4 - Two-Man Job

A bullet tore into the wall two inches from Dean's head as he dove for the floor. "Son of a bitch!"

"That whore sent you after me, didn't she?" bellowed the lunatic with the gun. "She put out a hit on me, I knew it!"

"Nobody put out any hit on you!" Dean yelled, taking a quick look at his surroundings. His latest mark's garage was full of way too many things with sharp edges. He'd noticed that when he'd cased the place. But he hadn't known the bastard kept a loaded pistol in his tool chest until the fucker was shooting at him. "You're the stupid shit who decided to blackmail someone. I'm only here to talk to you!"

"Bullshit!"

The gun was seriously loud, and big, maybe a Desert Eagle. It certainly put a big enough hole in the wall above where Dean was trying to crawl into a better position. "Stop shooting at me, asshole!"

"Suck my dick!"

Dean groaned. He hated these types. Unfortunately, in his line of work, he ran into them entirely too often. Fortunately, that meant he came prepared. His taser was charged and ready. All he needed was one clear shot.

That, and to not get his head blown off trying to get that shot.

Dean rolled behind a table saw. He was a bit more exposed now, but the metal stood a better chance at blocking a bullet than the wooden cabinet. Ok, he admitted to himself, maybe Benny had been right when he'd warned Dean that this job required at least two men. "I just want the video," he called. "Give it back, along with all the copies, and we're fine. I leave and we all pretend this never happened."

"Ha!" the mark exclaimed. "I fucking knew that bitch was part of this."

"It wasn't her, asshole!" Dean yelled back. "How the hell could it be? You trying to tell me now that you didn't know she was only fourteen years old?"

"Oh, I knew." The smugness in the bastard's voice set Dean's teeth on edge. "I also knew whose daughter she was. You go back and tell her daddy that if he doesn't want his little darling's O face all over the internet, he'd better pay up!"

Turns out, a ricochet off of a metal saw table was almost as loud as the shot that produced it. Although, to be fair, Dean mused, the fact that said ricochet was the closest he'd come yet to getting shot might mean his perspective was slightly off.

"Listen," Dean tried. "We can do this one of two ways. We can do it the easy way, where you give me the video and any copies and I leave, both of us understanding that if you come anywhere near that girl again, they will never find your body. Or, we can do it the hard way, where I fuck you up until you tell me where it is, and the rest still stands."

"I'll take option three - putting a hole in you and dumping you in the closest construction site."

Dean sighed. He'd tried to play nice. Some people did not deserve to keep breathing, especially not those who seduced children, videoed it, and used the video to blackmail their rich fathers. This bastard was lucky the Cajun didn't take wetwork, which was what the girl's father had actually asked for. Dean would let this fucker live. Fortunately, it was amazing what you could live through. Keeping the taser in his dominant hand, Dean pulled a sap from his belt and held it in his left. "Ok, asswipe," he called. "You want to play rough? Let's play!"

Apparently, Dean's challenge was accepted. Cursing savagely, the pedophile blackmailer darted out, firing at Dean as he went. Dean immediately realized the guy was trying to get past his cover and rolled, scrabbling to get behind a metal stand. It was, he quickly learned, piss poor cover. A bullet punched right through the cabinet, so close to Dean's head that he felt the breeze of its passing. Not good.

"Did I get you asshole?" the man called in the sudden silence.

Dean stayed quiet. He looked frantically around. In his haste to avoid the flying bullets, he'd moved to the side of the workshop with the least cover. He'd ducked between an old rusting cabinet and a wooden shelf with painting supplies. Besides the thin metal cabinet, there was nothing for him to hide behind.

His mark, meanwhile, was moving closer. Dean could hear his heavy footsteps as he picked his way through the mess, coming to investigate, most likely with his weapon ready to fire the killing bullet. Dean looked around for inspiration and his eyes fell on the can of paint that had been hit by the bullet. Paint was leaking from the can in a steady stream. It wasn't the color of blood. If anything, it was closer to orange than red. But maybe that would be enough to buy him one precious moment of time. Dipping his hands in the paint, Dean quickly smeared it over the side of his balaclava. Then he lay down against the shelf, making sure that the paint was running down to drip on him.

With his eyes closed, Dean remained motionless, listening as the mark carefully stepped around the cabinet. "Ha!" the man called. "Got you good, didn't I, you fuck?" Stomping closer, he drew back a leg for a kick.

Only then did he see Dean's eyes fly open. Dean's taser fired, twin darts latching onto the surprised mark's chest. The voltage made him jerk wildly. Dean grinned, ready to fire off a witty remark. His voice died in his throat. As if in slow motion, the pistol was rising, aiming towards Dean.

Dean tensed, expecting pain.

None came. The gun simply clicked once, then dropped to the floor. And a moment later, Dean's mark collapsed next to it, pistol falling from his nerveless hand.

For a few seconds, Dean simply stared at the gun. He quickly snatched it up, holding it in his hand as checked it. There were still bullets. The latest one, the one that should have killed him, bore the clear mark of the firing pin. Yet miraculously, it hadn't fired. Dean turned his face skyward. Thanks, Angel. That's another one I owe you.

Dropping the weapon into his pocket, Dean got to work.

He had to admit, the bastard was tough. Usually, breaking a man's bones with a lead-filled sap produced quick results. This guy had two broken ankles, a matching set of broken knees, and one smashed hand before he told Dean what he needed to know. Dean took the recording and the man's computer just to be safe. He'd rip out the insides of the computer and toss them out the window as he drove, just in case the stupid thing was Lo-Jacked. Always good to be sure.

With that in mind, Dean let loose with a few well-placed kicks. Nothing like a steel-toed work boot to the daddy bags to discourage a pedophile. Satisfied with his work, Dean made a quick exit. The gun went flying into a stream from Baby's open window, followed by the computer. Once he dumped off the video, nothing would be able to tie him back to the scene of his crime. Dean smiled. Another job well done.

As a rule, pedophile assholes who try to blackmail someone with videos of their disgusting deed aren't stupid enough to report to the police when their blackmail material is stolen. But apparently, Dean's latest mark had come in last in the genetic lottery.

"It's all over the news," Benny told him. "Dumb shit's a laughing stock, but it seems like the police are at least making a half-assed attempt to find you, Dean."

"It's two states away, and I was careful," Dean pointed out. "I don't think there's much risk they'll come in here asking questions."

"True," Benny agreed, "but there's a description circulating. Those bow legs of yours stand out. If anyone from another job remembers that little detail? Well, you might just be in the shit. Plus, I've been hearing some whispers that some smart fuck in the FBI has started piecing things together, realizing there's a nationwide network at work. You're my most active operative, Dean, and this fucker probably isn't the only one who noticed your walk. Better lay off of jobs for a while."

Fucking bow legs. "Great," Dean groaned. "Got any ideas for entertainment value?"

"Can always catch a movie," Benny suggested. "There's some ladies who come in here who might be interested, if you're looking for some company. Or, you could do something really wild and go out to see the meteor shower."

"Meteor shower?" Dean looked up, interested. "Honestly, that sounds pretty cool."

"God knows you could use a cool-down period," Benny agreed. He pulled out a map and tapped a location. "Here. It's a state park. They've got an observation area here, but it might be a bit crowded. If you go down to the wetlands, though? Should have just as good of a view, without the company. Just make sure you use plenty of mosquito repellant."

Dean nodded. "How long do you think I should stay underground?"

"I'd say at least a month."

"A month?!" Dean sputtered. "You're kidding!"

Benny took a deep breath. "Dean?" he began. "I did not get to where I'm at without being careful. I'm careful about who I take jobs from, which is why my operatives are safe. I'm careful about the operatives I hire. And most of all? I'm careful to lie low when the heat is on. You have no idea what that fucker gave the cops, but he obviously told them who he was trying to blackmail. Naturally, he's got plausible deniability, but clients can be twitchy. There's no guarantee my name wouldn't come up."

"They've got shit on you," Dean protested. "You run a cash business and there's nothing linking you to that miserable fuck."

"True, but it seems to me they've got something that might just link back to you," Benny pointed out. "Otherwise, they wouldn't be looking for you, would they? Now, if you want to keep working for me? You get your ass out of here and don't come back for at least a month. Otherwise, I'll throw you right out into the swamp outside and let Brutus and Nero out to play. You can try your luck with the gators."

Dean slumped. "Got it."

Benny sighed. He got into his desk and handed Dean an envelope of money. "Take this," he urged. "It's some emergency money I keep for situations like this. That, plus what you earned from these jobs, should tide you over well enough."

Dean took the envelope, touched. "Thanks, Benny. You're a good friend."

"Yeah, don't tell anyone, I got a reputation to maintain," Benny growled. "Now get the hell out of my bar."

Benny was right about the mosquitoes. Dean thought some of them might just be big enough to carry off a small rodent. Fortunately, he'd taken his friend's advice and all but bathed in mosquito repellant. As a result, his entire car stank, but Dean's blood stayed under his skin where it belonged.

The meteor shower was an impressive sight. Dean relaxed on the hood of his Baby, a beer in hand, watching the light streak across the night sky. It made him feel kind of small. Looking out at the vast array of stars, Dean couldn't help but reflect how little what he did affected much in the grand scheme of things.

Suddenly, an intense wave of loneliness washed over him. He wrapped his arms around himself, but it wasn't what he wanted. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how, once, black wings wrapped around him, while impossibly strong arms held him against a strong chest. Dean had been with many women since that day, but he'd never spent the night with any of them. He couldn't. "You ruined me, angel," he called softly. "No one could ever compare to you. Ever since that day, all I have wanted was to see you one more time. You know, maybe people are right," he realized. "Maybe, somewhere deep inside, I really am trying to get myself killed, just so I could see you again. I don't want to die, not really. I just need something, just one sign, you know? Something to tell me that I'm not crazy, that you actually do exist."

"But there's something I gotta ask," he continued. "Why me? After all this time, you're still there, aren't you, angel? Ever since the explosion, you've stepped in every time I'd get in over my head. I'd be dead a dozen times over if it weren't for you. But I don't understand why. It's not that I'm not grateful," he amended. "It's just that, you know, there's gotta be other things you can do, right? People out there who are way more deserving than I am. It's no wonder I've never seen you again. I never will. Someone like you?" Dean shook his head, disgusted. "I just don't deserve you, man. I never did."

Thoroughly depressed now, Dean raised his beer towards the heavens, saluting his angel before taking a long drink.

He stayed where he was, watching the streaks of light painting the sky. Despite his current mood, it was soothing. Right up until the point the entire world exploded in his face.

The meteor was faster than anything Dean had ever seen. He hadn't even noted it coming towards him before it hit. All he had time to register was blinding light and heat, before blackness blotted it all out.

Everything went silent and still.

Dean stayed as he was, frozen on Baby's hood as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. He poked carefully at himself. Yes, he could feel it. That meant he was alive, when he clearly shouldn't have been. He took a deep breath, confirming his living status. Jumping quickly off the hood, he inspected his Baby. She seemed fine. Good.

Ok. Now to figure out what, exactly, had just happened.

Dean searched around in front of Baby. About two feet in front of the Impala's bumper, everything appeared to be scorched. The heat was rising in waves from a massive crater. Looking at it from just before the bumper, it appeared like an ordinary meteor crater. But the crater somehow stopped abruptly. It was as though the falling meteor that should have pulverized both Dean and his car had been miraculously stopped by a giant invisible wall.

Angel. Once again, Dean's angel had come through for him.

Dean promptly dropped to his knees, ready to send up a proper prayer of thanks.

That was when he heard the groan, just to his right.

In the darkness, Dean hadn't noticed the huddled mass on the ground. But now it shifted, a massive bunch of blackness that rustled as it moved. Dean squinted, trying to see in the darkness. Then he sucked in his breath, finally realizing what he was seeing. Feathers, jet-black feathers. And that could only mean…?

"Angel!" Dean was at the angel's side in a moment, hands longing to touch, yet hesitating inches away. "What…? How…? Um, are you alright?"

That was the real question. Dean's angel was mostly buried under the massive wings, but the wings themselves seemed somehow mangled. One hand was visible, along with the tail of a tan trench coat and a pair of suited legs in office quality shoes. Dean carefully moved around, daring to touch the upper wing.

The angel yelped in pain, jerking abruptly. The wing tried to flare, only to jerk partway, producing another cry of pain.

"Hey, easy!" Dean soothed. "Oh, fuck me, you're hurt! You got hurt saving me this time, didn't you? Dammit, angel, I'm not worth it!" He realized he was wringing his hands like a movie villain and quickly dropped them, clenching them into fists at his side. "What do I do?" he asked frantically. "Tell me how to help you!"

His answer was a whimper, followed by the wing dropping. The angel seemed to have passed out.

Dean looked around for inspiration. His eyes fell on a line of vehicle lights moving in his direction. Fuck. The tourists at the observation area were heading his way, no doubt looking for the meteor. If they found his angel…?

No. That couldn't happen.

Dean opened Baby's door and moved all the random shit in the back seat he had with him when he traveled, tossing it into the front passenger seat. He returned to the angel and carefully scooped the unconscious figure into his arms, mindful of the wings. Getting him into the car was going to be a nightmare of logistics. The angel was nearly as tall as Dean was. Dean had spent enough nights in Baby's back seat to know that it wasn't exactly a five-star hotel bed. The wings would only make the job harder. It was the world's worst Tetris game, with the angel moaning in pain every time Dean's clumsy attempts jostled his broken wing.

Dean had his angel in his car and Baby was on the road just before the first treasure hunters arrived. He wondered what they would think of the odd crater?

Didn't matter. His angel needed help. That was what he needed to focus on now, but what could he do? It wasn't like he could take his angel to a hospital. Benny's operation had a back-alley doctor that patched his operatives up when things got out of hand. She could be relied on for discretion, but could a human doctor do anything for an angel?

Inspiration struck. Dean quickly flicked on his signal and turned onto a new route.

Ten minutes later, Dean had reached his destination. His lockpick kit made short work of the lock on the door. Then he was inside. A bit of quick searching found him what he needed.

Back in Baby with his angel and his loot, he set off towards the office of Dr. Alexis Jones.