* Beta'd Jan. 17 uploaded Jan. 31st
Chapter 24: Demons Knocking At Your Door
Castiel thumbed through the pages slowly, buying time to gather his thoughts. He'd hoped for a reprieve before everything went to hell again. Of course, it wasn't like he could call up a massive criminal organization and ask them to kindly stop their plans because he had dinner and a relationship to figure out.
"How did they even get out?"
"It's all speculation, but it's legal. The information they had came straight from our C.O.L.T. files."
"How do you know? The files are top level clearance. I cannot fathom a scenario where they would've been brought out. The whole system only works because they don't legally exist."
"Exactly."
"Meaning?"
"You're usually faster on the uptake than this," Uriel said, not unkindly. He gave a sour look towards their superior. "Zachariah, if you would stop playing games."
"Leaked information of course. And it wasn't like we could fight back against any of them seeing as then we'd have to admit to the files existing. We've had to do that far too much this past year already. I do pray that discretion has been taken by those exposed to the files."
"Of course, all of the public files that were involved were destroyed. You oversaw some of the procedures." Castiel paused, "They're all out now?"
"Biggest threats we have so far."
"And you want me to; what?"
"Call your team, Agent. Bring them in."
Castiel frowned, "They're all related to Lucifer's organization and Azazel. I'm not sure bringing Dean in would be the best idea."
"Bring both of them in."
"Both?"
"Sam Winchester will be working this case as well."
Cas froze and stared at the man in front of him. Every nerve in his body was sending out frantic signals to his brain. This was bad. "Sir," Castiel licked his lips and swallowed, trying to seem as subservient as possible. "It hasn't even been a full month since Sam Winchester was cleared, and now you want to throw him straight into the path of the proverbial wolves?"
Zachariah clasped his hands together in front of him on the table. "I don't believe I stuttered, Agent Novak."
"May I ask why?" Castiel pressed.
"They seem to think that this boy has some skill set required for their re-capture," Uriel said, his contempt barely hidden behind an eye roll. "Practically a civilian." This time he did spit the word out with venom. "He has no valuable skill. His school record has been impressive but he's still just a boy."
Castiel held in a sigh and attempted not to push further. It was clear by the way that Zachariah had started digging through his bag that the discussion was over. He gave Uriel a thankful nod of his head either way. At least he wasn't the only one who thought this was a moronic idea, even if for different reasons. Zachariah's smile was oily and pleasant as he pulled out a stack of papers and slid them in front of Castiel. "Petitions, permissions, and practically every type of paperwork that will allow Sam Winchester into the field," he chuckled to himself, "well, maybe not traipsing around in the grass. Wouldn't want a rookie at my back shooting at shadows? Am I right?"
Castiel didn't respond to the attempt at a joke and instead frowned down at the papers. It was actually starting to hurt. He felt like touching a fingertip to his cheek to massage it. He couldn't remember being this pained by frowns. He'd started noticing laugh lines forming. That was probably Dean's fault. Thinking of Dean, he thought of Sam and rested his palm over the papers. He had to try one more time. "Sir? Are you-"
"This is not up for discussion."
Uriel and Castiel sat quietly in the room as Zachariah snapped his briefcase shut and marched out the door. He bid them a good evening and let the door slam shut behind him. Castiel turned back to the stack of papers that had been relinquished into his control. Among them was a small briefing on information sharing. Most of the information about this was still classified. On one hand Castiel appreciated it, some of his own information would've been included if it had been blown open with unlimited access. Technically, that time of his life had been scrubbed from existence; he'd served his duty well and then gotten the hell out of dodge. His stomach churned uncomfortably. His history itched along the spine of his back, prickling and uncomfortable. Instead of focusing on his special deployment, after the desert incident, he focused on what he was allowed to share.
Cas jolted a little as he felt a hand on his arm. He turned wide eyes to his CIA partner. "It's the highest level of idiocy to put Sam Winchester so close to the front lines. The boy needs to be kept out of it. Keep an eye on the civilian. He has a penchant for getting close to those demons. I will attempt to reason with our superiors."
Uriel left him with that. Castiel nodded, grateful and a little confused. Shouldn't both Winchester's have been mentioned? Then again, it wasn't as if he'd brought it up himself. He cursed for not having said more. Dean's deal. This would put him directly in the path of people who could very well be executing the warrant on his head. Nerves fluttered in his stomach. His elbows felt cold against the conference table as he collapsed his head into his open palms. It was something he'd noticed himself thinking less and less about. Then again psychology would tell him that it was normal with someone you cared about. Something like trying to ignore that a loved one had cancer. Unless it was shoved straight in your face; it was emotionally easier to ignore the deadline.
The drive home, or rather to Dean's apartment felt too short and too long. The winter lights and decorations glittering around him made him feel sour. A part of him wanted to pack up and get both of the Winchester's as far away from this case as possible. Get his entire team out of harms way. He sighed as he stopped at a red light and watched a mother and child walk past a display window. Their cheeks were rosy from the cold, snow framing them as the child pointed eagerly to a toy in the store. Castiel cursed his job. He wouldn't be able to run. If they weren't stopped, the destruction would engulf everyone, not just people had started to consider into his actions.
His phone buzzed and Castiel resisted the urge to look. It would be Dean. He'd texted him when he'd started driving that they needed to talk when he got back from Langley. Dean had tried to flirt with him, making lude suggestions, which Cas had been forced to turn down with a stern 'Sam needs to be there.' It had been followed by another joke on the disturbing nature of incestuous relationships. He'd ignored the comment and let his phone slide into the passenger seat of his car. Castiel was anxious to see Dean again despite the discomfort he carried in his shoulders. Since their last out of state case the reconstruction on Dean and Sam's apartment had gone into full swing. The hardest work, re-wiring the apartment and making sure that it wasn't going to collapse on itself, was done. The rest, Dean had insisted on doing himself. He'd seen some progress from his visits and was very impressed with the handiwork. Still, it meant that they hadn't had much private time together. Everything they did at Dean's was supervised by Sam. The other man still wasn't comfortable divulging the change in their relationship to one of such intimacy. For the most part Castiel agreed with this decision. He was pretty high up the chain in the FBI and more than that the bureau didn't cast a kind eye to employees in the same unit fraternizing with each other.
With how much work the restoration was taking Dean didn't have any free time. Especially not to visit Castiel at his apartment. The only things they'd been able to take for themselves were small moments in the office after hours. A few nights they'd managed to find free time to go down the local diner and indulge in pie and hot coffee but work kept them busy. Neither of them pressed for more. The restoration of Dean's home was important. It was important to him to remake it into something that would remind him of home and not the crazy pyromaniac that kept trying to kill them.
Castiel took the familiar staircase slowly, hand curling protectively around his briefcase. The papers felt like rocks weighing him down. One miss step and he would topple straight to the bottom. Still, he couldn't help the sense of relief he felt when he finally knocked on Dean's door.
"Sam," Castiel spoke, surprised. It was rare for him to be opening the door.
The younger man grinned at him and stepped aside to let them into the apartment. Castiel took a look around and raised his brow. "We've been decorating," Sam added as an explanation to the cheesy Christmas decorations placed around the room. It looked like it had all been bought at a gas station.
"I can see that," Castiel mumbled as he slid out of his jacket and hung it on the only other empty hook along the wall. There were three pegs. One for him, one for Sam, and one for Dean. The first time he'd noticed it, Dean had been hovering in the hallway. The blush that had erupted across the other man's ears had kept him warm and glowing for a few nights.
"Dean's cooking," Sam said as he turned down the hall.
"I was wondering what that smell was," Castiel said as he followed. He contemplated leaving the briefcase in the hallway but knew he would forget to do anything about it if he did. Instead, he let it drop next to the couch and turned to the kitchen. The aroma filled his senses and he felt his entire body relax. Someone had once told him that food made with caring and love tasted the best. Castiel was inclined to agree.
"Cas!" Dean shouted, turning around from the stove and wiping his hands on a rag that was hanging on his shoulder. His smile was bright, relaxed. Castiel's heart gave a painful twinge. He was going to destroy it.
"What are you making?" Castiel asked, coming closer to the stove. He glanced back quickly, making sure Sam was settled on the couch, enraptured with the TV, before sliding his hand gently to the small of Dean's back. He watched as Dean did the same check before leaning into the hand and scooting closer so that their hips touched.
"Nothing special," Dean mumbled. His face was a little red from standing over the stove all evening.
"Vegetables?" Castiel asked, humor coating his words.
"They're not for me," Dean insisted as he stirred the mess of vibrant colors on the pan. "Sam convinced me to make them."
"I thought a good cook never sent out anything he hadn't tasted first?" Castiel teased lightly.
"That's something that he's gonna have to deal with," Dean craned his neck so that he could see Sam. "You hear that! If it tastes like ass and burnt things that's your fault!"
Sam laughed and lifted one hand, flippin' Dean off, never turning to look from the TV.
"Hope you're in the mood for chicken," Dean said as he flipped over the pieces on the large pan. "And I hope you haven't eaten yet. If you have I'm gonna make you eat anyway. I spent hours on this."
"Dean, even I know that cooking chicken in the pan does not take hours."
"Damn it," Dean grumbled but there was a grin on his face. "I need to stop letting you watch me cook."
Catiel dared a look at the living room before coming in close. He let his arms wrap loosely around Dean, moving across as he did so it simply looked like Dean was in his way. He let his nose brush against the nape of Dean's neck. "But it's one of my favorite things."
"Don't I know it," Dean whispered, hand gripping his spatula tightly. "All right, make yourself useful. You know where plates are."
Castiel chuckled and went to do as he was told. It didn't take long for the clatter to alert Sam and soon they were both setting the table. Sam excused himself to the bathroom as they started laying out the food.
"Remember to wash your hands!" Dean called out. Sam grumbled something back before shutting the door.
Only a few seconds passed before Castiel was pressed against the table. Dean's hands were hot against the back of his neck and his cheek as the man pulled him in for a kiss. It was a little more chaste than their usual but it made the butterflies in Cas' chest erupt into a flutter anyway.
"You know, all I really need to do is replace the microwave and get a few more pillows and I'm done," Dean mumbled, breathing low into Castiel's ear.
"Oh?" Castiel tried to keep his tone calm. Dean liked to rile him up but he'd found it more fun when he didn't give in so easy.
"Mhm." Dean rested his head against Cas' shoulder and nuzzled closer. His mouth moved along the strong line of Castiel's neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses.
Dean cursed as he heard the water in the bathroom turn on and pulled away. Their hands lingered together for a moment before they moved to their respective chairs. If their feet nudged against each other under the table, they were sure Sam wouldn't notice.
Castiel watched with a growing sense of guilt as the brother's joked around as they ate. At first he'd joined in, teasing Dean and then Sam's sense of decorative skills.
"I bet you're apartment's not even decorated."
"I seem to have never put much importance in it."
"I could help you with that, you know," Dean had nudged his foot closer to him, "after restorations."
It had been hard not to become flustered.
That warmth was gone just as quickly as it came and Castiel was left with a growing sense of dread. He was suddenly extremely aware of the black briefcase leaning against the edge of the sofa.
"Cas?"
"Yes, Sam?"
He noticed that while he'd been lost in thought they'd both stopped eating to stare at him.
"Something wrong?"
"No?"
"You're barely eating." This from Dean. His frown was pronounced as he stared at Catiel's nearly full plate. If it had been anyone else he could've fibbed his way out of it, but Dean's culinary skills had made him into a very healthy and hearty eater. "Just a lot on my mind."
"Speaking of," Sam said as he gently set his knife and fork down. "What did you need us for?"
"Perhaps, this is something we should discuss after eating first."
"Because that doesn't sound ominous," Dean scoffed as he shook his head, a little amused. He already had a bite piled onto his fork, halfway to this mouth when he noticed that Castiel hadn't moved. "Am I gonna want a drink for this?" Dean ventured.
Castiel cursed the other man's ability to read him so well as he got up. They left the food at the table, only moving it around a little, and Dean placed three beers on the table. At least he hadn't given away just how dire the situation was. "Spill," Dean commanded as he twisted the cap of his beer off.
Castiel rolled the cold beer between his palms and concentrated on that. "I would rather give the full briefing when the entire team is here. I don't enjoy repeating the same thing twice."
"I'm not a part of the team," Sam protested, leaning towards him from across the table.
"For this case, you are," Castiel said and lifted his eyes to gauge the reactions. Confusion, for both of the men, some happiness from Dean (it wasn't surprising that he would want to work with his brother), and mistrust from Sam. "I wanted to tell you both, first. I felt I owed you that much."
"Guess we're lucky being friends with the boss," Dean said as he lifted the beer to his lips.
Cas shook his head a little. "Partly, yes, but mostly due to the subject matter of this case. I felt... that you should be notified separately from the others. And that it should be done by me."
"So what's so bad about this that they gotta take someone green into the field?" Sam asked. "I don't even have a firearm qualification."
"There are seven criminals that have recently," Castiel struggled with finding the right words, "-escaped the government's grasp."
"Okay?" Dean raised his eyebrow.
"The CIA has requested that a special task force be assembled. My superiors want us to run point on this," Castiel stood up and wandered over to his briefcase. He moved his plate further away as he opened it and grabbed the stacks of files meant for Sam.
"What the hell?" Dean said as he watched Castiel slide the stack to Sam.
"Okay...so, what's so special about these guys?"
"Their criminal pasts cross with Azazel's. It's related to the C.O.L.T. files." As Castiel had predicted, the warmth in the apartment was swept away. He fought the urge to shiver as he waited for them to respond.
Dean had to cough and clear his throat a few times before he could say anything. "So, uh. You can talk about it now?" Castiel watched as his hands clenched on the table. He'd let go of his beer bottle in favor of fisting his hands. Rage started to boil behind his eyes. "What the hell? Is that even fuckin' smart?" His eyes flitted to his brother and back to Castiel. "Azazel kidnapped him! And don't get me started on Meg. God can you keep anyone in fuckin' custody!?"
Dean rose from the chair so roughly that Castiel had to try and push his own back. He knew the rage wasn't directed at him but that didn't mean he wanted to be in its presence. He bit his lip trying to figure out something to say. He couldn't think of anything that wouldn't launch Dean's ire straight at him. He watched as Dean stormed around the apartment, him and Sam both silent. They shared a brief glance before Sam started to shuffle through the papers. He'd had years to deal with this side of Dean. Castiel and him weren't even at a full year of their hidden, pseudo-relationship yet.
"So," Dean finally ground out between clenched teeth, "C.O.L.T.?"
"I'd rather only debrief once," Castiel mumbled quietly.
He watched as Dean rubbed a large hand over his face, shoulder's hunched and rigid. The atmosphere in the apartment was toxic. He could feel it pressing around his body, pushing at him, telling him that he wasn't welcome in this home. Anxiety curdled in his stomach like sour milk and he quietly snapped his briefcase shut. He inched out of his chair and looked briefly at Sam. The other man gave him a pitying look and a nod of his head. His eyes told him that Dean was being an idiot and that Sam would take care of it but that didn't help the cold draft he felt nipping at his heels.
"Thank you for the food," Castiel said as he took his coat off of the little nub in the wall meant for him.
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"Dean, you're being an ass."
"No!" Dean barked out as he finally turned around. He'd heard Cas leave. He knew he'd be feeling like fucking crap for it later but he wasn't in the mood to pet bruised egos.
"You don't get to decide that," Sam said, getting up from the table.
"The hell I don't? You're turning down that request, and that's final!" Dean ran his hand through his hair and clenched his fingers around the short strands at the nape of his neck. It had been awhile since he'd been so angry at the branches of government he served. "It's too dangerous for you and you know it. You know exactly what happened last time, hell the last two times, you decided to get involved!" Another thing he would probably feel guilty for later. He knew how bad Sam felt about both incidences. Some other day he might've felt cruel for it.
Dean watched, feeling bitter as Sam slowly cleaned his dishes.
"Too dangerous? That's rich, Dean. What about you, huh? Heading out into the thick of it? Trying to get them to collect on your deal early?" Sam snapped.
"What?" Dean blinked and took a harsh swig of his beer. "No? What does that have to do with anything?"
The dishes clattered in the sink as Sam whirled around. "Let's forget for a second that you're a reckless asshole. Did you ever think that maybe we could get some information for you! A way to get you out of it?!"
"Sam. There is no getting out of it," Dean bit out. His muscles clenched and he knew he would probably have a sore body in the morning from how tightly wound he felt. He knew exactly how dangerous his deal was and the reminders of his impending... well, whatever they wanted from him. The more he'd thought about the wording, and the threatening notes, he was starting to get the feeling that he wasn't going to make it out alive. None of the others so far had.
"So you're not even gonna try?!"
"Shut it, Sam."
"I'm going with you, whether you like it or not. You might be my older brother but you don't trump the CIA."
Dean watched, still frozen in anger as Sam marched past him and into his own room, slamming the door behind him. He sighed and felt himself collapse on the couch. His entire body seemed to ache and he stared resentfully at the decorations in the living room. A small beeping on his phone drew his attention. "I swear if it's more bullshit," Dean mumbled as he slid his thumb over the screen. His e-mail was still displayed. Instead of checking on the new notice he paused before clicking on the already read e-mail.
It was from Ben. The kid still spoke to him more than Lisa did. After a few late night arguments before he'd moved they'd decided that it was probably healthier for Ben's psyche to keep in contact. They'd explained that nothing was gonna happen between them and that it had just been time to move on. Ben had of course wondered if it was his fault, as all kids do when parents separate. It had taken some convincing to prove that it wasn't true. Now it was just a toss up between which "parent" he did side-eye. Dean thought it was ridiculous. They hadn't even been together for that long.
He read the e-mail carefully and wasn't sure how to feel. Moving would be good for them. Start off somewhere new. Somewhere that they didn't have to see his shadow everywhere. The house, the neighborhood; hell, every time a cop car drove by. He closed the e-mail and shook his head. Negative feelings had to channel somewhere and he was happier with anger than sadness. Anger was very dear to his heart.
Even alcohol didn't help him simmer down and when they gathered into Dean's Impala in the morning the tension was still there. Dean tried not to glance over at his brother. He wasn't the type to break the silent treatment first. Even the elevator felt smaller than usual as he watched the numbers climb higher until they reached their floor.
"Sam Winchester?"
Dean hung back behind his brother as a very confused Ellen stepped forward. She recovered quickly, giving him a smile and a handshake before looking over past him at Dean. Her smile slipped a little. It wasn't hard to guess why. When he was in this bad of a mood he wore it like an ugly holiday sweater, obnoxious and in your face. His only comfort was that they had a few more moments before the cat was out of the bag. Dean wasn't sure weather to be relieved or not that Cas had talked to them first and privately. A part of him liked being trusted, and consequently felt like a dick for his actions, and a part of him didn't want to deal with the stares.
"Good to see you, son," Bobby said as he walked up, clapping Sam on the shoulder.
Even Dean's glowering had to ease up a little. He had expected his teammates to be a little more frigid towards his brother. Sam had told him that most of his first days, and even now, he spent getting stared at by the other FBI employees on his floor. He understood some of it, Sam's name was kinda notorious for all the wrong reasons, but as his older brother it made him want to go on a rampage.
He nodded briefly at Bobby as he got his own greeting clap on the shoulder.
"Novak wants us all in the big room."
Dean tried not to sigh too dramatically and squared his shoulders. As much as he wanted to play out his displeasure at the situation once they walked through that door everything would become real. Those criminals would be real and Sam's involvement would be very real. "Come on, Sammy, this way," he said as he grabbed his brother by the arm. He ignored the surprised look his brother gave him and dragged him into the office.
He paused briefly as he settled them into chairs to stare at Castiel. He knew from the way that his hair stuck up towards the back that he'd only woken up a few hours ago. Probably hadn't gotten much sleep. The way that his fingers kept sliding over the edges of the papers as he flipped through them told him that Cas was nervous too. Dean couldn't help but feel guilty. This was something big, and it didn't just involve him and his brother. He shouldn't have been a dick to Cas. He tried to catch the other man's attention before everyone sat down but his eyes remained stubbornly on the papers in front of him.
"They call themselves the Magnificent Seven and they have... managed to "escape" prison."
The room quieted as Castiel flipped on the screen. Seven images spread across it. He clicked again and names started appearing underneath each picture.
"The 7 Deadly Sins?" Charlie asked, disbelief and a little bit of humor in her tone. Even Dean had to agree it was really fucking cheesy.
"The moniker may seem over-dramatic but their crimes aren't."
Castiel clicked the little button again and several crime scene photos flitted across the screen. There was a small gagging noise from Charlie and a curse from Ellen and Pamela.
"You don't seem surprised at the images." Dean's eyes turned from Ellen to Bobby, who was starting at the screen with real worry and resignation.
Bobby glanced at Cas first, so quickly that Dean almost hadn't noticed it. There was a short nod of his head before Bobby turned to speak to the rest of the room. "I've had access to a little more information than you guys, being an old timer like myself I've been around for a few years. Know a few things. I know these cases. Wasn't there for 'em myself of course but I know enough that these guys should've never seen the light of day again."
"No death penalty?" Sam asked, eyes sharp.
"Not every state has one, and some thought other forms of punishments would be more... fitting," Bobby responded, turning back to the screen.
"I'm generally a pacifist but," Charlie stopped and shook her head. "Can we move on to other images?"
Castiel gave her a curt nod and switched the screen back to their prison photos and names. Dean felt anxiety crawling up his spine. He'd wanted to know more about Azazel and the C.O.L.T. files. He knew they'd be brutal, but he hadn't expected the carnage to be that nasty. Still, as Cas prepared to speak he found himself leaning forward, towards the table, to make sure he caught every word.
"These seven men and women were high ranking members of Lucifer's criminal organization, working along with Azazel at certain times." Dean felt the atmosphere in the room shift as the name was dropped.
"How high up the food chain? Compared to Azazel?" Pamela asked, wringing her hands together.
"Higher. And more violent too."
"What are we supposed to do?" Dean found himself asking before he could help himself. He'd told himself that he'd just sit quietly and listen. His mouth hadn't gotten that memo. Dean's heart stuttered a bit in his chest as Castiel's eyes zeroed in on his. He knew the eye contact had only lasted a moment but still it felt like a small electric shock to his body.
"The CIA is pulling us in as a specialized taskforce for their re-capture."
"Re-capture? Isn't that a job for the first BAU unit? We're not counter-terrorism," Dean said. Out of the four units, they were an extra assembled to help out when needed but none of them were qualified for counter-terrorist work. There was a reason that the NCAVC was split into four main sectors to begin with. More than that, Sam sure as hell didn't have any experience in this so why was he here?
"CIA requested us, and the board of the FBI approved the choice."
"Wait- before we get ahead of our selves, how'd they even get out?" Ellen leaned over to grab one of the case files to flip through the pictures.
Castiel sighed and pulled out his chair, sliding into it. Dean watched with a growing sense of impending doom as he ruffled through papers, sliding them along the table for everyone to have a copy. Dean passed one to Sam, wanting to just crush the paper in his palm, grabbing his brother, and running.
"We're all very aware of the existence of the C.O.L.T. files, correct?"
There was a small murmur of assent in the room and a growing sense of anticipation. If circumstances were different Dean might've felt the same curious elation. It wasn't everyday that they shared government secrets. His spine stiffened as he noticed several glances towards Sam too. Of course, the only reason that anyone would know about all of this mess was because of Sam. He wasn't even sure that was fair. Hadn't Azazel targeted the Oklahoma office all on his own? He refused to believe that Sam had a bigger part to play.
"C.O.L.T. is a set of files, or rather, a file group. Of course, you will not be permitted to speak about the information we're about to share outside of this room or with myself present. The C.O.L.T. files are a collection of sensitive information."
"Like the Azazel files?" Pamela asked.
Castiel nodded. "They also contain several witness protection lists and individuals. The files are constantly updated with locations and daily activities. They are the only records available on several high risk criminals. International terrorists, ghosts, spooks, illegal activities that government's have participated in or condoned. It also has the highest, and only compilation of evidence that keeps detainees locked behind bars, sometimes in borderline torture facilities, without needing to be brought to the public court. They are the only defense that any government has to keep people that shouldn't exist, and legally don't, in jail."
"No back ups?" Sam asked, after a moment of silence. Dean gave a small baffled look at his brother. He hadn't even finished processing the extent of the files that they'd started digging into it, and his brother was already moving forward. Then again, that quick processing of information was probably why he made such a good lawyer. Well, lawyer in training.
"No. The material is that sensitive, and more than that, some of the files existences to begin with are more than illegal."
"Government conspiracies, I knew it," Charlie muttered, shaking her head.
"Agent Bradbury, please," Castiel said sharply. His eyes were at least kinder than his tone. "What copies are made, for example the small debriefing containing the information on the Seven will be incinerated the second we are done with them. Those who do make copies and share them generally find themselves behind bars. I suggest you take the amount of secrecy involved in this very seriously."
Dean swallowed the saliva clogging up his throat. Feeling antsy, he stood and made his way to their water cooler, pouring himself a cup. He brought the plastic cup to his lip and took a gulp before sliding on some of his bravado. "That's great and all but what's this got to with those Seven psycho's?"
Castiel rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose. "The evidence in the files, the testimonies, the cases that had locked them away were all in those files. These files are important, especially for the people it protects. It is especially vital that this information be kept secret for witness testimonies. Cases have been lost and won based on one person's word alone. If they're compromised..."
Sam leaned back in his chair, a pained look on his face. "So if one of them takes back their testimony or something comes up about their word not being good enough or..."
"Then the entire case can either be re-opened or entirely dismissed if it goes to public court. Seeing as the C.O.L.T. files don't legally exist..."
"They can't be used as counter-evidence. And whatever these guys get outside of it, if they bring it into public they-"
"Usually win," Castiel finished for Sam.
Dean settled back into his chair. "But- hold on. Those files are supposed to be so super secure how the hell did they even get their hands on the evidence that could free them? Or the people? How the hell did this happen?"
Cas glanced at him briefly and immediately looked away. "A leak."
Dean felt off balance. For a moment he was sure the earth had shifted. He forced himself not to look at Sam. No one had even touched any of that information until Sam had come along and... how many hands had the papers he'd collected passed through? Who the hell had he poked at to get those files open? Who had opened them? And of course his fucking ass hadn't helped, calling Bela..
Shit.
This was on them.
"Lucky for us," Castiel continued, "despite them getting out, legally, they have already violated parole. Each one of them; which means we can bring them back into custody. Be ready to go in ten minutes."
Dean remained sitting in his chair as Castiel collected his things and exited the room first. There was rapid talking by his teammates as they followed him. He turned to look to his side when he noticed Sam hadn't moved either.
His little brother didn't have to say a word for him to know what the expression in his eyes meant. He'd come to the same conclusion as Dean had.
This was their fault.
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They landed in Nebraska in the morning. Dean spent most of the trip avoiding looking at anyone, especially his brother. It hadn't occurred to him before that this was one of the first time's that he'd seen Dean on a plane for work. They'd never approached the topic before but Sam's not-so-subtle stares were starting to make him nervous for the first time in months. He didn't even have Cas next to him to calm him down. Which, even then, Cas split them up into different groups.
They were sent to the first crime scene. Dean frowned a little when they arrived. He figured there'd be more of a commotion around, instead the scene had long lines of police tape flapping in the wind around the house but nothing else.
"Agent Novak did say that most of them had cleared out," Sam said surveying the scene.
"What are we doing here then?" Dean snapped.
"Quit whining and start canvassing," Bobby said as he walked up the steps to the house. "We have crime scene photos to show us where the bodies were, and in case you forgot we're a special unit? We look at things a little different than most folks?"
"Right," Dean mumbled as he followed.
The house still reeked of the dead. Rotted flesh, intestinal fluids, and every other gross thing the body expelled after death. There had been three. He glanced at the copies of photos in his hands. At least one of them had been a child. A family murder.
"They figure out cause of death yet?" he called out as they started clearing the rooms.
"No, we're supposed to be getting the results in about an hour or two," Bobby said as he stood next to the couch the family had been on. "Nothing seems out of place."
"Huh?" Sam said glancing around and trying to note the same detail. His brows scrunched and he carefully stepped around the room. "It seems, normal, yeah."
"You'd think if something catastrophic happened there would've been some struggle, books unnaturally turned over, somethin'."
"True," he knelt by the couch to look at the grease imprints from the bodies, "these are even too, like they sat on this couch and just died."
"That seems about right, but they didn't find any poisons in the air, nothing clinging to the walls. We're waiting on them to examine the lungs and the esophagus."
"Could be something they ate? Poisons in the food? They should look for injection sites too. Could be hard to see depending on the state of the flesh. If we're really looking at high level criminals, check between the toes too, seems to be a popular spot."
"Would ya look at that Sammy," Dean said grinning, he clapped him on the back. "Stepping into the big boy shoes already."
Sam slapped Dean's hand away and Dean opened his mouth to continue before stopping. He'd caught movement out of the corner of his eye past a curtain. "We the only agents that are supposed to be here?"
"Far as I know," Bobby groused out.
Sam tensed for a moment, unable to see any of the other officers. He knew they'd gotten clearance to work unhindered and he'd heard one of the officers drive off earlier but this felt eerie. Dean snuck around the corner, sliding his side arm out of its holster and slipped out the door. He barely had a chance to begin canvassing when he dropped like a bag of potatoes. His ears rang as he tried to orient himself. Whatever he'd been smacked with had hurt and it had been hard. He coughed as Bobby's feet swam into his vision. He followed the other man's body until he could see two more people. He glared as best he could and tried to right his gun. The scene seemed over friendly for interaction with a man that had just knocked a federal agent on his ass.
"You just gonna sit there all day?" Bobby asked, raising his eyebrow and walking down the steps.
"I get assaulted and you're mad at me?" Dean asked as he used the railing to pull himself up. There'd be a bruise on his forehead by evening.
"I didn't even hit him that hard," the man said with an eye roll. The woman tugged at his arm and gave him a sharp look. She turned a smile on him.
"Excuse him, he can get a little-," she hesitated at finding a word to describe it. The man huffed and she dragged harder on his arm.
"We're gonna follow them to the half-way house the precinct has set up for the location. Bit of a hard drive to get back and forth from the crime scene to the city. Think you and Sam can keep up if I ride with them?"
Dean huffed, giving a good glare at the back of the two retreating people and shrugged. "Is this an order? Who are they anyway? Cops?"
"Something like that," Bobby muttered, "specialty agents. A little off the beaten path."
"And we have to follow?"
"Inter-agency cooperation is taken seriously. Besides, I'd like to know why they're here. Last I checked no one said nothing about other back up coming in. The crime scene's done for, nothing we can figure out that they haven't yet. The coroner will call soon enough."
"Right," Dean said slowly. He conceded the point, although begrudgingly and signaled Sam to follow.
The halfway house was run-down, looking more like a shack if nothing else. Dean had at first complained about how it was set up but a sharp "I set it up" by Isaac had stopped that conversation short. The woman, Tamara, was much more pleasant. He'd found her ability to work around the guy's sharp tongue impressive until they let it slip that they were married. Then he was just in awe. Then again there had be something underneath that harsh exterior to give a damn about. Maybe he was good in bed, though no matter the skill in the sack he didn't think he'd be willing to work let alone marry that.
Luckily he was left out of the pleasantries when the coroner called. "LIS but they can't find a cause and they don't see how an entire family could spontaneously and at the same time fall to it."
"LIS?" Tamara repeated with a frown.
"Locked-in-Syndrome, or cerebromedullospinal disconnection. Basically makes you a prisoner in your own body. Not vegetative, since everything still functioning. You just can't move a damn muscle," Bobby clarified and took his cap off, rubbing at his hair.
"I'm sure tox screens will find something," Sam added, "what's our next move?"
Before Bobby could even go for his phone to call Cas, Isaac let a book thump onto a table. "We're not gonna work with the damn fools who let them escape."
"Excuse me?" Dean snapped, out. His body squared up, aggression firing in his veins. Perfect. He'd been itching for someone to throw his rage at. Another agent may not have been the best target but it would have to do.
"Now, Isaac, how pray tell is it our fault?" Bobby asked, trying to move Dean subtly out of the way.
"We know exactly who you are, Sam Winchester," Isaac shook his head. "You know they call it the night of the Devil's Gate. There's more than just these damn sons of bitches that got released. All on the same day. There's an interesting correlation going on with all of the release dates and trouble your boy here got himself into." The words were spoken harshly.
"I didn't know," Sam tried to start saying. He knew they'd fucked up but not this bad. His stomach clenched uncomfortably. It felt like he was trying to crush stone, sharp jagged edges, as he thought about all of the people he had to add to his conscience.
"Oh like you've never made a mistake," Tamara said as she stepped in.
A part of Dean's rage had been swept away by the conversation. He hadn't thought what had happened with Sam was that big of a deal. Hell, he'd expected Cas to let him know just how bad things had gotten. It wasn't an accusation he had been able to prep himself for. Worse, especially because he was convinced it was probably true. They'd let this happen.
"A mistake is-"
"Come on, that's quite enough testosterone for now." Tamara gave them an apologetic smile before dragging her husband off.
Dean's shoulders shook but other than that he felt more fine than he'd thought.
"You don't seem surprised," Bobby ventured out, checking the safety on his gun idly.
"I had a hunch."
"A hunch?"
"Cas said it was a leak, right?" Dean tried to keep in the bitter laugh. He was glad for Bobby catching on quickly. He didn't have to expand on it. Dean let him call Castiel too, to ask for how to proceed; scared, that if he tried he'd straight out ask him if it was their fault. He didn't want it to be a yes.
… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .
Dean had woken up in an even fouler mood to the second day. The mattresses at the hotel they had been put at were lumpy and hard. He and Cas had barely talked and they had no leads. The first thing that he had woken up to was another murder and the temperatures had dropped again. He spilled his coffee on his shoes when Castiel had bumped into him when they got to the office and hadn't even gotten an apology. Feeling very sullen, and later he would admit it was petty, he flirted with one of the women from the shop, smiling and doing his best to get her attention. He didn't feel quite as satisfied as he should've felt when Castiel split them up again so he could run point at the office.
"What are you doing?" Sam gave him a look as he left the girl's side.
"Comforting the bereaved."
Sam lifted his eyebrow and Dean fought not to acknowledge it. It was a free country.
"What'd you find?" Dean said instead, eyes zeroing in past his younger brother to Bobby.
"So, I talked to the girl. I swear she had a psychotic break but she seems lucid enough. Still waiting on the toxicology report and I'll figure they'll find something in her. Eyes were blown to all hell, I haven't even seen ecstasy blow 'em up that wide."
"So she was trippin' pretty hard. Did she say why she bashed that lady's face in?"
"She just really wanted those shoes."
"I figure the security footage might give us a bit more."
"Huh?"
Dean pointed a finger up to the security camera aimed directly at them. "It's the perfect angle for the entire store."
What they found on the video wasn't exactly more helpful. The woman recognized the man from the video but she couldn't say why he seemed familiar. Only that she thought she'd probably seen him at a bar or a dinner locally and it hadn't been odd that he'd approached her. She described him as nice and pleasant and very trustworthy.
Since then they'd sent his picture to every single cop and found nothing. They'd considered putting it out to the media but they feared that if any of the Seven caught wind of it they would leave town. It was hard enough finding even with their location known. It was late in the evening by the time a hit came in through a static police radio. They'd found a bar that the man frequented and hoped a stakeout would work. Cas split them up in groups again.
"Getting cooped up any?" Bobby asked him with a grin.
"If we catch them, if we can somehow bring them back in, I believe what little weight I will have gained consuming donuts and coffee can be sacrificed."
Dean ignored the conversation as best he could as they left the station. He wanted to apologize for being an ass about things out of Cas' control but preferably not in front of a bunch of cops. Besides, the other man seemed to be handling his own just fine. Maybe he'd even forgotten about it at this point. Besides, terrorists kinda took front seat to his stupid temper. He comforted himself with those thoughts as they sat in a dark car in the parking lot of the bar. He had a moment of silence for Victor, remembering all of their late nights, before turning his full focus on the building in front of him.
"Do we go in already and wait there or?" Sam asked after a few minutes had passed.
"No, we'll wait for now. Back up's coming in a little bit with a scout so they can check to see who's inside. If it comes to a fire fight we wanna know how many civvies are in there," Bobby said taking a small bite out of a stick of beef jerky.
"That's smart," Sam agreed.
"It's protocol," Dean mumbled and then sat up. He nudged his head towards the bar. "He's here." They watched as the man walked up, glancing around him a few times and disappeared behind the doors. "Show time?"
"No, we wait," Bobby said sternly.
Sam spoke up from the back seat, voice tense. "I don't think that's gonna be an option."
Tamara and Isaac.
"Balls," Bobby cursed, slamming a hand on the steering wheel. He hit the speed dial for Cas and brought the phone to his ear. It only rang once before getting picked up.
"Yes?"
"We've got trouble. Two agents just waltzed their damn happy asses straight into the bar."
"Agents?"
"Tamara and Isaac, we ran into them earlier. Clocked Dean one over the head pretty good?"
"Hey!"
"I did not authorize another agent to go in, nor has the CIA authorized an entry yet."
"What are we gonna do?"
"Well, I know what you're going to do regardless of what I say, but let me see if I can get clearance."
"It's our case, isn't it?" Bobby asked, eyes on the clock to see how long they'd been sitting in the car. Every second counted.
"With international involvement I'm not so sure. I can't think of a higher ranking officer on board at the moment that could give the clear on them without me knowing. Go."
… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .
Castiel rubbed at his temples. "You had an international criminal bouncing in a trunk?" he repeated slowly, making sure he hadn't missed anything.
"I thought I was thinking on my feet," Dean pointed out, biting into a sandwich. He chewed loudly as he leaned back against a counter.
"You also drove a car into the side of a bar?"
"There were agents in danger."
"It wasn't exactly orthodox but I agree with the choice. The doors were locked, there was screaming. Didn't look like there was a single friendly person in that bar. Every mug I glanced at was one we have pinned up on that board," Bobby added, looking at the people they had pinned. It was a shame they hadn't had the chance to grab more of them.
"We need to go back!"
Every head in the small office turned. Tamara was standing outside, screeching and screaming. An officer was trying to talk her down. It wasn't working.
"They have agents going back to the scene as a group," Castiel said softly. It was never a good thing to lose someone on the job. From the record Isaac had been an excellent agent. In respect to Tamara he hadn't even bothered to ask her about the breach in protocol. He was sure she felt guilty enough for it on her own.
"Should we start the interrogation?" Sam asked, eyes looking haunted and tired.
"Yes," Castiel said, leaning back in his chair. "A facility has been prepared for you. Though," he bit his lip and gave Dean a quick, hard, look. His methods of operation under stress and immediacy versus the protection of life was a piece of contention between them. With the man, Envy, in custody the CIA wasn't about to let anything go wrong because their interrogators were squeamish. Yes, the man had been in the public light enough to where they couldn't whisk him away but that didn't mean they wouldn't do their job.
"A facility?"
"A facility. You may begin the process, we are still point on this. The CIA will finish."
Dean had a hard time grumbling when Bobby and Sam pulled him away. "This feels wrong," Dean complained as they met up with the CIA suites. They wouldn't even be driving their own car to the location.
"Just be glad Novak pushed for us to even be allowed in the interrogation," Sam muttered, staring at the back of the head of the CIA agent driving.
"How could they not let us in? It's our case, our jurisdiction."
"Doesn't really work like that when it comes to terrorist," Bobby muttered.
"And what could the CIA do better than us?" Dean asked.
He found out a few hours later. The prisoner, Envy had been tied up to a chair. The room was sterile and open. There was a set of tools set up around the table and various bottles. It hadn't even taken any teeth pulling to get the first response out.
"What do you want?
"We already have what we want." Envy had laughed and relaxed himself in his restraints.
"What's that?"
"We're out. We're free," he grinned and turned away from the CIA agents in the room. His gaze rested on Sam and Dean. "Thanks to you, we're everywhere."
There'd been a fast fist to the man's face from one of the agents. Dean hadn't been quick enough to protest. He'd answered the question hadn't he? He took another look at the strange syringes placed along the metal gurneys.
"I am Legion, for we, are many." Dean felt cold inside. Isaac hadn't been kidding. He made a mental footnote to kick Cas' ass whenever they made it out of interrogation. He'd deserved to have known just how bad shit had gotten. Especially this. "So me, I'm just celebrating. Having a little fun. See some people crotchet, others golf, me? I like to see people's inside on their outside." His head turned until his eyes rested on Tamara. "My condolences."
"I'm gonna put you down like a dog." Her fists shook where she kept them at her sides.
"You really think you're better than me? Which one of you can cast the first stone? We know who all of you are, all your stories. We take great care when figuring out who we're up against. There is a hell of a lot of things some of you have done," Envy tutted at them. "And Tamara. All that wrath. Oohh. It's the reason you and Isaac became hunters in the first place, isn't it? It's so much easier to ... drink in the rage than to face what really happened all those years ago."
His face flew back as Tamara bolted forward. Her knuckles collided with his cheek, blood pouring out of his mouth from here he'd bit lip open, before Bobby could manage to yank her back and out of the room.
"The others, they're coming for me."
"Maybe, but they're not going to find you," Dean said, tone even and low. It was clear they weren't going to get anything more out of the man. They'd get transport ready, say they tried, and transfer him back to the hell hole of a prison he belonged to. Dean stepped out, pulling Sam with him. He blinked, confused, when Tamara marched back in past him to the room. She slammed the door shut behind her.
"What was that?"
Bobby stepped forward. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded to one of the men behind him. "CIA wants to give her a go."
"But we've got everything from him? It'd be like beating a dead horse," Sam argued.
"Not our call."
"So, what do you make of it?" Dean asked as they wandered to the lobby. There was a pot of fresh coffee ready.
"He's insane, dangerous, oh-" Bobby dug out his phone and flipped through it, "-here. These just came in."
"So they were using psychoactives," Sam mumbled as he flipped through the list of drugs that had come back.
"That doesn't make sense. I mean I've seen some people do crazy things while smoking meth or trying to get it but those are high doses, long time addicts," Dean said as he looked at the information himself. "Nothing in their history indicated a drug problem. Did they do hair tests? And I doubt a family's gonna be lighting up together."
"Say what you want but there were some found in their system, there's a bit more of a confusing mix of chemicals they're trying to isolate but the worst they said those would do is disorient. Some rohypnol too."
"Maybe we had it right then, and Charlie found enough points of interest where Envy and at least that vic had been to cross over. Slow poisoning? Hell, the power of influence should never be taken too easily," Sam gave the phone back to Bobby. "I've been in the court room for some hearings and mental manipulation," he whistled softly, " can carry a huge weight. Not just to switch a witness in the middle of a proceeding but," Sam shook his head, " the spousal abuse cases alone where they really love them and swear by God that it was a mistake on their part."
"Doesn't that usually take a few years to develop like that? And how many battered wives go out and bash other women's faces into wind shields. Doesn't fit the victim's mental map."
"Yeah that's true," Sam agreed and shrugged, "but Stockholm Syndrome can develop in months, in severe cases where the victim was already mentally compromised, faster than that."
"The girl still not helping out more?" Dean asked as he added a bit of cream to the coffee. Even he couldn't drink it that bad.
"Not so much. She lawyered up and we know they're going for the insanity plea. That's about it for her."
They turned when the door to the interrogation room swung open, hitting the wall, and slammed back shut simply by the merit of it's own weight. They watched as Tamara marched up to them, walking in tandem with the two CIA officers that had been in the room.
"Everything okay?" Bobby asked, he attempted to reach a hand out to catch her.
She paused out of his reach. "Fine. The interview has been concluded."
"And Envy?"
Her eyes didn't betray any emotion. "He didn't make it. I think he managed to bite his own tongue clean through and choke himself. There was no time to save him. A terribly loss for the intelligence agencies."
"Damn it," Bobby cussed as he watched her march past them to the bathroom. She had blood soaked on her hands.
"Call Cas," Dean said as he rubbed his temple and forehead with his thumb and forefinger.
"Already on it," Bobby mumbled. The conversation they had was quick and to the point. They couldn't overhear much even with him standing so close. The phone was traditionally never loud either. Crackled a little as sound came through it. It was beaten up but still worked fine. At least, it worked fine enough for the FBI to let him keep having it. Dean had been trying for months to get him to cave on a better phone and if nothing else getting one from this century. He wasn't a big tech guy but this was a little ridiculous.
"So?" Sam asked, attentive once the phone call was over.
"He wants us to pack up."
"Pack up?" Dean asked, standing up straight and leaving his coffee abandoned on the counter.
"Pack up and head back to the station."
"Are we just- are we off the case?"
"Agent Novak said that the CIA is doing a take-over. Based on what they found talking to Envy they want us out of the building and free room to operate. They know there's more of 'em coming and they don't want us standing in the way."
"Standing in the way?" Dean scoffed and shook his head. "We're damn good agents and what's to stop them from killing the rest of these guys? Thought the point was to capture them. Even I could've shot the bastard."
"I dunno what to tell you, son. Novak was told by folks higher up than him to stand down and not engage so that's just what we're gonna do."
"They can't just do this," Sam said his voice pleading. He hadn't gotten any new information. Nothing. It was too soon to be kicked out.
"They just di-"
The lights flickered for a moment above them. All conversation in the room stopped. After a few more flickers the lights went dead completely.
"Fuck," Dean cursed as he looked around. He crept to the window and glanced out, making sure to keep himself pressed to the wall and as low as possible. There was at least one person standing in the grass in front of the door. She noticed him and waved, grin wide on her face.
It looked like they got to join the fight anyway.
"Fuck."
… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .
It didn't take long for the fire fight to start. The crashing of a large van into the double doors of the front room separated them. Dean found himself on one side of the SUV with Bobby and Sam had nearly missed being run over. No one had time to appreciate the irony. "Dean!"
He watched his brother look, panicked. The door closest to Sam swung open and he slammed it shut, hard. He heard a small out cry as he slammed again. A small crunch and a dip in the door had let him know he probably broke the person's leg. Sam didn't waste time looking at his brother again as he scrambled backwards. His hand connected with something warm and solid. He glanced back and blanched. One of the agents hadn't been so lucky and a wall support had bent into his ribcage. Sam said a small prayer for the man before reaching over and taking his firearm. He'd neglected to bring his own to the facility.
"Sammy!"
"I'm good! Go! You know the layout! Get back up!" Sam called back as he scrambled to his feet. They'd each been briefed on the layout of the facility in case of emergencies. Of course, he didn't think that the emergency they'd had in mind was something this catastrophic but there was room to work with. He ran through the hallways, glancing into the extra interrogation rooms and choosing against it. He'd be a sitting duck.
It wasn't until he'd made it to the last room that he worried. Now there was nowhere else to go. At the very least he'd passed by the cargo room. The duffel bag he'd snagged had at least a few useful items in it. A smoke bomb, flash grenade. There were no other weapons but he didn't hesitate to pull the vest out. It didn't fit him and was awkward to move in but he would take the extra protection. Fumbling with the wire he'd found in the bag he wrapped it around the latch to the flash grenade. He put it a little further past the doorframe and hid to the corner. He would be far enough away not to receive any physical damage and with the window right there he might have enough time to shoot it out and escape. Sam tried to even out his breathing and thanked the high heavens that someone had overlooked the window. It didn't have the imbedded mesh and thus would be easier to escape through. He didn't want to try his luck at it quite yet. There was a chance that no one would come after him.
He heard footsteps and tightened his grip on his gun. The man stopped right before entering and then took a step back, staring at him through the decorative window in the wall. "Really?" He stepped forward again, lifting his foot carefully. He knelt down next to the flash grenade and gently pulled the string off. "Come on. You really think something like that is gonna fool someone like me? I mean, me?"
Sam swallowed and settled himself more comfortably in his grip. His finger moved to rest gently on the trigger. "Let me guess, you're Pride."
"And you ... are Sam Winchester. That's right, I've heard of you. We've all heard of you. The prodigy. The boy king." Sam felt something awful lodge in his chest. His mind flashed back to a creaking windmill and an old TV. "Looking at you now, I got to tell you – don't believe the hype. You think I'm gonna bow to a cut-rate, piss-poor nobody like you?" Sweat collected down his back. The video started playing in his mind. "I have my pride, after all. And now with your yellow-eyed friend dead, I guess I don't really have to do a damn thing, now do I? You're fair game now, boy, and it's open season."
"Yellow-eyed friend?" he repeated, inching back.
"Really shouldn't have killed Azazel, boy. He was your one ticket to glory."
"I didn't kill him."
"You might as well have," Pride said and reached back into his pocket.
Sam fired before the movement could be completed and the tussle was on. To his luck the object Pride had been starting to withdraw had been a knife and not a gun. The small advantage didn't last for long as the two others behind him launched forward. He fired again, hitting one of them in the shoulder. He felt his breath leave him as the bigger one barreled down on him. Sam fired again but it flew wide. Hands wrapped around his neck and he shoved forward. He hooked his leg up and kneed it into his attackers hip. Using his elbow he leaned back and used his knee to shove the hip off of him, rolling so that he was on top. The man's hands were still wrapped around his neck as he was pulled backwards by another arm.
Nothing happened for a few seconds though it felt like an eternity. He didn't even breathe until he felt a wet trickle behind him. It coated his hair and then his neck, sliding down underneath his shirt. Something human size slumped against him and it was long before the weight fell back off. He tried to turn to look but the person underneath him gripped harder. Deciding on his priority being to be able to breathe he shifted so that he could roll them again. He dug his hand into the wrist, pressing against the sensitive nerves of the flesh between the thumb and the index finger. It got him a small moment of reprieve, one breath. It was all it took for him to push forward, elbow coming in between the two large hands until it connected with his attackers face. He kicked with both of his knees bent so that the man flew back. He grabbed the gun that skidded underneath an overturned chair. He teetered until his body hit someone else. He turned to attack them as Sam shot out his knee caps. The man turned fully as he tumbled, one hand clenched around the other persons jacket.
There was a flash of a blade.
It didn't take long until blood was flying across the room, the arterial spray missing Sam by an inch.
The man dropped to the ground in a heap.
"Who the hell are you?" Sam asked, panting in exhaustion.
The woman smiled at him and then looked at the bodies around her. She tucked away her gun and what appeared to be a knife before answering him. She kicked at Pride on the ground. He had his hands pressed to a belly wound but wasn't moving. The most Sam could hear was whimpering and wheezing. It didn't look like the gut wound had been placed close enough to the stomach to cause perforation. Pride made another groaning sound before his head lolled to the side. There was blood trickling out of it and a gigantic gash from ear to chin and he was convulsing. None of the wounds seems fatal.
"I'm the girl that just saved your ass." She smiled at him and turned her head down the hallway. They could hear people coming. Dean was calling his name. "See you around, Sam."
"Wait!"
His heart hammered as he tried to follow her. Instead he slipped on the puddle of blood the was still steadily pooling together out of the guys that had attacked him.
"Sam!"
He couldn't respond as his brother called to him. His mind was fully preoccupied with blond hair and an ominous voice ringing in his head.
Boy king.
The aftermath for the firefight was less than spectacular.
No one ever mentions clean up in the movies. Sam sat in the back of an EMT truck as he was looked at. His throat had bruises but no permanent damage. A few cuts and scrapes, a really nice black eye but that was it. They told him he'd lucked out. He watched as they carted dead agents out of the building and felt bitter.
He tried to perk up as Bobby and Dean approached him. "How you holding up?"
"Fine," Sam said, wincing.
"Fine, right," Bobby said with a scoff. He shook his head and gave him a glare.
"What'd I do?" Sam asked, brows furrowed.
"Don't worry about it, he's just grouchy," Dean mumbled. He glanced around and rubbed at his mouth. "He knows."
"He knows?"
"He knows Sam."
Sam looked at the other agent completely confused. His immediate thought had been the conversation with Pride. That they wanted something with him. That he had been in some alien way protected by Azazel. And realizing that it had been incredibly dumb to send him along.
"Your brother's an idiot," Bobby said gruffly. "And he shoulda said something before we came out here."
Sam caught on. Dean's deal. "What?"
"Let's just say apparently there was a news letter that went out to every single son of a bitch that hell spawn knew. They get mouthy."
"What-" Sam swallowed around the dryness in his throat. "What happens now?"
"Not like there's official proof. And your brother's picking his words carefully enough for plausible deniability. So nothing. Besides, it doesn't seem like he's puttin' anyone else's hide on the line. They didn't even care about him, really. Just talking a big game. Officially I can do jack squat. No one would believe me."
"Hey now- I'm plenty important."
Sam scoffed, "Sure you are, Dean."
"Hey, shut it. Now, more importantly I know another more interesting I just got the down low on." Sam groaned at Dean's expression. "Who was that masked chick? Actually, the more troubling question would be, how come a girl can fight better than you? "
Sam shook his head. " Three of them. At once."
"Hey, whatever it takes to get you through the night, pal."
"Yeah, well, if you want a troubling question, I got one for you."
"What's that?"
Sam sighed and stared at the wreckage of the office. "If we let out "the 7 deadly sins" what else did we let out?"
"That is a troubling question," Dean mumbled.
A car door slammed and they turned to it. Tamara waved at them before ducking in on the other side of the officer.
"What's gonna happen to her now?" Sam asked.
"Well, the British consulate will take care of her. She's not a US agent, we have no jurisdiction." They all jumped at the new voice. Cas raised his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. No one had heard him approach.
"Jesus, you need a friggin' bell," Dean cursed, teeth clenched.
"My apologies," Castiel said. There was something off with his posture and his eyes but Sam put it to being exhausted. He turned to Sam. "I hear you did well."
"I'm not dead and I got no one killed, not sure that counts as well," Sam said but felt relieved. It was always nice to hear someone from a respectable position praise you. And he needed all of the good rep he could get. Although their case had been need to know, if it got out that he'd been in another case related to 'the Legion' or whatever they were calling themselves now, tongues would start wagging. Even Sam couldn't help but feel a conspiracy forming. Somehow he was always involved.
"So what now?" Dean asked, the sound of irritation in his voice bringing Sam out of his thoughts.
"Now?" Castiel looked at the three of them in turn. "Now we go home."
A/N: Hasn't been beta'd by K yet. Sorry for the delay, sickness and other BS. Again, you can get updates on my tumblr goodquestionharlie. I've mapped out 30 total chapters if things go as planned. That number has been updated on AO3. This was supposed to be a Christmas gift for you guys but hopefully the 12k word count made up for it. Also, the Critic has a new coda added to it.
B/N: I'm done. Finally. So frick fracking lazy. It's so good, but it's so… mASSive. hear from u soon i guess… sob. so much left to beta.