Chapter 4

Castiel was anxious, dreading what was to come as he trudged through the entrance of the whorehouse. His fingers ached for the stress ball that usually eased his tension, and twisting his watch was also impossible because Dean had been sure to remove it before he left.

Now he found himself in a shady neighborhood—in a brothel, of all places—trying to weave through the crowd. Castiel had never been to a house of iniquity before so he didn't know where to look for a hidden office, but it seemed the two muscle-bound men sitting by the door with their arms crossed were some sort of security for the business. That was as good of a place to start as any. He sauntered across the room, dodging a few couples intensely focused on each other.

"Allen, Emmanuel," Castiel introduced himself with an arrogant smirk. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it with some confidence.

The man unfolded his arms to procure a clipboard from underneath his chair. Almost as if they were waiting on him. "Sign," the man said unenthusiastically, passing him the document. Castiel picked up the pen and quickly gave a signature for his alias. "Mr. Allen, raise your arms, please," the other man said as he stood to his full height.

Even at six feet tall, Castiel felt small in this man's presence. He did as he was told. Castiel had never had a problem with invading personal space, but this man crossed the line more than usual. Castiel shrugged it off as thoroughly inspecting for hidden weapons, but he raised his eyebrows more than a few times at the man's lack of boundaries.

"You may see the boss, now," the man intoned gruffly, leading him to the back of the building. "He's been waiting for you."

"Oh, really?" Castiel asked sarcastically as he swaggered behind him. "Just what does he think I can do for him?"

"You'll see," he replied as he opened a fire exit door.

Castiel expected a flash of light and an alarm signaling to evacuate the building, but when the fire exit opened, Castiel realized it didn't lead to a back alley or a parking lot. It seemed as if the room were an old-fashioned study—books lining the shelves, an untidy desk, and an alcohol collection. Still, Castiel sensed he shouldn't trust the man sitting behind the desk, grinning maliciously. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if the man was possessed.

He jumped unexpectedly as the false fire exit door slammed behind him. "It's a damn miracle code enforcement hasn't nailed your ass," Castiel commented as he took a seat across from the man.

"You listen here, sonny," the man said as he leaned forward slightly. The calmness in his voice made it that much more petrifying, but Castiel was determined to follow through with his mission. "We are not here to discuss the safety of humans, and if I hear one more snide remark out of you, I will personally gut your family while you watch. You feel me?"

Castiel nodded slowly, reluctant to agree with someone who refers to everyone else as "humans" as if he weren't one. It seemed Castiel was correct in his assumption that this man was possessed. "Good," the demon replied as he sat back on his haunches, intensity disappearing from his eyes. "Talbot!" he yelled. "Get over here!"

"How is Ned?" Castiel asked bluntly, ignoring the small-framed woman who had been skirting around the edges of the room. She took a seat next to Castiel.

"He's worried about his family," the demon admitted. "You're also his family?"

"Yeah," Castiel lied.

"You drop a few pounds recently?" the demon asked.

"It's a juice cleanse," he replied quickly, hoping that omitting a few details would be a sufficient answer.

"Is that the one where you skip the carbs and shoot up on smack?" the demon taunted.

"Can, um—can we just get to it?" Castiel asked uncomfortably.

"You're right," the demon agreed. "Ned's wife and kids should go home."

"Alright, well, what do you want me to do?" Castiel asked, still aching to feel his stress ball back in his hand.

The demon inspected Castiel, as if his eyes were boring into his soul. When he was finished analyzing the situation, the demon added, "Forget it. Get out of here."

"Whatever you need me to do, I can do it—I can!" Castiel argued desperately.

"No, you can't!" the demon shouted, leaning across the desk and slamming his palm on the table. "You're nothing but a damn junkie," the demon said. "I don't want you screwing up and blowing this back in my face."

"Come on, man," Castiel pleaded. "What? Do you want me to kill somebody? I can kill somebody. I've done it before," he attempted to say convincingly.

"You?" the demon asked, his eyebrows raising in skepticism. "You killed someone?"

"Yeah," Castiel replied, setting his jaw and locking eyes with him.

The team of Omega gathered in the bullpen, listening intently to Castiel's surroundings. Unfortunately, they only had ears on the scene. For auditory observers like Jo and Sam, listening to gain information came naturally. Those were the people Dean despised in high school because of their lack of notetaking. Dean learned better when he could see what was happening in real time, and he could make better decisions based on his visual surroundings.

Rufus shifted uncomfortably beside Dean and asked, "Where the hell is he going with this?"

"I think I know," Benny replied, sitting up straighter and leaning forward to listen with sparked interest.

"Well, if you let his wife and kids go, I'll do whatever you want," Castiel bargained.

"I want you to think very carefully about what you're going to say to me next, Emmanuel," the demon threatened. "I've got friends in law enforcement. I can check details. If you're lying to me, I'm going to know. Sit," he demanded, and Castiel was obligated not to move. "Who'd you kill?"

"I shot a guy while he was sitting on the toilet," Castiel responded, recalling the humorous lie told earlier this afternoon.

"Oh!" Dean exclaimed, catching on to the story. "Nice, Cas!"

"What's so nice about it?" Rufus asked incredulously. "The guy's gonna get himself killed."

"Okay, I need a cold case report entered in," Dean instructed Sam, shrugging Rufus off. "This is gonna be an unsolved homicide, Nashville, two years ago."

"But he's ripping off my story," Sam protested.

"Where did this go down?" the demon probed.

"Nashville, about two years ago," Castiel replied.

"What are you, a mind reader now?" Rufus asked in confusion. "Somebody clue me in."

"The new guy? He's smart," Dean said simply, turning back to Sam and his computer.

"He took my magazines into the head," Castiel explained, drawing from his short-term memory to recall the details.

"I'd kill him, too," the demon remarked.

The lack of emotion in his statement forced a pause from Castiel, and even through audio, Dean could tell he was pushing the conversation. "So I let him get in there and get settled. I walk over to the door. I kick it in, bam. Pop him in the chest. Twice."

"Who's going to fight with pants around their ankles?" the demon asked with a genuine laugh that disturbed Dean to his core.

"Alright," Sam said with finality. "Body found partially clothed in an upstairs bathroom."

"Submit it," Dean ordered. "Let's go!"

"Wait up—they've got some kind of encryption block on the server out in Tennessee," Sam said, fingers hesitantly hovering over the keyboard.

"Just hit the damn send key!" Dean demanded impatiently. "Come on, come on, come on! Let's go."

"So you whacked someone," the demon said bluntly. "Good job. I'll look into the details later. Are you on blood right now?"

"I've been withdrawing for several days now," Castiel replied in a tired, weak voice. He was completely desperate, and his life was at the mercy of a demon. Now Dean was seriously wondering why the poor schmuck didn't quit while he was ahead and go back to a desk job in Sioux Falls. "Please. You—your kind—have to help me. You're the only ones who can."

The demon paused thoughtfully, choosing his next words carefully. "Alright," he agreed. "You help us out, we'll let the woman and the kids go."

"So who's it gonna be?" Castiel said, careful to keep relief from creeping into his voice. "A pro like you?"

"Let's make it a surprise," the demon answered menacingly.

"We're doing this now?" Castiel asked, his heart suddenly racing again.

"Why? You got someplace to be?" the demon answered with another question.

Castiel displayed his indignance quietly, if at all. There was ambient sound for several minutes as the same set of men led Castiel out of the brothel. Dean heard what could only be described as a distorted moan, but considering the setting, it was probably normal. The men were silent, but their message was clear—Emmanuel Allen will do as we say or the family dies.

"So where are we going?" Castiel probed. It was impossible to tell what Castiel was thinking or planning, but Dean trusted him to think on his feet. For a new guy, Castiel went above and beyond the standard. "You know, Horace Greeley would not approve."

"Who is Horace?" Dean asked, perplexed as to the clue Castiel was obviously trying to give them.

"Uh, Horace Greeley," Sam replied matter-of-factly. It almost scared Dean how quickly his younger brother's mind worked sometimes. "Go west, young man. They're taking him east."

Apparently, Castiel didn't see fit to drop any more hints about his location because the rest of the car ride was silent. It was a solid twenty minutes before Dean heard any conversation again.

"Here's the key," Thug One growled. Dean almost snarled in return, until he realized they wouldn't be able to hear him.

"Where'd you get this?" Castiel asked, desperately trying to gain insight into the demonic plan.

"He has a German housekeeper who just happens to be my lady friend," Thug Two said smugly. "It's not your problem. Kill the man in the back bedroom. Be sure he's dead. Fire all the bullets. Bring this back to us."

The man gestured to the gun before handing it to Castiel. He gulped nervously and nodded his understanding, climbing out of the vehicle and trudging down the sidewalk. "I hope you guys can hear me," Castiel whispered as he walked slowly to the building's entrance.

Dean could hear him loud and clear, but that wasn't what worried him. The lack of instructions on Dean's part was what concerned him. He needed to have a serious conversation with Charlie about updating their equipment to a two-way system. Unfortunately, due to limited funds, they couldn't just go out and buy what they needed to rig up spy gear.

"I've got an address," Sam shouted with enthusiasm. Dean mostly ignored Sam's talk of triangulation and satellites, but damn if Dean didn't appreciate his brother's geek-speak in these tricky situations.

"Pull it up," Rufus commanded. "I want backup rolling in that direction now. We need to know what Cas is walking into."

"What are you thinking?" Dean asked incredulously. "We crash this thing with a bunch of hunters rolling in—we lose the family."

"I know," Rufus said darkly. It only took a glance at Rufus for Dean to realize there was no way he would be responsible if they lost Castiel on his first day. They already had a close call earlier, but this should be Dean's primary focus—save Castiel, no matter the consequences.

But Dean knew it didn't have to be like that. He had his slice of pie, and by golly, he wanted to eat it too. "I can get in there," he said, reassuring his statement with a quick nod of his head.

"Yeah?" Rufus asked, inspecting Dean's facial expressions. He realized that Dean wasn't going to back down and that he didn't feel like having this argument. "Go."

Dean darted across the room in a sudden burst of energy. "He's in the building, Sammy," Dean began, resting his elbow on the back of Sam's chair to get a better look at the computer screen. "Tell me something."

"Wait, this house has a government tag," Sam noted, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Some kind of safe house." He began to type feverishly, his hands flying across the keyboard in a frenzy. Suddenly, he came to a halt. "I'll be damned," he breathed in disbelief.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"It's not the government's at all," Sam replied. "It's one of ours." He stopped to think for a second, running through the possibilities. It didn't take long for Sam to come to a conclusion. There was only one safe house in the immediate area belonging to the Men of Letters, and it protected Kevin Tran. His eyes widened in realization. "It's Kevin! They're sending him in to kill Kevin."

"Jo, get Kevin on the phone now," Dean demanded as she quickly took the phone from its hook. This was going to be one hell of a story to tell, if they all survived the night.

Creaky floorboards had always been a pet peeve of Castiel's. They set him on edge in horror movies and annoyed him to no end in real life. So when the floor made a screech as he stepped on the laminate of the living room, Castiel inwardly cursed himself for not treading lightly.

Fortunately, the young man lying on the couch watching television seemed oblivious to Castiel's presence behind him. His features indicated he was most likely foreign, but Castiel deduced he had lived in the States for most of his life. He couldn't have been more than a graduate student, and he seemed relatively harmless and innocent. Castiel continued to creep closer, this time with much more finesse.

"Excuse me," Castiel tried.

The younger man jerked up from the couch with a blade in his hand, squaring up with the direction of the voice. So much for harmless. "Excuse me?" he asked sarcastically, his eyes darting to the gun Castiel was carrying. "Who are you?"

"I'm not here to hurt you," Castiel promised, though he didn't lower his weapon.

"If that's true, then put the gun down," he said. "Just put it down."

"I wish I could," Castiel replied, still aiming the firearm at the other man's chest.

"Put it down or I'm gonna hurt you this time," the young man responded, expertly maneuvering his knife to a striking position. Unevenly matched with a lesser weapon, it was still clear that this man knew how to effectively defend himself. Castiel refrained from shooting because he didn't want to kill this man. He was simply relying on backup from the Men of Letters to get him out of this situation.

"I can't," Castiel said.

"Who are you?" the young man asked again, setting his sights squarely for the intruder's chest.

"I'm Castiel Novak, Man of Letters," he answered calmly, hoping against hope that the man didn't have an affiliation with the Letters. Being public enemy number one for a local group of demons definitely meant you knew your way around the supernatural world. Castiel assumed that he would at least understand the concept of hunters.

"Let's see some I.D," the young man suggested, motioning with his blade. Clearly, he knew what the Men of Letters were. Castiel noted that his first instinct wasn't to strike, and assumed he had positive feelings associated with them.

"I don't have one," Castiel replied, desperately grasping at straws for a way to prove his loyalty as a Letter.

"Bad day for you," the young man said snarkily.

"I'm undercover," Castiel explained quickly. "Cut me a break, man. It's my first day."

"Who sent you?" he inquired. "The vampires?"

"What?" Castiel asked in confusion. "No, there are demons outside this house right now, and they sent me in here to kill you," Castiel assured him.

"Bastards." He swore again under his breath, and suddenly the phone began to ring. The man ignored the sound and let it go to voicemail. "They aren't even gonna finish me off themselves."

"Wait," Castiel said, pausing for a minute to collect his thoughts. He was a local hunter who seemed to be under house arrest, and he was wanted dead by multiple supernatural groups. All the evidence pointed only to one solution. "You're Kevin Tran?"

"And you're a lousy hitman," Kevin noted sarcastically. "Yeah, I'm Kevin Tran."

Castiel immediately holstered his weapon, fumbling for something useful to do with his hands. Kevin lowered his knife as he did so. "Well, hi, nice to meet you. I'm your new roommate," Castiel said, extending his hand awkwardly. Social situations had never been Castiel's strong suit.

"You're at Omega," Kevin said, his voice raising at the end as though even he wasn't sure if it was a question or statement.

"Yeah," Castiel agreed, dropping his hands back down to his sides. The phone began to sound again and vibrate against the coffee table. "You might want to take that."

"What did you take out of my room?" Kevin asked suspiciously.

"Uh, nothing. Meg she told me not to unpack," he explained. "Come on, you've got to believe me. It's my first day."

Kevin nodded, glancing down at his phone and accepting the call. He knew immediately who it was. "Hey, Jo, it's Kevin. Met the new roommate, Castiel. Almost sliced-n-diced him."

"Almost," Castiel shouted in affirmation. There was a sigh of relief on the end of the line and he thought he heard something to the effect of, "Be ready, Winchester's coming."

"I got to finish this," Castiel said quickly, acknowledging the time on Kevin's phone. "If Dean is coming, I've got to go."

"Yeah, I understand," Kevin replied. "Don't want to piss Papa Bear off, that's for sure."

Castiel withdrew his gun again, but this time he aimed for the floor and emptied his clip as he was told. "I'll see you later," Castiel said as he bolted out the doorway, ignoring the same creaking steps on the way down.

As soon as he reached the steps outside the building, Castiel hustled over to the curb where the burly men were parked.

"You didn't tell me he was a damn Man of Letters!" Castiel yelled emphatically. "He took two shots at me!"

"Is he dead?" Thug One asked bluntly.

"Yeah, he's dead," Castiel replied. Blunt. He could work with blunt.

"Gimme the gun, and get in the car," Thug Two demanded from the backseat.

"Alright," Castiel agreed. "Did you let the wife and the kids go?"

"Yeah," Thug One replied in a tone that told Castiel nothing had been done to release the family. "Get in the car."

"Yeah, you know what? I think I'm gonna walk," Castiel tried to bargain. "The neighbors heard the shots."

"Get in the car," he ordered again, this time more harshly.

"Why do you want him to get in the car?" a familiar voice inquired theatrically from behind.

"Don't be stupid," Thug One said, looking dismissively at Dean. Then he turned to Castiel again. "This is your last chance. Get in the car."

"Or what?" Dean threatened. Thug One reached for something in the floorboard, but it was never revealed to Castiel because Dean shot the man in the temple.

"Ugh! Rufus, if you can hear me, we need an ambulance over here right now," Dean said into his personal transmitter. "My guess is that they get you to kill Kevin, they take you out somewhere, shoot you, make it look like a suicide, then if he ever talks, they make sure somebody finds your gun."

"This is news to me," Thug Two said, still smiling arrogantly.

"Hey! You in the back, show me your hands," Dean demanded. Direct statements, Castiel recalled from his seminars, are the best way to handle contrary offenders. Whether they are rabid creatures or sentient human beings, that was similar. Of course, manipulation tactics potentially work better for humans, but he liked to save those skills for a rainy day.

"Now come on, guys," Thug Two replied, avoiding the order. "It's all cool."

"Do it!" Dean barked, squarely pointing his firearm at the other man's chest.

"Just do what he says, alright?" Castiel asked feverishly. "Do it now!"

"I'm okay, thanks," he persisted.

"Just put your hands up, okay?" Castiel continued. He knew what would happen if this man resisted once more. "Just do what he says."

Before the man had a chance to act, Dean had already fired an unflinching shot straight to the heart. Castiel stood dumbfoundedly blinking at the scarlet staining the man's lapel. Where Castiel was highly trained in the theory of threats, Dean had experience in the practical realm of promise. The way he saw it, there isn't much point in drawing a weapon if you aren't going to use it. Better to put a round through a monster's head than be dinner, that was for sure.

"What? How did you—?" Castiel attempted to ask how he knew what was going to happen. "You saw the gun?" he finally spit out.

"I see it right there," Dean said simply. As it turns out, shoot first, ask questions later isn't always such a bad idea.

"This is Castiel Novak," he said, speaking into his transmitter. "Shots fired. Two men down... Dean Winchester just saved my life."

"Don't let it go to your head, Cas," Dean said jokingly. They were seated in a lovely office answering pointless—but mandatory—questions to clarify what both testimonies support. Dean would never understand the thoroughness of the Men of Letters. Always questioning, always reasoning. Well, Dean had news for them: As much as he respected the enlightened way of thinking, you can't always logic yourself out of a situation.

"No, sir," Castiel replied. "We did well, though."

"Hell yeah, we did good!" Dean affirmed.

"The driver made a move to his weapon, and that's when Mr. Winchester fired?" the woman clarified.

"Yes, ma'am," Castiel answered politely.

"And you both ordered the man in back to show his hands, and instead he drew his weapon?" she continued.

"Correct again," Dean said dryly.

"Mr. Novak?" the woman asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Castiel said.

"Sounds like a clean shoot to me," she noted. "Excellent work, both of you."

"Thank you," they responded in unison.

As soon as they were out of the stuffy government building and back in the Impala, Dean shrugged off his nice jacket and exchanged it for a leather one in the backseat. He sighed as he sank into the comfortable material. Castiel would never understand how someone so genius could be simultaneously relaxed and informal.

"I hope you like parties, Cas," Dean said knowingly. "Because tonight, we are all about the liquor."

"I'm sorry," Castiel apologized. "We're celebrating our safety by ruining our livers. I just don't see the point in alcoholic beverages, Dean."

"Eh, don't worry," Dean shrugged as he turned the ignition of the Impala. "Spend enough time around me, I'll gladly remove the stick from your ass."

"I don't have a—you know what? Nevermind," Castiel said finally.

"See?" Dean said with a devilish grin. "I'm convincing, aren't I?"

"Alright, glasses up, everyone!" Sam shouted, raising his glass high as he made the heartfelt toast. "As rookies, we all dealt with demons. But today was one to remember. Cheers!" It was concise, but that didn't make a difference to Castiel. It was meaningful, and that was enough.

"Cheers!" everyone shouted in unison. Dean and Benny smashed their glass mugs together and downed the acidic substance within. Even Meg seemed to rejoice at Castiel's safe return.

"Hey," Dean said sincerely, nudging Castiel with his elbow. "I wanna let you know that no matter how much bitching Rufus does, you did good today."

"Thank you," Castiel replied with gratitude. "That means a lot."

Dean gave a forced smile, and asked, "Cas, can I talk to you outside for a minute?"

To everyone else in their personal pow-wow, it probably seemed strange, but hardly suspicious. To Castiel, Dean's request for a private conversation meant that his purpose for joining the Omega team was about to be revealed. Dean could have all the keys to unlocking the answers of his mission.

"Uh... yeah," Castiel decided, standing to follow Dean up the staircase and to the door of the bunker. As soon as they were out of earshot from the rest of the team, Castiel asked, "What's with the secrecy?"

"Well, you know, Cas, you're a Man of Letters now, okay?" Dean said with confidence. "That means from this moment on, your lies are your life."

"Yes, sir," Castiel affirmed, unsure of where the conversation was now headed. He had survived an entire day in Lebanon. Surely, Dean would humor him and get a move on with telling him the assignment.

"You know, you're out on the street," Dean continued, ignoring Castiel's need for instructions. "You meet some fine little lady or fella—hey, I don't judge—you'd better lie to them. You know, an old friend calls you and asks, "Hey, Cas, what are you working on?" You lie to them."

It had become apparent to Castiel that Dean wasn't just stalling. He was truly unaware. Even in light of this realization, Castiel couldn't believe Dean Winchester could be so cynical and heartless about honesty. Maybe it was just an effect of growing up on the job or seeing so much evil in the world. But maybe it was something much bigger and deeper than that...

"How do you do it though?" Castiel asked helplessly. "I mean, the lies. How do you just keep from going crazy, you know?"

Dean hesitates, staring off into the distance for an uncomfortable moment. Just when Castiel is ready to fill the void of silence with more chatter, Dean responds. "Who says I haven't?"

"No one," Castiel replied truthfully. He recalled his conversation with Jo about how something had changed in Dean after he took a leave of absence. Whatever happened to him during that break from hunting had altered him greatly. Suddenly, Castiel felt a vibration in his pocket and his phone began to ring. "Mind if I take this?"

"Hey, it's your party," Dean consented, turning to leave. "I'm going back inside."

"Thanks," Castiel said graciously, waiting until the door was shut to answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Castiel Novak," a familiar voice echoed over the phone.

"Mister Campbell," Castiel noted, wondering why someone so high on the chain of command would be compelled to call him this late of an evening. "You were right. There's no way I could've predicted this."

"Ah, you actually listened to my speech."

"I did," Castiel admitted, though he spared him the small detail of barely paying attention at his commencement. "Dean Winchester saved my life."

"That so?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," Castiel confirmed. "He did."

There was a moment of silence, and Castiel waited expectantly for him to reveal the real reason why he was assigned here. The man on the other end of the line took a deep breath and began, "I'm calling to let you know that your assignment is to investigate Dean Winchester." If Castiel didn't know any better, he would have thought he stopped breathing entirely. "Will what he did affect that ability?"

He thought for a moment. There was nothing more important to Castiel than duty and obedience. "No, sir," he replied.

"Good," Samuel said tersely. "Keep that attitude, and you'll still make deputy director one day."

"I appreciate that, sir," Castiel stated. "Thank you."

With that, the call ended, leaving Castiel wondering if he made the right decision or not. Did he really have the gall to investigate someone so close to him? Even after a single day together, everyone here was family. Castiel didn't doubt their loyalty to each other or that he would share that same loyalty soon. But then again, could he really defy a direct order?

In his confusion, Castiel trudged back inside slowly. After all, they were expecting him to be at his own you're still alive party. As he entered the bunker once more, Castiel was greeted by the clinking noise of glass against glass and animated chatter. It was as if the whole world was oblivious to his newfound predicament—which of course, it was.

"You know, uh, I heard they kinda slammed you with this job, Cas," Jo began, sidling up next to Castiel and motioning for him to sit down amongst the others.

"Yeah," Castiel agreed as he took a seat next to Sam on the couch. "Yeah, they did."

"No idea why?" Dean asked, staring at him expectantly as if he would reveal something important.

Castiel no longer knew if he could trust those deep green eyes boring into his soul. He couldn't count on anyone in this house to trust him or supply him with information until Castiel proved he was a team player. He had to challenge himself to step away from his individual approach to things and learn to work as one. This cohesive familial unit was the only weapon in his arsenal, and Castiel was determined to make it count. After all, it was Dean who had told him that from this moment on, his lies were his life...

"No, sir," Castiel replied.