Part XIV
Moral Dilemma

"So this is Lucifer's Juliet?"

Zachariah didn't notice the way Dean's jaw tightened. The agent had yet to turn away from the one-way mirror that allowed him to look into the interrogation room without being seen. It had been a few hours since he brought Castiel in, and it was tradition to let a suspect stew a while without outside contact to help loosen lips. Dean had tried busying himself elsewhere in the building. First with paperwork, then with idle chit-chat with co-workers, but in the end he found himself standing there by the window in concern. Apparently at some point someone had taken Castiel's shirt and it was obvious that the man felt exposed without it.

It probably wasn't very warm in there.

"Huh.. " Zachariah again tried to engage Dean into conversation. "I thought there would be more to him."

Dean brought his mug of coffee to his lips but didn't drink, "Like?"

"I don't know, something more flamboyant?"

Dean snorted, sending ripples across the surface of his coffee before he took a sip to avoid commenting in response to Zachariah's narrow opinion. Castiel was a far cry from being the flaming homosexual Zachariah was likely expecting. Dean wondered if his boss even knew that he swung both ways and most people pegged him as a strictly ladies man.

"Well," Zachariah handed the case files over, "Lucifer must keep him around for some reason. Have a go at him and see what you can dig up for us."

Shit.

Dean quelled the inner flail behind an impassive mask and entered into the room.

{...}

It wasn't all that cold, but Castiel had taken to hunching over the table and curling his arms around himself as if he was caught outside in the frigid wind. He really wished the man that had taken his shirt had brought him a replacement one. It became obvious after a while - and a how long it had been he didn't know - in the small room set with only a metal table and matching chairs, time seemed to slow until minutes became hours - but it became clear that they hadn't brought him a shirt to purposely make him uncomfortable. Detectives at the precinct often used similar tactics to make suspects more compliant, usually it was food being eaten in front of people who hadn't eaten all day.

Castiel was trying to not let it get to him.

He knew he had failed at that task when upon hearing the door open, his head eagerly lifted. The sight of Dean made his heart flounder and sink to pit of his stomach. Castiel swallowed and returned to staring at the battered surface of the table. A folder was tossed into his view and a mug of coffee was set just out of reach on the other side of the table. A chair scraped nosily across the floor as Dean took the seat across from him.

The silence persisted.

The weight of Dean's gaze was felt, but Castiel refused to meet it. He didn't want Dean to see the hurt that had festered while he had sat alone in the barren room. He did watch the folder as it was pulled closer to Dean and opened to reveal the neatly typed documents. There was a picture held inside with a paperclip, but it was covered by the papers. Castiel stared at the corner of it, wondering what sort of incriminating photo had been included with his file.

As silly as it was, he was hoping it was nothing pornographic in nature because he had been telling himself to replace the bedroom curtains since the day he moved in to his current apartment.

Dean must have noticed the stare, because he removed the picture and set it on the table between them. Castiel reached for it out of reflex, then winced as the handcuffs dug into his wrists. He'd been cuffed to the edge of the table by one of the other officers. It shortened his reach considerably. His long fingers fell short of the photograph. Castiel finally looked up at Dean, wondering if the man had put the picture there on purpose just to see Castiel struggle to reach it.

Instead Dean wore a puzzled expression that was directed at the handcuffs.

"Apparently," Castiel drew his hands back toward his chest. "Informants on Lucifer have a habit of going missing before trial. They wanted to make sure I didn't go anywhere."

His blue eyes lowered back to the photograph. It took him a moment to reel back his memory enough to put a time and location on the image before him. It showed him sitting awkwardly at an outdoor cafe while Lucifer was leaning over to kiss him. Lucifer had never been a shy one. Castiel, while not ashamed of his preferences, was still not big on public displays of affection and Lucifer had done well to embarrass the hell out of him that day. Even now the picture and vague memory made a faint blush color Castiel's cheeks. "That was Spring Break during my first year in college.."

Which meant he had been under the FBI's scrutiny for a good few years.

"I gotta ask," Dean slipped the photo back under the paperclip. "Why him?"

Castiel wasn't sure how that question was relevant to any case that the bureau was trying to build against Lucifer. It was more of question Michael often asked him out of brotherly concern - that his older brother didn't understand why Castiel involved himself with such a bad person. Castiel decided that Dean was asking to try and get him to warm up to him again, to make him feel comfortable before asking the real questions.

"It's more of a matter of why me, Dean."

"I don't follow, care to elaborate that for me?"

Which was cop jargon for keep talking until something useful slipped through the cracks. Castiel mentally shrugged, finding no harm in sharing his past with Dean. In a way he wanted to put it all out on the table for Dean to know - a bitter part hoping that it would serve as a kick to Dean's teeth to have to listen to someone speak fondly of Lucifer.

"He chose me, not the other way around. I was a sophomore in High School and he was.. well he was supposed to be a Senior, but he got held back and ended up a grade between me and Michael. He just kind of showed up in my life one day and never left. I didn't understand why at the time because he was.. I think the term is 'out of my league'? He was confident, charismatic, made friends easily and wasn't scared of anything. And me? I was just.. a nobody.

"I don't think he's a bad guy."

Castiel looked up from his Physics homework to glance at the evening news on the television. It was muted with the subtitles going so that Nick could watch it without it being disturbing. Castiel recognized the images of the shootout that had happened a couple states over. It was the same story that had played earlier that morning. Apparently some man had walked into office building with a gun and ended up killing three people before he was subdued. "He killed three people."

"He killed the three executives that were stealing money from the company and laying off the people just to add to their own pay checks."

Castiel tried to re-focus on his homework, "That doesn't mean he can kill them."

"Why not? Here are these men that are stepping on the backs of their employees and getting away with it. So this guy finally gets fed up with it and stands against them. He's got to know that he doesn't have a chance in the legal system when they could just keep throwing money at him in legal fees until he's forced to give up. Staging a protest won't get anything done. He does what no one will do - he stopped them."

Castiel patiently tapped the end of his eraser against his text book, "Thou shall not kill."

"And thou shall not steal," Lucifer snorted. "But what if you killed someone to save another. What if you killed a man that was molesting his children, or a man trafficking girls to sell as sex slaves, would it be okay to kill that kind of man? What if you stole food to feed your starving family - would it be okay then? Where is the line drawn, what are the exceptions?"

Castiel leaned against the couch from where he sat on the floor, "I don't know, Nick. Maybe it depends where your heart is when you act. If you act in hate, in revenge, it would be a sin. In love.."

"No, that can't work, because you hear about those crimes of passion all the time. It makes love akin to insanity."

"I think this is why priests, like real priests, never do much of anything. They just turn the other cheek."

"But that makes them indifferent, and what kind of good does an indifferent man do for the world? If he sees evil being done but he won't do anything to stop it. I don't understand how that does any good."

"Well that guy did something about it, and in the end he got himself shot by the police for it."

"Yeah," Lucifer's brow furrowed as he went back to studying the news. "He didn't really think that through very well.

"It turned out we liked a lot of the same things," Castiel explained while examining the red rings around his wrists courtesy of the hand cuffs. "Music, books, and he loved philosophy. It was something he couldn't talk about with other people, but with me he felt like he could open up. He use to get so passionate when he would start talking about that kind of stuff and loved it when I debated with him."

A nostalgic smile spread across Castiel's face - he remembered the first time he had really looked at Lucifer and felt that feeling awe and nervous flip in his stomach, of when he had first started falling in love with him. It had been when Lucifer had been in a full on rant about meta-ethics. Lucifer had just been so amped up about it and Castiel had lost all sense that day because he had leaned forward to kiss Lucifer while he was mid-sentence.

"When we started to actually date, it was about a month later he told me the reason he first approached me was because he liked my brother."

Dean was giving him a bizarre look, but Castiel looked toward the mirror while wondering if Michael was on the other side and listening in to the conversation. He had never told his older brother what Lucifer had confessed to him. "But because Michael wasn't interested, wouldn't returned his affections, he went for the next best thing. My brother and I looked a lot more alike when we were younger, so Nick started to hang out with me.. at first he had just hoped to make Michael jealous."

"That sounds like a douche-bag move," Dean muttered.

Castiel shrugged before leveling a cold look on other man, "At least he told me the truth."

Dean dodged his look and Castiel bitterly hoped that it was because the words had stung.

"I accepted that he might always have a thing for my brother, but I knew that he liked me for me and not because I looked like Michael." His fingers curled loosely around the links connecting his handcuffs to the table, "He wasn't using me for anything."

"Just a fuck buddy then?"

Pain flared in Castiel's wrists as he violently jerked to slammed his fists on the table, "Why is it so hard for you to accept that he liked me, for me, and nothing else. I didn't do jobs for him. I didn't run messages, I didn't handle any packages–"

"So you do know about what he does."

"Dean," A growl erupted from Castiel's throat as he again jerked his arms about in frustration. This time the pain was sharper as the metal grated against the delicate bones of his wrists, and when Castiel looked down he saw the blood running from his wrists to drip off his fingertips. The mere sight of blood instantly put a damper on Castiel's outburst. He flexed his fingers, watching them shake before he pressed them flat against the table.

The silence settled in, thickening, then without a word Dean stood and walked out of the room.

{...}

"What exactly are you doing in there?"

Dean tensed at the sight of Zachariah still standing on the other side of the window. He couldn't remember the last time - or there even was a last time - that his boss had listened in on one of his interrogation. If he had, the man likely knew this was far from how they usually played out. Dean was trying to do his job, to jab Castiel in the right direction to blurt out something they could use against Lucifer and in turn cut Castiel loose. Currently he was failing miserably at his job. Dean's mind threw forward the usual bravado, "Just letting him get himself all worked up. He's bound to slip up and give us something worthwhile."

Zachariah crossed his arms, "In the meantime we have to listen to his pathetic life story?"

"Each case is different."

"I want results, Winchester. They anticipate that Lucifer is going to move on us again. We need to act while he's still in the city."

"I understand, sir."

"Need I remind you that your career is resting on this?"

Dean calmly shook his head even as a few choice curses flew through his head. "No sir."

{...}

The blood was beginning to bother him.

Castiel ran through the rules law enforcement were required to abide to when it came to these situations. Although, officers of the law, and detectives, bent rules were they saw the need in order to solve a case (It was the same kind of moral interpretation that Lucifer often did - not that any of them would ever agree. Everyone did it to some extent.). Talk around the office gave Castiel the impression that the FBI were even worse about following any guide lines. As long as they got results, the end justified the means. For all Castiel knew, the FBI could keep him there indefinitely, just let him sit there and bleed all night if they felt so inclined.

The door opened, and Castiel's blue eyes honed hopefully on Dean. "Can I speak with Michael?"

Dean glanced toward the mirror, and Castiel followed suit while wondering if his brother was on the other side watching the whole affair. If so, clearly the answer was no - that either Michael wasn't allowed to talk to him, or he just didn't want to. Dean didn't clarify, but surprised Castiel by dragging a chair around the table to sit next to him. Castiel curiously watched as Dean removed the handcuffs and drew his injured wrist close to begin wiping away the blood with a damp rag Castiel hadn't noticed being brought back into the room.

It was warm against his skin, and Dean attended to the task with the utmost care and gentle touches. It made Castiel's heart ache because he once again found himself confused about how he was suppose to feel toward the man that had lied to him, toyed with him, and now was treating his wounds with such a tender kindness.

"You need to give Lucifer up, Cas."

It was spoken in a soft, sincere tone but Castiel did little but stare at the agent, undecided on whether or not he believed Dean was being genuine. The past colored his opinion to believe that Dean was once again pretending to care.

"If you don't," Dean's sea-green eyes slowly raised to meet Castiel's brooding gaze, "You're going to get tossed into a prison in his place."

"You make that sound like the only reasonable choice," Castiel's voice was barely above a whisper since Dean was so close. He searched Dean's eyes for a show of understanding. "But it's not a conscionable choice for me."

"What about all the people's he's hurt. Is it conscionable for you to ignore their suffering?"

"I cannot speak for Lucifer, but as I know him, he always had reasons for his actions - just like you have your reasons for hurting me. Do not speak to me as if you have the higher moral ground, that you can reason with me about what you think is right, and what you think is wrong. We each make our own choices based on our individual beliefs, and while I do not agree with what Lucifer has done in the past, and I don't want him to be in my life anymore, I will not betray him."

"I don't understand you, Cas." Dean still had his hand curled around his forearm despite having finished the bandage. "Why can't you do the easy thing and give him up."

"In the end, our choices make us." Castiel curled his free hand over the one on his arm. "It's the harder choices that we are usually afraid of making, but in the end they are the more important choices in our lives."

"Does that have something in there about making stupid choices?"

"It might only sound stupid because you're afraid to do it."

Dean smiled, looking dazed, "You're so weird, Cas."

It sounded affectionate even if the words were mockingly phrased. Castiel lightly squeezed Dean's hand in response, the action sparking an emotional storm in the other man's eyes. The emotions chased each other back and forth across Dean's face; all too quickly for Castiel to properly register. He was conflicted, that much Castiel could tell, but about what remained unknown. Castiel managed a lopsided smile, "I'll take that as a compliment."

The light hearted moment was interrupted by the door opening, and Castiel was quick to recognize the dark-skinned man as his brother's partner. "Is Michael here?"

"Oh I'm sure he's around here somewhere," For some reason that Castiel couldn't quite explain, Victor's tone put him on edge.

Dean was tensing beside him, "I got this covered."

"Yeah," Henriksen's dark eyes shifted pointed from Dean to Castiel and back again. "I'm sure you do. I was watching from the other side and couldn't help but be touched." He held his coffee aloft while tapping fingers over his heart. "Right here. It was moving, really, who would have thought a cold blooded killer was such a loving boyfriend."

Castiel hung his head as his cheeks colored.

"Although, Mr. Novak - may I call you Castiel? It has a nice ring to it - maybe you can explain to me why such a great guy like Nick left you here to rot."

Instantly Castiel wanted to dispute the man's words, but he was struck with doubt. What if, since he more or less sent Nick away, there wasn't going to be an out this time. What if Lucifer really had left him to deal on his own, even if the problem was there because of Lucifer.

"I guess it was his 'hard choice' to purchase a flight to the Caribbean - I hear he's got a place there, but I guess you wouldn't know anything about that, would you. Ah," Henriksen waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. We'll find you a nice place in a low security institute. Maybe can even swing you a place with a view. If you don't mind looking at it through barbed wire and chain link fences."

Castiel couldn't lie to himself, the idea of going to prison scared him. His mind raced, seeking a rational conclusion. He wasn't well versed in law, but he had sat in the courtroom on the cases he worked, and even took the stand when they needed his testimonial. "Even if you do convict me on the grounds of harboring a fugitive, the maximum sentence is a year, and even then most of that will be deferred."

Henriksen shrugged, "It'll be enough to keep you nice and close until the charges go through on you for being an accessory to murder, from there it's a long list of other crimes you assisted Lucifer in committing. I reckon we could keep you in and out of the system for the rest of your life."

Castiel felt like he had been plunged into the depths of an ice lake. Suddenly everything was dark and he was afraid but the all encompassing cold kept him from being able to properly think. His eyes slowly widened with a growing sense of panic. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison.

"Murder?" Dean was peering oddly at Henriksen.

"The blood on your boy's shirt? Turns it out matches one of our agents that's been MIA the last couple of days. So Castiel," Victors dark eyes shifted back to the man of the hour. "Care to confess now and save us all a great deal of trouble."

Castiel's brow furrowed, "I didn't kill anyone."

"Then why is it that his blood is all over your shirt."

"It's not my shirt."

"That's what they all say. It's not my gun, it's not my knife, I've never seen that man before in my life. Yada-ya."

"I did not murder anyone."

Henriksen sat on the corner of the table nearest to Castiel, "So you're saying our man is still alive. Where are you keeping him, some backwoods cabin, a secret torture room in the basement, a storage shed?"

Castiel's mind snapped - skipping across his thoughts at light speed to land at a time and place so far from the interrogation room. He turned to Dean, seizing the man's shirt in his hands as he leaned closer. "Storage shed. The man - there was a receipt for a storage shed. Pintler Storage Units. Dean. She's there, she has to be there."

Clearly puzzled, Dean wrapped his hands around Castiel's and tried to ease him back. "She who, Cas, what are you talking about?"

"Kaila," Castiel fingers curled more tightly. "The little girl - the kidnapped girl. I took the trash, remember? There was a receipt. He recently rented a storage shed outside of town. He made other purchases - a mattress. He bought a new mattress. Judging by the price it was probably a single–"

"Cas, slow down."

"Call Sam," Castiel pleaded. "The information is there in the lab. He can use it to find her."

"Winchester," Henriksen demanded Dean's attention. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"A case he was working on, a missing eight year old girl. We traced it to a suspect, but never found her." Dean murmured to the other agent before settling his gaze back on Castiel. He once again look troubled, and his whisper reflected his frustration. "Why is it you are concerned about anyone but yourself."

The words were punctuated with a growl as Dean stood and quickly vacated the room.

Castiel smiled, relieved - at least he was until he realized he'd been left alone with Henriksen. The man smiled in the wake of the frown that was reclaiming Castiel's features.

"Let's get down to business, shall we?"

{...}

"No Sam, Cas is fine.. " Dean pinched the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture of aggravation. "He slept in all doped up on thera-flu. Apparently he's got one of those twenty-four hour bugs. But hey listen, he had this lucid moment and said that Kaila is in a storage shed, that there was a receipt he found in the guy's trash. He was really adamant about her being there. So if you're not too busy, it might be worth it to check it out just to be safe."

"Yeah, totally, you want me to pick you up?"

"No, no... " Dean became aware of a person standing expectantly behind him. "Call me if you find anything. I gotta go."

Turning around, Dean had to take a step back on reflex. The sight of Michael still made him a touch paranoid that the guy was going to go ballistic on him again. Michael had more of a reason to deck him now than before, what with his little brother being held for questioning. The narrowed look Michael wore certain didn't bode well.

A plastic wrapped parcel was thrust into his hands, and Dean blinked down at the blue and gold shirt inside the evidence bag. "What's this?"

"The shirt Castiel was wearing when you brought him in. The blood on it is a match to your partner, Virgil."

Dean's eyes widened. "Is he–?"

"Dead? We can't know for sure until a body is found, but given Lucifer's track record, I wouldn't get your hopes up." If anything, Michael looked more pissed. "I told you, Winchester, you don't know the first thing about how to work this case. What the hell did you think was going to happen when Lucifer caught wind of a man breaking into Castiel's apartment? Did you not even bother to read up on who Castiel is, in regards to Lucifer, before you barged in on the case?"

"I—"

"Spare me the hubris. You were only focused on getting results regardless of the cost. This blood–" Michael jabbed at the wrapped shirt. "Is on your hands. Not Lucifer's, and certainly not on Castiel's. This is what happens when you play fast and loose. People get hurt."

"You made your point, Michael." Dean already felt like a worthless piece of shit, this was a over-kill. He glared down at the shirt, "Why the hell are you giving me this."

"Because you can log it into evidence since this is officially your case, not mine."

Dean blinked at that, "You came all the way up here to make me do bitch work."

"I just wanted to see your pretty face," Michael mocked while taking in Dean's bruises.

"Shouldn't you be worried about your brother?"

Michael let forth a contemptuous snort before smiling, "You know what, for once, I'm not."

Dean's brows lifted in surprise. "Dude, you brother is looking at prison time."

"All thanks to you."

Talk about a low blow. Not cool.

Dean decided he was done talking with Michael. Right, he got it, he was the ultimate douche-bag. Message received. Dean turned, evidence in hand, and stalked down the hallway.

"Be sure to get that to evidence, Winchester." Michael called to his retreating back. "Evidence like this always has a way of going missing. The bureau thinks Lucifer has an insider, so make sure you do things right if you want this case to go through."

"I'll log your god damn evidence. Christ, I'm pretty fucking sure I can do that right."

Dean grumbled all the way to the elevators. As he was waiting for the doors to open for him, a light went on - quite literally above his head as the elevator arrived at his floor - and he had a dawning realization. Dean blinked down at the shirt in his hands, then whirled around to stare back down the hall, but Michael was already gone.

"Holy shit."

Michael couldn't possibly be suggesting – "Oh fuck,"

He didn't know what he should do - what was the right choice to make?

The elevator doors opened.

Things to Know
1.) I meant to leave it vague at the end, purely to ask you guys caught what is going on here.
2.) The angst-monster has been aptly fed.
3.) You get to read the budding moments of when Lucifer started to become the person he is in the present
4.) This whole chapter revolves around what Castiel said to Dean: Our choices make us.
5.) It will probably be a few days before my next update. Fear not.