A/N: Thank antinickname for betaying this chapter. Lovely lovely.

Updated re-writes, Dec. 16th

Chapter 7: Let The Good Times Roll

Dean wrung his hands together.

He let his nails dig into the soft flesh in between his fingers. There were small crescent shapes settling in before he realized he was doing it. With a groan, he sat up and reached for the, now cold, cup of coffee. Dean gripped it tightly and ran his thumb along the plastic edge. For almost two days he hadn't slept. Adults weren't considered missing, without evidence of foul play, until after 48 hours. He'd been able to use his connections, and pulled a personal favor with the department to get the time cut down by 12 hours. Not that it helped his nerves any. Somehone had jokingly suggested tea for his twitching. He'd almost thrown the cup against the wall.

For almost two days now he'd sat in Rufus' head office. He'd nod off on the couch every so often but would snap up in a panic before anything that remotely resembled sleep settled in. Dean was jumpy and cranky but he refused to leave the office.

He was fresh out of interrogation. It had been completely useless, if anyone were to ask Dean's opinion. All they did was give him a pitying stares and ask him pointless questions. How the hell was he supposed to have any clue where Sam could be? He'd been in Virginia the entire time. They'd known that. For a small moment he understood the frustration their witnesses gave them.

The coffee cup was threatening to spill over as he griped it tighter, crumpling the cup. Rufus knocked on the door and Dean didn't even register it. He vaguely heard a sigh and the coffee cup was pried from his hands. "Dean, go home."

"No."

There's another deep sigh. A few tremors raced across the ground as his superior pulled up a chair in front of him.

"Winchester, don't make me turn it into an order."

Dean looked up at that, a little bit panicked. Being ordered off the premise could mean that some douchebag down the line could claim he was hindering the case, meaning he wouldn't be able to work on it. Well, not that he would've been allowed to work on the case under normal circumstances, but he still had a few favors to call in. He sighed and felt his body give up.

"There's nothing else you can do here, Dean. We've got another four hours before we even file the report, and I'm sure those BAU boys will be here in no time after that. Go. Home."

"I could help," Dean protested weakly, even though he thought it was desperate attempt. He'd been working for the FBI long enough to know exactly when people are being helpful, and when they're hindering the investigation. So, with reluctance and a small stumble as he got up, he agreed.

"You're also not driving. And go eat something," Rufus added.

He kept a hand ready to steady Dean if he stumbled again. Knowing Dean was stubborn, he only hovered behind him to the door and then quickly signal one of the free men to escort him out. There's a quick conversation on the location of the Impala and who's going to bring it back, followed by an uncomfortable silence when Dean doesn't even defend the driving rights to his baby.

Dean felt like he was suffocating.

He let himself be led out. He didn't know by who, or even if they're friends, but that doesn't matter much. The car smelled too clean and all wrong to him, which it shouldn't. They all had the same company make and model that they drove. Dean drove the same type of car every day at work. But for some reason it felt wrong. The seats were itchy. The seatbelt was too tight and even with the windows rolled down it felt stuffy.

The scenery passed by in a blur as they got on the highway, Dean's thoughts blurred together like the concrete and the green of the trees. He wouldn't have even noticed they were back at his apartment if the agent with him hadn't spoken his name.

Dean got out of the car before he could be offered condolences. He didn't want them. What he did want was the bottle of Jim Beam he had on the top shelf in the kitchen. Once upstairs, he didn't even bother with a glass, twisting off the top and bringing it to his lips.

It burned and he felt a smile creeping to his lips.

Good ol' whiskey.

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There was non-stop movement outside of Castiel's head office.

Cas used his thin fingers to pry apart two blinds, watching his people get ready. He held in a sigh and turned his attention back to the man on the other line. The official request for assistance had come in 20 minutes ago and they'd already been given clearance. It had to be bad when the head of the NCVAC calls him directly and tells him to abandon all the other cases. Not that he could complain. After all, he'd made vague declarations about coming down and helping Dean. The phone call he was currently conducting was from Zachariah. The CIA had decided it was their business as well.

"Any force necessary, is that understood?"

"Of course, sir," Cas mumbled back. While he appreciated the allowances they usually didn't get, it made him nervous. For now he was hoping that there would be a quick wrap-up, despite the information flooding in. It did not bode well for his hopes that both the head of the NCAVC and the CIA had given him almost an all access pass to their resources-something that was usually only reserved for cases involving diplomats and high level active terrorists.

"Keep me updated regularly on the progress of the case, Castiel. Uriel will be waiting for your call."

Zachariah hung up before Castiel had a chance to say goodbye or even discuss the amount of information that he was free to share with the others. His gut told him that it was better if he could have full disclosure with the FBI and his own team. So far, however, he was still under strict regulations, and, until he received news to the contrary, those were the rules he would follow.

A knock rattled his window. Castiel glanced over to see Bobby jerking his head towards the team. They were all packed and ready to go. He gave a short nod back and went to gather his own things.

"Oklahoma City, huh?" Ellen asked as he exited his office, locking the door.

"It seems that Sam Winchester has gone missing," Castiel replied, hurrying down the small steps to the main floor.

"Sam Winchester? As in Dean's-?" Pamela trailed off.

"Yes. His younger brother, if I am not mistaken. Headquarters and CIA are consulting with us on this case. Preliminary reports indicate that this may be related to the bombing and C.O.L.T." Only Bobby reacted to the acronym.

"C.O.L.T.?" Charlie asked as she scurried along with her own go bag. "I don't think I'm familiar with that. And sir, may I ask why I'm coming along?"

"We need a technical expert," Castiel responded curtly. They walked along the corridors towards the van that would take them to their private jet. "C.O.L.T. has been strictly need-to-know. I have not yet been given parameters on how much I can discuss, but you should know that it has a direct correlation to the Lucifer files. We've merely expanded the term. It appears that Sam Winchester has somehow gotten a hold of them and I fear that this may end up an issue for international security."

"International?" Ellen asked, a little confused. "That sounds bad."

"It's very bad," came the short answer from him as he slammed the door shut to the van.

Bobby slid in next to him with a grave look.

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The flight took a little under two hours, but it was already evening by the time had arrived. They left their bags in the provided car and instructed an agent to deliver their belongings to the hotel they had been put into. Sunset framed their faces as they marched into the West Memorial building. The building had only been restored minutely. There were gray tarps flapping in the wind, barely clinging to the metal poles they were tethered to. Along the edges of the building were massive piles of bricks. Half of the floors were being held up by cranes and poles as a small group of workers worked on loading rubble into a truck. Charlie gave the building a wary look, expecting it to crumble at any moment.

They were greeted by a slightly sweating agent. Wasting no time, they were escorted to the third level up a set of back stairs that remained in tact. Rufus was waiting for them as they walked through the door. All eyes turned on them as they made hasty introductions before retreating to the chief's office. It was quiet as they settled into various corners of the room. A light flickered on when the sun finally set. Noise started to buzz a little again on the other side of the door.

"Thank you for coming," Rufus said, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

Castiel settled himself in a chair. "Of course." He pulled out a file from his briefcase. "There were things you wanted to discuss in person?"

Rufus nodded and reached behind him for a stack of manila folders. "Here, each one of you has a copy." Printed in bold read C.O.L.T. Castiel and Bobby looked at each other, surprised. The others looked almost gleeful. Finding out state secrets was always a little gem in their line of work. "While we were waiting for you to arrive the CIA sent us a base file that they thought would help us."

"Sam Winchester is listed in here," came the comment from Ellen after a brief examination of the file.

"As you can tell, there's a reason top brass was very eager to call you in." Rufus' eyes shifted towards Castiel, knowing full well that Dean had called him first before any of the information had made it past the OKC office desks.

Cas didn't appreciate the implication but kept quiet. To his luck, or maybe to his misfortune, the files they had been offered were nowhere near complete. They weren't even well put together. For the most part, in his opinion, they didn't even make sense without the missing pages. There was even a title that had been blacked out over the list of names. If the powers that be didn't want to share that information, it wasn't his to share. "Azazel's Children" was what the title should've read. All children whose families held connections to Lucifer's ilk. All children with destructive fires or violent deaths in their family history. He found it odd that only one child was included when some had siblings. It was something he'd only recently come to question. If he hadn't known Dean Winchester personally, he would've never even made the realization.

He knew full well that Dean and Sam had never been separated as children, and wondered why only one of them was listed.

Castiel was sure that the mild curiosity he felt himself had manifested like a violent storm in Sam. Especially if he'd had access to similar files.

"I can imagine. Hell, we didn't even know of its existence until a few hours ago." Ellen waved the manila folder in her hand for emphasis. She turned to look at Cas. "Well, most of us."

"As I mentioned," Castiel started with a small sigh, "need-to-know basis only. Now, if you wouldn't mind. I was told that you found a folder similar to this in the Winchester home?"

Rufus nodded. "It's how we thought to even ask for the files ourselves. I doubt they would've told us anything else otherwise."

Cas could feel the mistrust radiating from the other man. He didn't take it personally. Even with the employees of the government there was a certain level of skepticism regarding state secrets. None of them were ever good.

"Could we see them? We need to go over what he learned for himself, and try to profile how he would've reacted to the information."

With a small shrug, Rufus reached behind the desk and grabbed a file that had been placed in a large plastic Ziploc. "It's been processed already so I think you guys should be good touching it."

"Thank you." Castiel took the bag from the older man. "We need a place to set up. Has Agent Winchester already been brought in?"

"Dean? Yeah, we sent him home a few hours ago."

"We may have to ask him to vacate the premises," Pam spoke up as they gathered their things. They were shuffled along towards a row of desks and boards that had been prepared for them.

"We've already canvassed the apartment. No sign of forced entry, nothing out of place."

"Which is excellent," Castiel stepped in, "but we will need to have access to the apartment to profile Sam. Attempt to get into his headspace. The way he organizes his living space will be able to tell us a lot about how he functions, sometimes even better than other people's observations can."

"Makes sense, I guess." Rufus raised his eyebrow and shook his head a little. He trusted them as skilled agents but remained skeptical of what profiling actually was.

"Trust me, it's important," Bobby replied, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. "I'm gonna go ahead and assume here, that you've got all of Sam's electronics confiscated."

"Laptop, cell phone, even his damn beeper," Rufus said as he dug around for the access card for Evidence.

The key was handed to Charlie, who, with the company of two other agents, headed down to lock-up. Although it was nearing midnight, it didn't hurt to have everything set out of them in the morning. Charlie worked exceptionally quickly, as well. By morning, her program would probably already have all of Sam's electronic life ripped wide open.

"Guess someone should go kick Dean out," Rufus muttered. He turned to leave when a hand paused him.

"If you give me the address, I'm sure I could do it. I need to have a word with him as it stands."

Castiel let Rufus give him a once-over, a dubious look etched into his features, but was relieved when the old man relented.

"I suppose that works. Make sure to tell that boy that next time he needs to go through official channels. He's lucky headquarters is too flustered to kick him off the case as is. Subversion makes him look suspicious."

"I'll be sure to remind him of that."

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Castiel pulled into the apartment complex, flashing his badge at the front gate to be let in. It wasn't a fancy gated community or anything of the like, but it was nice enough to afford security. He was given a temporary parking pass to stick in his window as he pulled around to Dean's building. The air was a bit chilly and the wind blew up his jacket he stepped out of the car. Castiel pulled it tighter around himself as he ascended the stairs. His knocks on the door rang through the hallway a little louder than he'd intended. The wind picked up a little as he moved slightly from foot to foot to keep warm. Loud footsteps approached the door.

It sounded like there was fumbling with a lock before the door opened. Castiel almost stumbled back as the sharp smell of alcohol hit him. At least he had the composure not to lift his hand to cover his mouth. Dean swayed a little in front of him. The man's eyebrows came together, confused. For a moment he looked like he was about to speak. His jaw snapped back shut. Dean looked around the hallway, past and around Cas, making sure he wasn't seeing things.

"The BAU makes house calls now?" Sarcasm dripped with every slurred syllable.

"We arrived a few hours ago. You need to vacate the premise," Castiel replied, schooling his tone neutral.

"What? Why?" Dean snapped.

"It's a crime scene," Castiel explained, slowly.

"FBI already came through, the place is clean."

Castiel glanced past Dean at the mess that littered what he could see of the living room. He kept his snarky comment to himself. It was obvious that the other agent was not well. They stood awkwardly in the hallway for a little while, Cas staring Dean down. He didn't want to continue the conversation in the hallway, but he wasn't sure if he could be rude enough to demand entry. This wasn't exactly an official visit.

It took an awkward minute for Dean to catch up. "Shit-fuck. Sorry, look. I'm," he sighed, "come in." Castiel stepped past the other man as he door swung open in a wide arch. He observed the few pictures that lined the entryway, the row of shoes along the in-wall coat rack. For a moment he had an internal struggle on whether to take his own Oxford cap-toes off.

Dean brushed past him into the rest of the house and Castiel followed. "I wasn't excpecting..." Dean trailed off. Briskly, the younger man swept through the apartment. Bottles and paper plates disappeared into the trashcan and suddenly more of the place was visible. It almost looked nice. "God... I'm hammered," Dean whispered to himself, horrified. There was a blush creeping onto his neck and cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He couldn't even look Cas in the eye. "I didn't mean for anyone to see- just. It's been-"

"A long week," Castiel supplied, letting himself further into the apartment.

The look that the other agent gave him was nothing short of gratitude. He sat down on his couch and took a large swig of the drink he had left on the table. At least a few hours ago he'd switched to mixed drinks. It tricked him into feeling less like an alcoholic. Cas frowned a little but let it slide. Dean wasn't exactly on the clock, and honestly he couldn't say that he was either. And, as long as the apartment was vacated by morning, he supposed he could give the man a few minutes to compose himself.

"I'm not handling this very well, am I?" Dean commented to his table. "You gonna do that shrink shit on me now?"

Castiel sighed and let himself sink into one of the armchairs around the table. "It is not my place to judge your coping mechanism, Agent W- Dean."

Dean's lip twitched in a bit of a smirk. He lifted his head. "Any news on Sam?" There was a shine of desperation spreading across his eyes in a wet film. He tried to blink it away.

"We've only just arrived. We're hoping to glean some insight into your brother's life in the morning-"

"The morning!? Why aren't you working now-!?"

"- which is why we need free reign of your apartment without someone to contaminating our findings. We need to figure out your bother's behavioral patterns," Cas continued, as if he'd never been interrupted.

"I could tell you that," Dean snarked.

"Whatever you have to tell us will be helpful, Dean, but we need an objective canvas as well," Castiel explained slowly.

Dean felt like he was being spoken to like a child. It didn't help that he had started pouting like one as well. "It's been 48 hours, Cas."

"I understand. Which is why, the sooner we get you relocated to a hotel for the night, the sooner we can begin the profile."

"Still doesn't make sense," came the grumbled reply.

"It'll have to, Dean. If all goes well this will be your job in the future."

Castiel waited quietly, blue eyes focused, as Dean collected himself. He watched as his shoulders twitched in an aborted roll and he leaned back on the sofa. Cas could see the small side-to-side movement of Dean's eyes underneath the closed lids. He looked miserable. After awhile, the green eyes blinked open again. While there was no sobriety in them, they at least held some measure of clarity. "I'm sorry. I'm just drunk."

"Do not apologize to me, Dean. I was intending on having a bit of a discussion and leaving you to your own devices, but it appears you will be requiring some assistance."

"I don't need a babysitter."

To Dean's great relief, Castiel didn't make a remark on that.

"I'll be right back, just... lemme get some things."

It took a few minutes for Dean to stumble around the apartment to gather his things. Castiel watched him, a little fascinated and impressed. For someone so clearly intoxicated, he still moved with a strange, deliberate grace. A heavy bag plopped down next to Cas' feet and Dean spread his arms out. "Where to, Chief?"

For a moment Castiel pondered if he should leave the choice up to the agent, but seeing him sway backwards once more, made the call to make the decision for him.

"Your wallet?"

Dean slapped his own back pocket, turning around to show the small bulk of the leather case. Castiel chastised himself for the lingering look he let himself indulge in as Dean pitched forward again, ass sticking out a little.

"Shall we then, Agent Winchester?"

Castiel moved forward through the apartment, trusting the other man to follow him.

"It's Dean," came the petulant response from behind him.

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The drive to the hotel had been rather uneventful, other than Dean's quiet mumbling. Once they'd reached their destination, things took a bit of a different turn. Somehow in the duration of the drive the alcohol had managed to completely infect Dean's system. It had been nearly impossible for them to check the agent into his own hotel room. Castiel had briefly considered just taking him to his own room to avoid the hassle but quickly dismissed the idea. There was enough gossip going around that he didn't need to add fuel to the fire.

By the time they'd made it into the elevator, the only thing keeping Dean vertical was Cas' strong hand at the small of his back. Quiet little pings were the only sounds that dotted the silence. The round button for floor 25 glowed brightly and the doors slid open. In an attempt to walk himself out, and regain some amount of dignity, Dean ended up almost pitching forward into the side door. Heat flushed across his body. He couldn't look at Cas. Well, even if he had wanted to, things had started to multiply in his vision around half an hour ago.

With the patience of a saint, at least in Dean's opinion, Castiel took him by the arm and threw Dean's bag over his own shoulder. He dug around the drunken man's pocket for the key and helped him down the hall. He guided both of them into the narrow one bedroom and gently lowered Dean to one of the beds. Dean groaned and rubbed both of his knuckles against his eyes. He twisted them until he could see little tiny white lights in the dark.

"Are you all right?"

Dean snapped his eyes open and struggled to sit up. He watched, amused, as Castiel walked around to the small mini-fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. Dean frowned, "I don't wanna pay for that."

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice in that," Castiel said, handing the ice-cold plastic bottle to Dean.

With a heavy sigh, he took the bottle and for a few minutes struggled with the cap. Castiel took pity on him and pried it open. Dean took greedy gulps, some of the water splashing down past the corners of his lips. He hadn't realized how parched he'd let himself get. He was about to thank Cas when nausea swam around his stomach. For an experienced drinker, he'd broken a cardinal rule. You don't chug water; you sip. His face paled.

"Are you all right?"

Dean felt the bed dip a little as Castiel settled himself next to him. He couldn't even shake his head, worried that it would just make the room spin worse than it already was. "Im-may have drank a little too much."

"Perhaps just a little." Dean felt the edges of his mouth curl up at Cas' tone.

"You must be a riot at parties," he commented, trying to keep his eyes open. He turned his face towards Cas and found his eyes. It was easy to focus on the sharp gaze boring in on him. If Dean were the type to wax poetics he was sure he could've found some fancy-ass stone to compare them too. But he wouldn't do it with something cliché like a sapphire. Nah, he'd pick something cool.

"Dean?"

"Just, hold on. I gotta... holly hell I drank a lot," Dean mumbled to himself but unwilling to lose sight of Cas' eyes. He flattened his palms out on the bed to try and gain some more equilibrium. "Need something to focus on."

Castiel frowned but let himself be stared at. It wasn't anything that made him uncomfortable. He did it to other people plenty enough on his own, he couldn't exactly start complaining now. The benefit to the staring was that he was able to examine the other man in peace. Until now, all of their meetings had been filled with urgency. Well, technically this one was as well, but in the moment there weren't any split second decisions to make. Just as Cas' -was beginning to feel an uncomfortable itch in his gut, Dean looked away. He couldn't be sure of Dean's orientation, and it wasn't any of his business, but he'd been gay all of his life. And Dean was very attractive. This was a problem, especially if he was going to be working with the man. He would have to be careful. Professional. Dean was an excellent agent and it would be a shame if the BAU missed out on the opportunity because he hadn't been with anyone in over five years and Dean was pretty.

He started to lift himself off of the bed. Dean's hand reached out and wrapped around his wrist. The grip was vice-tight and Cas found himself frowning. "Dean wha-"

"You think he's okay?"

There was a rustle of fabric as Dean moved to sit cross-legged. He let go of Cas' arm and cupped his head in his hands. He whispered it so quietly that Cas nearly missed it.

"Dean?"

"Sam...Do you think he's okay? I don't know what the hell those files mean, man, but. Fuck. It ain't anything good." Dean's words were muffled by his palms.

Castiel sighed. "I can't honestly answer at this point."

Dean looked up. He tried to glare but most of the impact was lessened by the crumbling strength that his eyes had possessed. "So you can't tell me fucking anything?"

"Dean... there's-, a lot that's going to be changing and happening in the next few days. I have never made an empty promise, and I have never broken my word. I do not wish to start now. We are dealing with dangerous people with a violent history. Though I'm sure you gathered that much from your own exploration of the files."

"In your expert opinion, then," Dean snapped, growing angry, "what the hell are the chances of me getting my brother back alive?"

"I believe," Castiel said rising fully from the bed, "that you should get some sleep Agent Winchester."

"I believe, Agent Novak, that you should take your advice and shove it up your ass."

"You're being very obstinate Dean. And very drunk. You should count your blessings that it's me and not some other agent with you. I doubt they would tolerate this behavior from you."

"So why are you?" Dean snapped, trying to push his limits. He attempted to get up off the bed too but found his legs in an impossible tangle for his inebriated mind to figure out. Castiel caught him and righted him on the bed.

He didn't have a comment.

"You didn't even have to come see me at my apartment. I'm sure someone would've been more than happy to give me a call."

This, Castiel did respond to, "I was hoping to discuss something with you. About your brother, and what could be happening. I was expecting you to be coherent enough for some dialogue."

Silence stretched on between them. Dean slumped down onto the mattress, covering his eyes with his arms. "Shit Cas. I'm sorry. They're never gonna let me work this case now, huh?"

Cas watched as Dean bit his lower lip angrily, face scrunching up in shame. He sighed and rubbed his temples with his calloused thumbs. "Nothing has been decided yet," he paused, "and I highly doubt that off-duty drinking would be the reason they deny you access to the case. I believe personal time isn't the bureau's business."

"You're not gonna tell 'em?" Dean asked, confused. If it had been him and he'd just had to deal with a drunken jackass for the better part of almost two hours, he would've made sure the guy never touched whatever the hell case he was working on.

"No, Dean," Castiel straightened out his tie, "we'll do our best to find Sam. It's not impossible."

Dean slid his arms way from his eyes and sighed. "I guess that's better than nothing." He stared at the BAU agent for a little bit before collecting himself. He really was being all levels of pathetic. 'God bless-, alcohol,' he thought to himself as he mentally counted how much he'd drank. Once you got past half a bottle, whiskey had a nasty habit of turning people into blubbering messes. At least he hadn't been crying. Trying to recover some composure, he attempted teasing. "So... any other agent wouldn't have put up with my shit? You like me don't you?"

Cas shook his head, but Dean could catch the amused smirk forming on one side of the agent's mouth. "About as well as I would like any other heavily intoxicated- star agent of the FBI."

"Bull, you think I'm charming," Dean joked.

"I wouldn't say charming. But you are very... unique," Cas responded, moving towards the door. "It's late; we have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I trust you won't drown in your own vomit if I leave you for the night?"

Unable to put his foot in his mouth Dean spoke out, "You could always stay to make sure." To Dean's great relief Castiel let out a small huff that sounded almost like a laugh.

"Good night, Agent Winchester. I'll be sure to send a wake up call for you when we head back to the field office."

Castiel was already out the door before Dean could come back with a coherent response. He sighed and let himself settle into the bed. He'd regret it in the morning, but all in all it wasn't the worst he'd behaved when drunk. And hey, missing and possibly dead brother was as good an excuse as any.

He fell into an uneasy sleep.