was hard to determine what Dean was thinking when he put on his carefully constructed mask, one that hadn't let him down so far. "You look tired man. Why don't you head home? Sammy and me are going home soon too, though he might be a little busy tonight," He said, his eyes softening slightly in a way they only did for very few people, "Just call me if you need anything." He gave an understanding look and put his hand on his friend's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. He let his hand drop and shoved it back in his pocket, his eyes once again drifting to the sky. He hoped that Cas knew he could call him anytime of the night if he wanted to talk, the man knew that sometimes talking was the only way to overcome something, though he also knew that Castiel was much like him. They both hide there feelings until it was too much before they would think about bothering someone with their problems.

CASTIEL'S POV.

The blue eyed man had been both right and wrong. The door swinging had given birth to both Dean and a group of patrons on their drunken way home. On the inside, Castiel was pleased that Dean had chosen to come outside with him. On the outside, he probably appeared indifferent. It was a funny thing and possibly ironic, how a psychologist who gets people to delve within themselves and show emotion...can barely show emotion himself. Though he feels he's improving and getting better. Ever since Dean came into his life... that's really when Castiel started to live. Before he was merely existing in this world... It was like Dean showed him what life really was and what it could be. It just was a shame that their meeting had been rather... different.

That was the nice way of putting it, anyone else would think it would be the recipe for either the closest friends ever or a doomed relationship from the get go. Though, they didn't have that sort of relationship, so perhaps it didn't matter. It most likely would of been very different had Castiel been in a woman's body. Perhaps it is a strange thought to have, but he can't get it out of his head. This isn't the first time he's had this thought... which scares him. The brunette doesn't know if he'll ever be ready to open up to strangers and get into that dating pool. So naturally, he looks to the people he already has in his life. It's a rather tide pool of people in that group, most too old or already seeing other people. The only logical choice would be Dean...yet, everyone knows how illogical that would be.

Castiel almost doesn't even want to go there. Almost. Yet he does, out of some pitiful hope that lies down deep below buried underneath a bunch of other feelings he doesn't know if he'll ever be ready to deal with just yet. Perhaps he isn't meant to give himself up to that special someone. Maybe that someone doesn't exist for him. Maybe all he has and all he ever will have his God. His breath comes out as a long drawn out sigh. Anyone whose heard it, knows that he's deep within thought. These thoughts that are swirling around inside, they help calm himself and lower the tense atmosphere between the two men who are standing a smidgen too close together to ever be read as something like 'acquaintances'. It gives off a special bond, anyone who looks at them will most likely see them as brothers or just close friends.

Castiel would never disagree with that, he feels something for Dean. Something far deeper than he's ever felt for anyone else in his life besides his family... but he'll write it off as a close friend/brother for now. After another moment's silence, he hears Dean gently break it. "Don't listen to Sammy, Cas. You know him. If he isn't getting any, then he thinks no one's getting any." Well in this case, no one is getting anyto put it bluntly. Perhaps, Castiel has been picking up habits from Dean. Castiel sure isn't going to be getting any, any time soon..and Castiel thinks he's just fine with that. A chill goes through his body but he tries to remain unaffected outwardly. There's that feeling again, that someone is watching him. Castiel tries to be secretive with his scanning of the area, but knows he fails to be subtle. It was never exactly his forte.

A gentle nudge shook him from his scanning of the parking lot and he felt his heartbeat thump at the feeling of another person's touch. He had to remind himself quickly that it was okay. This was Dean. It was okay if Dean touched him, he was fine. He let out a shuddering breath and then the beginnings of a smile found their way to Castiel's face as he tried to reassure the other that everything was fine. "You look tired man. Why don't you head home? Sammy and me are going home soon too, though he might be a little busy tonight," Dean said and then just a fraction of emotion found it's way into Dean's eyes. They seemed to soften like they did only for a few select people during different moments.

"Just call me if you need anything." Castiel nodded solemnly, took a deep calming breath before trusting himself to speak. "Careful Dean, you might get a call at the crack of dawn with me wanting to talk about my feelings" Okay so Castiel just tried his hand at making a joke. Dear God, Dean Winchester was seriously rubbing off on him. But Dean did have a point and mentioned something that Castiel seemed to constantly lack..rest. One thing Castiel had always had problems with ever since the...incident was sleep or lack there of. There was the tossing and turning of course and let's not forget the usual nightmares. Maybe that was one of the key reasons he never wanted to sleep with anyone. Not as in sexually but sleep period. One thing he had never done in all the one year of knowing Dean was stay over his place. Castiel had invited Dean over once or twice... let's just say, Castiel didn't even try and sleep those nights. Fear of scaring off the only close friend he's ever honestly had... it wasn't worth the risk.

"I agree, it's getting late and tomorrow I have a new case awaiting me when I get into the office in the morning. Good thing I didn't drink too much." Though it probably wouldn't have mattered if he had. It took A LOT to get Castiel tipsy let alone flat out drunk. He had a strong tolerance for the liquid he had never tried before meeting Dean. " Drive safe, I'll talk to you later." Of course at the time, he didn't think it wouldn't be that much later that he'd be talking to Dean again. Castiel was socially awkward, almost childlike in some ways. Good byes especially weren't ever his thing, with most people...he'd just walk away and practically seem to disappear. With Dean..he ended it on a comfortable yet awkward and weird probably to anyone else.

He simply laid his hand on Dean's shoulder for a short time before walking off, trench coat bellowing behind him in the slight breeze that always seemed to pick up whenever he made his exits. Almost as if he took the wind with him under his wings. The very ends of his trench coat making an eerie like sound of a bird's wings, then he was off towards his simple car and making his way home. The road to his humble apartment was a little ways from the bar, but he was fine on a gas. So he never worried about such things unless he was running on empty. Castiel pulled up against the curb and turned off the ignition, got outside, locked the car door. Then he took out his briefcase and made his way up the stairs, key in hand. Castiel didn't know what made him think it or rather feel it but he just knew that something was off. Something wasn't right, almost like he could sense that someone else had violated his sacred place.

He hadn't been wrong either.

For one, the door was cracked open which seemed to had a thrill for effect. Had this been a horror movie, this was the moment when the audience started paying attention. This was the important part, something that would set the tone, usually the creep factor. The moment where the character gets freaked out, that someones after them. This was unfortunately no different. Castiel entered the threshold and the first thing that caught his eyes and was most likely what was suppose to happen was the writing on the wall. It sent a chill through his entire body and he felt like he was frozen to place.

The word 'ANGEL' was thrown across the wall in what he prayed to God was red paint and not what he felt like it was. There had only ever been one person to call him Angel... but he was suppose to be in his own personal hell, was suppose to rot in there. Unless...he escaped. That was the only probability. His eyes trailed over the rest of what once had been his sanctuary and felt his heart sink. Everything was tossed and turned every which way. Some stuff destroyed, most just splayed all across the once pristine carpet. He didn't even want to go inside, fear welling up in him. What if the person that did this was still inside...waiting. He chewed the inside of his cheek, standing out there calculating the probability of whoever did this still inside the house. It was a good 45.5% that the illustrator of the scene was still here. Did he want to take the gamble and chance his luck.

Castiel had never been a gambling kind of guy. But he knew someone who was. He grabbed the cellphone that was inside his slacks and speed dialed number 1. Oh yeah, Dean was one of the few people on his list, but the only one on speed dial. Yes, it was because Dean was special... It had nothing at all to do with the fact that Castiel didn't know how to add the other numbers to speed dial. Dean had been the one to add himself on the phone.

Castiel just knew you dialed one and the only person he mainly talked to would answer. "Hello Dean... There's...a problem. I don't know exactly how to say this except that someone's broken into my home... Would it be too much trouble for you to come to my place...so I can get my stuff out of my room and find some place to stay for the time being... " Castiel wasn't the type to just come out and say. 'I'm scared shit-less, I can't do this without you, so can you come down here... so I can falsify my courage, get through this crap and get out...to a safe place.' No... he couldn't say those words that he wanted to. He exhaled, his breath shaking which exerted a large amount of emotion that he hadn't wanted to let out. He also couldn't state the obvious, that no one else would ever help him. All he had in this world was Dean Winchester.

Frankly, Castiel had a feeling that Dean would be all he'd ever need.

After he received a response on the phone, he hung up and closed the door. He didn't really think it'd do any good if someone wanted to come out and attack him. But he felt extremely odd leaving it open. Especially with that horrible word painted on his wall. Something he was not nor would he ever be. The wings on his back and his name may scream it, but Castiel was no angel.

He decided standing on his feet wouldn't do any good, so he sat down on the first step and let out a yawn. His body was screaming for sleep, but he would never be able to achieve such a thing. Especially if he was going to be staying at some weird place he wasn't used to. Especially those motel rooms. Who knows how many people have been in that room doing things before you decided to bunker down for the night. It was a rather unpleasant thought. He curled in on himself, the cold was making him shiver.

To make up for loss body heat, he wrapped the tan coat around his slim frame and tried to keep the rest of his insulation. The biggest concern that he had was the fact...where did they know where he lived? The bigger question of the bunch had to be the Who and they Why. Was it ... Alastair? Did he escape? How long had he been free? All these question were swarming his brain that he didn't even hear a familiar engine pull up to the front of the curb until the fall of footsteps came close and he flinched out of not being aware of his surroundings.

Fear really didn't do good things for the body.

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