A/N: Sorry for the delay but those of you who have been following my work tumblr (goodquestionharlie) already know that I was traveling for a week and then I had my first semester start. But hopefully this new chapter will make up for the delay. Enjoy. (Un-beta'd once more because they are still working through the previous chapters but I didn't feel right keeping you guys waiting.)
Chapter 18: Spinning Stories
Dean yawned widely in his bed and stretched his body out. A smile curled onto his lips as he pushed his arms out to the side and felt his back pop. He smacked his lips and opened his eyes, shocked to find them already clear of sleep. A small ray of light was shining through the blinds and across his bed and Dean was surprised it didn't even bother him like it did most mornings. In fact, he actually kinda liked it. He lounged in bed for a few minutes longer before taking a look at the clock and frowned. The only time he woke up this refreshed was well past noon on Saturdays. The little red light showed 6:45AM and a small "FRI" in the corner. He'd never woken up before his alarm, especially not in a good mood.
"What the hell?" Dean muttered as he sat up. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and let his elbows rest on his knees. Dean rubbed at his eyes until small lights started dancing in front of them and tried to concentrate.
Memory flooded his bones and he straightened in bed, back going rigid. Dean felt heat riding through his system as recollection brought back a warm body across his and soft lips on his neck. He could feel a phantom hand stroking across his hip.
"Oh god." The exclamation danced a fine line between awe and embarrassment. Now, in the bright light of day, the steamy office incident was sharper. He played through the memories, thoughts caressing certain moments as they passed, and tried to collect himself enough to get up. Dean was smiling by the end of the replay.
"I'll be damned," he whispered to himself as he wandered towards the bathroom. He chuckled briefly at his reflection in the mirror and ran his fingertips over the small hickies that had been left along his collarbone and neck. Dean didn't let himself think too much about the electric current that had swept through him. Some of them would not be covered by his work shirt. They'd gotten a little carried away.
Dean let the evening before run rampant through his mind as he showered, switching between whistling a tune (damn near singing), letting out small moans, and letting his hand trail across his body to match his memories. He didn't even bother being quiet when he finally came, leaning back against the tile wall with a grin on his face.
Cas was interested in him. Well, interested enough to rut against him after hours in his office. Dean hoped to be able to get him bent over that desk the next time they stayed once the lights had been turned off. It wasn't like he, and he hoped that Cas would be the same way, held any special importance to where a 'first time' between two people had to happen. The sooner the better, too. Then again, even if the next time it didn't happen quite that way Dean couldn't wait for Cas to get back. They'd been cut off way too quickly and he was already missing the guy.
The only thing he wasn't looking forward to was any kind of serious conversation.
He felt his good mood deflating quickly.
Dean tried not to let it get to him as he pulled out a pan and dug out strips of bacon from the fridge. Logically he knew that there would have to at least be some dialogue. Not just because he wanted to talk to the guy, Dean genuinely enjoyed his company, but because they worked together. All of Dean's previous office flings had been one night romps or quickies in broom closets never to be spoken of again. It had been a system that so far hadn't failed him and it had always been someone from a different sector or office. It wasn't like he'd rucked up the skirt of the person that was going to be watching his back at the next sting operation.
He also didn't want to let it stay a one night stand. His skin itched with the need for a repeat performance.
"God damn it," Dean mumbled as he laid strips of bacon into the heated pan. He sighed a little as he watched them begin to sizzle and leaned back against the counter. Fantasies were easy. It had been easy to imagine all the things he could do to Cas, and maybe have Cas do to him. When it came to the real deal? He felt sixteen again. In his fantasies there was never an awkward morning after. There was never a 'what happens next' conversation. Dean knew he didn't want to lose Castiel's friendship for sure. It was one of the few things keeping him sane and stable and so far it had been extremely dependable. At least, their relationship had kept a good track record since, over a little over a year ago, Cas had come stumbling into his life for the OKC bombing. Then returned once more after a few months to save his brother. It was odd when he put it in a timeline how long they'd been in touch. Oh god, did this mean he'd have to get him a Christmas present this year?
In fantasies moments of passion never had consequences that could end unfavorably for him. He didn't want this to end badly.
"Dean?"
Dean snapped out of his thoughts to find a disgruntled Sam standing at the edge of the kitchen.
"Mornin' sunshine."
"Dean, the bacon is burning."
"No it's no-" Dean stopped his sentence short as he turned his head back to the pan where small billows of smoke were starting to rise from the unrecognizable bits of crisp on the pan. "Fuck!" He rushed to turn the stove off and cranked the water on, worried about the bacon catching fire. Dean let the burnt pieces slip into the sink and forgot that it was a bad idea to put a hot pan underneath cold water. Steam wafted into his face as he yanked the pan back out and cursed again. The morning had started so nicely too.
As he fiddled with the remnants of what was supposed to be a hearty breakfast Sam sighed and shook his head. Without saying anything he pulled out another pan and drizzled oil into it. Dean watched, trying to scrape off some of the burnt pieces from his own pan, as Sam dug out more pieces of bacon and started to cook.
"I can do that ya know," Dean said petulantly. He was a grown ass man; he could cook his own bacon.
"Apparently, you can't."
"Can too."
"Right, would you like to eat your, now soggy, burnt pieces of charcoal or real breakfast?" Sam shot back, turning around to give Dean a 'look'. Sam opened his mouth as if to add something else before closing it. It took Dean a moment to figure out that he was staring at the hickies splattered across his neck line. Sam raised his eyebrow. "I guess you had a fun night then. No wonder you burnt the bacon. Letting your dick do the cooking is a safety hazard."
"Hey! Not like I was jerking it at the stove," Dean defended. For the most part he let the comment slide. Letting Sam believe that he'd been replaying the naughty bits and not having an emotional crisis was better anyway. He'd be damned if he let Sam know the stupid shit that was really bothering him. A knot formed in his stomach as he thought about telling Sam at all. Fucking your boss was definitely something he'd get a lecture for; though they technically hadn't even fucked yet.
"Right." Sam turned back to the stove and moved the pieces around.
The conversation ended there and in a morning of firsts he found himself wishing for something, anything, to talk about. The silence crowded around him like a straight jacket and he started to get fidgety. They hadn't spoken since he'd let it slip about his deal and if he didn't find something to talk about, or better yet joke about, he felt his like his mouth was just going to run off on him. It didn't even take long before he'd exhausted everything around the kitchen to look at it; including what he could see of the living room had been thoroughly mentally cataloged. Leaving the kitchen would be the cowards way out and he wasn't about to do something so lame. For the second time that morning he reminded himself that he was a damn adult and that he could handle a little bit of silence in his own house.
The resolution didn't last long as his body betrayed him and he started spewing out words. "Sam, look-"
"Dean, it's fine."
"What?" Dean straightened himself on the counter. Judging by the clipped tone Sam knew exactly what Dean had been trying to start talking about. What he hadn't expected was how legitimate the 'fine' sounded. He'd expected more fight and fuss than this.
Before Dean could let himself feel offended by Sam's quick acceptance of the situation his brother continued. "I'm gonna find a way to fix this."
Dean sighed and leaned back against the counter. Of course. "Sammy-"
"No, don't 'Sammy' me." He turned around and Dean found himself wishing he'd been blessed with the taller stature of the two. It was hard to be the tough older brother when you were being towered over. "I got you into this mess, I'm gonna get you out. That's a promise."
"Sam, no. You can't do that," Dean sighed, frustrated. "If I get out you get put back on the chopping block."
Sam's eyes darkened for a moment but the determined spark didn't lose it's flare. Then again, Dean wouldn't have expected anything else from him. "Watch me, Dean. I'll figure it out. It's my turn to save your ass. Now eat your bacon."
Dean didn't even have time to form a proper rebuttal as Sam yanked a plate out of the dishwasher and piled Dean's bacon on it. Sam shoved the dish into his hands and marched back into his room, door closing maybe a little louder than it should've. Though in fairness Dean was probably reading into things too much. With his mood souerred by his own insecurities over Cas and his brother's declaration of getting himself into more trouble, Dean left for work. At the very least he now had his Impala to drive and tried to let the road drag away some of the black cloud that hung over him.
It faded faster than he'd expected as the elevator doors dinged open and he walked through the doors onto their floor. His eyes immediately flew to Cas' office. An unbid smile flashed across his face and he felt himself swell a little. Dean bit his lip as he tried to control his breathing. He hadn't expected the physical reaction to the flashback to be that strong now that he was not five feet from where Cas had backed him up against a wall. He had to pinch his thigh, in a way he hoped was subtle, for a good few minutes before he felt comfortable moving; even then he made sure to speed to his desk and nearly broke the chair collapsing into it. Ellen shot him a look and Dean gave her a short, curt head nod. All of a sudden the fact that he had visible hickies seemed like the worst thing that could've ever happened to him. He'd never cared before if a fling left marks on him. He wore them with pride like badges of honor. He'd gotten laid; of course that was something to celebrate. Now though, Dean was convinced that every little mark would suddenly morph into printed letters, dark lines of ownership across his neck. Dean coughed into his fist and straightened himself in the chair, shrugging his shoulders and pushing his collar up a little. He nearly flipped the edge up but stopped himself.
"There something wrong, Winchester?" Ellen finally asked, tired of his fidgeting.
"What? Me?"
"I don't think there's another Winchester working for the FBI," Pam said from her chair. Dean turned a little to glance at her and felt himself tense. She was leaned against her desk, chin in her palm, staring at him. A look at Ellen quickly confirmed that she had the same studious expression on her face. They were friggin' analyzing him.
Slipping into a more solid persona he used during his OKC days he forced his body language to ease. Mentally he focused on each body part in quick succession until he felt himself relax. Dean leaned back in his chair, told his inner voice to 'shut up', and let his body adapt a casual stance, legs spreading wider and shoulders dropping a little. "I'm fine."
Ellen raised her eyebrows at him and tapped a pencil against the planner she had out on the desk. "Right, fine."
The skepticism rang loudly in her words but Dean ignored it. Of course he knew that they were good at spotting body language, knew that they would've seen a forceful shift, but if he could just manage to keep himself calm for the rest of the day he could pass it off as a random off-morning. Now if only they would go back to minding their own business instead of staring at him.
"So- who's the lucky girl?" Pam asked, eyes dancing across Dean's neck.
He froze only for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts quickly. On one hand, there was no girl. It was a guy. If he wanted to he could come back with that and hopefully have the subject drop. Then again, it could lead to more conversation and questions. Dean could also lie. He could make up a name or a story, some young flexible college girl, who went home well satisfied and satiated. The lying had been easy in the past, or at the very least he'd never had problems lying for the sake of 'none-of-your-business', but as he tried to force the words past his grin he found them getting stuck.
He didn't want to lie about Cas. It felt too much like being ashamed.
Luckily he was saved by Bobby trotting down the small steps to the floor and waving a file in his hands. "Break it up ladies-" he gave Dean a quick look when he tried to protest the term"- in the conference room."
Dean let a slow breath push past his lips and waited until Ellen and Pam had gotten up before following. Charlie was already seated and waved a cheerful hello to him as they gathered around the table.
"Where's the boss man?" Pamela asked as she leaned back in her chair, craning her neck to see out of the open door.
"Called away," Dean answered with a small sense of resentment in the back of his mind. Fuck Adler.
"Oh?" Pam leaned forward and smiled at him.
Dean felt a small rush of panic start in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, we talked."
"He's out on consult with the CIA," Bobby cut in. Pam whistled, impressed. "We've been grounded for the moment until he gets back since we don't have have anyone wanting an advancement and no one wanting to volunteer as a relief supervisor. We're all SAC's as is. All our fly out cases will be forward to the other four BAU branches."
"Makes sense," Ellen said leaning back in her chair. "We doing local cases only or just consult?"
"We've been assigned consult and working through backlog. Top brass sent us a few cold cases they've wanted us to look at that we haven't had time for."
"We've got three big ones that they want as a second look for," Charlie began as she clicked a button on her laptop and the first case came up on the screen. "We're going to start with the most recent one and go back. We've also been given access to the OO files."
"Copies of the files are here," Bobby patted onto a stack on the table, "and you all know where your computers are. Get to work."
They filed out, each grabbing a bundle of files on the way, and Dean already felt like he needed a cup of coffee. He'd had slow days back home but he'd never really been in the department to dig through cold cases. Every case he'd worked on had been active and he wasn't looking forward to spending all day at a desk. He'd secretly hoped that they would've gone on a case, solved it, and that he'd have something to show when Cas got back. So far he assumed that he'd been doing a good job. At the very least other than the comment that had let to the blue balls, all the feedback he'd gotten had been positive. Still, it was like he'd been baby sat most of the way. He wanted to show Cas that he was worth his title.
Dean frowned as he sat down at his desk, opening the first file. He'd never actually spent too much time thinking about it. Whenever they'd first met he'd been in tubes and a hospital gown. Then he'd been out of his mind with concern for his brother. There'd been some down time but he'd never really been let off the leash. It was starting to not sit right with him. Almost like an uneven power balance, and not one he could translate to the bedroom.
Halfway through the day he found himself chewing on a pencil and rolling a penny across across his desk out of his mind bored. He'd phoned a few offices, doodled out a few leads and figured he had at least a few good ones. The only problem was that he'd been put on hold and on waiting lists, but that was the trouble with cold cases and why he hated working them. The pictures had stopped making him sick years ago, the stories still made him angry, and no matter how long it had been unless the killer was caught he felt uneasy. That didn't stop the drag that hit about midday when no one was calling you back and you had weeks of bureaucratic shit to dig through to get anywhere in the file.
He was a field agent not a paper shuffler.
"How's it going?"
Dean let the penny clatter loudly to the floor and dropped the pencil from his mouth. "Uh, hey Bobby."
"Well?"
"Slow," Dean griped with a sigh and bent to pick up the discarded coin. "Never spent a lot of time with cases like this. Especially not one this old."
"Not every day is full of guns blazing in glory."
"Don't I know it," Dean chuckled. Honestly it was starting to remind him a little bit of surveillance. The days in the lot where they'd sit for fifteen hour shifts without so much as a tumbleweed rolling by. While dedicated to the job, him and Victor had figured out stupid games to play during downtime. Fake, or sometimes for who paid for lunch, gambling happened. On things like whether or not the plastic bag barely clinging to a fence would fly off or stay. Some nights they'd had cards. He had never thought that he'd find himself missing those days. More so the man he'd shared them with. Victor had been a good agent. A good friend. Very easy to respect. Dean turned to go back to his work but Bobby hadn't moved, hovering above him.
"Anything else?"
"Why the sour face?"
Dean frowned. He needed to up his game. "Nothing."
"You lie about as well as your father did."
"I must be a professional then." Dean almost let the topic drop by putting on his favorite avoidance method, ignoring the hell out of that person, when he caught up with what Bobby had said. He knew his father had been a legend but it wasn't exactly common to meet people who sounded like they knew him, not just of him. Rufus had served with his father for a little bit, that much he knew, but those days were not something that was very often talked about. Hell, Rufus preferred to speak as little of John as he could. "Huh, knew my dad then? But I figure most people did. Can't say I remember you."
Bobby let out a dry laugh and took a swig of his coffee. "I wouldn't be surprised. Me and your daddy had a bit of a falling out. Your old man wasn't easy to get along with. But I did work with him for a very short time."
"Falling out?"
"Stubborn mule."
It was Dean's turn to laugh, "He could be like that, yeah."
Bobby sipped his coffee in silence and Dean felt fidgety again. He would never trust a sunny, good morning again. He would've rather woken up grouchy and with back pain if it meant not having to deal with waltzing down memory lane, nosy co-workers, and emotional meltdown about his boss. Before Dean could start complaining Bobby leaned forward, taking a quick glance around the office. He lifted one hand to Dean's collar and poked a finger at one of the hickies. "John was a good man and so are you, so let me give you some free advice. You be careful with that."
Dean felt his neck go red and watched with a slightly open mouth as Bobby nodded his head and walked off, checking on the other agents coming back from lunch.
How the hell had he managed to miss lunch?
"Bobby propose to you or something?"
Dean jumped a little. "Jesus! Don't do that."
Ellen laughed and dropped a sandwich onto his desk and held out a coffee cup to him. Dean's belly grumbled and he took both gratefully, tearing into the saran wrap.
"Any progress?"
Dean fumbled around for his papers and handed Ellen a pile, giving Pam another one as she sauntered through the doors. He let them look over his finding's as he ate, pulling out a newspaper from his desk. It was kind of a trashier paper, published daily with gossip and new people to wring through the mud. Most of the news was unreliable and meant to cause drama. It also had a rather morbid daily section of news, a kind of 'weird death' hall of fame obituary page. One of the first mornings that he'd blearily stumbled into the office he'd passed Charlie along the hallway. She'd been nearly in tears as she read through something and Dean had been curious. Since then they'd made a small game of reading through the articles and if they found good ones they would share. Many of the circumstances of death were either completely made up or skewed. Or at least they had to be. They'd promised not to use their power to access coronary reports.
He stood up and walked over to Charlie's broom closet of a work space and knocked on the door. He waited for the 'come-in' before opening it. He stayed outside of the doorway, a piece of sandwich still hanging out of his mouth and waved the newspaper in the air. Food and drink were a big no-no around the computers but he wasn't about to stop eating his lunch because of some dead guy. Dean made his way back to his desk and it wasn't long before Charlie had joined him, the copy of her own newspaper in hand.
"Gross old man. After hours study help my ass."
"Tell me about it. I don't think he was actually a jumper though."
"But you believe that the ghost of a co-ed from thirty years ago killed him?"
"I didn't say that," Dean defended as he looked up the guy on the computer. "I mean this guy was successful as all hell. Happy, with a few books, wife and kids." Dean took a sip of his coffee. "There's no way he just took a nose dive by accident."
"Or it could be just that, an accident. That window looks pretty big, and it had been opened from the inside. Not like he'd been shoved through."
"You know you actually gotta be pretty strong to shove a guy through a window. Those things ain't as fragile as the movies make 'em seem."
"Fair enough, but still he could've been vigorously moving around and salsa'd his way out of the window?"
Dean laughed, "Sure except the distance he cleared didn't come from a straight fall."
"So we're back to a dead co-ed?"
"Or living co-ed, witnesses say they saw him going up there with a student that night. Though, I don't think some tiny thing could've tossed him out of the window either."
"How do you know she was tiny?"
"Oh come on, skeevy old men never go for the amazonian types."
"Moot point, not applicable in all cases. And besides, ghosts have super human strength."
"You're not seriously running with that?"
"I don't see you coming up with a better explanation for the swan dive. And the building has a haunted legend."
"Don't you guys get enough of dead people at work?" Ellen asked, eyebrow raised. Dean and Charlie looked up from their discussion.
"It's good to remain involved in your own community." Charlie flipped the page to get more of the article on the suicide.
"Yeah, informed. We're just being proactive," Dean defended as they started making bets on new information coming out and how the case would end up.
… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .
Since Dean's little atomic bomb of a surprise Sam had been spending most of his nights trying to think of plans. The first night he'd been thankful that Dean had been flown out on a case. He wasn't sure if he could've stopped himself from taking a swing. It wasn't like his usual tactic was to handle emotional upheavals with violence but he'd felt like exploding. Dean was an idiot. A caring idiot but an idiot.
His anger had faded during the next days and he'd gone into auto-pilot, but that hadn't meant that he'd let himself be useless.
He'd taken advantage of Dean's absence to spend most of his free time bouncing from library to library. Not just local, public ones. He'd hunted down a few law schools in the area to flip through their files. From Richmond to Lee and the University of Virginia. Just because he was legally suspended from accessing FBI files didn't mean that he was banned from all other material. Admitted, the research had been proven mostly useless. He was well aware that just about all of the information that could actually help him was classified. There were a couple of articles, news clippings, but nothing of importance.
Despite feeling like he was going back on some imaginary promise he had caved and at least put out feelers through some of his old law school buddies. He'd even risked dropping a few requests to people at the OKC field office.
He hadn't seen Dean when he arrived back from the case, which had actually been a good thing considering what he'd done. Another thing he was going to tack onto a list of growing discomforts was that he'd gone snooping. Sam knew better and of course Dean's things were sacred . He himself could pitch a fit when his stuff was touched. Still, Sam told himself it was for a good cause.
In Dean's personal belongings he'd found a scribbled list of numbers, in code. It was in a box with some of his old stuff from Oklahoma and it had taken awhile for Sam to figure out some of the phone numbers on it. The one he'd figured out first was 'Bela.' It had struck a strange chord in the back of his mind and he swore to himself that he'd heard the name before. It wasn't a friend, Sam would've known since Dean had so few of them, and it sure as hell wasn't a co-worker. After having worked their files over for so many years there wasn't a name he could easily forget. He'd made a copy of the number and tucked it into his pocket, intending to call it when he heard Dean whistling as he walked to their door.
Sam didn't see him until the morning and now here he was, sitting and waiting nervously for the number to call back. Dean had left for work hours ago and his shift at the bar had been short. There had been no personally recorded voice mail message for the number but Sam had left one with his name anyway. Which in retrospect could go really poorly. Not everyone was had gotten on the 'pity the poor Winchesters' bus. Some had become down right malicious and skeptical, as Gordon had. Sam began to perspire a little as he started to convince himself that what he'd just done was a bad idea. When his cell phone rang he nearly jumped off of the bed. He fumbled with the phone before answering.
"Hello? Sam here." His voice stuttered a bit, out of breath.
"Sam Winchester. I never did think I'd get a chance to talk to you. Dean's very very protective of you. Tell me, is he dead? I'm sure he would've never shared this number on his own."
"I- No. He's not. He doesn't know-"
"You stole it?" Bela laughed. "That's rich. Utterly rich. Now that's brotherly love. He's going string you up."
"It's for a good reason," Sam snapped. He was nervous enough and being made fun of wasn't helping. He also didn't like the way she talked about Dean. Maybe it had been a mistake to call. "Besides, how do you know he didn't give it to me."
The voice over the phone sobered, "Because we had an agreement. And along with those pretty, plump lips and long lashes; he's a man of his word. Because we have history."
Sam frowned into the phone and wished the conversation were happening in person. Even without usually being a good negotiator, his sheer size at least sometimes swayed people into a bit of nerves. Unsteady ground was easier to work with. He also didn't like this 'arrangement' she was talking about. Was she one of the people holding the contract for Azazel on Dean? Was she his leash? But that didn't make sense because the paper and ink had looked worn, and the receipt it had been written on was completely washed out except for a few shadows. Sam made a disgusted face as he thought about what other arrangements it could mean. He really hoped he wasn't speaking to some hooker Dean had kept a relationship with.
"Oh come on now. We're just having a bit of fun. You don't have your brother's sense of humor at all."
"Look, lady-"
"Bela, my name is Bela"
"I just- who are you? To Dean?"
The woman chuckled a bit. "Very useful."
"That's not an answer," Sam snapped.
"Grouchy too. First answer me this, there has to be a very good reason for you to have snuck through your brother's possessions. And I promise you, Sam, that I would have been informed previously if he'd willingly shared this number. So, if he's not dead, what would the law abiding brother want from me?"
Sam swallowed at the change in tone. He could hear her smirking on the other line. If there wasn't any sexual or romantic component, and with where he'd found the number, it was a very good chance that she was somehow related to law enforcement. "I guess there's no point in beating around the bush."
"No. There isn't. Something to remember for the future; don't try to slip something by me or cover something up. Chances are I already know about it."
"What? So you're some kind of spy?" Sam couldn't help but let a amused skepticism slip into his tone.
"That's not clever at all, Sam. For someone who called me you're very into yourself. One would think being a puppet in Azazel's personal horror show would've given you some sense of humility."
Sam's mouth went dry and his mouth snapped shut.
"Aaah," Bela said after Sam's silence. "I should've known."
"What do you know?" Sam asked, shaken. Finally, someone who seemed like they knew something.
"Uh-uh. That's not how this works."
"Please, I need to know."
"Don't beg, it's unbecoming." Sam made a small noise of protest. "I'm not a spy, I'm not an agent. But what I am is the best at what I do, and it's not a service I offer for free." Sam remained silent, with their recent move he wasn't sure just how much money they had left in savings. Hospital bills had drained their bank account significantly too. It didn't help that even if he'd wanted to pawn a few items Dean would probably notice. At the very least they didn't have any family bank accounts or some crap to where Dean would see his spending.
"I can pay."
"Wonderful! Now, I have some rather pressing engagements, you're lucky you carry that name or I might not have even called back. I'll be in touch."
The phone went dead and a loud, steady buzz rang against his ear. He swallowed and sighed, putting the phone down, and resting his head against his drawn up knees.
This was bad.
It had to be bad.
There was no way any part of that phone call had sounded legal. Were it any other time he probably would've questioned more why his brother had that number in the first place. Then again it wasn't like they didn't regularly employ informants. She could well be one of them. He also hadn't thought, in his rush to figure something out, that this Bela woman could very easily turn around and call Dean. He didn't want that roof falling down on his neck yet, he'd barely managed to dig himself out from the one that had collapsed the first time he'd screwed up.
For better or for worse Sam didn't really end up having a lot of time to mope over it. Dean's loud voice rang through the apartment and he wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. After a quick trip to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and practicing being calm, he stepped out of his room to find his brother dragging a small duffel bag out. He raised his eyebrow. "Flying out?"
"Nope," Dean said with a bright grin. Sam couldn't help but feeling a little amused. His brother's moods were very infectious. That feeling turned into confusion as a similar bag was thrown at him. He struggled with it for a moment, having been startled, before finding his grip. "Uhm, what?"
"It's not a case. Cas is gone and we're grounded. Weekends all free and I figured we'd take a field trip."
"A field trip?" Sam asked, skeptical. He was already not liking the sound of this. "Cas is gone?"
"Yeah a field trip, there an echo in here?" Dean looked away before continuing, "Cas got called away by some DB higher up."
Sam continued to stare, confused, until Dean marched up to him, dropping a paper on top of the duffel. He squinted at it. "What am I looking at?" Dean pointed to an article. "Some guy jumped a building, so what?"
"We're gonna go check it out."
"What?"
"There wax in your ears Sammy? It's nearby and the story sounds cool."
"Dean, I'm not allowed to work for-"
"The FBI I know I know. I never said we were going as cops or agents. Seriously keep reading, there's a ghost story attached to it."
"Since when are you into folklore?" Sam let his bag drop and skimmed the article. "You believe in ghosts now?"
"Nah but I got fifty bucks riding on this."
Sam sputtered a little, "Dean!"
"What?"
"You can't make bets on victims."
"Sure I can, not like he's around to care. Now come on, don't be a douche."
"I'm pretty sure out of the two of us I'm the one on a higher moral ground." Sam paused for a moment, nearly flinching. The number in his pocket felt like it was burning a hole through his jeans and that wasn't even the start of the list.
Dean ignored it. "Come on, aren't you at least a little bit interested? Put those little gray cells to use! I'm sure your brains been turning to mush on coffee duty."
Sam sighed. He really should fight this. It was stupid and there really wasn't any point in doing it. Besides, who the hell took field trips to see dead people? Or, he supposed, crime scenes. It seemed like a very mentally unstable thing to do. Still, with the guilt hanging heavy over his shoulders, and realizing that his brother just wanted them to get out of the apartment and do something, he conceded. It would probably be a good distraction anyway. "Fine, but I get to drive."
"Hell no!" Dean threw a towel he was packing at him. "Now get your shit and let's go."
As they walked out the door Sam shrugged to himself. It wasn't like they hadn't done weirder things.
… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .
Cas touched a finger to his lips, swearing he could feel them still tingle even after hours of separation. He'd been in transit most of the day but now that he was seated and in his own mind he felt touches all over him. Castiel was on personal jet Zachariah had provided and being brought to an undisclosed location. He reasoned to himself that the tingling dancing across his body was because he hadn't had time to compartmentalize what had happened. Immediately after Dean's departure he'd packed his stuff and headed home. Zachariah had demanded an instant response to the phone call but he'd waited until he had checked the other voicemails left for him at the apartment. Without even time for a shower he'd had to get to the airport. Castiel was to take a commercial flight a few cities over, why he couldn't have driven there was beyond him, where after long negotiations with security about why he had a gun, he'd been ushered onto the jet.
Perhaps it was just that, the speed at which he'd been removed from Dean. That without a shower his mind and body could pretend that it had only happened moments ago. The development had not been anything he'd expected. Admitted, he had enough self-confidence to know that he was not unattractive. He also had a confident, if quirky, personality and many found that to be desirable. He knew he had much to offer. Still he hadn't expected Dean to be one of those attracted enough to him to do something about it. There had been moments, of course, where Cas had speculated if the setting had been a smoky bar on a hot summer night they wouldn't have made it far past 'hello' before tumbling into the sheets. However, nothing about since they met to when they'd parted had been anything so casual. It was filled with blood, red tape and fire. Government secrets and dead bodies. They were high profile agents; not even ones that had met as casual colleges whose relationship had developed over coffee filled 'good mornings' as they passed the halls. Their dynamic, Cas had assumed, had been clearly outlined for them.
Still, he felt thrilled.
No one knew regulations better than he did. Yes, he'd been known to bend them a few times but it had always been within the limits of a second regulation. Including having practically memorized their handbook, the sexual harassment seminar every year stressed how detrimental to a working environment colleagues dating was. They couldn't of course ban emotions so there was a requirement of re-assignment if they wanted to continue a relationship at the office. He didn't want Dean to leave and he didn't want to get relocated to a strange team. Though perhaps for him the consequences would be more severe. They might demote him, accuse him of tampering with Dean's acceptance. Castiel felt a small chill crawl up his back. There was a very small chance of it happening but he didn't want Dean's position to be compromised simply because Cas had made the final hiring decision. He hoped testimony from the other agents would be enough if things got out of hand. Bobby at the very least held a lot of weight around the office.
Despite all these worries, all the reasons that he was telling himself 'no' for; he couldn't help it. As the landing strip came into view he rested his head against the window. He knew that that the moment he made it back to Virginia and saw Dean again there would be that hunger and want. He'd need to start practicing keeping that out of his features. (The only saving grace was that none of his co-workers knew what he looked like when his mind was per-occupied with passion.) Cas also knew that the moment he got Dean alone in a room with him that he'd need to claim those lips again as his own. He prayed that by the time he returned the other man wouldn't have changed his mind.
He didn't see Zachariah until he was at the office, having been picked up by two other CIA agents.
"Agent Novak! Good of you to come."
"I was instructed to," Castiel said evenly as he was herded into the small conference room. It was just him and Zachariah.
"Right of course, donuts? Coffee?" Zachariah's cheer confused him. Castiel wasn't rung for causal calls. He'd expected the mood to be more serious. Something that had required his immediate attention.
"No thank you."
"Well, we'll have a late lunch sometime later. Been traveling all day, bet you're ready to just hit the sack huh?"
"I feel fine."
"Good, wouldn't want you falling asleep at the table, right?" Zachariah laughed and dug himself out a small pastry, pushing the box into the center of the table with a wink at Cas. "How's Virginia? I hear you guys are getting good weather there for the weekend. Shame you have to miss it."
Castiel sighed and wrung his hands together. It was the only outward show of impatience he was willing to let himself exhibit. "Zachariah, if I may. If this is a social call I could've done that from Quantico." His own voice sounded peevish to him. He looked over his shoulder as the door was nudged open.
Uriel walked in holding two cups of coffee. For whatever reason he felt himself wanting one now that his mood was deflating. Cas tempered a little as Uriel handed him a cup, made just how he liked it. Even though there was no reason to be so impressed, they'd worked many nights together and had quickly learned each others habits, he was thankful that he wasn't going to have to force himself to drink something that would foul his mood more. "Thank you."
"Get on with it," Uriel told Zachariah, just as grouchy as Cas was. If his hunch was correct they'd both been pulled from their personal locations for this little meeting.
"All right, all right. No need to get snippy. You're probably wondering why I brought you here, right? Uriel?"
Uriel seemed to fight rolling his eyes with impatience but fished out a file from the box at his feet. He slid the copy in front of Cas.
"That would certainly be beneficial to know," Cas muttered and opened the file. 'Jackson, Mississippi' was printed across the first page. The case they'd been yanked from.
"I bet you'd like more information on that."
"It has been on my mind," Cas conceded thumbing through the papers. Just about everything looked identical to his own except for the last few pages.
"We needed to get Winchester out of there."
Cas looked up, concerned. "Dean?"
"Well, he was kind of the only one there," Zachariah joked but Cas felt like his voice was slicked in oil.
"Why?" His mind ran through awful possibilities. He knew that the group had connections to Lucifer and thus could perhaps- Azazel, they could be related to Azazel but he was dead so Cas hadn't even considered it. The man had to dead. Castiel didn't miss. The only other person left that had a bright, purposeful target printed on the Winchester's was- "Meg Masters?"
Uriel scoffed, "She's insignificant and small. Nothing but a bottom feeding whore."
Cas frowned but didn't say anything. It hadn't felt insignificant and small to him. It hadn't felt unimportant that she'd had a hand in taking Sam away. That Dean had nearly lost his mind over it. It had felt panicky and like he had been riding a roller coaster he couldn't get off of as his hands slipped and slid around in her blood. The small terror that had crept through his well trained composure when he tried to pinch off one of her intestines as Dean took off through the large double doors. She'd almost cost them Dean's life, he'd almost been too late to the scene. He tried not to let a visible shudder pass through, wondering what he would've done if it had been Dean lying on the ground with a bullet through his head. Perhaps at the time he probably wouldn't have haunted him so but now it twisted his stomach into knots.
"Azazel." Zachariah leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee, watching Cas intently to try and gauge his reaction.
"How? He's dead."
"It did nothing too important. Killing Azazel removed a knight from the board. Nothing more. The pieces keep playing and the game keeps going." Zachariah shrugged and stood up, walking leisurely around the table. "To be honest we hadn't expected things to happen as they did," he stopped and put a hand on Cas'. He felt like shaking it off. "Not that you didn't act very remarkably!" Zachariah pointed a finger at him before patting his shoulder and continuing to move. He let his palms rest on the table and loomed over them. "It would've been better to have him in custody but what can you do? Dean needed to be alive and Azazel was a scumbag. No one will miss him."
"But?" Cas felt a little sick.
"But, major evidence went with him. We were relying on a lot of cases being closed by getting him alive. Key testimony type stuff. We've got a few people we were hoping weren't going to see the light of day but without Azazel, well, it's all coincidence. We're not sure we can hold them any longer."
Cas paled. "Why wasn't I informed?"
"I agree with you," Uriel turned to Cas and gave a serious nod, "the way that the case was handled was poor. There are a lot of things that the CIA is being investigated for as far as procedures go because of it. Regretfully the events escalated rather quickly, there was no time to inform you." Uriel sounded genuinely apologetic.
"Well, we're debriefing you now," Zachariah cut in.
Castiel mood stayed sour and with the clipped, smug tone in Zachariah's voice he found himself getting a little angry. He understood need to know basis but he'd just single handedly caused the release of some criminals because he shot for the head instead of some non-vital organ. Hadn't negotiated him down. At least there was one silver lining. The person it had saved. "What's all this have to do with Dean?"
"Agent Winchester seems to be very keen on following his parents footsteps."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," Zachariah gave a slick smile and diverted conversation. "The Winchester's seem to be like catnip for criminals. The interest by Azazel specifically. We believe there's something bigger, something more at play and Azazel pushed over the first domino piece. We've yet to see where the pieces fall but patterns are emerging. Especially with this-" Zachariah moved towards the edge of the room where he pulled down the overhead screen. He dug out a remote control as he whistled a tune and clicked it on. Azazel's face in a grainy background popped up.
"Sorry, kids! My mistake, should've had that on before I even hit record. I know at least some of you have heard of me, maybe even seen me on TV -now not included-..."
Cas watched the recording in silence, becoming more concerned with every word out of the man's mouth.
"We found this in that little abandoned one-horse town he left them in, along with all the other bodies. Looks like he really went for a battle royal, and we all know who the victor was."
"Does Sam know?" Castiel asked feeling trepidation clog his lungs.
"We assume so, the tape had been watched by the time we retrieved it," Uriel said looking extremely unimpressed.
"Shouldn't we be taking Sam into protective custody then? I thought they were out of danger." Cas fought the fear crawling its way up his fine. He needed to get back to Virginia.
"He's really not the one we're concerned about." Zachariah's smile was too smug for the situation. It infuriated him.
"Dean?"
"He made a deal."
Cas leaned back in his chair, propping one arm up on the seat before staring at Agent Adler. "A deal?"
"With Azazel before you put a tunnel through his brain."
"How do you know this?"
"Informants in Lucifer's ranks. Just because the man's now rotting six feet under doesn't mean that the word didn't get out. The deal holds."
"What is this deal even-"
"We're not certain but it is a binding contract. It's why we had to get Dean away from the case. Dangling the bait too close would be a bad idea. We wanted to make sure no one came collecting early."
Cas felt rage well up in him. He wondered briefly if he would've been this upset if he didn't know what Dean's lips tasted like. "Bait? We need to keep him safe. Keep them both safe. Why has he been sanctioned to operate in the field!"
"Please, relax Agent Novak. He is in very capable hands."
"Capable?"
"Yes, we have the situation under control. Now if you're done with this rather unprofessional display we need to discuss Azazel and the consequences that follow. We've already got release dates coming up for some high profile cases. We need to make sure they get recycled straight back in."
… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .
Dean pulled up into the student parking lot and had immediately been griped at by Sam. Apparently there was very specific parking and without a sticker you could get a fine. Dean had said he knew that and didn't care until Sam had threatened him with horror stories of cars getting a boot. It was a bad day waiting to happen so they'd parked in visitor parking nearly at the edge of campus. The walk was going to be hell but it didn't dampen Dean's good mood. His brother seemed less constipated than usual and like Dean might've actually had a good idea for once. They were standing at a campus map trying to figure out where to go.
"Must feel like old times, huh?"
"What? Oh." Sam moved in next to him, looking for the building they were trying to find. "Stanford was bigger."
"Well aren't you fancy," Dean grumbled as he pulled back, confident in the direction they were going.
Which, of course, had landed them at the complete opposite side of campus, but at least they'd made it to the downtown area and found a bar. Sam complained and Dean told him it was recon. 'He'd intended to go there all along', 'ask the students about the professor'.
"Dean, you don't exactly look like a young, bright eyed and bushy tailed student."
"So?"
"I mean we look out of place," Sam grumbled feeling a little ridiculous. He towered over most of the people he met but having been out of school for a few years, he felt even bigger.
"Maybe you do, I'll never lose this young mug." Dean grinned and slapped his brother on the back, shoving him into the bar first. Having driven all day the sun was already starting to set and on a Friday night and the place seemed busy. Dean found the bartender and grabbed a few drinks, enthusiastically throwing himself into what he told Sam was research. Which, it was. He sent Sam off to go information hunting on his own grounds and put on a charming smile as a young woman approached him, sliding along the counter next to him.
He attempted to flirt, throwing on his best smile and leaning in subtly. His movements felt clunky. The woman smiled back and moved in closer, not noticing Dean's awkward behavior. He tried to up his game as he continued to feel flustered. He'd never had this problem before.
Dean's hand almost flew up to his neck as he obsessively went through all the reasons why he would be feeling weird.
He'd never been-
Another nervous feeling twittered through him and he downed his drink, reaching for another. He waved the bartender over and paid for one of hers. He'd never felt this nervous, or this wrong after having a little bit of lip locking and moving on. It wasn't like he was cheating either. Him and Cas weren't much of anything. Friends, colleagues, but not something that should make him feel so guilty as the blond ran her hand along the counter top to where it rested near his, heat coming off of it. He coughed and suddenly felt extremely out of place.
"Hey."
Dean breathed a sigh of relief as Sam's large body came into view, voice rising above the noise. Sam tilted his head towards the door and Dean followed willingly, giving the blond an apologetic smile and throwing a few compliments along with it. It wasn't her fault that Dean didn't have a handle on his personal life.
"So?"
Sam led Dean a good distance away so that they didn't have to shout to be heard over the music playing in the bar. "Found some people to talk to."
"And? Don't spoon feed it to me. Spit it out."
"Croft hall. This legend about it has been around for around thirty years. Apparently some girl was having an affair with the professor, when he cut it off she jumped from room 669."
"All right, that's something."
"How is that something?" Sam rolled his eyes. "We're not kids anymore, Dean, it's time to let the ghost stories drop. And I highly doubt there's someone from thirty years ago still prowling around waiting to shove philanthropist professors out of windows."
"Hey, doesn't mean we can't have a little fun," Dean protested and although he felt a little ridiculous, and Sam seemed annoyed, they were at least doing something together. Something that felt normal. Well, not as far as the activity went but in how they were behaving around one another. Like there wasn't a price on his head and even Sam had forgotten about it. "Come on, let's check out the building."
"Dean-" Sam's protest were ignored and Dean was pleased when Sam eventually caught up with him. "Fine, but we're just looking at the building, that's it."
They made it to Croft hall and stared up from the steps. Dean walked up a few of them and found the spot where Arthur Cox had landed. While the clean up crew had done the best they could Dean still saw the faint stains left by where Cox's head had cracked open. "Gross," he mumbled and walked a few more steps back, trying to count the windows for the floors.
"Are we done yet?"
"What? No- gimme a minute."
"A minute for what?"
Dean whirled around towards the entrance to see a man of short stature, in a blue jump suit leaning against a broom.
"Uhm-" Dean hadn't actually expected to run into anyone but students. Prowl around a bit, have some fun, and find a way to twist the story to get his $50 out of Charlie. He didn't have a cover story planned and he wasn't about to go flashing his badge. He could get in a lot of trouble for that.
"I'd say damn shame but," the man shrugged and looked up to where Dean had been staring momentarily too, "was bound to happen."
"Excuse me?" Sam moved forward.
"Oh come on, it's all over the papers. Guy had girls in his office all the time. Day, night, all his ducks lined up nicely. I'm not surprised one of the ducks pushed back."
"And you are?"
"The janitor," the man gave them a look before shrugging and moving to brush collected dirt off of the first step. "I found him."
"Oh- you. You found him? My condolences," Sam said with a frown.
The man shrugged, "I just sweep the floors, buddy. No tragic loss for me."
"Worked here long?" Dean asked as he stepped back, allowing the man to clean another step down.
"Six years I've been mopping theses floors. And trust me these guys come and go. Most of 'em just don't go quite as spectacularly as that."
"Right."
"There anything I can help you guys with? I thought the cops had this wrapped up?" The janitor paused to lean on his broom again. "I can go get my keys if you want a look inside?"
"No! No," Dean lowered his voice. "We're uh, we're good. We just came to look at the building," before Dean could help himself he slipped into a role, "again. We'd just heard some really stupid things and the office was getting clogged up because of it, but, everything's A-OK."
The man shrugged as Dean and Sam waved tight smiled good byes. "Glad that got figured out."
"I thought you said we weren't going to be here as officers," Sam grouched as they walked across the campus to the car.
"Shut up Sam," Dean shot back as he hurried. Just because he'd parked his car in the appropriate place didn't mean that someone hadn't broken into it. He suddenly didn't trust leaving his car on a college campus anymore. Or at least, that's what he told himself. Running away from a janitor seemed pathetic. "I knew what I was doing."
Sam laughed, loud and hearty. "Right. Well, good to know you're someone to depend on in quick-thinking situations. I hope you're satisfied, I know I am."
"Oh can it," Dean grumbled. He kept his expression grumpy despite feeling pretty good. Sam seemed less down in the dumps. He tossed comments back at his brother as he was teased for losing his oh so well practiced professionalism because of a five-foot janitor.
They'd already rented a motel room for the night and ended up staying, intending on leaving in the morning. What they hadn't expected was when Dean had gone to grab them breakfast in the morning for a report of a student on campus being in the hospital to be released in the morning. It seemed something very insignificant to print in a paper. Dean picked up a morning edition of the university newspaper anyway and brought it with him to the motel room just as Sam was finishing packing.
"Does this kid look familiar to you?"
Sam took the newspaper from him as Dean set the coffee's down. "Huh," Sam switched his stance to lean more on his other foot, "Yeah. He's uh, I talked to him yesterday. About Croft hall?"
"Well, apparently your buddy there had a close encounter sometime after you left him. What'd he been drinking last night?"
"Regular people drinks," Sam sat down on the bed and flipped trough it. He made a disbelieving face, "Probed? He was kidnapped into a spaceship and probed?"
"I know man, crazy."
"Not crazy," Sam closed the paper and frowned, "illegal. Aliens don't exist and while you might think this is hilarious this sounds heavily unconsensual."
"Woah woah," Dean held his hands up and sat down. He shoved the breakfast burrito towards Sam hoping to appease him for a moment. "It was probably just a bad trip, guy took some funny acid and thought something happened."
"Then why is he in the hospital?"
Dean shrugged and bit into his own sandwich. "Trust me it seems fishy, and I sure as hell don't support rape of any kind,- " Sam gave him a glare, "-but there's nothing we can do man. We're not here officially remember? We can't go waltzing in demanding a kit and an interview. Besides, it says he ran into a cop, screaming and yelling and when they tested him he was practically swimming in acid."
"You didn't have that problem with reality yesterday," Sam pointed out.
"Well the person in question was dead and the case closed."
"Then why did we come out here in the first place if the case was that closed?"
"Come on Sammy- really?" Dean huffed and ran an aggravated hand down the side of his face. "You wanna go visit him? Fine, let's go."
He ignored Sam's triumphant but pleased look as they piled into the Impala and drove back to campus.
Dean felt his knees go weak with disbelief and he nearly collapsed to the ground when they walked past Croft hall. In the grass, right beyond the steps where the professor had made a violent drop a few days ago, was a gigantic area of burnt grass. "You're kidding me."
Sam bent down and brushed his hand across it, "Well, if it helps it's just scorched. Like farmer's clear out fields sometimes? Controlled fires?"
"How the hell did no one notice a large patch of grass on fire? Maybe he really did get kidnapped."
"Dean-"
"Right right," he sighed put his hands to his hips. "You're gonna go play bleeding heart now?" Sam shoved him and Dean swatted at his brother's hand, indignant.
They didn't get to move very far. There was a bit of snickering behind them and Dean turned with a confused look. "Got something you wanna add, kid?"
A small group of student dispersed, leaving just one. Judging by his short stature he was a freshman, looked kinda young and small too. "How about you?" Dean asked.
"Not really," the boy shrugged and stared at the ground, shaking his head. "Can't say I feel bad for the guy. A bad trip is awful, and you know this is pretty far to go for a joke, but he kinda had it coming."
"What?" Sam moved towards the boy, concern radiating from his body. And while Dean would agree that no one ever 'had it coming' to 'em when it came to things like this he wasn't exactly ready to play justice warrior without the facts. It still sounded like a bad trip to him with smoke and mirrors. He wasn't convinced a real crime had occurred.
"Guy was a dick. Pledge master for a bunch of us. Made us do some really stupid," the boy looked to the side and the glowered at the burnt grass a little bit, "painful shit. Got off on humiliating us. Now he knows how it feels. He's the laughing stock of the entire school."
Dean and Sam stared at each other for a moment and the kid took it as his que to leave. "So?"
"I guess there's nothing really here," Sam mused and shrugged his shoulders. "And really none of our business. It sounds like it was just a practical joke." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "Man, I don't remember college being like this back when I went."
"Hah! I was right," Dean grinned as he started marching back towards the car. "Now if we could just get back home so I can go collect my reward."
And they would have gone back if when they'd gotten to the motel room there hadn't been a small mishap. Namely, Sam's laptop was missing.
"Where is it?"
"I don't fuckin' know," Dean shot back, aggravated.
"No one's been in this room since we left, we're paranoid about the locks. You were on it last night." Dean was about to protest. He'd maybe used it for a second. "And don't think I didn't see the screen it was frozen on. I barely got it fixed."
"And you think I did something with it in the few minutes I've had by myself?"
"No one else could've. We don't let maids in and it doesn't look like anyone's broken in here. This isn't funny. How would you feel if I screwed with the Impala?"
"It'd be the last thing you ever did." Dean stared him down. "And I'm not laughing," Dean paused and snickered a bit. "Okay I'm laughing a little bit. About time you lost something, knock you off that high horse a little bit."
"Dean, I don't lose things," Sam countered, glaring at him. "And we're not leaving until we find it."
"Just buy a new one."
"All my information is on there, I can't just back that up out of thing air."
"Didn't they tell you to keep copies in school Poindexter?"
"Shut up and help me look."
"Don't be a little bitch," Dean responded, huffy now. Apparently the 'don't believe in good moments' pattern from the day before was continuing. He hated being accused for doing something, especially when he actually hadn't done something. Dean thought they'd been getting along just fine. "I'm going to get food."
He marched out and closed the door before Sam could protest.
They spent most of he day avoiding each other and getting one each other's nerves. Sam was refusing to leave until they'd found his laptop, he'd filed a report with the local police and the motel but he was adamant on not leaving. Apparently since it had been Dean's 'stupid idea anyway' to make this trip he was supposed to keep footing money for the room until they found it. Dean spent most of his time trying his best to trigger his brother's pet peeves, eating food on his bed and turning the music up loud. Maybe if Sam got really tired of having Dean around he'd just tell him to leave.
Their grouching at each other had to take a break as towards the evening loud sirens wailed past their motel, startling both of them.
"What the hell?" Sam stood up to go the window, watching the headlights disappear into the turn lane for the school. "I think they're headed to campus."
"Really?" Dean stood up and brushed off flakes of food from his jeans. "What is with this school? Maybe it really is haunted?"
Sam shrugged and watched as two more cop cars followed the same trail.
"Come on," Dean tapped his brother on the shoulder and shrugged on his own jacket. While there was always a heavy set of skepticism to be had he also had a hard time believing in coincidences. Specifically when it concerned time line. If another person had taken a leap out of building there was reason for suspicion. Suicide's didn't come this close together naturally in the majority of cases, which meant there was a third party at play with a helluva short cooling off period. (Or a third variable in general.)
What they'd found at the scene threw Dean for a loop. He'd told Sam to stay back, walking in on a fresh crime scene wasn't exactly something that they'd be able to do together. Pieces, torn pieces. The techs on scene said that they were still trying to dig as many parts as they could out of the sewer but for the most part only an arm, a leg, and parts of a torso remained of the victim. In the one remaining hand there had been a gold watch grasped. They would let him know the second they identified the person. He jogged back to where Sam was waiting by the car.
"What happened?"
Dean shook his head, "I dunno man. This guy was in pieces. Ragged bits too, not like he was methodically cut apart but like he'd been chomped on."
"So not another jumper?" Sam leaned back against the car staring at the still flashing lights against the night sky.
"No, but I think I'm going to call this in," Dean sighed, "at the very least I should account for my whereabouts if this gets bigger."
Dean called Bobby and after a brief conversation was told to remain at the motel and he was going to see if anyone could come down. Unless they were invited in it wouldn't be an official case but at the very least they could get access to the morgue, take a look around. He was also going to give the information to the proper channels. Dean hesitated to include the alien thing but he figured starting with the professors 'haunted' suicide to a guy getting torn to bits all information would be relevant.
"You didn't tell him I was here," Sam pointed out as they piled into the car, heading back towards the motel.
"Nope."
"Why?"
Dean shrugged, "If he tells me to send you home tomorrow, fine. But right now you're just a civilian hanging around on campus whose brother happens to be an agent. Relax, we're fine."
Which of course, meant that things would end up not fine.
Dean cursed as he lifted himself out a sewer, having been okay'd as an assisting agent for the case by the locals. The body had definitely been in at least two or three locations. The dismemberment, although some of the pieces had been yanked off by the storm drain, had occurred elsewhere which indicated heavy foul play. They were still identifying the animal that had torn him to pieces and why someone had bothered to bring the body back instead of leaving it to be fully consumed to hide their trail. Which meant they had to take a crew down through the sewers since flesh had been found in the drain. The victim had been another professor on campus. A research scientist working on animal testing. Which made the victim count to two professors at least, and with the cooling period being less than a week apart, it was enough to warrant serious attention. A part of the campus had been blocked off and they were allowing some students the chance to go home or find other lodging during the investigation.
"I need to go work out," Dean told himself while he grunted, hoisting himself out of drain. He sighed as he breathed fresh air and walked towards his car. Having found nothing he figured he could call it in and get back to the motel to eat. Besides it would probably be a good idea to check on Sammy to make sure he hadn't wandered off anywhere. He was pretty sure that it would look bad for Sam's re-in-statement papers if he'd been prowling around a crime scene, whether he was there officially or not.
What he found at his car left his blood boiling and made the ten minute car ride back to the motel last a good hour longer due to walking and having his car towed so he could replace the tires.
He slammed the door open as he entered, finding Sam sitting in a chair reading a book.
"You can't let the air out of the tires you'll bend the rims!"
Sam looked up, confused, "What? I didn't go near your car!"
"Then how'd I find this?" Dean held up the clip wallet that he'd picked up near the Impala. Seeing as he'd left Sam at the motel that morning there was no other way it could've gotten there.
He watched as Sam stood, searching his pockets and a glare formed on his face. "Give that back."
"No, consider it reparations for emotional trauma," Dean shook his head, anger still boiling in his veins. "I'm on active duty too, it's not exactly the right time to be fuckin' around!"
"I haven't left the room all day! Now give that back."
"No."
Sam launched forward and Dean ducked, holding his hand out further. He attempted to stuff it into his pocket as Sam moved forward again, grabbing him by his elbow. They wrestled until they hit the edge of the bed and as they flailed, trying not to fall, Dean swept Sam's leg out from underneath him, bringing both of them crashing to the floor.
"Everything all right in there?"
The two froze on the ground, staring at the door. "Fine!" Dean called out, wriggling out from underneath Sam and throwing the money clip out of reach. He walked to the door and opened it. He stepped aside to let Bobby enter the room, suit rumpled indicating he'd just come from the scene.
"Fine, huh?" Bobby repeated, skeptical. He eyed the room and the mess in it before zeroing in on Sam. "There a reason he's here?"
Sam swallowed, "Nice to see you again, sir."
"Pleasure," Bobby grouched but didn't comment on it further. It wasn't like they'd violated any laws, and he had been curious about how the younger Winchester was doing. He'd managed to get one of John's boys under his radar but paperwork hadn't finished out yet on Sam's status. He was sure that they would both end up working in Quantico but there was nothing to be done about a slow system. "Would you like to tell me how you two idjits stumbled on this mess?"
"It's not like we did it on purpose," Dean defended leaning against the edge of one of the tables in the room.
"Dean wanted to go on a field trip to visit a dead guy," Sam interjected with an eye roll before zeroing in on his clip of money by Dean's feet.
"Crime scene, not the dead guy, there's a difference," Dean responded petulantly.
"We also wouldn't be in this mess. I mean what kind of person takes a field trip to a crime scene?"
"Hey-! You agreed to come along, don't pin this on me."
"You practically forced me into it, Dean. You weren't going to take no for an answer!"
"Oh bull shit, you're just pissed at me because you lost your shit."
"I didn't lose it you took it!"
"The hell I did."
"Boys!" Bobby's voice rang over their argument and they both retreated to their corners, feeling fairly chastised. "What in the world is going on? Admitted I haven't seen you two interacting together since Oklahoma but I don't recall it being this bad."
"Sam tried to break the Impala."
"I wasn't near that car, Dean, and you took my laptop."
Bobby sighed and sank into a chair. "If I weren't on the job I'd grab a beer." He straightened and pointed a finger at each of them in turn. "You two are going to sit down and shut up for a few minutes. Dean, we are going to be here on an FBI capacity." Dean looked surprised. If they had gotten the all clear this was bad. "So it's actually a good thing that you two took the field trip up here. Probably would've never got wind of this if you hadn't called it in. I'm not gonna go spilling case information with Sam here, but I can clear something up. Dean didn't take your laptop," he gave Sam a look to which he protested, "and Sam didn't mess with your tires."
"What- but I found this," Dean picked the clip off the floor and waved it in the air.
"That is about as far as I'm willing to go with information. But you've been had. You two hit the radar pretty big when the OKC office exploded. You thought your daddy was famous? He was playing pewee and you two are in the major leagues in circuits. The moment you two set foot on that campus he knew the feds were here. You were targeted. And maybe if you two hadn't been going at each other's throats you would've figured that out by now."
"I'm not following," Dean said, sliding from the table into an actual chair.
"Well you'll have to be lost for a little longer," Bobby stood from the chair and nodded towards Sam. "Until he gets clearance we can't discuss more information than that. You wanna spill the beans when you get home? Fine, but find a way to get him home first. I'll be waiting at the precinct." He looked around the room a bit, "And clean up after yourselves. The maid's have it hard enough without you two breaking furniture."
… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .
It always ended up the janitor. Maybe Scooby-Doo had actually taught him something useful.
After some digging around and with a few phone calls they'd managed to pin point a pattern. It didn't show up very often but when it did it always came with bells and whistles. In this care bloody bells and whistles; coupled with a morbid and ironic sense of humor.
The Trickster was his code name. The man had money too and apparently money truly did mean power, and in this case supplies. Because it baffled him how in the world he could be standing in a university auditorium, with his gun raised at two scantily clad women on a bed straight out of a porno, talking to a short guy with a sugar complex. Either that or someone had slipped something into his drink too and he was about to make the next front page.
"They're a peace offering. I know exactly who you are, who your brother is. Who you work for. I also know your track record." The Trickster leaned back in the chair, head tilted as he unwrapped a lollipop, rolling a large jaw breaker in his hand.
"Well, then you know that the FBI isn't exactly supportive of murdering people."
"Oh come on, one of 'em isn't even dead. Probably never going to try putting anything creative in his system again but hey- they got what they deserved," the Trickster sat forward. "Now, you don't know it, but I like you. And your brother. You've got a certain something that makes me very interested in you." He smiled and shrugged. "Been making waves and I like the way you've made them. So, enjoy. Just for long enough for me to skip to the next town."
Dean glanced back at the women, biting his lip. It was easier to look away than he'd expected. On one hand this was definitely something that would've made the books but on the other apparently the campus was poison for him and women. Or perhaps that was the nagging sense of guilt combating his libido as his eyes trailed away from their breasts. "I can't. Don't get me wrong, they were dicks and douche bags, and man do I like people getting what's comin' to 'em, but I can't just ignore the system or that people are dead."
"Too bad," the Trickster frowned and gave a nod to women. "It's interesting what type of help you can get with the right influence."
The Trickster snapped his fingers and Dean found himself knocked face first into the hard plastic edge of one of the auditorium seats. Dean's gun fell from his hand and slid across the room. He fumbled into his coat pocket as he tried to deflect a heel flying towards his face to alert back up to storm the room. They needed the guy alive, if the unconnected cases were to be believed he a lot to answer for, so they'd wanted to wait until the last minute before pulling troops in. Cross-fire damage was a bad idea. With how unpredictable the guy's pattern was. He hadn't earned his name by playing by the rules, and his seemingly unlimited supplies meant they didn't know what he was packing.
He felt the button click into place and as he was yanked back towards the stage he heard the auditorium doors bang open and two lines of agents filing in from both sides. He managed to let a small grin of triumph slip past his lips as the Trickster looked around himself. Dean deflected another blow and attempted to grab the brunette's arm to twist it behind her, he really wasn't sure what protocol was for fighting half naked women. What little elation he'd had drained away as he started hearing gunfire. As far as he'd been able to tell the guy had been unarmed. Dean managed a glance up to see that a few of the boys they'd brought with them and turned fire on the rest of the team.
The fucker had slipped his own men in.
Dean managed to fling the two women away from him, vaulting towards the chair and trying to reach the Trickster, pulling his second firearm from the holster at his ankle and raising it. Before he even managed to make a threat a red smear started spreading clear across the man's lower abdomen. Dean eased up on his grip as he watched the Trickster's face drop, hands covering the wound and coming away bloody. His body trembled a little as he sank down in his chair, eyes vacant.
"We need a medic!" Dean yelled over the last few remnants of gun fire. Some idiot had shot straight through seat and into the man they specifically needed alive.
The gunfire stopped completely after that. Bobby was at his side quickly, helping him apply pressure as he checked the pulse along the wrist. Shallow but still there. They had maybe a few minutes. Medics shoved him a side and he was pulled back along with Bobby to let them do their job.
They were rushed out of the building and given their own once over by the emergency responders.
Later, when Sam was busy laughing at him for getting his ass kicked by two girls, he received a text from Bobby informing him that he'd been told that the Trickster had died on the way to the hospital. He also told him that the men that hadn't died in the crossfire, that had been hired, were dead as well. They were still investigating the cause of death seeing as the most damage they'd had when detained had been simple grazes. Still, it was looking like foul play. Bobby speculated a clean up to make sure no information was leaked. What that mattered to a dead man he didn't know but it wasn't uncommon for criminal circuits to keep tight ranks.
"Well fuck," Dean muttered as he flipped through his text messages, rubbing at his sore chin.
"You did your best to save him," Sam said in a somber tone. While teasing his brother about embarrassment was fun and games it wasn't exactly helpful to poke fun at a life lost under his hands. Even a criminal one.
"Yeah yeah." Dean opened up a beer and settled onto their couch. He turned the TV on.
"So, did Bobby share anything else?" Sam fidgeted a little with his own beer bottle, rolling it around in his hands.
"Oh yeah," Dean took a small sip, remembering that his brother hadn't been with him. "They actually don't know that much. Bunch of smoke and mirror shit. But apparently this dude is-was, some nutjob with money. Crime network loose canon or something, it's the only explanation for having that much spending cash and not showing up in any tax records. Dunno how he made his money, they're thinking weapons dealer or something but there's really been no trace of the guy except the MO he leaves behind. Even then that's a signature left behind on purpose. They still haven't ID'd the Trickster or I'm sure I would've been told. There was really no reason to send you home."
Sam shrugged, "Well I kinda understand it. I mean the fact that the feds got called in at all is kind of a big deal." He sighed and paused for a second, fidgeting again, nervous. He'd had time to cool down since he'd been waiting back at the apartment. "Well, either way it's over now and Dean. I'm so-"
"Yeah." Dean swallowed. "Me too, now can we put on some violent action movie so I can feel manly again. Jesus."
Sam laughed but didn't bother to bitch as Dean tried to find the most explosive movie on TV.
As they went to bed that night Dean laughed to himself while he brushed his teeth. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, letting the adrenaline ease out of his system. In the excitement he'd completely forgotten to worry about Cas. Dean trailed his fingers across his neck and frowned at the slowly fading marks on his neck.
He hoped that when Cas got back he'd be willing to give him new ones.
A/N: We're not going to see Gabriel for awhile of course, and it won't be revealed that he is Gabriel until Cas and him have an encounter. Rest assured he is not dead, and this was the best way I could translate materializing that type of stuff out of nowhere. I figure if you can spend a few hundred thousand dollars on a hit man why not ask if they can do it in lingerie? Or buy some pet carnivores and gleefully throw body parts about. Each character in the angels has a specific background and why they are where they are in the story but we're not quite there yet so I can't reveal it. So have patience and give me the benefit of the doubt?