For anyone wondering I used the structure of Denver PD just because it had more information online.


It wasn't Sam who had beaten Dean to it. Sam had accidentally crossed paths with a cult of witches who were using their powers to punish religious figures, when Sam had told them to stop or he would make them they had high-tailed it out of there and Sam had chased them. He knew that they would just set up shop in another town and he'd be back on their trail after more bodies. Plus he felt like shooting something.

No, it was Castiel who had driven to Fruita, bought himself a suit and found the local police station.

But where did he get the ID I hear you ask?

Well, when Cas was having a nosey around the bunker he had grabbed Dean's keys and had another look in the car. For three reasons. One - he wanted to see what collection of music Dean had so he knew what lyrics to learn. Two - he wanted to see the inside of the car's driver's side when his internet search gave him so many variables it addled his brain - automatic or manual, petrol or diesel, four wheel or two, what did those words even mean?! And third - what weapons did Dean keep in his trunk, apparently different guns, like cars, had to be handled and cared for in different ways. So Cas concluded that the only way to get answers was to go and have a look in the car.

He had opened the driver's door and looked at the steering wheel, the dash, dials and levers then lowered himself to balance on bended knees and the front half of his boots to look at the pedals. He had then got into the car and riffled through the tapes inside - Metallica, Foreigner, Led Zepplin, Bon Jovi (which was the least worn out of all of them) and two or three AC/DC ones that looked to be on their last legs. Castiel could smell the leather every time he had gotten into the car, it didn't overwhelm him but it was there, lingering in the air and he could smell burnt rubber, he leaned out of the car to look at the two tires which didn't look to be on fire to him but when he smelled exhaust fumes too he realised that that is just how the car smelled all the time. Leather, rubber and fumes. He remembered that Dean had told him some time ago, that Sam had added an iPod jack to the car when Dean had died - Cas had had to look up what that meant - and Dean had tossed it out the minute he could because he said that what made classics timeless was when the owners kept them classic. Dean could had gotten a mechanic to fit a CD player in the car, or even done it himself which was more likely with Dean, but the car rolled off of the manufacturing line with a cassette player, when the car was being designed it was designed with a cassette player, when it was being imagined it was imagined with a cassette player. And a classic 1967 Chevy Impala would always have a cassette player.

Dean had ended that story with the eloquent statement - "Apple can bite me".

While Castiel was poking around in the car he found a couple of Dean and Sam's IDs. He thought about what would happen if they were out and come across something unexpected? What if Castiel got Dean hurt because he couldn't back him up, and all because he didn't have an ID badge? So Cas picked up one of Sam's, went back inside and stared at the computer. How was he going to turn Sam's ID into his? Sam had tens of them, he wouldn't mind if Cas used one of his names, especially since he didn't need it right now. About ten minutes later Castiel was on the phone to a young man, driving in his car, name of Garth.

And when Castiel had arrived in Colorado that morning he had met a young woman called Cindy who had handed him an envelope across a diner counter. From Garth. She had put her hand over his when Cas had went to look inside. She had then looked around and muttered, "Not in here, dipshit."

Cas had went back to his car and looked at his badge; the FBI insignia, a picture he had taken and emailed to Garth at his request in a shirt, tie and suit jacket of Dean's, and the name Agent Max Morgan. "Agent Max Morgan." Cas said looking in the rearview mirror. "Hi, I'm Agent Morgan with the FBI." He smiled to himself, set the badge down on the seat and headed towards a tailor's in town. "I'm Max Morgan, FBI, assbutt." He laughed to himself. "Assbutt."

.

There was one thing that neither of the men had counted on and it became apparent to Castiel quick quickly. He had decided to go to the warehouse, snoop around and wait until night time for the mystery suspect to arrive. So he had driven up, parked outside and looked around. There were no other cars in the lot so he picked up the gun from the front seat and looked at it - FBI issue, just like Garth said. Authenticity. Cas checked it, his badge and climbed out of the car. He shut the door and tucked his badge into the pocket of his suit jacket - his leather jacket and the rest of his clothes in the back of the car.

It took Castiel a few minutes - ahem, thirty-nine, ahem - but he had picked the lock of the warehouse. Well, he had tried. He had given up and broken in instead. He walked around the side of the building away from the road and jimmyed a window. He prepared himself for some kind of alarm to go out and give him away but it didn't and he hauled himself inside. His feet had barely touched the ground when everything went black.

.

"Wakey, wakey" The voice was sing-song and soft as Castiel began to come back to consciousness. But it was far from gentle or sweet. Cas missed the way that Dean woke him up. "Guten Morgen, Agent Morgan." The voice laughed as the face came into view. Cas looked to a older man, very much older.

"It's the afternoon, assbutt." Castiel managed to get out. He realised that the only pain he had was the pain in his head. Cheap shot.

"That's alright, because you're not Agent Morgan." The man stood beside Castiel as he realised he was tied to a chair. How original. The chair was in the middle of the warehouse. Castiel looked around noticing that the inside was full of pens - like jail cells - in rows and rows at one end facing away from them and blocking the other row, but where they were was a square space. Cas was tied to a chair, as was said, but to his far right there was an area that looked like the kind you'd find in a dentist's surgery - flexible chair and various tools. Just what the hell was going on?

"I know you." Cas managed to get out as he looked back to the man. "You're victim number two, the war vet."

The man laughed, a real throaty laugh like the kind you get from smoking for years and inhaling ridiculous fumes from fires and bombs and rotting corpses - and whatever else he would have came across in Vietnam. "Actually, he was patient zero." He started to pace slowly and calmly in front of Cas. "Took that one a long time ago. Do you realise how easy it is to scope out people when you're an old homeless man? A war vet, no less. Most people don't even notice you and the ones that do, they respect you enough to tell you things about their lives. Or they just don't see a seventy-two year old man as a threat - either way, I'm a genius."

Castiel squinted a little. "What?"

He turned to Cas. "My name's Castiel and I'm a shapeshifter."

Castiel kept squinting again. "Castiel?"

"Well..." The shifter looked to the side. "It's not, but it is your real name." He tutted as he got closer to Castiel. "Impersonating an officer of the law." He gasped and put his right hand over his mouth as it lay open for a second. "An FBI agent, as well." Then he wagged his right index finger at him. "Not good." Castiel struggled against the restraints. "Don't bother, you're not as strong as you used to be."

Cas looked back to him. "You know, I've had a rough week so you better hope I don't get loose." He snarled at the man.

"Yes, it is quite unnerving isn't it. Having someone inside," he pointed a knife that Cas didn't realise he was holding to his head, letting the point touch his temple and make it bleed slightly, "your head." He smiled. "Again. Worse than looking in the mirror," he smiled and changed before Castiel's eyes, "isn't it?"

Castiel, fully donned in a suit, tie and the usual FBI stuff, with a little blood dried on the back of his head, sat tied up looking at himself in filthy rags - like a homeless man. Almost the image of Castiel stuck in Purgatory. Not stuck but you know what I mean.

He struggled again trying to get loose. He had taken his angel strength for granted when he was a celestial being and he had felt the loss when he had first fallen. Right now though, if he could only get loose he'd try and prove he was still strong as he beat the shit out of that face. His own face.

"Oh dear, Castiel... You have been a bad boy, haven't you?" This Castiel laughed at.. Well himself, the tied up him. "Yes, I have." The shifter laughed again. There was a noise in the distance and the shifter looked up, but not surprised or worried.

"Darling, I'm home!" The voice echoed and then a woman appeared and when she spotted him, she tuned her head a little. "Dear god, who are you wearing?" When she saw Castiel sitting there she smiled. "Oh, that's who." She leaned down, right hand on the back of the chair and stroked Castiel's chin with her left hand. "And who is this..." The pictures may have been grainy but Cas knew that this was the woman from the candid photos, she had shoulder length dark hair, fair skin, plump lips and a beauty spot just under her nose, to her right side.

"Would you believe... a fallen angel." This Castiel smirked and looked over to the cells where distressed noises were starting up.

"Really? Never had one of those before." She then tipped his head back and spoke through gritted teeth. "In either way."

"You're just his type." Cas looked to himself as he walked to the chair, as did the woman. Just then he changed to Meg, just like the last time Castiel had seen her; a few cuts here and there, the bandage that Cas had put on her and blonde hair. She smirked at Cas as his mouth fell open. Meg. The demon who had watched over him day and night through his madness and the one who had suggested they, what was it again?

"Hmm. I'll bet she would be delicious. Except for the hair." She pointed.

"Yeah, she wasn't a fan either." Then Meg's hair changed back to brown. She looked to Castiel. "Order pizza and move some furniture around, since you asked."

Castiel could feel the anger flare up inside him. How dare she- he- IT! Those were his memories. He had had enough of monsters rooting around in his head! The Leviathan, Naomi and now this abomination!

She gasped again. "I'm going to let that one go." She then stood up again. "Although, your tastes have rather shifted of late, haven't they?" Meg smirked at Castiel for the last time and it broke his heart - it wasn't how he wanted to remember her.

Castiel closed his eyes knowing exactly what was coming. "And they call me the shifter." Cas heard Dean's voice before he opened his eyes. His stinging eyes. "We're family!" He mock sobbed and laughed.

Cas closed his eyes again and hung his head as the tears streamed down his cheeks. "Just, just kill me."

There was a silence before the woman and Dean laughed to each other. "Oh darling, he thinks you're a shifter too."

Cas opened his eyes again, the pain in his lungs returning and eclipsing the pain at the back of his head.

"Oh no, angel cake. No, no." She bent down and reached for his jaw line again. He looked down at her hand but it was her lips that came closer to his. He then looked to them, trying to move his head back. "No, I'm much," Cas squinted as he suddenly felt woozy, "much," his head bobbed but he looked in her eyes, "worse." They glowed blue.

.

Dean pulled into the parking lot, it was still light but there was two cars in the lot. Dean flicked through the reports and CCTV photos he had. Nope, none of the cars matched. Dammit. Sam's taste in cars might not have been so bad after all. Dean was slightly surprised, they'd have to talk about this no found class Sam had - after Dean saved his ass and then killed him for being an idiot.

.

Poor innocent Sam was in Colorado but not Fruita, washing his shirt in a motel sink. The water running away from the fabric was running deep, deep red.

"Well, that didn't go to plan." He sighed and used the back of his palm to wipe his forehead. "Frigging witches, man."

He let go of the shirt and decided to let it soak for a while as he walked back into the main part of the motel room and sat down on the bed. His gun was on the bed across from him and so was his mobile. "Screw this." He opened it and dialled.

.

Dean was getting out of his car when his phone rang. He answered it without paying attention.

"Yup."

"Dean?" Dean froze to the spot. "Why haven't you been answering yo-"

Dean cut him off. "Sam? Are you alright? What did you find?"

There was a little pause. "Find? Find where?"

"In the warehouse?" Dean kept walking towards the trunk of his car aiming a look to his phone as if Sam could see.

"Warehouse... What warehouse?"

"Sam, I know you came to Fruita." Dean smiled a little. Stupidest smart guy ever.

"Dean, I'm not." Dean stopped. Why was he playing?

"Come on, Sam. The guys at the station gave you up. Well, they gave Agent Morgan up." Dean looked through his guns, shit he had forgotten to take the silver bullets out of his gun after the last time. He tucked the phone under his jaw and left shoulder and squinted to see in the sunlight.

"Dean, I left that ID in the car."

Dean stopped and, holding his gun in his right hand he used it to lower the trunk lid. "Sam, did you tell Cas this is where I'd be?"

"Shit, I'm sorry Dean."

Dean ran towards the warehouse, leaving the trunk lid just shy of closed and whisper-spat into his phone. "If anything happens, this is on you." He then hung up.