Part XV
Carry On

It took three weeks to get Castiel acquitted of all charges.

Three agonizing weeks of jumping through hoops, cutting corners, and walking a razor thin line. Dean barely kept himself from falling apart at the seams. Whiskey served as the glue that kept it all together. It also was his ultimate undoing. Sober became the excruciating few hours between the time he woke up to the time his first drink dulled his senses.

During the second week Dean had given up on shaving.

It all began on the elevator, during the impossibly long descent between the fourth and second floor. Dean had held the heavy weight of decision in his hand. Something so simple as a shirt had the power to alter his life forever. It was his very career he held in his hand, and what he'd done still baffled him.

The scorch marks still marred the tacky non-slip flowers lining the bottom of his motel tub from where he had torched the shirt. Every time he stepped into the shower and saw the marks staring up at him from between his toes and it served as a constant reminder. All it took was the fluid from a broken lighter he'd found on the curb outside the station, and one small matchbook courtesy of the motel for smoking customers. Just a flick of a match and Dean had sat on the toilet seat watching the shirt turn to thin flecks of ash. Then, turning on the shower head, Dean had quite literally washed his career down the drain.

And for what?

He had tossed away everything for a guy that likely thought he was the lowest scum that ever walked the Earth. Dean had tempered with evidence just to watch the rest of the puzzle pieces slot into place. The big picture wasn't yet complete, but Dean had seen enough to realize this whole thing was Lucifer's way of claiming Castiel. In the end, Castiel was going to be driven back into Lucifer's waiting arms with the impression that he never should have left - and now would never leave again.

And Dean, damn fool that he was, had played his part and played it well.

The days passed by in a blur. Dean had to officially out himself to the precinct. Ellen had been informed about the undercover investigation from day one and while she had been pissed about it, saying Castiel was a 'good kid', she had kept her mouth shut on the details. Bobby Singer had shrugged, saying he had known Dean was FBI the moment he walked in the door because, quote, only a Fed would have his head so far up his own ass to strut around the way Dean did. Sam had given him a thoughtful look, a peak of brows, then asked if they were still on for pizza and beers come Saturday.

Dean had cancelled on the account of feeling like shit and not wanting to talk about it.

The only one that took the news poorly was Charlie. She had thrown her latte in his face before storming off and yelling about how she should have checked into him and then there had been something said about Castiel but Dean hadn't caught it as she sped around the corner. Dean didn't see Charlie again until he was handing over paperwork to Ellen later that day. Charlie had shown up with a strangely familiar white kitten tucked close to her chest. Dean had followed her, wide-eyed and confused, and all the while wanting to snatch the cat right out of her hands because it had been given to Castiel as a gift - it wasn't hers!

Was Castiel giving the kitten away because it was from Dean.. ?

He trailed Charlie to one of the back rooms and watched Charlie hand the kitten over to a little girl tucked away in the corner. It took a moment for him to realize the girl was eight year old Kaila. Sam had taken the lead Dean had passed on from Castiel. Kaila had been found in a storage shed, half-starved and scared to death. She hadn't spoken a word since they brought her to the station. But now the little girl was uncurling herself from the tight posture to reach out and take the kitten.

Dean couldn't find it in himself to stay mad.

Charlie caught sight of him on the way out. She shot him a sharp glare, "Castiel would have wanted her to have the cat."

Dean, not wanting to incite Charlie into another moment of pique, just nodded.

The next day Dean swung by Castiel's apartment just to make sure everything was alright while Castiel was on lock down. What he walked into was a stab to the heart. Castiel's things were being packed into boxes. At first he thought Castiel had made arrangements to move as soon as he got out of custody. The truth was apparently the land lord had caught wind of Castiel's involvement with a 'notorious criminal' and had taken measures to evict Castiel. Dean had about lost his cool. He managed to get out after angrily grabbing one of the boxes and telling the land lord where to store the rest of it.

Proudly, Dean had enough self control to not tell him to shove it all where the sun don't shine.

So that was how Dean ended up with a box of Castiel's clothes in his cramped motel room. Seeing it there further drove Dean to the bottle. He drank until he could no longer see straight. And, unfortunately, in his drunken haze he had gotten into the box and the next morning he had woken up on the couch cuddling one of Castiel's shirts. God, he was such a pathetic mess. He almost torched the box of clothes in a fit of rage.

"Ten years is a long time."

Dean snapped out of his reverie, the last three weeks stopping it's constant reply through his mind. He blinked a few times, taking in the crap view outside of Tran's office window. He couldn't quite remember how he had ended up there. At some point in his floating moments between drunken numbness and soberness, he had gotten the bright idea to come sit on the behavior analyst's couch. Kevin was too polite to refuse him.

"Men like Lucifer crave control. I can't say for certain unless I talk with him personally.."

Dean smirked at the mental image of Kevin and Lucifer in the same room; like a guppie and a shark together in a small tank. He doubted Kevin would last ten seconds against the man.

".. but from what you've told me, I can only make a guess based off of what I was taught."

Dean scratched at his chin to ease the itch of the light stubble growing in along his jaw. His hand lazily trailed down his neck, feeling the grit beneath his nails. He'd been avoiding the shower because of the burn marks left on the tub. Paired with the rumpled shirt and stained jeans, Dean bet he made one helluva a picture for the shrink to psychoanalyze. Dean cleared his throat made raw by a steady intake of alcohol, "Let's hear it, doc."

Kevin warily eyed him before continuing, "Usually men that want that kind of control will seek out those which crave affection. Those types are easy to control, least likely to betray. The longer it goes on, the stronger the control. Ten years... that's a long time, Dean. You can't expect someone to snap out of that in just a few days. It takes time, therapy–"

Dean scoffed. Of course the shrink would think talking it out was the cure-all. He reached into the pocket of his beaten leather jacket to retrieve his flask. He took a long swig while Kevin watched.

"Is there.. something else you wanted to talk about.. ?"

Oh hell no.

"Maybe about how you feel about the bureau letting you go?"

Dean's nostril's flared, "How do you know about that?"

"I have colleagues in the system."

"It's none of your damn business."

"I understand," Kevin toned with schooled patience. "I'm simply offering to hear you out. It's completely confidential. What you say here in the office stays with me and me only."

What was there to say that Dean didn't already know for himself. He had started young, wanting to be a detective like his old man. He had busted his ass through school, did his time in uniform (all the while struggling to be a father and husband). His father had died while on case – Dean would bet money on the shrink wanting to point at that moment in his life to blame for the long line of mess ups in his life.

Dean had still managed to earn his badge.

From there he threw himself into his job to avoid Lisa and it wasn't long before Dean earned the notice of the bureau and they recruited him. He had such a promising career. He liked his job, loved it even, but like everything else in his life, he had to go and fuck it all up. He bent the rules, broke others, and basically played Russian Roulette with his own life and with the lives of others. He ended up racking up too many write ups. Over time he had become more liability than asset to the bureau. This thing with Lucifer had been his last chance.

Then there was Castiel...

"Nope, got nothing to talk about, doc. Just wanted your professional opinion."

Dean tucked his flask back into his jacket and took his leave. His drink was empty before he got half-way back to the motel. He was probably too drunk to even be drinking, but he made sure to stop at the liquor store to re-stock on his booze before pulling into the motel parking lot. The room was paid for until the end of the week. Dean still had a few days left before he had to start paying out of his own pocket. He didn't know where to go when that time came. The only place he could really go was back to Kansas and the house he co-owned with Lisa. The mere thought of dragging his sorry ass to the mid-west to stand at that threshold made him anxious for his next drink.

Dean rushed to get inside his room where he dumped his armful on the small table and pulled out the fresh bottle of Jameson. The seal on the cap broke with a satisfying crick of metal breaking. He licked at his dry lips and moved to the kitchenette to fetch a glass. It was then, as a man in a black suit stood in his way, that Dean realized he wasn't alone.

His hand dropped to his waist out of the habit but he no longer had his sidearm. He had turned it in to Zachariah along with his badge. Shit.

"Hello, Dean."

Double shit.

Dean slowly turned around; another man stood near the bathroom, but the one that had spoken stood by the window. The late afternoon sun painted horizontal lines across his chest as he peered out the window into the parking lot. Lucifer, absolutely the last person Dean ever wanted to see again. Dean cleared his throat, "Don't suppose you boys want a drink."

He lifted the bottle in offering to each of the men. The two extras looked like body guards and did little but stare blankly at him. Dean shrugged, "Suit yourself."

Foregoing the glass, Dean plopped himself onto the bed, leaned up against the headboard, and flicked on the tv. Whiskey in one hand, remote in the other, Dean didn't give a damn about present comment.

"I thought the FBI would comp for better rooms."

"I get a little extra in the paycheck if I make some sacrifices – hey," Dean peered up at the man staring at him from the kitchen. "You mind not looking at me like you wanna take a bite? There's a KFC down the road if you're hungry. Seriously, you're giving me the willies and I'm trying to watch Dr. Sexy."

"Pst," Lucifer drew the attention of his guard dogs and with a small motion of head, sent them out of the room.

Dean kinda wished they hadn't left. He didn't want to be alone with Lucifer. A silence settled between them and Dean got in a good five minutes of his show before Lucifer came over to sit on the end of the bed. Dean couldn't keep his eyes from darting to the man.

"Is this the part where you thank me for totally screwing myself over in life, handing you a get out of jail free card and Castiel?"

"Interesting choice of décor," Lucifer idly commented while toeing an empty bottle on the floor.

Dean nervously glanced toward the box of Castiel's clothes. His eyes then fell to the shirt still rumpled near his pillow. Dean shoved it completely under the pillow while Lucifer was looking elsewhere. When the man's pale eyes began to wander back, Dean hastily took a sip of whiskey before gesturing dismissively at the room as a whole, "Room service has been a bit slow lately."

"Mm," Lucifer lazily took in the room, seeming to need the moment to gather his thoughts. "I left that shirt at Castiel's on purpose."

It took a few long moments for that information to sort through the liquor-soaked tumblers of Dean's thought process, "You knew there was blood on it."

"Just like I knew you would report me being at his apartment."

"You set him up," Dean rose with a growl. He began to loom toward Lucifer, ready to choke the living daylights out of the man. "You son of a bitch. He was fucking ready to go to hell for you - and you were the one that set him up."

"I had to," Lucifer's pale eyes lifted to meet Dean's murderous glare. "I needed to know you wouldn't throw him under the bus for the sake of your case."

Wait - what? Dean paused mid-step in his lurch, "Huh? I - what?"

"Don't get me wrong," Lucifer clasped his hands together, the picture of calm. ""I'm not happy about Castiel's choice.." Dean could feel the disgust in the passing glance Lucifer flicked over him. "But as much as I want to keep Castiel to myself, my.. work.. keeps us apart. I can't be there for him, even when I am around stuff like this happens." Lucifer softly chuckled, "It's difficult to take him out - dinner, a show - when the Feds are constantly tailing us. Castiel never really got over his shyness when in public."

Dean's head was spinning, he sat back down on the bed with a bounce, "I don't understand."

"And I don't understand what Castiel sees in you," Lucifer tsked. "In simpler terms, I had to make sure you would do right by Castiel."

It still wasn't sinking in, "You - you played this from the beginning?"

"No," Lucifer said with nonchalant shrug of shoulders. "You set up the pins, I just knew how to knock them down."

"You're psychotic, you know that?"

"I'm methodical, and I was looking out for Castiel."

"By setting him up!?"

"By making sure a good friend of mine doesn't get blindsided by a Fed looking to make a career off of him."

"Call it what you will," Dean snarled in defense. "But you're still a control freak."

Lucifer tilted his head side to side, his lips pursing in consideration, "Perhaps, but you seem to be missing the point where I am giving you my blessing to be with Castiel."

The remote hit the far wall before Dean realized he'd been the one to throw it, "I don't need your fucking blessings and I don't need him."

"Something tells me otherwise," Lucifer was looking toward the box of clothing; he hadn't so much as flinched from Dean's outburst. "Mostly the fact that you threw away everything to save him. You probably didn't even know if it would work, but you were willing to take the risk with the hope it would."

"Shut up."

"You did it even knowing Castiel was disappointed in you, no longer trusted you, and was loyal to me."

"I said shut up!"

"Mind your tone with me."

The frigid touch to Lucifer's tone sent chills down Dean's spine. A part of him wanted to push - push Lucifer until he snapped and put a bullet in his head. Dean thought about it, just as he thought about smashing the bottle of Jameson over Lucifer's head. But that would be a terrible waste of good whiskey. "Yeah, well, Cas doesn't want anything to do with me."

Lucifer was lightly shaking his head, "Are you always this difficult to talk to? Your means of deflection is very irritating."

Dean glowered while sipping from the bottle.

"What my–" Lucifer paused, pulling his lower lip through teeth. "What Castiel has, aside from an obvious patience for your attitude, is the unfaltering ability to forgive."

Dean didn't know what to say. He didn't have much else to throw but pillows. He doubted he would get his point across by starting a pillow fight. Although he was kind of tempted to do it just to see the indignation on Lucifer's face, which would probably last the couple of seconds it took for the goons outside to open fire through the window. Dean just wanted Lucifer to leave so that he could drink himself into another stupor and sleep in until noon tomorrow.

Lucifer stood and wiped off his pants as if just simply sitting in Dean's messy motel room had dirtied him, "You should shower."

Dean slumped against the head board and rumpled sheets while flatly regarding the blonde man over the rim of the bottle. Dean would shower when he damn well felt like it. "If it bothers you so much, there's the door. In simpler terms - get out."

"Should do it now or you'll be late," Lucifer chimed.

He couldn't let that go as much as he tried. Dean's jaw worked as he glared over at Lucifer, "Late for what?"

"Your flight."

"My.." Dean closed his eyes. "Do you enjoy being vague just to annoy people?"

"The way your face twists up as you try to keep from losing your composure is very entertaining," Lucifer smiled at Dean's very unamused expression then retrieved a folded envelope from his pocket to toss on the bed.

Dean hesitated before reaching for it, "What's this?"

"Your plane ticket."

The hell was with this guy? Dean unfolded the envelope and pulled out the ticket. His brows inched upward as he read, "To Tortola?" He continued reading, frowning at his name on the ticket. The departure time caught his attention, "It leaves in an hour."

Lucifer checked his watch before clicking his tongue, "I guess you'll have to skip the shower."

"What makes you think I'm going at all?"

"Because Castiel will be there."

"On the Virgin Islands."

"At the airport, actually, waiting to board. It only took him three days of living with my brother for him to decide he wanted to either kill Gabriel or leave the country to get away from him."

"And I'm going because..."

"Because he's prompt and has already been sitting at the airport for the last two hours waiting for me to show up. With an hour left he is likely getting nervous and beginning to think he's been left behind, abandoned.. "

"You - you! - How can you do that to him?"

Lucifer tilted his head with pensive thought written across his face, "I would tell you, but I doubt it would improve your mood."

"He thinks he's leaving with you. I can't just show up."

"Well no, you won't show up in time if you keep stalling," Lucifer shrugged. "Castiel didn't come back to me, not in the way you're thinking. He's lost his job, his apartment, and he's too scared to reach out to his friends because he doesn't want to cause trouble for them. He's hurt and he doesn't know what to do or where to go. I've always been the one to help him start over."

Dean shook his head in disbelief, his gaze lowering to the ticket. "Why.. ?"

Lucifer feigned a sigh and moved for the door. "Again, Dean, I just want what's best for Castiel." He paused half-way out the door. "Oh, I think this goes without saying, but if you hurt him, I will come after you."

Dean stared at the door long after Lucifer left. It was bullshit. It had to be. Lucifer just wanted to see if he'd jump for him, and Dean was done playing pawn to that blonde asshole. Dean flicked the plane ticket to the floor and took another swig of Jameson. If he never saw Lucifer or Castiel again it would be too soon. He didn't want anything to do with those people. Ever. Dean firmed his attention on the screen. Don't think about it, he told himself, he just had to wait out twenty more minutes and by then it would be too late.

Dean's heart lurched painfully, "Fuck."

He slipped gracelessly off the edge of the bed in his anxiousness to pick up the plane ticket. There wasn't any time to pack a bag - but not like Dean really planned to go to the Caribbean. He just wanted to catch Castiel before he left. After all, he needed to let Cas know where to get his stuff from storage and also hear what a manipulative bastard Lucifer was by setting up this whole thing.

Dean jumped into his car and revved her engine. The dash board clock was glaring at him, reminding him that his window of opportunity was fading, and fading fast. Dean fondly ran his hands over the steering wheel, "I'm sorry baby, this is going to be a rough. I hope you can forgive me."

The tires smoked as he peeled out of the parking lot.

Things to Know
1.) Dean has it bad for Castiel, but omg, resolution, finally!? Maybe!? Pray I don't twist it around again!?
2.) My computer is on the fritz. I wrote this chapter in a notebook and slowly transferred it onto the computer. I was nearly in tears because my laptop has a ghost clicking problem and it's gotten really bad. I've been trying to fix the issue, but it looks like I will be sending in my laptop for a new screen. What does this mean for you - it means my updates are going to be stretched out. I wrote this chapter, and I'm going to finish the chapter for my other story, but I make no promises from there. I'll try my best. :(
3.) How different did this chapter come out since I wrote it by hand instead of on the computer?