A/N: Ya'll keep your fingers crossed for my mom. She went to the hospital for some surgery, it should be basic but can't hurt to keep her in your thoughts anyway.

Also, here's a new chapter just in case the new episode tonight sucks or the preview for 8x17 makes us all cry.

Re-writes updated Dec. 16th

Chapter 3: Love Letters

Dean's eyes trailed after the agent, Castiel his name was, as he politely ducked out of the room with a nod towards Sam in greeting.

"You're staring," Sam commented, with a raised eyebrow as Dean's gaze held at the door

"Hey I just had a near-death experience, I think I'm allowed to indulge a little," Dean countered and immediately wished he could take it back. His brother's face dropped a mile and he was suddenly reminded of the very serious situation they were in. "So-uh"

"Jess didn't make it."

A heavy silence swept into the room, taking Dean's ability to breathe with it.

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"Any luck?" Castiel asked as he turned down the hallway and gave Ellen a rueful smile. "Most of them are out cold or well on their way to not making it through the next 24 hours."

"Most?"

"I've found one agent, Dean Winchester. It appears that his car was rounding across the front, right as the blast set off. Charlie's working on getting any camera footage from the built in rig in the car of the blast. We're hoping it was running at the time. He's preoccupied at the moment with his family. I figured I could give them a minute."

"Well isn't that sweet of you," Ellen remarked with a teasing smile before her expression grew somber. "That actually works out for now. We've got some new information coming in, Bobby and Pam are still at the scene, they just went in for their own tour of the building, they're doing a second tour again after conferencing. We're hoping to get that done within the hour and then go back to the office they set up. We're making camp at Hefner, it's about four minutes away so we should have plenty of access."

"That's good, is there still a vacated room left for us to use for a conference?"

Ellen smiled and beckoned him along, giving a warm hello to the nurse who was letting them use the office. She sat down and pulled her chair forward, tapping a button on the keyboard. "I found him."

"Good, and sir you may want to sit down for this too?" Charlie suggested casually, not too concerned. If anyone could handle some unexpected turns it was him.

"I think I'll be all right," he responded, pausing and adding a "thank you," as an after thought; only vaguely remembering that you should thank people for being concerned over your well being. .

"So most of the parts still haven't been found but we did find something interesting," Pamela said sliding into view on the second screen, taking off her FBI vest. She reached out her hands as Bobby handed her a mug of hot coffee. "Thanks."

"I'm listening."

"Well, we've found traces of Mercuryfulminate, Silverfulminat, and Nitroglycerin. And don't ask me how it survived but the blast didn't completely burn off the plastic and the metal sleeve from a ballpoint pen, they're guessing. They found traces of that manilla folder wrapping that we send all the papers packaged in, although none of the actual paper has survived. They're scanning the scene if they can find melted plastic anywhere from straws or something. "

"I highly doubt they'll find more than that. I'm shocked so much has survived. Even so, a letter bomb? That seems way too simple. They usually have a smaller radius of damage and many don't even cause fatalities" Cas mused out loud, feeling his nerves start to tick. If it was a letter bomb as the initiating blast and it had spread like this then...

"It's also starting to look more and more like someone on the inside let it slip on purpose, or several people or hell they could've assembled it in the office," Pamella commented.

"I'm liking this less and less," Ellen commented.

"You'd be crazy to like it," Bobby said gruffly.

"And we're sure about some of the other rigs? At this point there'd have to be," Ellen asked, chewing on her thumb.

"Yeah, small, explosives seem to have been lined along certain corridors. They've so far found two types, one that's a powder smoke explosive to really light some fires up, and the others appear to have had oil compartments to cause the spread of fire. The explosion that brought down our building seem to actually have been because it reached the gas tanks and the electrical room."

Cas almost let himself groan, and finally did sit down. "I'm thinking it might be the same thing," Bobby said, watching Cas and knowing why he was groaning.

"I'd rather not even think about that option," Cas mumbled but straightened himself. "Have any other pieces of the signature presented themselves?"

"We're finding the fragments of the bombs first, and this also means we have to canvas twice over every single person that could've been in the building and actually was," Pamela said.

"It's been ten years since the last time this happened last, that's a hell of a cooling off period," Ellen pointed, trying to steer them away from the one thing they were hoping it wouldn't be.

"Well, the guys involved don't exactly function predictably," Charlie said, sending them all copies of the initial reports on the type of bombs involved and cross-referencing them to their old cases.

"That's true, not every day you can get a high organized criminal group that's filled with psychopaths, on all high ranking levels, and it not fall apart on itself. They've been in hiding for years now."

"Let's not expand on the theory too much yet. We don't want to see the evidence pile up in the wrong direction," Bobby said sighing on the other side of the screen. "But it was worth an update."

"Yes, it was. Thank you Singer. How much progress have you gotten finished?" Castiel asked.

"We're about to clear for the night, sun's about to go down and none of us are qualified to go running around in a crumbling building in the dark," Bobby responded, "we'll leave that to Swat and Bomb Squad."

"Of course. I'll go see if I can get a little more information from one of the only coherent survivors and then Harvelle and I will be heading to the police station."

"Don't strain your bedside manner too much," Pamela teased before logging the center at the field office off. He dismissed Charlie as well and leaned back in the chair a little.

"It could be a copy cat," Ellen pointed out, standing up.

"Let's pray it is."

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"Sam I'm so so-"

"Don't say it," Sam snapped quickly, in a hushed voice. His shoulders sank and he flexed his fist closed and open. "I know you mean well but... I just can't right now. I don't." He took in a deep, shuddering breath, his large shoulders shaking and tears welling up in his eyes. He bit his lip and drew himself together, looking away from his brother. "I don't want to talk about it."

Dean let his head drop against the pillow and wanted to sink into it and disappear Just when things couldn't get worse. He had figured, he'd hoped, that at least something... "How bad is it out there?"

Sam gave a lopsided smile in thank you to his brother. If anything, Sam was still in a bit of shock and even if he wasn't, if he wanted to make it home in one piece he couldn't talk about it. He'd have to talk about business; something that he could deal with and be productive with. After the the surgeon had walked up to him, hands bloody, he'd sat at one of the chairs outside of the ICU and aimlessly filled out a crossword in the back of the magazine while he figured out how to put blood back into his legs. He'd barged into his brother's room shortly after. "You want me to turn the news on?"

Dean gave a short laugh, that came out more like a huff. "That's okay. I'm sure I'm about to get my fill of it whether I like it or not."

"What happens now?"

"Man... I have no clue," Dean responded, running his functioning hand over his face. "Haven't heard from the station yet, sent a request for someone to get back to me, well, other than that Novak guy."

Sam gave a small smirk, pushing back the haunted look in his eyes. It was easy to cling to something familiar and teasing his brother always gave him an out. "We're at a time of national crisis and you still find time to think with your dick."

Dean didn't even try and argue that what his brother hadn't the brief once over he'd given before he left the room. He'd tell himself next time not to let his gaze linger. "I can multitask," he argued petulantly.

They fell into silence.

Sam fidgeting and looking around the room while Dean swallowed the spit that was gathering in his mouth, and stared up at the ceiling. There was really very little to say. They could keep joking, but there was only so much effort left for that. Dean could try and offer his condolences again, tell Sammy to head on home and to drown himself in a bottle of jack. He could even have the Gentleman's Jack if he wanted.

Before the awful feelings could settle wholly over them a nurse knocked on the glass and stepped in.

"Excuse me, Dean Winchester? It's time for your medication."

"Don't need any meds," Dean countered, raising himself to sit up higher in his bed. He was fine and he sure as hell didn't want pain killers or morphine to make him dizzy when he had shit to focus on.

"Don't be stubborn," Sam told him, moving out of the way for her.

"Speaking of stubborn," Dean grumbled with a glance at him, "I need a phone. Or get to talking to Rufus- hold on wait, is he?-"

"He's fine. Pissier than a hive of bees rolling down a hill, but fine."

"-Good. I need to talk to him."

"Why?" Sam asked skeptically.

"I want to know when I can get back on the streets working. Also-" he turned to look at the nurse "-find out how long until I'm out of this place." He said it a little harsher than he'd intended to and she frowned at him. Dean almost apologized until Sam spoke up.

"What? Dean, you just woke up."

"And ready to get out of this damn gown."

"Sir, please. Settle down, we need to give you the medication. At the very least the dose of anti-inflammatory-"

"I said I didn't want the damn pills."

"Dean, she's only doing her job, stop being a dick," Sam grumbled, walking over to the nurse and taking the tray from her. "I've got this."

The nurse gave him a dubious look but Sam put on his best smile, even if it wavered at corners (it'd been a long day). She left with a warning that she would come check on him in a little bit.

"Whatever," Dean said with a huff, settling himself back into the bed, "I'm gonna toss those in the plant in the corner and if you don't get me someone I'm going to rip out my IV and go chase down someone myself."

"Dean-"

Dean sighed. Usually he would've fought, but he was harshly reminded by the tone in his brother's voice that Lisa and Ben weren't the only ones who'd been at his bedside once too often. He had been practically comatose, he was injured, and people had died. Jess had died. "At least see if you can go chase down that agent. Novak or whatever. I never got done answering his questions. I won't go anywhere."

Sam gave him a grateful half smile and put a hand on his shoulder before stepping out. Dean listened to his footsteps echo down the hallway before dropping his head violently into the pillow.

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Sam let his face drop a little as he left his brother's room. He couldn't wait to get home, or something, anything.

But, if he was going to be honest with himself more than likely he was going to pull two chairs together in Dean's hospital room and pass out about as well as he could. If anything going back to the apartment seemed like the worst idea. He knew if Dean wasn't stuck in the hospital, they would've driven home and then Dean would've made sure Sam got spectacularly drunk. But alone...He wasn't sure if he could even make it past the hallway, where he'd pinned one of his favorite pictures of them(so that until they could live together again she was always there to greet him when he got home).

His heart clenched uncomfortably and he felt the itch to throw himself into a wall. 'Focus Sam, focus,' he told himself as he squared his shoulders. He could do this later; right now, he just had to put one foot in front of the other. Just one step forward at a time. Ask around the hospital. Find the agent. He paused only once, realizing that he'd almost forgotten the agent's name. He walked up to the front desk reception and as a nurse held up one finger to him, on the phone he smiled and nodded in understanding.

It turned out he didn't even have to look very half as loud steps came from behind him followed by a rough voice. "Sam Winchester?"

Sam turned around, a little surprised. He recovered from it pretty quickly and held out his hand. "Ah yes, yes sir. Agent Novak right?"

"That would be correct," he said and a small twitch of his lip was all he gave Sam in an attempted smile, a little warmth gathering in the eyes before it was swept away to business. "I heard about your loss. I am sorry." Sam seemed confused. "For both the agent as well as Miss Moore."

Sam's throat seemed to catch but he worked past it. They finished shaking hands and Sam nodded, eyes drifting out to the side. "Yeah, thanks."

"I understand that this a time of grief for you..."

"We're all grieving," Sam interjected at the pause, looking around the bustling emergency room.

Agent Novak gave him a head dip, his shoulders collecting as he took a deep breath, scanning the room as well. "That we are... if you have the time, I have a colleague, Agent Harvelle who would like to ask you some brief questions as well about your whereabouts at the time of the explosion."

Sam nodded, squaring his shoulders with purpose. This he could do. This was easy. "Of course. Anything...and, oh. My brother's ready to see you. He asked me to track you down."

"Excellent," Castiel replied glancing around the corridor and then waving his hand at a woman.

"I'm going to apologize for my brother beforehand," Sam said just as the agent was leaving. "He can be a pain in th-... difficult," he corrected, remembering that he was speaking to an officer.

"I'm sure I will be fine, he was charming enough when I went in originally."

Sam might have chuckled if it had been any other day, instead he let himself sink into the weariness he felt in his bones and shook his head, "I may have riled him up a bit. Good luck."

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There's a knock the glass and Dean almost prepared himself to tell another nurse to shove off, he'd taken the damn meds, but relaxed at the sight of the eye-catching agent. He gave his best smirk and noticed the agent's eyebrow twitch upwards. "Mr. Winchester."

"Dean."

The agent shook his head, "Dean. Your brother said you were ready for some more questions."

"At your service, Agent Novak."

Castiel nodded seriously and approached the bed, remaining standing. Usually he would sit in the chair so that he wasn't looming over the people he was questioning, but he had to admit, he had not been lying to the brother when he'd said that Dean was charming. Or rather, he had a very casual and comforting aura about him. Dean Winchester was a man who obviously tried hard and cared about the people around him with the same amount of dedication he held for his work. "We have reason to believe, although not beyond a reasonable doubt yet, that the only way that this explosion could've happened... is for lack of easier terminology an inside job."

Dean's heart skipped a beat and it felt like it sank into his belly, as a cold chill crept up his back. Someone from his field office? Someone he worked with? No.

He stared at his blanket where his other hand was finally responding, which he'd noticed only because it was clenched tightly into his thigh. "No." The agent gave him a stern, but heavily apologetic look in response. "How do you know?"

"I can't discuss too many details, as we are still gathering information. But the bombs somehow got past all of the detectors. We may have found smaller chargers littering the corridors and those would have had to be assembled inside the building."

The information was moving sluggishly through Dean's mind, refusing to be processed. It wasn't as if inside jobs and government corruptions were a foreign concept to him. Hell the amount of people he'd caught in local police stations alone in the pockets of drug leaders and gangs. They even had tabs on two active officers that they weren't outing, to milk as much information out of the situation as they could while minimizing loss. But this?

"I'm gonna kill 'em," Dean muttered vehemently, "they killed Jessica and Victor and-"

Before Dean could rant more the agent paused him, "We're also working with the assumption that the first explosion was a letter bomb. Thus hand delivered. Our analyst is compiling video footage right now. Once we find the origination of the package we'll be able to gather more information."

Dean swallowed thickly and let his hands unclench, turning a stony expression towards him. "How can I help?"

"Do you know anyone who'd been acting different this past week, or month even?"

Dean shook his head, "Not really. I mean JB got pissed at a printer and nearly threw it out the window but that's usual. I mean... shit, a lot of people are usually aggravated around here. Oklahoma City can do that sometimes."

Agent Novak nodded, "Think any type of different. Someone who is usually anxious, and then suddenly calm and collected too. Major changes in behavior routines. We are speculating that there is more than one person involved. With the network size we're suspecting outside connection."

A small silence followed the explanation as Dean leaned back into his pillow. Scrunching his eyes tightly he tried to envision the past few weeks. He mentally went through every person he knew, the people he said hi to on the way up the elevator, the people he parked next to, who usually grouped together for lunch, shift changes. He let out a frustrated sigh and heard the agent say "take your time" and he tried to relax. How the hell was he supposed to remember all this? As if his brain wasn't scrambled enough it's not like this was shit he paid attention to usually. Exasperated, he opened his eyes, "I dunno man. I really don't."

Castiel nodded, "Let me try another question. Did you notice anyone lingering around especially around the corridors in the entry way, around the entrance to the mail room, or leading to the electrical rooms?"

"Other than the janitors and staff? I mean, we did bring in someone in briefly when a fuse blew and half the lights popped," his heart hammered a little as he pulled together the memory, "could it have been-?" That'd be perfect, not like they'd question half the wires and shit the guy brought in to fix the fuzes and look over their wiring. But his equipment would still have to get checked.

"Very good Mr-... Dean. About how long ago was this?"

Dean made a few thoughtful noises, mentally flipping the beer model calendar he had sitting on his desk. "Like four weeks ago? Five maybe? I don't remember. I just... something I noticed in passing 'cause Jannice from the reception was bitching about it." He wanted to smirk a bit at just how he'd found out that information, but felt that if nothing else it was a little unprofessional and not only TMI.

"Anyone else you can think of? Any other area?"

"Fuck man-" he winced a bit at the curse but relaxed when the agent didn't seem bothered by it. He was more coherent and less at the same time (as the medicine did it's job) now and in hindsight realized he'd probably let a few f-bombs fly when he'd first woken up. "I'm not sure I can think of much else right now. Just the usual people, I mean me and Victor left a bit early from our break because we had information on a case but that's about it."

"That's all right Dean. We'll be in the area for awhile longer, I can come back another day or another agent will be sent around to make rounds."

Dean would forever blame the morphine in the drip ,and other pills that he'd finally agreed into taking, kicking in as he put on another one of his charming smiles. "I dunno man, kinda like you. You really get the juices flowing-" -fuck- "you know, remembering things."

Even though it felt like his heart had stopped, the steady beeping from the monitor assured him it only felt like it had. To his great relief the agent looked like he was going to laugh before shaking his head, and Dean could've sworn there was twinkling in his eyes. "Thank you Mr. Winchester, next time I'll make sure to have someone come take that statement down when I have my next performance review."

With that he stepped out and Dean was left wondering what the hell had just happened. It wasn't the first time he'd flirted in the hospital or on the job. Hell, he could probably give you the names and bra size of at least five staff members at the few hospitals he'd been carted to, and the exact brand of Cologne an emergency responder or two wore. He just didn't think he'd ever sounded so retarded before. He blamed the nerves and the meds Sam had forced him to take.

Or just Sam.

Yeah, Sam.

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Dean didn't exactly get released from the hospital.

More like he caused enough of a fuss and a scene that while he hadn't healed up yet and he had a ton of medication and creams; they were all relieved to see him go.

Lisa and Ben visited him a few more times during the week that he had been stuck there after the accident, with no news from the agents or re-visits. It was a shame. He had been really hoping for one, if not just to get a chance to flirt with Agent Novak again, and then of course to figure out what the hell was happening. But, as he had been told by Rufus, who had finally dropped by his hospital room; no one from their division was allowed on the case and unless the officials required information directly from an agent. They were to be kept in the dark since it was almost without reasonable doubt proven to be an inside job. Other than that, Dean didn't know squat.

At least he had been released in time to join his brother at Jessica's funeral. He would've dragged the damn drip behind him, in his little hospital gown if they'd had even tried to make him miss it.

It always shocked him how quickly funerals were organized. Most happened within a week from time of death. It hardly seemed like a proper amount of time to go from 'fuck they're dead' to 'there they are in the ground'. He'd once brought it up to one of his favorite morticians who'd simply responded: 'Where would we keep them all if every one waited until they were comfortable burying them?' Dean had begrudgingly accepted that as a reason, but only because it had come from her.

Accordingly, the sun was high in the sky and the weather was even a little warm for it only being a few months into the new year, on the day of Jessica's funeral. 'Of course the sun would be out,' Jess' mother had brokenly laughed. 'Because she was just that type of warm person, watching over everyone, even at her passing. Telling them she was okay.'

He'd kept a stoic face, mentally going over every single funeral he'd been at. It was hard not to. He'd been told by a preacher at one service that if your mind wanders to another loved one you've lost, that there was no shame in it. You were in God's house and moving past the grief was kind of the point. The preacher had of course said it more poignantly than Dean could remember it, but it stuck with him every time he found himself thinking of someone else and they gathered around a coffin and placed roses on it.

Sam had put down a daisy and bit his lip. It stood out amongst the sea of red, bright, and a few people gave it odd looks. They weren't saying anything to be polite but there'd be gossip about it later... but as Sam had explained in the car ride there, Jessica had always thought roses were lame.

It was at least a small relief that they were getting paid , forced leave. Sam included since he had worked at the field office, and in light of his loss a few people up the chain of command had taken pity on their little family. It wasn't much but enough for them not to have to worry about much other than sitting in their apartment drinking and in general being miserable.

Dean tried to make sure that the news was never on when Sam was around, when he was around. He would wander around the kitchen and living room area aimlessly, every so often before disappearing into his room where he spent most of his time. Once or twice, Dean had caught him leaving the apartment and coming home smelling like a less than savory dive bar. He'd acknowledge Dean with a tilt of his head and then crawl back into his room.

But when Sam wasn't around, it was all that Dean had playing. Obsessed with any new bit of information and even going to the point of DVRing some of the longer news programs on the bombing. They were keeping most of the information on lock down, and while he knew the media had eyes everywhere and ears practically superglued to information channels and chatter, he wasn't surprised that there wasn't as much information going around. He'd started lazily trying to gather up his own details. What he could remember as well as other information, but was so far coming up with nothing.

He wasn't even going to be allowed on active duty for another 2 months. It would take that long to clear at least every staff member to work in the building. Some would have to wait longer because of the construction on the field location but if you didn't mind dealing with the loud banging and the noises you were welcome to come back.

On one of the longer nights, with a full bottle of Jim Beam for company, his phone rang.

He stared at it confused, wondering who the hell would be calling him. Anyone in the area would've just called his cellphone or come to the door, and he highly doubted Sam had been running around giving out their landline.

He picked up the phone, confused. "Hello?"

"Winchester residence?"

"Uh yes, Dean Winchester here," he replied, sitting up on the couch confused. He thought he recognized that voice.

"Hello, Dean."

Shit. He did. "Agent Novak," he replied, slipping back onto the couch comfortably, bringing the lip of the bottle to his mouth and letting some of it roll into his mouth. He let his tongue play with it for a little before swallowing. "What can I do for you? I noticed you never came to visit." If he'd had a third hand free he might've smacked himself with it. He just couldn't help but start flirting with him.

"I'm afraid we had a bomber to catch," came the response from the other end and Dean almost thought he was being chastised, but the agent continued. "Otherwise I would've loved to have spent another few hours with my legs going numb in your hospital room."

"You could've sat," Dean counters.

"Valid argument."

There's silence on the other line and Dean took it as his que, "Joking aside, what can I do for you."

"I heard you'd been released from the hospital."

"Yeah about two weeks ago."

"Congratulations."

"Not so much, they won't let me back in the office for another two months."

"Understandable... Speaking of which, I have a question for you."

Dean perked up a little. "Shoot."

"Does the name Azazel mean anything to you?"

Dean frowned but sat up on the couch, putting the bottle down on the coffee table and focusing. "No, should it?"

"He's connected, somehow, to the bombings, or his people at least. He's been off our radar for awhile but his MO has always been to target buildings and institutions. We're asking that everyone canvas their lives to see if the name has been mentioned and we may be one step closer to closing this case."

"Wait, but if he's been gone, why now? Why us?"

"Excellent questions Dean, ones that I'm afraid I can't answer at this time. If you do find something, we've been told that Rufus Turner is point on this at your location."

Dean wanted to argue about getting more details but let it drop momentarily. "All right, can do..." he paused, "hey, why the personal call? I could've gotten an office letter or another call about this. Isn't this unorthodox?"

He could've sworn he heard a smirk on the other line. "My apologies for not visiting you at the hospital before our departure, Dean. Good evening, Mr. Winchester."

The line cut off and Dean was left staring at it. Strange laughter rippled out of him and he leaned both of his forearms on his knees. It felt good to laugh. He sobered up quickly, well, figuratively as he was still nursing the bottle, and hopped onto the computer, carefully typing in the name Azazel.

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Can hung up the phone and leaned back in his office chair. He looked out of the blinds at the rest of the team gathering up to go home for the night. He waved a lazy hand goodbye to Jo, who had come to pick her mom up for a late dinner in celebration of her marksmanship scores. Her mother was protesting her even toying with the notion of going into the line of work, but couldn't argue that her daughter needed to know how to fire a gun properly. She smiled brightly at him as they left and let the blinds fall shut into the office. He looked at the massive pile of papers and boxes he'd pulled out of storage and poured himself a small glass of scotch.

There was a knock on his door and he looked up. Everyone should've left by now, it was after-hours, otherwise he wouldn't have helped himself to a few fingers of Johnnie Walker. There was a pause before the door opened, and Bobby stepped in. They shared a tired expression before Cas pushed his chair back and pulled out a glass for him, letting Bobby pour himself his own glass. They sat in silence for a little as Cas went over the papers in front of him and Bobby picked himself up a few.

"Working too much is going to suck all the fun out of your life," Bobby remarked as he popped open a manilla folder.

"You're here after hours yourself," Castiel replied, feeling a bit of a twitch of amusement at the corner of his lip.

Bobby gave a gruff laugh and shook his head, "Like I'm letting you go through this mess alone, boy. You know if it's Azazel and his ilk then we're about to have more mess on our hands than even you, wonderboy, can't handle on your own."

Cas nodded in admission.

Bobby was right, he was glad to have help, especially from someone who knew some of the fine details that the others weren't privy to...that no one was privy to. Singer was just a hard mind to slip anything by, and he had his connections. Hell, he'd been the one to bring Cas in and after the death of their last Supervisory Agent and in the past two years nudged a reluctant Cas into the position. He was good at the work and dealing with the bureaucracy. Bobby had joked at first that if he didn't know Cas was on the team he'd peg him to be one of the office stiffs.

"Lucifer's still in lock-down," Cas said out loud, more to say to himself than anything.

"I figure we'd have heard about it if he wasn't," Bobby said with a hint of sarcasm but then continued,"I checked, first thing I did when we found out that the bomb got set off Lucy's ten year arrest anniversary. Bastard's still making friggin' origami figurines. They gave him access to paper for good behavior." He paused, "No offense of course."

"You can call him a bastard all you like, just because we share the same mother doesn't mean that the insult can't be used in a looser sense." Cas sighed and set down his papers, rubbing his fingers across the bridge of his nose, "For all I know he even could have been."

"Could explain the whole being a psychopath thing."

Cas almost laughed, taking a sip of his scotch. "You know enough about the family I come from that it's not exactly a virtuous line of people."

"Well we got a damn fine agent out of it," Bobby said, noticing that Cas was about to head into a territory of self-loathing he only got from having to remember where he was from. Despite having served his time in the military on an ally side and being raised in England; his family's legacy and past had trailed behind him until he had to be put into a protection program. It really had been a miracle that Bobby had found out at all about the familial relation.

Cas gave a lopsided smile and raised his glass, "Za vas."

"Za vas," Bobby replied as they each took a small swig of their scotch.

They finished their drinks in silence, shuffling through papers. After awhile Bobby set down his glass and grabbed his jacket, standing up. "You know I respect you and you'll always have my confidentially. But if this is Azazel, and they've come back after ten years," he shrugged into his jacket, leveling Cas with a meaningful look. "I don't know how long it'll be before they find out. And no amount of international witness protection or under cover work, whatever it is that you're doing, or burnt identities are going to help you out once it comes out."

Cas smiled ruefully but nodded. Bobby knew some, but had thankfully never pried about his full identity, only ever made casual speculations and he was thankful for it. "It shouldn't come out. The person Lucifer's related to is dead."

Bobby gave a small amused chuckle, "For a dead man I hear he's doing pretty well. Don't stay up too late."

"Thank you, Bobby."

The door to his office shut and Cas leaned back in his chair. It was true that somehow Bobby had sussed out that there was a family relation between them and by proxy figured out that his family was of course Lucifer's, it was kind of an obvious deduction. It wasn't one that the rest of his team was aware of and he intended to keep it that way. He understood why Bobby was concerned but the rabbit hole went far deeper than that. And as Castiel packed up his belongings for the night he prayed he wouldn't have to jump down it.
He didn't want another identity to burn.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

A figure huddled over a work table, a cigarette in his mouth, one finger tapping the table. He flicked his zippo closed and shut as he inspected his work. Pulling out bits and cords of fishing line to tie the straws together, otherwise it wouldn't detonate, footage of the bombing playing on repeat in the background as Burning Up by Seasick Steve blared across the speakers set up in the corner. He smiled as he inspected his work and watched out of the corner of his eye as the explosion was replayed.

It was going to be a good year.

A/N: DUN DUN DUUN. I'm kidding. Sorry this chapter was so long. I'll try and make 'em shorter. It kinda got away from me.

Review please! It gives me courage to continue.

Also; the small bits I've mentioned are actually how you make a letter bomb, scary easy but by itself usually doesn't obliterate you. And if you're making kind of a tilty-face at Cas and Lucifer, well, they are canon related, so they'll be related here and just because he's on the good guys side doesn't mean he can't have bad family. And since demons are villains in the original series, and Lucifer created them, etc. etc. etc.