BOOK TWO

Six: The Runaway

Cas had to lock Henriksen's body in the bathroom and hurry. He had an idea about how he could get rid of Henriksen for good, but didn't have time to stall or to think. He mostly had to make this up as he went. If someone found Henriksen dead in that room, Cas was done for. He needed to act fast. Thankfully, renovation meant deserted corridor, so Cas had that going on for him. Unless the workers arrived and messed it up, of course.

He folded his arms, peeked out of the room, and slipped out, looking for directions and finally locating the OR complex as pointed to on a couple of signs. It was on the floor above and once he'd cast another glance at the empty room where he'd put Henriksen, Cas rushed to the stairs. Outside of his destination at one of the nurses' stations was a sole sleeping nurse, and Cas stood leaning against the table for a few minutes, casually watching people pass by and making sure no one noticed him stealing her ID card.

This turned out to be a good idea, for he needed the card to get himself scrubs. He traded in his shoes for the spare OR crocs on a shelf and made his way to the locker room. It was messy and full of chatter in there. Cas slipped out of his clothes, swapping them for the scrubs as soon as he could and grabbed a disposable cap and mask to further disguise himself. A couple of eyes moved towards his small, secluded corner, but it seemed to be too busy a morning at the OR for anyone to care.

Cas stuffed his clothes into a corner and exited the locker room. He took out the ID to enter the main complex again, bracing himself. He needed to use his wits to the fullest in there because stealing instruments was not going to be easy. But he was going to make sure it got done. When the doors finally opened to let him enter the main complex, though, he stood short.

It was a whole different world inside. Chaos. There were doctors, nurses, techs, and orderlies bustling about to get to patients. Stretchers were being wheeled into ORs and doctors grouped together in spots, talking and comparing cases, with nurses and techs checking off lists and instruments. Cas had to hold his breath for a moment. He'd never quite grasped on to too much of whatever he'd read about medical science, but he had never imagined an OR would quite be this way.

Okay. Now that he'd seen it, there was just one thing he needed to locate—the supplies room for his instruments. He knew he needed anything that could be used in an amputation and once he found the supplies, he wouldn't have a problem. He started walking in a non-specific direction, hoping to find luck soon and not attract attention. However, this proved difficult since he did not have an ID clipped to his scrubs, and he kept bumping into people who obviously didn't know him, but apparently expected to. The environment did not do so well with strangers unless previously informed, it seemed.

"I'm an intern," Cas told a suspicious doctor, hoping the man wouldn't check with someone else. "This is my first day." He got a narrow-eyed stare and no answer to that. However, the head nurse didn't buy his story. She was short, African-American, sporting a hot pink cap and every bit of her bled authority. Her nametag told him she was called Irene Ellison.

"So, where's your ID?" she asked him, noticing his bare scrubs.

"I lost it," he said, glancing out of the corner of his eye to see if he could locate any utility rooms. They all just seemed like yet another OR with another surgery and time was running out. He couldn't talk to this woman forever.

"Name?" She wasn't about to let him go so easy.

"Steve Willis," Cas told her.

"How are you getting around? Come meet me in—"

Cas didn't have time for this. "I'm sorry," he interrupted her, "I need to go—there's a surgery…" He took off in the opposite direction, trying to ignore her glare as he rushed. He honestly had no idea what he was doing and this was a horrible plan and that nurse suspected him. She was going to call security or catch him later.

He turned around once and she was gone, but he was still increasingly uncomfortable and—

"Hey, Jim, I got you the cart for your – holy shit!"

Cas bumped into someone, producing a loud clattering and he started. "Sorry," he said, "I'm sorry."

He turned around and found himself facing another man in scrubs, whose nametag read Phil. "Watch where you're going, pal," said Phil, mildly annoyed, and Cas noticed that several cloth-wrapped boxes had fallen to the floor. They had labels on them.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, bending over the pick up the boxes. Most of it was in acronyms he couldn't understand; TKR, LSCS, BKA, ITR, CABG, and he put them back, looking for something, anything named amputation. Did it have to be specifically today that this hospital had no amputations? He supposed he could ask Phil about the utilities closet or wherever they put their instruments, but he didn't want to arouse more suspicion.

When Cas had helped with the last box, Phil gave him a mild smile, picking up a few of them. "You the new scrub tech?"

"Yes."

"Ah. I thought you were coming in next month. Where's your ID?"

"It's being processed."

"Really? They didn't give you one yet?" Phil stood back, face scrunching in confusion. "Who're you scrubbing for?"

"Dr. Owen," Cas replied, remembering the name of Sam's surgeon.

"So you're doing the Whipple? Dang. I didn't see the whole chart. What's your name?"

"Ca-Steve," Cas replied, almost biting his tongue for giving out his actual name. He was not in his element today. He never should have killed Henriksen and he never should have gotten himself into this OR. "Steve Willis," he said.

"Cool. I'm in for a craniotomy now. Kinda wish I was doing the BKA, you know."

Cas was starting to feel even more uncomfortable as he looked for ways to get out of this conversation. He knew the fake name spelled trouble. Phil would know he wasn't supposed to be here the moment he took a look at whatever chart he was talking about. His lack of reply, however, gave Phil other ideas.

"What did you call them in the hospital you were working at before this one?"

Cas blinked. "What?"

"BKA. Below Knee Amputations?"

Cas's ears snapped up at that, eyes immediately going down to the box labelled BKA. He swallowed. "Just… amputations."

"No surprise you were staring like that, then," said Phil, chuckling. "Anyway, I'll see you around, I gotta hand these in." He turned around and walked into the nearest OR, doors swinging shut behind him, and the moment he left, Cas knew it was now or never. He picked up the BKA box, inhaling sharply at the box's weight, and before anyone else could come his way, he trotted into the empty scrub room attached to the nearest OR.

There was a surgery in progress inside, but everyone seemed to be concentrated on the patient. Cas found a box of gloves on a shelf, snapped them on and pocketed two more as he got to work unwrapping the instruments.

The first things that caught his eyes were a saw and a narrow knife. He took them out and after a moment of thought, a couple of what looked like pliers. He shut the box and shoved it underneath an empty cart; then covered his things in the surgical drapes and threw his gloves away. He didn't want anyone wondering what he was doing wearing them outside of an OR. He was out in the next two seconds and hurrying back.

He was almost sprinting when he reached the entrance, his things tucked under his arm as he stuck to a wall. He hid behind a pillar as he watched Irene talk to someone, heart beating fast because Phil would notice and would come this way, or someone else would see—

The nurse moved, her back to Cas, and he let out the breath he was holding. He almost ran after, jamming the ID against the sensor, getting out of the main complex, and then into the locker rooms.

Changing back into his clothes was easier. He bundled drapes in his hoodie, and was heading out, about to use the ID again when someone called out from the back.

"Wait right there."

Cas froze. He knew that voice. It was Nurse Irene again. Hugging his hoodie tighter, he turned around to see her take long strides towards him. She held a hand out. "Let me see that."

His heart skipped a beat. "Wh-What?"

She did not explain, instead reaching forward and taking the ID in his hand. She read the name. "Amy Boone." Her eyes were stern when she looked at him. "Amy doesn't work here at the OR."

"Yes – yes, I know…"

"Did you steal this from her?"

"She gave it to me."

"Can I call to confirm that?"

"Yes. Yes you can," he lied. He hoped his confidence would make her stop being suspicious.

She arched an eyebrow. "Who are you?"

"Steve Willis… I—"

"No," she said, "time to tell me the truth, son. You can't leave here without an ID, and I won't let you go unless you talk to me. So tell me. Who. Are. You?"

~o~

Sam's ears were ringing. He wished it would stop because it was really hurting his head and he was starting to get annoyed. There were too many parts of him that ached along with his head and he couldn't figure out what had happened and why. He hated this feeling. He hated this feeling so much… and where the hell was he?

He forced his eyes open to white walls and more ringing, smacking his dry lips. "D-D'n?" His voice wouldn't even leave his throat. He didn't know what to do. He wished he weren't so fucking helpless and…

More ringing.

Sam swallowed, throat feeling like he'd gargled glass, when he realised he was in a hospital. No. What was he doing here? Who'd gotten him here? He tried to contain his panic, concentrating on the ringing noise, only to realise that it wasn't in his ears but beside him. Turning his stiff neck toward it revealed that it was Cas's phone. Sam somehow reached it, squinted at the blurred number on it, and took the call.

"Cas?!" a familiar voice shouted right into his ear.

"D'n?" Sam whispered in reply. Where was Dean? Why did he sound so desperate?

"Sammy?" Dean sounded relieved. "Sammy, are you okay? How're you feeling, buddy?"

Sam licked uselessly at his chapped lips. "C-Crappy." And just like that, he was chuckling at his brother.

"You find this funny?" Dean asked him.

Sam snorted weakly. "Y-Yeah." He felt woozy. "So?"

"You're high."

"M-Maay-b-be."

"Have fun, dude. Listen, I can't be here long. I'm at a payphone. They can put me on news channels any moment and I don't know why they haven't yet… where's Cas?"

"Wha-What's happened?" Sam felt like he'd missed something really big here. Was Dean hiding?

"Let Cas talk to me. He'll explain, okay?" Dean sounded unsure. "Please?"

"He's nn-ot h-here."

"Oh, crap. But he left his phone? So can you tell him I called? I'm fine, okay? I'll call again when I can. Tell him that."

"D'n—"

"Sammy, you take care. You just need to get better now. I gotta go."

"D-D'n, wh-where…?" Before Sam could complete his question, Dean had disconnected. Sam could feel his eyes drooping shut again, but Dean had said he'd call, so he clutched the phone to his chest as he let sleep take him back into its realm.

~o~

"Please let me go."

Cas hugged his hoodie tighter, the desperation coming out of him without him realising it. Irene stared him down but did not budge.

"I don't think so," she said. "Tell me why you're here, and why you specifically stole someone's ID. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't report you to management right now."

"I didn't mean to," Cas told her. "Look, I just…" He bit his lip.

"Just what?" She squinted at him. "And do I know you?"

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I—" He hesitated. "I'm Castiel Winchester. You might have heard of me."

"That new werewolf weeboo novelist? So, what, you're a mild celebrity and that lets you enter ORs just because you want to?"

"No," he said, "I did not intend for this… I'm just worried… I have my relative here."

"So do so many other family members. You broke into the OR thinking you were the only one, did you?"

"No, my brother-in-law, he's being treated here. I was hoping I could meet with his surgeon."

"At his OR?"

"Y-Yes… I heard he would take a while because he had a… a Whipple…"

"And you just knew Whipple is a long surgery."

"It is easy to browse the interwebs and find that out, yes." Cas had just guessed on that one. "My husband is not contactable and my brother-in-law is not very well. I did what I thought I had to."

Her face showed no expression. "I will be reporting you to the management anyway," she said. "Just 'cause you have a sad story, I'm not letting you get out without consequence. Everyone here has their own problems. Yours aren't the biggest around, you get me?"

"Yes, I perfectly understand you."

"Now leave. I don't want to see you here again."

"Yes," he said, and used the ID one last time, turned to find her glaring, and walked out as quickly as he could. That had been close and it wasn't even the end of his worries. He was only hoping no one had found Henriksen yet.

He gave the ID back to the still-snoozing Nurse Boone with a note: I'm sorry. I believe this is yours. Before he could waste any more time he made his way back down, stopping by another supplies closet to pick up some hospital trash bags and plastic sheets. The room he'd left Henriksen in was still empty, and after a few anxious moments he was back in, grabbing bedcovers from both the beds and slipping into the bathroom.

It was cramped, but Cas managed to somewhat spread the sheets on the floor, cloth underneath with plastic over it. He tucked another plastic sheet down the neck of his t-shirt so it looked like a bizarre bib, but he didn't care. He didn't want blood spattering on him.

He laid Henriksen on the sheets, unwrapped the saw, and got to work whilst hoping against hope that no one had suspected him, because he'd never pulled something so big unplanned.

Cutting someone up had never been duller.

~o~

Special Agent Isabelle Vargas boarded her flight slightly worried and mostly exasperated at her partner. He had called her when he entered Sioux Falls, that he was going to be meeting the other Winchesters in a bit, and then texted her when he was heading to their room. However, after that, he'd not responded.

It had been about an hour now.

Normally, Belle wouldn't care so much. She had known Henriksen for a long time now; he got passionate, and he was probably living his dream, interrogating the Winchesters. The youngest one, Sam, probably wasn't in a position to answer, but Dean Winchester's husband surely had some explaining to do. However, if the brother and the husband were also involved, Henriksen was actually facing a dangerous, clever murderer, and that got Belle slightly worried.

A handsome steward checked in on them, shutting the overhead luggage panels. Belle took the moment to try and call Henriksen one last time. When he didn't pick up, she hoped he hadn't gone overboard with enthusiasm, and realising that he probably had, decided not to worry about it anymore.

~o~

The linen had been a good idea, for Henriksen's blood had seeped out like sluggish red rivers, and Cas knew he wasn't up for cleaning it. The cloth did a good job of absorbing blood, though by the end of his task, it was saturated. Cas had made quick work of Henriksen; hacking at flesh and sinew and bone and disorganised enough to mildly disgust himself. He didn't have a choice, though. He knew someone would be trying to contact Henriksen soon. That someone would know he was here. If nothing, Cas was positive Henriksen had requested the police to patrol this hospital, so he had to be careful.

He looked at the four bags before him, all containing the bedcovers, cotton, and Henriksen, and one of them, his hoodie, since too many people had seen him in it. He'd cut off as much of Henriksen's face as he could so it wouldn't be easy to identify him on the off chance that his body was found. As for the instruments, he wasn't sure what to do with them yet. If he didn't return them, the hospital would know they were gone when they did inventory, but he couldn't risk having his prints around.

He would probably just have to take them and throw them into a lake on his way to Dean. He would think of that once he got rid of Henriksen and found a way to get Sam out of this place.

Cas had already located the nearest trashcans for his job. He knew the hospital wouldn't actually sift through garbage, so unless his luck was horrible, he was safe. He made three repeated trips to the bin, waiting for his coast to be clear each time, and he was lucky. He was on his way to the fourth when a resident emerged from an opposite room, holding bloody bandages in his hand, swearing under his breath.

"… fucking trashcans don't have covers and this hospital can be so slow sometimes, I swear to God…"

Cas stopped in his tracks, letting the resident go ahead to throw the bandages and the man noticed him. "Why are you throwing out the trash?"

Cas opened his mouth to reply, saying he was new, but the doctor interrupted him. "You're not staff. I know there's no one around here who's new."

Cas swallowed. "I…" He shook the bag. "I found it lying around."

"Whatever. Open it."

"W-What?" Cas's heart accelerated, breaths catching in his throat at the resident's words.

"Open the bag, man," the doctor said again, "I don't have time, you know."

"Why?"

"I'm holding a fuckload of dirty bandages, aren't I?" the man asked Cas, rolling his eyes. He waited another moment and when Cas didn't respond, he huffed and just dropped his waste into the bin, shaking his head at Cas as he left. Cas stared after him a long time before he could move a muscle. Between Irene and this resident, his heart refused to be calm and honestly if he pulled this off today, he was going to have a celebratory dinner with Dean.

He finally put the last of Henriksen in the bin when he realised that someone else could come in at any moment.

Once he'd thrown away all of Henriksen, Cas felt like half the weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Now he only needed to concentrate on smuggling Sam out of here and driving them both to Dean. He so hated that he couldn't be in control of this situation, that he and Dean had fallen prey to acting on circumstance. He just hoped it would all get sorted out once he reunited with his husband.

~o~

Dr. Peter Warner was tired as all hell. Today's shift had been a long, tedious one and he hadn't gotten one moment of shuteye before things had started to get confusing. His colleague, Pauline, had urged him to get rest when he'd started messing up, and an hour and a half later, here he was, waking up from his nap, not exactly fresh as a daisy, but a functioning doctor nonetheless. So when a strange man walked into the lounge, Peter didn't have the strength to request for him to wait outside. Instead, he rubbed at his eyes. "Yes?"

The man smiled. "I wanted to talk to you about my sister."

"Sister?"

"Yes. Clarissa. Your patient."

God, Peter must be ridiculously tired because he had no idea who Clarissa was. Maybe if this man mentioned the diagnosis, it would come back to him. He yawned. "If it's okay, can you wait outside for a bit?"

"Yes, of course," the man replied, but didn't budge. "Just had something to…" he trailed away, shutting the door behind him and before Peter could blink, he was wielding a gun.

"Holy! Look—"

"You're going to do exactly as I say," the man muttered, gun still pointed as Peter. "Do you understand?"

"P-Please…"

"Be quiet." The stranger said it in a low, calm tone, and yet, Peter could hear the menace in his gravelly voice.

"Okay," Peter whispered. "Okay. D-Don't kill me, please… I-I don't e-even—"

"Listen to me and follow my instructions," said the man. "And you will survive. Now let me go over our plan. Sit down."

"Yes. Y-Yes. Yes." Peter sat down as the man took the seat next to him and smiled. Peter didn't smile back.

"Now," said the other man, "let's start with introductions. I'm Castiel Winchester. You're going to help me get my brother-in-law safely out of this hospital."

~o~

Cas kept his head down as he and Warner wheeled Sam out of his room. Sam still wasn't awake, having been dosed on pain medication and many other things that Cas was thankful for, since he wouldn't have to explain to one extra person about what he was doing. Warner was a surgical resident and though Cas could see the beads of sweat on his forehead, he wasn't so bad with playing his part. Warner had even put the amputation instruments back for sterilisation without drawing attention to himself. That was an achievement.

Right now Cas needed help to take Sam out because as he'd predicted, there were patrol cars outside of the hospital and Cas was sure they knew what he and Sam looked like.

One of the nurses at the station noticed them and stood up from her files, walking over. She squinted at the chart in Warner's hands. "Where are you taking him?"

Cas almost groaned. The nurses around this hospital seemed to have a thing with stopping him.

"Dr. Owen said he wanted to do a check-up," said Warner.

She took the chart, adjusting her glasses as she read it. "Oh, yeah," she muttered, "he's due for a check-up from the doc, all right." She glared at Warner. "Tell your doc this is the last time we're moving patients to him. Next time he's called, he'd better be at the bedside and not vice-versa. I've had enough of this. Understand?"

"Y-Yes, ma'am." Warner looked like he would cry, and Castiel sent him a disapproving glance. That was when the nurse noticed him, too.

"What, you two couldn't get an orderly for this job?"

Cas managed a small smile. "Dr. Warner told me that it is not a long walk. Sam's my brother-in-law and I just want to help." It was true, he'd do anything for Sam, and sometimes these things seemed to really mellow other people out.

As he'd expected. the nurse's stern expression melted a little. "All right, go on. Just this one time."

"Thank you," Cas replied mildly. Beside him, Warner trembled but Cas pushed the gurney on, heading towards the elevators. They got down without incident, found an empty corridor, and Warner got the bandages he'd stolen from one of the closets. Cas watched him bandage Sam's head with gauze like he had a wound there, and stick another bandage on Sam's cheek. Then Cas pulled Sam's hair into a ponytail.

They navigated their way to the exit; then Cas stood back, letting Warner move to the ambulance docks, heart sinking at the sight of Sam, pale and sick and looking worse than he did before.

A policeman got out of his car and Warner took off his ID to flash it at him. They spoke for a minute and Cas couldn't make out what Warner was saying, but he stayed within the doctor's vision so he wouldn't even dream of endangering Cas and Sam.

When Warner finished explaining, the cop turned to take a look at Sam. Cas's heart rate peaked again because nownownow. Warner handed the cop a chart they'd picked up on the way, belonging to one Dan Summers. The policeman took a look at the chart and glanced at Sam again, who now apparently matched the details written on Summers's file about his injuries, before backing away.

Cas only relaxed when Warner passed the police completely.

Now it was his turn. He fished his pocket for the facemask and stretched the elastic bands behind his ears. After taking another deep breath, he stepped out and the moment the hospital doors shut behind him, Cas started to cough.

He took Warner's path to the ambulances, coughing on and on, and he could feel the cops' gaze upon him as he walked. They had their eyes on him for a bit, but none of them approached him, hopefully thinking that he was a patient, and Cas kept moving until was facing Warner outside of the farthest ambulance. He stopped coughing and straightened up, knowing he and Warner didn't have much time.

"I've – I've loaded him in and I put the medicines on the driver's seat," said Warner, wringing his hands together. "C-Can I go n-now?"

Cas pulled his mask off. "Can you drive?"

"Yes. Yes, I can—"

"Get in and drive us out of here. As fast as you can. Take the other direction, I don't want to pass the police."

"B-But…"

The gun was out again. Warner backed away. "Okay. Okay, okay, please—"

"We have a deal," said Cas calmly, "keep it and you'll be fine."

Warner looked close to tears when he swallowed and nodded. Cas gestured to the ambulance with his gun. "Get in. We don't have all day." Warner obeyed and Cas watched him get into the driver's seat before going to the back of the ambulance so he could sit with Sam. Cas tucked the blanket around Sam securely, checking the belts holding him as they pulled out of the parking space. Then he placed a hand on Sam's wrist and shut his eyes for a moment, hoping things would stay smooth now.

He was so mad at Dean. So mad at that stupid impulse that Dean had acted on. So angry that he couldn't contact his own husband, and was reduced to just hoping that getting Sam out of the hospital wouldn't mean a death sentence for him. He was so, so angry and furious and enraged and…

He just. He loved Dean. He loved Dean. He loved Dean so very much that he'd do all of this again and again and again if it meant they could be reunited.

~o~

When Belle landed in Sioux Falls and switched on her phone, she didn't quite expect to be bombarded by so many messages, including one from her SAC. She called him back immediately.

"Where are you?" he demanded, and Belle had a bad feeling an entire storm had come and gone during her journey here.

"Is anything the matter?"

"We can't find Henriksen. Called the hospital, and they said he wasn't in. And guess what, neither are the Winchesters. One of the residents from the hospital is missing, too."

Belle ran her fingers through her hair. "That means Castiel is not innocent. Crap. So Victor's phone?"

"Untraceable. Destroyed, probably."

Belle's breath hitched. Was he even alive? "I'll – I'll interview the staff at the hospital," she told the SAC.

"You do that," he said. "I notified the media. They already have the Winchesters' faces on every screen. Henriksen should have done that last night, but better late than never. They're too dangerous to play games with."

"I know. Thanks," she replied. "I'll get back to you once I have some more info." She ended the call and went on to sit on a nearby bench until she could gather herself again.

~o~

Rogers had been a janitor in the OR for eight years now and some things never changed. So when he found an open instruments box underneath a cart in the scrub room of the cardio OR, he sighed and picked it up to put it in the dirty supplies' dumby. He wished the people around here would at least stop putting instruments on the floor, but he supposed he could spend another eight years here and it would never happen.

In the meantime, a few levels beneath where Rogers was cleaning, Johnson tossed a bunch of yellow bags into an incinerator. There were many today. Looked like a lot of emergency surgeries. He watched the incinerator chew up and burn away sickness and blood, wondering if this was the coolest thing ever, unknowing of the buzz going on in the hospital building above him.

o

-Then-

"Is he dead?" Cas's voice was watery, shaky.

It had been thirty minutes, maybe an hour since Dean had found Banks trying to violate Cas and he was still here in the basement, staring at the cold, dead eyes on the corpse before him. Cas was still here as well. He'd never left, even though Dean wouldn't blame him if he did. He knew Cas would be running to the police first thing, and, okay, he was screwed.

He'd gagged the professor when the screaming got too loud (scream for me, bitch, you really like that, don't you?) and he hoped Sam was doing okay upstairs.

He swallowed as he got up. Cas was fully dressed now, eyes red-rimmed, shoulders slumped. Dean looked at his knife, and expected Cas to back away or scrunch his face, but instead, Cas held out his hand. "Thank you."

Astonished, Dean took it. And smirked. "Think I'm still a kid?"

Cas smiled back. "Yes, you are still only a little older than eighteen and I am twenty-two."

Dean shook his head, still holding Cas's hand as they made their way upstairs. Cas didn't seem to mind. However, when they entered the living room, they stopped short. The room was a mess; chairs overturned, curtains ripped, and china broken. Dean's heart started to beat fast in his chest. "Sam?!"

"Dean?" The reply was immediate and he breathed a sigh of relief at his little brother's familiar voice and watched Sam emerge from the bathroom. He eyed Dean once. "Wash your hands. We'll throw that knife away on our way out. I made it look like a burglary."

Dean smiled. "Yeah, it's awesome." He washed the knife and wrapped it in newspapers before gathering their things and putting them in the Impala. Dean dropped Cas at the university campus, and as he got out, Dean pressed a paper into Cas's hand. "Call me," he said, and that was it.

They got rid of the knife by throwing it into a lake on the way to Bobby's, who was happy to see them both. After some negotiations with CPS about Sam, and since Sam was fourteen, with a consideration of his own opinion plus with Bobby's legal guardianship of them both, the arrangement was legally approved.

As for Banks's murder, no one but Cas knew they were home at that time, and after six whole months of Dean worrying that Cas would blab, eventually he realised that Cas wasn't actually going to talk. Everybody thought Sam and Dean had run away from Banks's home during the time of the burglary. No one had seen Cas in the vicinity that day (thankfully), and the case was conveniently dropped. Dean didn't see or speak to Cas for a long time after.

A/N: Reviews would be awesome. :)