Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They came from out of the rain.

There was a flash of movement in the corner of Dean’s eye, like a shadow determined to stay just out of sight. He whipped his head around, trying to catch a glimpse of- of whatever the hell it was, but no joy, so he gave up trying. It didn’t matter, anyway — there was no point in chasing shadows into the dark.

Instead, he rushed over to his brother’s side, heart hammering in his chest. Sammy was supine on the ground, his body unnaturally stiff, as though rigour mortis had already set in, but- but he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be — he just couldn’t.

Dean had told his brother once, there ain’t no me if there ain’t no you, and that was the only truth he knew, the truth that allowed him to keep moving forward, because without Sam, what was the fucking point of being a hunter. What was the point of saving people and hunting things if he couldn’t even save his own brother.

Sam’s eyes were open and sightless, which was never a good sign. Dean had to swallow down the wave of nausea and panic that hit him in the chest as he crouched at Sam’s side and checked his pulse, bracing himself for the worst.

But there it was — thank fucking Christ — weak and thready, but gloriously present. Dean’s eyes burned for a moment, relief making him weak, but he quickly shook it off and forced himself to focus on the situation at hand. There would be plenty of time for him to spin the fuck out about it once Sammy was up and moving again.

Sam’s breath was coming in faint rasps, his mouth slightly ajar. Under different circumstances, Dean would be making fun of him for it, telling him he snored or some shit, but there was nothing funny about it now.

His lips and the skin around his mouth was all- all fucked up. The closest comparison Dean could think of was like when — so fucking gross — worms got caught in the sun after a rainstorm and dried up on the pavement. Sam’s mouth was all, like- cracked, so dry that the skin was splitting.

Super fucking weird.

For some unknown, what the actual fuck, why? reason, Dean opened Sam’s mouth a little further and felt the inside of his cheek, his tongue. It was tacky and dry as well, like the world’s worst case of cottonmouth. It was as though all the moisture in Sam’s body had simply dried up, evaporated.

That couldn’t be good.

‘Alright, dude, let’s just- we’ll get you out of here ’n get ya a Gatorade, sound good?’ Dean babbled nonsensically, hauling Sam into a sitting position with no small amount of difficulty. ‘Fuck, man, I thought all those friggin’ protein shakes and kale smoothies or whatever were supposed to keep you a lean, mean, fightin’ machine or something. You weigh a goddamn ton — might as well just eat a damn burger.’

The answering silence where there should have been a whole lecture on cholesterol and trans fat and whatever the hell else Sam was always preaching at him was the loudest sound Dean had ever heard.

Finally, he was able to get his shoulder into Sam’s gut and hoist him up into a fireman’s carry. Grunting from the strain, he staggered out of the abandoned cinema where they’d been following up on a lead about a vengeful spirit, and over to the Impala. It took some manoeuvring and one or two close calls where he almost dropped Sam on his head, but eventually, he was able to get him situated in the back seat.

He clambered around to the front of the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. The reflection of his brother’s seemingly petrified body in the rearview mirror caused that tight feeling in his throat again, and he did not want to cry like a bitch just then, so he did the only thing he could think of, the thing he always did when he needed help and was brave enough to ask for it.

‘Bobby, it’s Dean,’ he said shakily, scrubbing a hand over his face, when he heard the barked hello?! at the other end of the line. ‘We’ve got a problem.’

There was a beat of silence, a burst of static, like Bobby had breathed too hard against the phone, and then-

‘It’s okay, boy. That’s why I’m here.’

The tears came anyway.

Chapter Text

THREE MONTHS LATER

Of all the aggravating people that Castiel had worked with in his exceptionally long life, Arthur Ketch was almost certainly at the top of the list. Castiel would tell him as much, were it not for the fact that the man’s ego was so undeservingly inflated that he’d likely consider it an accomplishment to unironically boast about. On a planet of eight billion humans, give or take a hundred thousand or so, it seemed genuinely unbelievable (and incredibly cruel) that fate would have Castiel working side by side with such an ass.

‘You really needn’t have come along today,’ Ketch was saying irritably. ‘I’m more than capable of handling a single vampire nest without a chaperone.’

‘It’s not a matter of capability, it’s a matter of safety,’ Castiel replied for what felt like the hundredth time that hour alone. ‘Trust me, Ketch, I would like nothing more than to be spending my evening literally anywhere else, but you know the rule.’

‘Your bloody rule,’ Ketch snapped. ‘It’s absurd that you’ve instituted a buddy system, like we’re back in nursery.’ He sounded as though he was gearing up to launch into another whining diatribe, but Castiel had had enough.

He stopped short and wheeled around to face Ketch, glaring fiercely. Ketch’s eyes widened in surprise, but then a moment later, his aloof, arrogant mask slid back into place, and he attempted to sneer. Castiel barked a disbelieving laugh.

‘And you know exactly why I ended up needing to update the procedures,’ he growled, still angry about that fact. ‘And if I were you, I would remember that the alternative was your immediate termination, which was, honestly, the option I was more in favour of. Do not make me regret the choice of allowing you to stay.’

Ketch looked very much like he wanted to protest, but there were some truths that even a disgruntled narcissist couldn’t argue with. In the end he merely let out an annoyed huff and proceeded to ignore Castiel for the rest of the walk, which was just fine by Castiel.

Eventually when what appeared to be an abandoned barn came into view, Castiel and Ketch stopped just out of sight and wordlessly began loading their vampire irradiation guns. Castiel had never been especially fond of firearms as a general rule, but there was something to be said about the vamp guns. They really were a thing of beauty — when the bullet entered a vampire’s body, it would begin to reorder their DNA until their own blood became poison to them. Someone from the British Men of Letters chapter house had developed them around half a century back — a device so efficient that the barbaric tradition of beheading errant vampires was, thankfully, now a thing of the past.

Once they’d both loaded their vamp guns, Castiel made eye contact with Ketch and gestured for him to go to the left. In the first show of luck Castiel had experienced all evening, the man simply gave a single nod and did as he was told. For once.

Eradicating the nest took less than three minutes.

There’d been almost a dozen vampires — one of the bigger nests that they’d encountered in recent memory — but Castiel and Ketch had handled them with little to no effort, mostly thanks to how quickly the irradiation began. They’d downed the vamps in the first sixty seconds, and the rest of the time had been spent waiting for them to die, writhing and screaming, as their own DNA betrayed them.

Clean up took a bit longer, but eventually they stood over a pyre piled high with burning vampire corpses. Castiel shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, watching the fire. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ketch turn and start walking towards the woods.

‘Ketch!’ Castiel called angrily. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘Going to water the tulips,’ Ketch replied, not slowing down or turning back to look at Castiel at all. ‘I’m assuming you’d prefer not to play the role of my minder for that, unless you’d like to hold it for me?’

‘Just hurry back,’ Castiel ordered, nose wrinkling as the man disappeared from view. After all the years he’d spent around humanity, observing their ways, urination seemed like one of the most tiresome bodily functions, mostly due to the frequency with which the human body required the act.

He was pondering the human body’s urinary system, trying to imagine a more perfect design to eliminate the need altogether (mentally rewriting human biology was a game he sometimes liked to play with himself when humanity seemed especially bizarre to him), when he heard Ketch’s yell.

Cursing to himself that apparently Ketch had needed an escort for something so ridiculous, Castiel ran in the direction he’d seen Ketch disappear. As he neared, he heard the sounds of a scuffle, and when Ketch finally came into view, Castiel cursed again to see he was on his back on the ground, trying to keep a snarling vampire from tearing his throat out.

Castiel could see that Ketch’s gun was out of reach from where the vamp had him pinned to the ground, so he quickly reached for his own, pulling it from his shoulder holster and trying to load it while he ran. Before he had a chance, however, there was suddenly a third figure joining the fray. Castiel yelled a warning, but even so, there was no way that Ketch could hold his own against two vampires.

Only… the newcomer didn’t seem to be aiding the vampire in killing Ketch, but rather it grabbed the vamp by the shoulders and pulled it back. The vampire wheeled around to face this new person, and they began grappling while Ketch rolled onto his side, coughing violently. Castiel ran to his side, falling to his knees to check on him while the vampire and stranger continued their fight.

Once satisfied Ketch was not, in fact, in imminent mortal peril, Castiel turned his attention to the fight, but just as he did, he saw the vampire get slammed back against the trunk of a large tree, and a moment later its head fell to the forest ground with a sickening thud.

The sudden silence in the woods, broken only by the stranger’s heavy breathing and Ketch’s wheezing, was stifling. Castiel rose cautiously to his feet, not entirely convinced that this man did not pose an immediate threat.

‘Hey,’ the stranger panted, staggering over to where Castiel had planted himself firmly between this man and Ketch. ‘You okay, man? Shit, dude, I thought for sure you were gonna be vamp chow.’ He offered a dirt and blood stained hand to Ketch, who stared at it as though the man had just offered him a cursed object. After a beat or two of awkward silence, the man let his hand drop for a moment, then brought it up to rub the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. ‘I’ve been trackin’ that vamp for the last day or two… figured he was trying to get back to his nest or somethin’, so you fellas might wanna keep an eye out.’

‘We’ve already eliminated the nest,’ Ketch said coolly. ‘And with techniques more refined than a bloody machete.’

Castiel watched as the man frowned, looking both confused and intrigued. Now that he had a moment to focus he studied Ketch’s surprise rescuer. He was a white adult male, approximately thirty to thirty-five years old, with sweat-soaked, short brown hair, two or three days’ worth of stubble, and a pair of green eyes that might have taken Castiel’s breath away, had he the need for respiration.

‘How?’ the man demanded, wiping the blade of his knife on the leg of his jeans before resheathing it. Castiel fought the urge to shudder. Ketch showed no such restraint, and regarded the man with blatant disgust.

‘By having some sense of civility and decorum!’ Ketch retorted, hauling himself to his feet and making a show of primly dusting his pants off.

‘Buddy,’ the man said seriously, in a tone that held a mocking note of pity, ‘I don’t know if you know this or not, but you’re killin’ vamps in Who Gives A Fuck, Kansas, population: you, your giant ass ego, and your creepy silent buddy in the flasher coat over there who keeps eye-fuckin’ me. Ain’t nothin’ ’bout this whole scenario that’s got any sorta decorum.’ He looked past Ketch to make eye contact with Castiel, who found himself blushing slightly and looking away, but not before catching the other man smirking.

‘Your vernacular is appalling,’ Ketch said just as Castiel bristled and said, ‘I am not ‘eye-fucking’ you.’

‘Ah, he speaks! And with air quotes, too,’ the man said with a grin. Castiel felt that strange breathless feeling again, which was absolutely absurd. The man seemed to notice and find it amusing, because the next thing he did was extend a hand to Castiel, though this time in greeting, rather than assistance. ‘Dean Winchester. And who might you be, Blue Eyes?’

‘Castiel Novak,’ Castiel answered stiffly, shaking the man — Dean’s — hand, mostly to prove he was less of an ass than Ketch. ‘You have my thanks for your assistance in aiding my associate.’

‘Castiel Novak,’ the man repeated thoughtfully. ‘You run the Lebanon chapter of the Men of Letters, right? That, like, Super Secret Cool Kids Club of the hunting world?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know to what you could be referring,’ Castiel replied, eyes narrowing. There was a distinct divide in how the Men of Letters approached the elimination of supernatural threats, and what the so-called ‘hunters’ did. In Castiel’s experience, hunters were crass, undisciplined, bloodthirsty vigilantes, more often than not motivated by revenge, rather than keeping humanity safe.

Before he could delicately extricate himself and Ketch from this hunter (Dean, his mind supplied, unbidden), Ketch, of course, needed to add his two cents.

‘I can assure you we are in no way affiliated with the hunting world.’ He said the last two words with a derisive sneer that caused even Castiel’s hackles to raise. ‘Hunters are unwashed barbarians who fancy themselves cowboys, opting to shoot first and ask questions later.’

‘Hey now, ain’t nothing wrong with cowboys. Plus, I’ll have you know I look damn good in a pair of assless chaps, but we can show ’n tell our kink list later,’ Dean said, shrugging off Ketch’s insults as though engaging with the man at all was nothing more than a minor annoyance, and returning his attention to Castiel. ‘You, on the other hand… I’ve been searching for you for a while now.’

‘That is… disconcerting,’ Castiel replied cautiously. ‘May I ask why?’ His hand started inching towards the inner lining of his coat where his weapon of choice was concealed, which did not go unnoticed by Dean.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ Dean said, sounding nervous himself. ‘Listen, I think we, ah- got off on the wrong foot here. Sorry, I’m just- I’ve been workin’ like a dog, tryna get my ass to Lebanon, but then I noticed the damn vamp ’n got side tracked, so needless to say, haven’t been eatin’ or sleepin’ right, ’n it shows.’ He shot Castiel an affable smile, but Castiel couldn’t miss the strain in his eyes. Dean sighed and continued. ‘But, uh- like I said. My name is Dean Winchester. I’m a hunter from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and I’ve been looking for you, Castiel Novak of the Men of Letters, because I really, really need your help.’

Castiel didn’t like the sound of this already. ‘So, I’ll say again: may I ask why?’ Ketch made an exasperated noise, like he couldn’t understand why Castiel even cared, but both Castiel and Dean ignored him.

Dean’s eyes darted up to Castiel’s, momentarily pinning him in place, then he wet his lips, took a deep breath, and said, ‘It’s my brother, man. We were chasing this lead in Wyoming about a vengeful spirit, but it all went sideways. Wasn’t like any vengeful spirit case I’ve ever seen, ’n I’ve been in the life since before I was double digits. Whatever it was that got my brother wasn’t no ordinary ghost-’

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Castiel interrupted firmly, ‘but it doesn’t sound as though this is something that concerns us.’ He felt a momentary distant stab of something like remorse, but it was there and then gone. He hadn’t gotten to where he was by letting his emotions dictate his actions, nor those of his team.

At these words, Dean’s mouth fell open in shock that quickly transitioned to self-righteous anger. ‘Sammy ain’t dead,’ he spat, words dripping with fury. ‘He’s in this weird comatose state, only he’s, like, all screwed up, like dehydrated or something, and it only happened after he had a run-in with the spirit or whatever — which, by the way, is still out there, so how the fuck can you say that this doesn’t concern you?’

He looked like he was torn between breaking down into tears or punching Castiel in the face. Castiel watched silently as Dean began pacing back and forth like a tiger stuck in a cage, like he had so much energy, so much life inside him that he was incapable of staying still.

‘I’ve spent almost a whole goddamn month trying to track you asshats down,’ Dean continued to rage, apparently beyond requiring input from Castiel or Ketch. ‘All I had was a guy who knew a guy who knew someone who’d heard rumours of these glorified librarian motherfuckers holed up in some sewer in Kansas or something, but were supposed to know everything about everything havin’ to do with monsters. Plus, I just kept Harry Potter over there from gettin’ torn to shreds by the Twilight reject, so the way I’m lookin’ at it, I’d say y’all owe me a solid.’

‘No,’ Castiel said, more forcefully this time. ‘I’ve offered you my gratitude for your participation in eliminating the vampire — after we had already cleared the entire nest, I might add — but past that, I’m sorry to say that it is time for us to part ways. As a general rule, we do not interfere with the deeds — or misdeeds, as the case may be — of hunters. You’ve made your decision to be freelance agents; no one forced your hand, and as such, you must face your own consequences. As said, I am very sorry for your loss, but there’s nothing we will be able to do for you. Goodbye, Dean.’

He turned abruptly and began walking away, Ketch, surprisingly, falling into step behind him. Just before they got out of earshot, Castiel heard Dean yelling, This ain’t over, you dick! That’s a fuckin’ promise, you hear me? This ain’t fucking over! after them.

It didn’t take long at all for the strange encounter with Dean to fade from the forefront of Castiel’s mind. He and Ketch had returned to the Men of Letters’ Bunker in Lebanon and entered their field notes into the database, then he’d sent Ketch home, eager to finally be rid of the man’s grating presence. Ketch had been nearly insufferable during their return journey, complaining about Dean — and hunters in general — for nearly the entire drive.

In the weeks that followed, the team experienced an inexplicable lull in missions. It seemed as though all the supernatural creatures had gone on strike, but Castiel wasn’t exactly disappointed.

He spent his time with Dr Pamela Barnes in her lab, where she’d been working on developing an aerosol attractant for ghouls that would, hopefully draw the ghouls out into the open so the team wouldn’t have to visit any more crypts — everyone’s least favourite type of mission.

When Pamela eventually shooed him away, muttering something about ‘helicopter bosses’, Castiel went to check on Kevin Tran, the team’s archivist and researcher, who’d holed himself up in the archives room with Charlie Bradbury, their ‘guy in the chair’ as she called herself, which Castiel assumed was some sort of pop culture reference. Together, they were transferring centuries’ worth of research, reports, and other important documents to a digital format so Charlie could build a ‘mega beasty bestiary’ to make all their lives significantly easier.

Ketch, Castiel opted to simply avoid, but neither of them seemed to mind this decision.

Considering how the team had been working overtime for the last few months, they all welcomed the unplanned paid vacation.

For the first week or so, that is.

At the beginning of the second week, Castiel found Charlie in her ‘Fortress of Solitude’ (another reference that Castiel didn’t understand — but, to be fair, he didn’t understand most of the references Charlie made), spinning listlessly in her desk chair, head thrown back against the headrest, staring at the ceiling in dismay.

‘Dude,’ she grumbled, halting her spinning when she caught sight of Castiel, ‘if I wanted to have days like this, I would’ve never left the corporate jungle. What gives? Did all the monsters decide to lay down their claws and go all Snoopy and the Red Baron or something?!’

Castiel hesitated. ‘I… am not sure what is causing this break in routine, but I doubt the ‘monsters’ have chosen to mutilate themselves to reenact a story about a cartoon dog and a fictional airplane pilot.’

Charlie laughed. ‘Okay, that was a good one. I love when you go all Martian-speak on us.’ When Castiel still looked confused, she rolled her eyes, and said, ‘Oh em gee, never mind. But for real, dude, like… we gotta get outta here. Even if it’s just to run errands or visit the grocery store or go on a Sunday drive, whatever, but I cannot take another day of scanning. Does it look like I have Xerox stamped on my ass?’

‘I’ve never seen your…’ Castiel started, baffled, but then decided he’d rather forgo the topic of backsides altogether, and instead said, ‘well, I don’t think we can go on a Sunday drive, given that today is Tuesday, but perhaps we can go into town for a supply run?’

‘You are so my favourite Martian — homage to one of the best-worst granddaddies of sci-fi TV as we know it totally intentional,’ Charlie said, jumping up from her chair and grabbing her coat. ‘I’ll get Kevin and you tell Ketch? Poor Pam, being off on the most exciting day we’ve had in, like, over a week.’

‘You… would like for us all to go into town?’ Castiel asked reluctantly. ‘Together?’ The team did go out together, of course, but that was usually reserved for especially high stakes, complicated missions. Going to the grocery store hardly seemed worth the commotion.

‘Aw, c’mon, boss,’ Charlie said, punching Castiel in the arm. ‘We’re all crawling up the walls here, man! I know you hate Ketch, but I’m pretty sure the Geneva Convention says you have to let him come out to play with the rest of the class after he’s had to stare at a wall for this many days in a row.’

‘I don’t hate Ketch…’ Castiel protested weakly, but when Charlie levelled him with an extremely unimpressed look, he sighed and amended, ‘Well, it’s not like I like him, but I don’t necessarily dislike him, it’s more of… I merely wish the British Men of Letters would decide they want him back.’

(Ketch had had some sort of… altercation, as the report so diplomatically stated, which, from the sounds of it, should have led to his forced resignation, but since he was considered a legacy, the British Men of Letters had, instead, opted to send him to America. Castiel had truly done his best to give the man a clean slate, but after the mission that had inspired the ‘buddy system’ rule, he’d had to come to terms with the fact that the British Men of Letters had absolutely been right to send Ketch away. He wished he could do the same.

The mission had been to rescue a young girl, Alex Jones, whom they’d believed was being held hostage as a blood slave and lure for a nest of vampires. Pamela had accompanied Ketch on the mission in case the girl was in need of medical assistance, but this worry proved to be in vain. When they’d gotten to the nest, they’d found the human girl staunchly defending the vamps — ‘her family’ as she called them — and could not be convinced to leave their side.

So, Ketch had shot her.

His reasoning had been that every moment they spent trying to convince the girl to leave was a moment in which the vampires could be plotting their attack or escape, so he ‘ended negotiations early’.

Pamela had been furious. After the next several days and many conversations (most of which were at a very loud volume) that followed their return, Castiel had finally found a solution that made everyone happy (or at least, equally miserable), and so the ‘buddy system’ rule had been born, with the understanding that Pamela would never have to partner with Ketch again, of course.)

So, needless to say, Castiel wasn’t exactly eager to take the man out on a day trip, but Charlie did have a good point that not inviting Ketch to accompany them did seem unnecessarily mean-spirited. Castiel might not like him, but that didn’t mean he could pointedly ostracise him — that would be the epitome of poor leadership — so Castiel grit his teeth and headed into the library where Ketch had taken up residence in one of the ornate leather armchairs conveniently located next to the bar cart.

As luck would have it, Ketch had no interest in going into town, preferring to stay ‘away from the masses’, so Castiel’s worries had been for naught. Feeling significantly more cheerful about the company he was keeping, Castiel climbed into the driver’s seat of the team’s Range Rover SUV, Charlie declaring ‘dibs on the front seat!’ and elbowing Kevin out of the way.

‘Listen, man, only-child syndrome over here,’ she said when she caught sight of Kevin’s glare in the rearview mirror. ‘I never had a little brother or whatever to fight with over the front seat, so you get to experience my long-suppressed big sister energy.’

‘You know I’m an only child, too, right?’ Kevin sulked, crossing his arms. ‘Plus you always take the front seat and you never let me drive and-’

‘Children,’ Castiel chided them, earning twin glares from the front and back seat that made him grin. ‘Kevin, you may sit up front on the way home; Charlie, stop tormenting him. If the two of you can’t act like adults, you can stay here with Ketch, and I’ll go into town myself.’

He waited until he was answered with twin sighs of exasperation and mumbled variations of yes, boss, then he shifted the SUV into drive, and away they went.

The drive into town was a relatively short one, but that didn’t stop Charlie from commandeering the radio and playing her ‘Awesome Eighties Mixtape’. Of course, this made Kevin call her a Boomer, Castiel point out that there was no actual tape involved, and Charlie declare that the driver’s job was to drive, the ‘shotgun’s’ job was to navigate and ‘pick the tunes’, and the back seat’s job was to shut up. By the time they parked outside the general store in Lebanon, Kevin and Charlie were in a heated debate over what qualified as good music, and Castiel felt as though he might have an idea what humans meant when they said they had a splitting headache, despite being physically incapable of experiencing the phenomenon.

‘Okay, it sounds like blood sugar is dipping in here, so maybe you two need to be fed before we begin our shopping,’ he remarked mildly. Thankfully, Charlie and Kevin both seemed to approve of this method of distraction and actually both agreed that ice cream was in order.

They walked across the street to the old fashioned ice cream parlour that the town had to offer. Charlie ordered a strawberry shortcake sundae, Kevin, a chocolate mocha swirl crunch something that looked like it was more whipped cream and chocolate sauce than ice cream, and Castiel declined to order anything, despite the scandalised reaction of the other two.

‘I don’t know how you can bear to turn down something this good, man,’ Kevin remarked, shovelling a spoonful of his coffee-chocolate-mess into his mouth. ‘I’m telling you — I’ve lived so many places, and this place has the best ice cream out of all of them.’

‘I don’t eat,’ Castiel replied automatically, distracted by the sounds of some sort of commotion coming from behind the counter. When he realised what he said, he quickly added, ‘… sweets. All that sugar isn’t good for the… thing. Apologies, please give me just a moment.’

Castiel rose from his seat and headed over to the counter where the cashier was now nervously looking over her shoulder. The noises were getting louder, sounding like whatever was happening behind the door was getting closer. Before Castiel had a chance to draw his weapon or even yell a warning, two figures came bursting through the door and jumped over the counter, making the cashier let out a terrified scream.

The first was a female with wild, long brown hair, but that was the last of her notable human qualities. The slitted pupils of her silver eyes were full of an animal-like ferocity, as she bared her mouth full of pointed, razor sharp teeth, and slashed her hands through the air towards her opponent, revealing inch-long claws.

A werewolf.

The second figure was a man who looked vaguely familiar. As Castiel watched him grapple with the werewolf with surprising fluidity, he realised it was the hunter from the vampire case a few weeks back, Dean Winchester. The man gave no indication he recognised Castiel at all, but this was likely because the werewolf seemed to be occupying his full attention.

Dean and the werewolf circled each other, the werewolf baring her claws and gnashing her teeth, emitting low growls, while Dean held a short, silver knife in one hand, his other arm held in front of him for protection.

‘Listen, Madison, I know you didn’t mean it, sweetheart, but you had to’ve known how this was gonna end,’ he was saying, genuine regret in his voice. ‘I can’t let ya keep snacking on people’s tickers — they kinda need them, ya know.’

The werewolf only growled in response, and Dean sighed, seeming almost regretful, until she launched herself at him again, snarling. Castiel noticed the whimpering cashier crouched behind the counter, sounding as though she was about to begin hyperventilating.

‘Charlie, get that girl out of here! Kevin — go to the car and get the silver nitrate!’ Castiel ordered loudly, tossing the keys to Kevin, and keeping his eyes glued to the fray in front of him. He had his own silver blade, of course, but he had no way to guarantee Dean wouldn’t get injured in the crossfire.

That shouldn’t matter.

The stance of the organisation, of the Men of Letters, had always been that in the hierarchy of the world they defended, the hunters were classed somewhere above the beasts they hunted, but far below the civilian population. The reasoning was that hunters chose their walk of life — they were not recruited, called upon, or born into the noble cause of eliminating threats from the supernatural — and as such, any risk to their mortality or physical wellbeing was one they took on willingly.

Castiel released his blade from its sheath inside his coat and held it at the ready, looking for an opportunity to intercede. Dean had managed to start crowding the werewolf towards one of the walls of the ice cream parlour. Castiel edged closer, hoping that even just his presence impeding one of the only exits would be enough to distract the werewolf until Kevin returned with the silver nitrate.

As though summoned by Castiel’s thoughts, Kevin burst back into the shop and thrust a small satchel into Castiel’s hands. He smoothly exchanged it for Castiel’s blade without prompting — there truly was something to be said about recruiting only the best of the best.

Castiel yanked the satchel open and extracted a large syringe full of silver nitrate and returned his attention to the fight between Dean and the werewolf. By now, Dean had her nearly with her back against the wall, under an advert for the coffee-flavoured monstrosity Kevin had been making inappropriate noises over not ten minutes prior. Castiel uncapped the syringe and lunged.

The needle pierced the werewolf’s shoulder and she screamed, her human voice blending with the animalistic howl as the silver made its way to her heart. Castiel fought the urge to wince in sympathy — though he had no experience with a silver vulnerability, he had certainly been the victim of more than his fair share of injections that had rendered him unconscious for days at a time.

It hurt every time.

Mercifully, it took less than a minute for the werewolf to die, so Castiel found some sort of cold comfort in the knowledge that she hadn’t suffered for long. Dean released his hold on her, and her lifeless body crumpled to the ground. A moment later, Dean followed suit, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, breathing heavily.

‘I’d say thanks for the assist, but maybe we’ll just call it even,’ he panted after a few seconds of silence passed. ‘Fuck, man, that chick was strong. What the fuck didja shoot her up with, some sort of poison?’

‘Silver nitrate… only poisonous to werewolves. Had a few too many unfortunate accidents with arsenic before we got the formula just right,’ Castiel replied sardonically. Dean actually laughed.

‘And I thought you brainiac librarians were supposed to be the smart ones,’ he said with a smirk, laughing again when Castiel glared at him.

‘What were you even doing here, anyway?’ Castiel asked, somewhat rudely. ‘I believe in many things, but coincidences are not one of them. How is it that the one time I take the team into town, you just happen to be fighting a werewolf in the back room?’

‘Dude,’ Dean said, exasperated, as he ran a hand through his hair. ‘Not everything is about you, ya know. I’ve been hunting in the area for the last week or two, and as far as Maddie goes,’ he looked down at the dead werewolf with something close to regret, ‘well, that whole situation started off a hell of a lot differently than it ended, that’s for damn sure. Shoulda known a chick that could throw me around in the bedroom like that had to’ve been juiced up on somethin’ more than those soy milk whatsit smoothies she made us for breakfast.’ He sighed.

‘You knew her?’ Castiel asked, surprised. He knew hunters tended to have far lower standards for the company they kept, but he was still surprised to hear that Dean had been on such friendly terms with a werewolf.

Dean actually blushed and rubbed the back of his neck like he’d done in the woods when they’d first met, which was clearly a sign of his embarrassment or discomfort. ‘Uh, well… maybe in the biblical sense, if you’re pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down. Wasn’t like we were buddies or anything; we’d only met a few nights ago.’

‘You copulated with a werewolf?!’ Castiel asked, aghast. That seemed like an especially low blow, even for a hunter.

‘Hey,’ Dean protested, ‘wasn’t like I knew she was- you know- when we were doin’ the deed! I just thought she was, ah… assertive. And I like a woman who knows what she wants, so sue me.’

‘Oh my God,’ Kevin said, coming up behind them, having just changed the front window sign to SORRY, WE’RE CLOSED. He stared at Dean in shock as he handed Castiel his blade. Castiel carefully returned it to its concealed sheath inside his coat while Kevin returned his attention to Dean. ‘You really slept with a werewolf? I’ve never even heard of that before. Did you notice any distinct differences between having, uh- relations with her, versus a full human? Did this happen during the day or at night? I don’t think the full moon is for another week and a half, so-’

Castiel held a hand up, stopping Kevin’s interrogation in its tracks before things could really run off the rails, especially considering how Dean’s mouth had fallen open in embarrassed horror at the intrusive questions.

‘Dean Winchester, meet Kevin Tran. Kevin maintains the lore for us, hence the reason for his rather, ah, enthusiastic line of questioning about your personal life,’ Castiel said, gesturing to Kevin. ‘He was actually the one who helped Dr Barnes create the silver nitrate injection last year by figuring out the correct ratio of components.’

‘Oh, cool,’ Dean said, very obviously eager to change the subject. He held out a hand that Kevin shook without pause, making Castiel feel a second’s worth of guilt at how hostile he and Ketch had been when they’d met Dean. Dean didn’t seem to think too much of it, because he added, ‘Good on ya, man. That sounds complicated as fuck to figure out.’

Kevin just shrugged. ‘I was in Advanced Placement Chemistry.’ Dean nodded, as though this made sense to him.

The bell above the door jangled, and all three of them whipped around to see Charlie reentering the shop, cleanup kit in hand, and the shop worker nowhere in sight. At Castiel’s raised eyebrow, she said, ‘I told Stevie — that’s our hot ice cream lady’s name, by the way, total Woman Crush Wednesday — to just go home and pretend this was all a super vivid Inception dream, and that we’d take care of putting the shop back together.’

‘… it’s Tuesday,’ Castiel informed her for the second time that day, but then he sighed. ‘Alright, I suppose we’d better get to work. Kevin, I need you to go document the state of the back room, Charlie, can you check camera footage and track social media to make sure nothing pops up about this. I don’t think we were spotted, but we can never be too careful.’

While Charlie and Kevin took off to take care of their assigned tasks, Castiel made his way towards the short hall with the RESTROOMS sign over it, hoping to find a supply closet. It was locked, but it took next to no time to pick it open, and he quickly located a broom and dustpan, then turned to head back to the lobby, only to smack straight into Dean, who grinned sheepishly.

‘You, uh- you didn’t give me any marching orders, so I figured I’d just…’ he made a vague gesture that apparently meant follow you around like a strange, silent shadow. Castiel blinked.

‘You’re not in my employ, so I have no right to issue orders for you,’ Castiel replied stiffly. He began sweeping the entire lobby, not just the mess of sprinkles and napkins and plastic spoons that were spread across the floor, fallout from the scuffle. He figured since they’d trashed the place and run the poor worker out of her own store, the least he could do was give the place a good sweep.

‘So this is the glamorous life of a Men — Man? — of Letters?’ Dean asked after Castiel had been ignoring him in favour of his task for a good few minutes. ‘Playing housekeeper?’

‘It’s kind of hard to hide the existence of the supernatural from civilians if we leave a trail of destruction in our wake,’ Castiel answered irritably, emptying the dustbin into the trash, then began trying to manoeuvre the bin from the enclosure so he could change it out. It was a cumbersome task, trying to get the stupid thing out, and he let out a low growl of frustration.

There was suddenly a pair of hands lifting the other side, and he looked up in surprise to see that Dean had come over to help. He grunted his thanks, prompting Dean to shrug again.

‘I was prepared to do all of this crap myself, so actually it’s me that should be thanking you,’ he said mildly. ‘I don’t just leave clusterfucks like this, you know. I just didn’t expect you guys to be willing to help out since it wasn’t even your hunt.’

‘As I told you last time, we don’t hunt,’ Castiel said as he pulled the bin liner out and tied it off. ‘And besides, we haven’t had much work the last week or so — it seems that the creatures in this area have taken a sabbatical.’

‘Oh,’ Dean said, rubbing his neck again. ‘Well, not exactly… Like I said, I’ve been staying in town the last couple weeks, and there hasn’t been much else to do aside from hunt, so…’ He made that same nonsensical gesture with his hand, which Castiel decided definitely meant follow them around.

‘You just happened to decide to take a vacation in Lebanon, Kansas?’ Castiel asked, eyes narrowed. ‘I already told you — there’s nothing we can do in regards to your issue with your brother. Continuing to stalk us — stalk me — is going to prove hazardous to your health, so I suggest you let the idea go, return to wherever it is you came from, and forget you ever heard of the Men of Letters.’

’No can do,’ Dean replied quietly. ‘I’m sorry for bein’ a pain in your ass, but- this is my brother, man. He’s just about the only family I got left; I can’t give up on him, and I can’t give up on finding someone or something to help him. And if continuing to be a pain in your ass gives me even a snowball of a snowball’s change of gettin’ you to change your mind, then, well… guess you’re my new best friend, buddy. Sorry, not sorry.’

Castiel was about to lay into the infuriating man when Charlie and Kevin reappeared. ‘All sails set, boss,’ Charlie said enthusiastically. ‘Wiped the security camera footage and worked some video editing magic so it looks like it was just us. It’s like you were never here at all,’ she said, turning to Dean.

‘Thanks, Red,’ Dean said with a strained smile. He darted a look at Castiel, whose expression remained stony, and his smile faltered.

‘Charlie,’ Charlie corrected him cheerfully. ‘Charlie Bradbury, resident computer genius, gamemaster, and LARP queen. And you are?’ She extended a hand to Dean, who shook it in surprise.

‘Dean Winchester,’ Dean replied, releasing her hand. ‘Resident thorn in Castiel’s side.’

‘Aren’t we all,’ she remarked dryly, rolling her eyes. ‘But don’t let his perpetually cranky Constantine stand-in persona fool you; he’s really just a big softie on the inside. Just let him ramble on about honeybees or board games or the great jelly versus jam debate for a while and you’re golden.’

‘Somehow I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy for me,’ Dean said with another pained smile. He actually looked like he was fighting the urge to either cry or hit something again, just like he had the last time. He ran his hand through his hair again and mumbled, ‘Well. I guess I’ll get out of your hair then. Thanks for the, uh- Spoonful of Sugar treatment you guys gave this place. You’re like magic.’

He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to go, but before he reached the door, Castiel called, ‘Dean!’ the single syllable cracking across the tension of the ice cream shop like a whip. Dean turned around, sparing Castiel an apprehensive and reluctant glance. Castiel grit his teeth and let out an annoyed huff, then asked, ‘When are you planning on returning to wherever you came from? I’d like to know if we should expect you to continue to treat this area like your personal playground.’

‘I told you I’m not leavin’ til you say you’ll help my brother,’ Dean replied, a note of cold belligerence in his voice now. ‘So if that means I gotta hang out with the townies and gank a few fuckin’ monsters in the meantime, then that’s what I’ll do. Gotta stay in fightin’ trim for the ladies and the werewolves — though hopefully no more lady werewolves.’ He winked at Charlie, waved at Kevin, and gave Castiel a mock salute, before walking straight out the door without looking back.

‘Wait, so he’s the reason for the never-ending detention we’ve had going on at work?!’ Charlie asked Castiel, who was still watching through the shop window as Dean walked down the street until he came to a black muscle car that he then climbed into and drove away. Charlie waved her hand in front of his face, making him jump. ‘Hello?! Earth to our fearless leader? I asked if Young Skywalker over there has been single-handedly putting us out of work?’

‘Yes,’ Castiel answered through gritted teeth. He picked up the clean up kit from where Charlie had set it on top of the trash can enclosure he and Dean had just emptied, and pulled out the silver-lined body bag. ‘This is the second time he’s shown up in my vicinity. He claims he needs help with a vengeful spirit that attacked his brother. You know we don’t interfere with the affairs of hunters, Charlie.’

‘Ah,’ Charlie said knowingly as she and Kevin helped Castiel manoeuvre the dead werewolf into the bag. ‘You know what the solution to that is, then, right?’

‘No, what?’ Castiel asked, genuinely curious as he zipped everything shut. He would love for someone to figure out a solution to the Dean Winchester problem, as it seemed they were just getting started. ‘Kevin, please go pull the SUV around back.’ Kevin nodded and slipped out the front door, Castiel locking it behind him.

‘Hire him,’ Charlie answered simply, shrugging as she bent down to take one side of the bag containing the werewolf’s body. Castiel glared at her as he picked up the other side and started leading them towards the back exit, but she just rolled her eyes and flipped the lights off as they passed. ‘Dude, just hear me out. He’s good — you know he’s good, especially if he’s been keeping the entire area creepy-crawly free for the last few weeks. We could always use someone who knows what they’re doing, plus, then he’s part of the Breakfast Club, so you can help him with whatever’s eating him guilt-free. Everybody wins.’

They’d made it to the back door by then, so Castiel pressed the push bar to open it, glad to see Kevin was waiting for them with the hatch to the SUV already open.

‘I don’t see how inviting a uncultured, undignified, undisciplined hunter into our ranks could be considered a ‘win’,’ Castiel told Charlie, the vehemence in his voice surprising even himself as they worked in tandem to haul the werewolf into the back of the Range Rover. ‘He’ll figure out sooner or later that no means no, then move on. We’ve had interactions like this with hunters in the past, and they’ve all gotten the message in the end.’

Kevin closed the hatch, then climbed into the front seat, levelling Charlie with a look as though daring her to protest, but she was too busy staring at Castiel in absolute glee.

‘Oh my God, you like him,’ Charlie crowed, climbing into the back, but then leaning forward so she had one arm propped up on both Castiel and Kevin’s seats. ‘You are totally doing that gross calling your crush names on the playground cos you don’t know how to handle feelings thing! It’s like being in the fourth grade with Siobhan Delevan all over again!’ She and Kevin both laughed and exchanged high fives, while Castiel seethed murderously.

‘I do not have a ‘crush’ on Dean Winchester,’ Castiel barked, making Kevin and Charlie both laugh harder at his use of air quotes. ‘I find him infuriating, offensive, foolhardy, and all around uncouth. We do not have a place for him in the Men of Letters, we will not be looking into his vengeful spirit, and any argument to the contrary will be considered insubordination and treated accordingly. Am I understood?’

The silence that met him was stifling, but still a welcome relief. Castiel returned his attention to the road once Charlie and Kevin both mumbled, ‘Yes, boss,’ already counting the miles back to the Bunker, just glad Charlie seemed to have dropped the issue.

(He didn’t miss the way Kevin’s phone lit up a second later with a message from Charlie saying I ALWAYS KNEW HE HAD A THING FOR GREEN EYES!, but he chose not to mention it. He’d already wasted more than enough of his non-breath discussing Dean Winchester.)

Chapter Text

Considering Dean had been pretty clear about his intention to stay close by, Castiel supposed it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when the next week passed much like the last one had. By the end of the third week of little to no supernatural activity, he all but gave up and told the staff they could take the rest of the week off with pay, provided they kept their MOL-issued phones on them, in case of emergency. Of course, everyone agreed immediately, and within ten minutes, Castiel was, again, alone in the Bunker.

He was accustomed to being alone — he had been alone for most of his life, and it had never caused him much distress before — but the stark feeling of loneliness was definitely a new phenomenon.

It had crept up on him, really. He’d only started noticing during the team’s recent unintentional quarantine in the Bunker, how Charlie and Kevin seemed to speak the same pop culture reference-laden language, or how Kevin and Pamela could hole up in her lab for hours at a time, not only working together, but talking, about anything and everything and nothing. He overheard Pamela inviting Charlie to her book club by informing her that her friend, Maggie, had recently broken up with her girlfriend, only to have Charlie whisper conspiratorially that she’d been texting Stevie, the cashier from the ice cream shop, and they had a date the following weekend. Even Ketch made loud, obnoxious phone calls in the library to the British Men of Letters chapter house, where he spent several hours chatting with a woman called Bela who, from the sounds of it, was also entirely unimpressed with his bluster.

It seemed that everyone had someone, which was not something Castiel had ever noticed or cared about before. He was always content to do his duty, serve the Men of Letters, and not expect more, but ever since Charlie had made her little comment about him being intrigued by Dean, he’d spent more time that could be considered reasonable contemplating her words. Somehow, thoughts of Dean became his only companion during those long, lonely hours, and that fact irritated him beyond belief.

They’d seen neither hide nor hair of the hunter since he’d left the ice cream shop, but they also hadn’t seen much work, either, so Castiel assumed that meant Dean was still hanging around the area. It was infuriating, knowing that the quickest way to make the man go away for good would be to simply aid him on his asinine quest to avenge his brother or whatever he’d said, but that by doing so, he would basically be rewarding Dean for his stubborn, infantile behaviour. Castiel wondered if this was how parents felt when their small children were having tantrums.

He spent his solitary days keeping tabs on their many supernatural monitoring systems and wandering the empty halls of the Bunker, which had previously been one of his favourite pastimes. He could live here several more centuries and still not discover all its secrets, and to someone like Castiel, where not much in the world remained a mystery, it was always a delight to find something new tucked away in some long forgotten dusty corner.

That was not the case these days, however. Now, instead of holding intrigue, it felt as though the walls were filled with the whispers of all the things Castiel did not allow himself to think about. It was maddening.

But even so, Castiel had to believe that this was just a strange phase of existence — one brought on by the upset in his usual routine, mixed with minor curiosity about the one who had caused it. He’d experienced these bouts of languor before, and they did all eventually pass, then fade away until they were nothing more than a distant memory in an especially long life.

This, too, would pass.

After so many days of inaction and apathy, when the alarm sounded through the Bunker to alert the team of a potential threat in the area late one afternoon the following week, it took everyone by surprise.

‘It looks like there’s a shapeshifter about six miles west of here,’ Castiel announced, studying the readings on their radar. ‘Shouldn’t take too long; it looks like it’s just the one holed up at…’ he typed a few commands into the computer with no result, then sighed and stepped aside, letting Charlie take his place.

Charlie began typing at lightning speed, making all sorts of pop up windows appear. ‘Alrighty, looks like our buddy is hanging out at a place called Blackridge Farms and- ew. Looks like it’s been snacking on the locals. Ugh, I hate when they go all Hannibal — try eating a freaking turkey dinner after that.’

‘I’ve already apologised for the mission on Thanksgiving last year,’ Castiel reminded her. ‘Multiple times, in fact. But dinner plans aside, Charlie and Kevin — I’m going to have you stay here and manage communication. Pamela and Ketch — you’re with me.’

Everyone took to their orders without the usual good-natured grumbling for once. It seemed as though they were all itching to actually get to perform the jobs they were paid for. This fact was quickly confirmed when Castiel fell into step with Pamela and opened his mouth to apologise for sticking her on a mission with Ketch, but she cut him off and said, ‘Buy me a beer and we’ll call it even. Just know that if he pulls his shit, I cannot be held responsible if my can of sedation spray just so happens to malfunction… in his face… preferably near a cliff.’

‘Noted,’ Castiel said with a laugh. ‘I consider myself lucky for getting off that easily, though I would remind you that there are no cliffs near Lebanon. You’d have to hope for a tornado.’

‘Maybe I’ll figure out a way to create one when we get back,’ Pamela replied, a bit dreamily. ‘Shouldn’t be too hard to fabricate an unstable atmosphere-’

‘Yes, yes, we all know how unstable you are,’ Ketch interrupted as they approached where he was waiting near the entrance to the garage. ‘Though I’m not sure that’s something I would shout about, were I in your shoes. Might make you seem a bit too… emotional. There is a reason why we’re called the Men of Letters, after all.’

‘Ketch.’

Castiel’s tone was sharp enough that the man actually mumbled, ‘My apologies; was merely joking,’ which seemed good enough for Pamela, so Castiel let it go as well.

‘Tornado machine,’ Pamela murmured as she elbowed her way in front of Ketch to climb into the front seat, which pleased Castiel greatly, remembering Charlie and Kevin’s tiff. ‘When we get back, angelcake, you call whoever you gotta call to fund this project. It’s for the greater good of humanity.’

Castiel laughed, feeling just a little mean when Ketch looked annoyed to be left out of the loop, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to feel too guilty over it. Rightly so, because the next moment, Ketch launched into a dramatic retelling of all the projects he’d supposedly spearheaded back when he was in the UK, and that somehow filled the entire drive out to Blackridge Farms. Pamela had turned the radio onto a punk rock station to try to drown out Ketch’s monologue, but unfortunately, it only made him speak louder, and Castiel discovered that the phantom headache phenomenon was apparently not isolated to only Charlie and Kevin’s rapport.

They turned onto the long driveway that led to the abandoned property. When they climbed out of the SUV, Castiel noted a boarded up farmhouse with weatherworn shiplap siding off to the left, and a dilapidated red barn to the right. Neither looked like an especially appealing option.

‘Ketch, you take the house, Pamela and I will take the barn,’ Castiel decided, pointing towards the farmhouse as he addressed Ketch. ‘Do not kill any humans for any reason, Arthur, I mean it.’

Ketch shot him a glare at the addendum, but took off in the direction Castiel had indicated without any pushback. Pamela let out a long sigh.

‘Are you sure we can’t just send him back to the mothership?’ she asked, her tone only partially joking. Castiel snorted.

‘He serves his purpose, I suppose,’ he remarked diplomatically. The look that Pamela shot him was enough to strip what little paint remained on the barn, and he huffed a laugh. ‘Okay, so maybe he’s not the most-’

He saw a flash of brown leather and plaid ’round the corner from the far side of the barn. Castiel let out a frustrated growl.

‘Dean Winchester!’ he yelled, advancing on the man who looked completely surprised to see Castiel storming over, Pamela following close behind. His eyes widened in shock and possibly a hint of fear, which was just fine by Castiel, because this was getting to be out of hand.

‘How many times do I need to tell you that no matter how many times you shove yourself in my face, we will not be involving ourselves in whatever it is you hunters got yourselves tangled up in. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I have never met a man more infuriating and entitled, and I employ Arthur fucking Ketch!’ Castiel ranted, realising he was beginning to sound unhinged.

Dean began backing up slowly, apparently finally getting the message. ‘I, uh- sorry?’ he said, looking nervous. ‘I’m- yeah, you’re right. My bad, bro, I’ll just-’

Something about his stuttered words hit Castiel’s ear the wrong way, but before he could figure out what it was, Pamela yelled, ‘Castiel, he’s the shifter!’ from where she was standing a few feet away, her phone held in front of her.

Castiel whipped around just in time to catch fake Dean’s fist with the side of his face. Sparkles exploded behind his closed eyes and he tried desperately to get his bearings while he heard Pamela fire off several rounds, still yelling.

‘He’s getting away!’ she called, running after him. Castiel cursed and shook his head to try and regain some sense, then took off after both Pamela and the shifter.

It was a short chase — Pamela had exceptional aim. She hit the shifter first in the leg, causing him to tumble to the ground, and mere seconds later, he was dead.

‘Good shot,’ Castiel said as he approached, looking down at the dead shapeshifter. ‘How’d you know it was him?’

Pamela snorted as she holstered her gun, then began pulling her hair back into a ponytail, holding it up off the back of her neck. ‘I swear, I’m cutting it all off one of these days,’ she complained, fanning herself. ‘But anyway, sweet cheeks, funny story — a certain redhead back at the Bunker requested video footage if a ‘mysterious green-eyed hottie with a body’ showed up and made you start melting down. I’d just started filming your little tantrum when I noticed his eyes.’

‘Sometimes I hate that you two are friends, you know,’ Castiel remarked dryly, but then he couldn’t help but grin. ‘Can’t deny it worked out in my favour this time, though. God, I wonder if he was a shifter all along, or-’

He was cut off suddenly by the sound of gunshots and shouting from somewhere near the house. Castiel and Pamela both drew their weapons and ran towards the commotion, heading towards the backyard.

‘What the fuck; you fucking shot me, you asshole!’ Castiel heard someone yelling as they neared. ‘You goddamn son of a bitch, what the fuck is your problem, man?! I already showed you I ain’t a fucking shifter!’

‘But you are, and will remain, an interfering nuisance, unless someone puts you down like the dog you are,’ came the reply in a pompous British accent. ‘And what fortunate circumstances that you happened to be prowling around uninvited while we’re searching out a shapeshifter. Somehow I think the team will forgive me for being so confused as to whether or not you were the shifter once you’re eliminated as well.’

Fucking Ketch.

Furious, Castiel barrelled around to the backyard to see Ketch pointing his gun at Dean — the real Dean, apparently — who was sprawled on the ground, glaring back at him. Blood was beginning to seep through the fabric of his plaid shirt from the obvious gunshot wound to his side. At the sound of Castiel and Pamela’s arrival, Ketch looked up in surprise, his finger still on the trigger, but there was a steely look in his eye as he turned back to Dean’s splayed form, and Castiel knew without a doubt he was about to kill the man in front him in cold blood.

Without pausing to think it through, Castiel threw his blade at Ketch, and, well-

Castiel also had exceptional aim.

The silver blade turned point over hilt in the air before embedding itself solidly in Ketch’s chest. Ketch’s eyes went wide and he froze for a moment before dropping to the ground in an undignified heap.

Pamela ran over to Ketch and gave him a brisk once-over, before quietly declaring, ‘he’s dead.’ She sounded funny, like she was in a daze or couldn’t quite comprehend the words she was saying.

‘I’ll deal with- with him. Pamela, can you please assist Dean?’ Castiel said as gently as he could, considering the circumstances. She nodded and redirected her attention to Dean, who was clutching his side, teeth clenched and eyes jammed shut.

‘Thanks… Cas…’ Dean managed to grit out while Pamela began carefully prodding his abdomen. ‘He- he fuckin’ came up b-behind me. I cut mys-self with a silver blade to show I’m me, ’n he said the thing was in the back, but when I turned to check it out, he w-went ’n fuckin’ shot me.’

Dean was breathing heavily by the time he finished speaking. Pamela had removed her long sleeve shirt and was holding it against Dean’s side, applying pressure, momentary shock replaced with her usual cool, calm efficiency.

‘Well, the good news is that it looks like the bullet just grazed ya, so while I’m sure it doesn’t feel like it now, you’re actually a lucky fella,’ she said, giving Dean a small smile. ‘It could’ve been so much worse.’

‘Hey, any day I get a b-beautiful woman to ta-take her top off for m-me is a good day,’ Dean said, still sounding faint, but a little more like the man who had brazenly admitted to having sex with a werewolf. Castiel bristled.

‘I’ll get the bodybag,’ he said, turning abruptly to head back to the SUV for cleanup supplies.

‘Grab the first aid kit while you’re in there!’ Pamela called after him while Dean asked, ‘You people bring your own bodybags?!’

Castiel wrenched open the hatch of the SUV, and pulled out the medical kit and two body bags from their case of gear — one lined in silver and one with the Men of Letters sigil emblazoned on the front. He stared at the familiar sigil and for a moment, it seemed almost obscene — like a catchy commercial jingle written for a funeral home, or something equally inappropriate.

He felt a momentary stab of… not regret exactly, but something very close to it, as he wondered if he’d acted too recklessly. There would undoubtedly be consequences to face when they returned to the Bunker, but he couldn’t think of that now.

Pamela and Dean were talking quietly when Castiel returned to their side. He wordlessly handed Pamela the medical kit, then went over to Ketch and began unfolding the body bag.

He opened the bag and removed the white shroud, laying it out on the ground, then forced himself to look at Ketch’s body. Castiel carefully closed Ketch’s open, unseeing eyes, and pulled his blade from where it was still embedded in the man’s chest, feeling the first tendrils of alarm begin to wind themselves around his unnecessary heart.

What had he done-

He shook his head again, because now was not the time to panic, and instead began respectfully wrapping Ketch’s body in the shroud, using additional strips of fabric to tie everything together tightly, then carefully eased him into the black body bag. Castiel zipped it back up and was once again faced with the gold Men of Letters sigil.

‘I don’t know if it’s bougie as fuck or morbid as fuck that you guys have your own customised bodybags,’ Castiel heard someone say from behind him. He looked up to see Dean speaking to Pamela, who was leading Dean over to where Castiel was working. Her eyes flicked down to the bag containing Ketch’s body, then to the silver-lined body bag. Without speaking, she held out an expectant hand. Castiel handed it to her and watched as she took off in the direction of where they’d left the shifter in the front yard.

Dean cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, his face twisting into a grimace. ‘Listen, I just wanted to say, you know, thank you. I- I know it doesn’t seem like enough, and I know you can’t stand me, but- fuck, dude. That whole thing about your life flashing before your eyes might be a load of shit, but I sure as hell thought I was a goner.’

‘What did you see, if not your life?’ Castiel asked, despite himself — anything to keep from having to process he’d just killed one of his own to save a hunter.

Dean huffed an embarrassed sort of laugh. ‘I know you probably don’t wanna hear about him, but- my brother, Sammy. I’m the only family he’s got, well, aside from our almost-uncle/surrogate father, so all I could think was… when I’m gone, there’ll be no one to find a way to fix him. I mean, Bobby would’ve tried, but he’s got a few dozen hunters hittin’ him up for help or advice at any given time, plus he ain’t exactly a spring chicken…’

He trailed off and made an aborted move like he wanted to do his awkward neck-rubbing gesture, but winced when the movement jarred the wound in his side. He shot Castiel a small, self-conscious smile and said, ‘Probably shoulda warned ya that Doctor 10/10 over there shot me up with the good stuff for the… you know.’ He used his other hand to indicate the drying patch of blood on his shirt, as though Castiel could forget what had started this whole mess. ‘She sure knows what the fuck she’s doin’.’

‘Dr Barnes is an incredibly accomplished doctor,’ Castiel said stiffly, but softened considerably when he saw Dean wince again. ‘You said your… Bobby person, he runs a central intelligence operation for hunters?’

Dean laughed again. ‘God, you make him sound like one of the Feds — the real Feds, that is, not our version. But, no. Well… maybe kinda. He just- he knows his shit. Been doin’ this job longer than some of us have been alive, but he’s startin’ to slow down in his old age, so he takes more of a backseat approach these days. Gets calls from all over the country ’n figures out what’s what ’n who’s best equipped to handle it.’

‘I had no idea there was an organised network of hunters,’ Castiel mused aloud, genuinely impressed. ‘That’s a fairly brilliant way to operate.’

‘I’ll be sure to relay that to my ‘unwashed barbarian’ brethren when I get back,’ Dean replied dryly. ‘Which, I guess you’ll be happy to hear, should be in the next few days… Can’t be huntin’ when I’m being held together by duct tape ’n safety pins. Plus I meant it when I said I’m the only blood my brother’s got… fat lotta good I’ll be in curing him if I’m dead, so…’ He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but there was a look in his eyes as though he were admitting defeat after an epic and arduous battle.

‘You’re leaving?’ Castiel asked, somewhat stupidly, as the man had literally just said this. He really didn’t know how he felt about this news — it was exactly what he’d thought he’d wanted, but now that it was close to finally happening, he felt strangely bereft.

Dean nodded. ‘Soon as I can manage the drive,’ he said, sounding resigned. ‘I’d do it tonight, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it much further than the motel.’

‘Now I know I didn’t just hear you say you think you’re putting that pert ass of yours into the driver’s seat of anything tonight, right?’ Pamela said as she reappeared at their side. ‘Listen, kiddo, you might not feel it now, but I give ya another ten minutes before you’re seeing purple elephants. You’re not even supposed to drive on cold medicine, so you can bet I’m not letting you get anywhere near a steering wheel tonight. Doctor’s orders.’

‘’preciate that, doc, but, uh- I ain’t sleepin’ in the Amityville Hell House over there,’ Dean said, nodding towards the farmhouse. Castiel found he couldn’t exactly blame him; backlit red-orange by the setting sun, the house did look sinister and intimidating. ‘Not gonna have you patch me up all nice ’n pretty, then get my ass ganked by some pissed off ghosts. It’s not a far drive; I should be alright.’

‘You’re coming back with us and that’s final.’ Pamela’s statement had a sense of finality to it, but that didn’t stop both Dean and Castiel from beginning to voice protests that she silenced with a glare. ‘Castiel, he can stay in one of the spare rooms, or even in the infirmary, but we didn’t go through all this shit tonight just to send the kid off to crash his car cos he’s high on painkillers. Dean — don’t even try me; I eat pretty boys like you for breakfast.’

‘Is that a promise?’ Dean asked weakly, making Pamela crack a smile. ‘I, uh- well, I guess it’s up to you, Cas. I mean- I know you’ve been tryin’ to get rid of me from Day One, so the last thing you probably want is for me to crash at your place…’

‘It’s fine,’ Castiel grumbled, eager to get out from under the weight of Pamela’s stubborn glare. ‘Just for the night, and you are to stay in your designated area. The Bunker is a base of operation, not a B&B.’

‘Y’oughta put that on your business cards,’ Dean said, his words getting lost in a yawn. Pamela laughed at his look of surprise. ‘Think them painkillers are startin’ to kick in, doc.’

‘Told ya so,’ she said wryly. ‘C’mon, let’s get you to the car before we end up having to carry three bodies tonight.’

She wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist, shouldering her way under his arm, and helped him walk stiffly over to the SUV. Castiel carefully picked up the body bag containing Ketch. It was inelegant and slow-going — this was normally a job meant for at least two people — but given everything that had transpired that evening, it seemed uncomfortably apt that he bear the burden alone.

As he neared, he heard Dean arguing with Pamela about his baby, though it was blatantly clear that Pamela had the upper hand as the man was already slurring his words and seemed to be holding himself upright by sheer force of will. Castiel frowned, shocked that even a hunter would dare bring a baby with them when facing down a monster, then he found himself wondering where the hell Dean had been keeping this child the whole time. He vaguely remembered hearing that there was some sort of social service agency that prevented parents from intentionally putting their children into this sort of moral peril.

‘’mmm tellin’ you- ain’t- ain’t nobody on God’s green Earth who’s ’llowed’ta touch m’baby,’ Dean said, frowning and pointing a finger about a foot and a half to Pamela’s left. ‘Don’t care how hot you ’n your twin sister are, doc, y’ain’t drivin’ ’er.’

‘Dean,’ Pamela said very clearly and very slowly, though Castiel could tell she was trying incredibly hard not to laugh, ‘if you don’t give me your keys right now, you’re going to have to leave your ‘baby’ here, and I can’t guarantee nobody’ll mess with her. Classic beauty like that, I mean… if the wrong person finds her, they might strip her down for parts, scratch through her paint, pour sugar in her tank — who knows?’ She said this last bit with faux innocence, biting her lip to contain her smile as Dean looked comically aghast at the idea.

‘I’lllll- I’ll kill the motherfu- motherfucker who tries,’ he said, eyes wide, his head lolling slightly to the side. ‘But I dunno, doc, she’s a- she’s a classy lady, can’t let just anybody drive ’er.’

‘Wait, is he referring to his vehicle as his child?’ Castiel asked, baffled. Pamela nodded, smirking, as she opened the hatch on the SUV for him. ‘I thought he meant an actual infant.’

‘Oh my God,’ Dean said dramatically, sliding his half-opened eyes over to glare at Castiel as he struggled to fold the back seat down so he could lay Ketch’s body out flat. ‘Baby is- she’s only the most badass car ever invented, dude. Don’t mean a fuckin’ baby, I mean my fuckin’ baby.’ He shot Castiel an exasperated look like this should have explained everything about the whole bizarre situation.

‘Glad we cleared that up, then,’ Castiel said, turning to Pamela. ‘We need to get going. I don’t think we’re close enough to other houses that anyone would have heard the gunshots, but that’s not a theory I’d like to test.’ Pamela nodded.

‘Well okay then, kiddo, here’s your options,’ she said, turning to Dean again. ‘Either I drive your car back, Castiel drives her back, or we leave her here and take our chances. I did hear something about some kids going around sticking Jolly Ranchers on parked cars, but I’m sure it’s just a rumour.’ She rubbed his shoulder in a way that would seem soothing to anyone who didn’t know what a shitstarter she was.

‘Cassss-tee-el ain’t drivin’ her,’ Dean declared, continuing to glare at Castiel as though he were the one asking for the privilege. ‘Dude hatesss me. He ain’t touching her.’ He snorted like an angry deer and very petulantly dropped the keys six inches to the side of Pamela’s outstretched hand.

‘I don’t hate you,’ Castiel protested as Pamela rolled her eyes and bent down to pick up the keys. Dean didn’t seem to hear him, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care.

‘You’re riding with Castiel,’ Pamela informed Dean in the same no nonsense tone. ‘C’mon, big boy, in ya go.’

She opened the front door, then she and Castiel helped Dean climb inside and recline the seat a little. Dean’s hand flopped clumsily in the direction of his seatbelt, so Castiel stepped in and helped him buckle.

‘Didn’t know y’cared, Cas,’ Dean said, sounding put out. ‘Figured you’d be hopin’ my dumb ass’d fly outta the windshield or somethin’, ya know, like-’ He made a sloppy swooping gesture that Castiel assumed meant being projected through the windshield of the vehicle onto the road.

His eyes were closed by now, but Castiel could see in the wrinkle of Dean’s brow how unhappy this sentiment actually made him.

‘I don’t hate you, Dean,’ Castiel said again, more quietly this time, the words meant only for Dean. ‘I apologise for giving you that impression. I find you irksome and grating, yes, but I don’t hate you. Certainly not to the point of wishing bodily harm upon you.’

‘Mm… you talk fancy,’ Dean mumbled, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, betraying his amusement. ‘You ’n your fancy word ’n body bags ’n fuckin’- fuckin’ soccer mom car… s’like talkin’ to a friggin’ Kennedy. Or maybe a Kardashian. Ha. You’d be Khloe.’

‘I only know what about half of those words mean,’ Castiel said, straightening up. ‘Watch your feet, I’m closing the door now.’

Dean nodded seriously, eyes still closed. Castiel paused for just a moment, then firmly closed the door. He saw Pamela approaching, dragging the silver-lined body bag behind her.

‘Oh, damn. Pamela, I’m sorry, I should have helped you with that,’ he apologised, hurrying over to help her haul it the last few feet.

‘Don’t you worry about me… I’m just glad you were there to take care of the real Dean. You let me handle the knock off,’ she said, then paused at the back of the Range Rover, looking vaguely ill. ‘It feels kinda wrong to have this thing back there next to Arthur…’

‘I understand what you mean… What do you think about putting it in Dean’s car?’ Castiel asked. Pamela heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Yes,’ she said vehemently, leading them towards a cluster of trees where Dean must have told her he’d left his car. ‘That’s a much better idea… I mean… you know I didn’t like the guy but…’

‘I understand,’ Castiel said again. Even he could hear the guilt in his voice and he swallowed hard. 'Pam, I… I never meant- it wasn’t supposed to go like this. No matter what I felt about Ketch, I never wanted-’

‘Castiel,’ Pamela interrupted gently, ‘I know. You’re a good man, boss, and Ketch was- he was out of control. Everyone could see it in him, especially after last time, but none of us thought that he would try to execute another human being after you threatened to fire him. We all thought that had scared him straight.’

‘I’ll have to answer to the team when we return — and the home office,’ Castiel reminded her quietly. ‘In case things go- well. Just in case, I just want to say that it has been a privilege to have you on my team, Dr Barnes. You make impossible things seem possible.’

‘Now don’t you start that shit, you hear me?’ Pamela replied sternly as Dean’s black car came into view. ‘This is not a rom-com, and you are not Matthew McConaughey, my friend, so there’ll be none of these dramatic farewells while the music swells in the background. We’ll get back to the Bunker, write up our field report, and deal with the rest of it. Considering Ketch’s history, I can’t see the home office holding this against you.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Castiel muttered bitterly. Pamela shot him a sympathetic look, then used Dean’s keys to unlock the car’s trunk.

It was filled with guns and knives and holy water and other occult-looking objects. A devil’s trap was painted on the inside of the trunk lid, and there were several brown and olive drab duffle bags.

‘Think it’ll even fit in there?’ Castiel asked dubiously, gingerly trying to clear a space big enough to fit the body bag.

‘Think it’ll have to, because no way in hell am I having that thing in the actual car with me,’ Pamela answered, which was an entirely valid response, in Castiel’s opinion.

They did finally manage to cram it in, and Pamela closed the trunk with a satisfied thud. ‘Race you back to the Bunker?’ she asked, rounding the car to unlock the driver’s side door. ‘Love a good classic muscle car. My first boyfriend, Jesse, he had this gorgeous Camaro… so many good memories in that thing.’

‘I don’t need to know,’ Castiel said dryly. ‘And that’s a big no for racing — the last thing I need is for you to damage Dean Winchester’s ‘baby’, because then we’ll never be rid of him.’

‘Hm… seems like you should be begging me to crash it, then,’ Pamela shot back with a laugh. ‘But lucky for you, I have a deep and healthy respect for a beautiful machine.’

Castiel rolled his eyes and said goodbye, and waited until Pamela turned the car on and drove away before heading back to the SUV.

Dean was passed out in the front seat, his head dropped forward at an awkward angle. Castiel sighed and gently pushed him backwards so he was resting normally against the headrest. He was snoring slightly, and Castiel couldn’t help but notice how young Dean appeared in sleep. Granted, humans almost always seemed like youths to him, but this man, in this moment, seemed even more so.

He looked innocent, almost ethereal. There was a softness to him now that the stubborn, cocky hunter persona had melted away, leaving only the young man who was willing to — well, if not move Heaven and Earth, then at least repeatedly throw himself in the path of a hostile and impatient asshole just for the chance of convincing him to help his brother, not to mention all the monsters he’d eliminated during the interim.

And what had Dean gotten for his trouble? A bullet wound and a syringe full of sedatives. Somehow, after everything, that seemed grossly unfair. He deserved more, deserved better — Men of Letters’ policy be damned.

Castiel pursed his lips as he started the SUV up and began the drive back to the Bunker. He’d already acted rashly once tonight, and look what trouble that had caused. If he knew what was good for him, he’d send Dean packing the very next morning, after a night in the infirmary under Pamela’s watchful eye.

Still, he couldn’t help but watch Dean sleep from the corner of his eye, and before they’d even reached the main road, he already knew how this was all going to end.

Chapter Text

Dean found himself waking up in stages, and it was a bitch and a half. Ever since his dad had died about a decade back, he’d become prone to episodes of sleep paralysis, and goddamn if that didn’t fuck him right up. He hated it — the terrifying, helpless state where his mind was racing, his heart pounding, but his body remained stubbornly frozen. It was like that dream of being chased, but unable to run — only about a hundred times worse.

He let out a pitiful groan, willing his eyes to open, but when they did, he didn’t recognise his surroundings at all. The white tile walls reminded Dean of a psych ward from the 1950s, which he supposed made sense when he realised he was restrained, cuffed to what appeared to be a hospital bed. He looked down at himself, and was mortified to find he was in an unflattering hospital gown and covered with several white knit blankets like someone’s bedridden grandfather. Closing his eyes and letting out a long, slow breath, he laid his head back on his pillow for a moment, trying to get his bearings. When he opened them again, he caught sight of the fluorescent light buzzing quietly overhead, the harsh light making him blink several times as he surreptitiously tested the strength of his restraints.

What the fuck had happened? What had he gotten himself into?

‘Hey there, sleeping beauty. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were waiting for true love’s kiss before waking your ass up.’

Dean turned to his right to see that hot doctor, Pamela, entering what appeared to be some sort of infirmary. Even in his hazy half-asleep state, he could tell she looked fine as hell in a white lab coat, safety glasses perched atop her head, holding her dark hair back from her face.

It took a minute for him to clear his head and shake off the final remnants of sleep, but then it all came rushing back — the hunt, the shifter, that British dickbag getting the jump on him. Facing down the barrel of a gun and certain death, while his brother was back in South Dakota, wasting away in a supernatural fucking coma. Castiel appearing out of nowhere, saving Dean’s ass and taking the slimy fucker out like some fierce avenging angel. Pamela treating where Dean had been shot — luckily what’s-his-face had only trimmed him, grazing his side, but it had bled like a bitch and hadn’t felt all that great either, to be perfectly honest. Arguing with the good doctor as the painkillers made everything go fuzzy about…

‘Where’s my car?’ he tried asking, but his words came out dry and croaky. Pamela went over to the mini-fridge next to her desk and grabbed one of those stupid small bottled waters that they gave out at, like, blood pressure check day at the pharmacy.

‘Where’s your car, dude?’ she replied, holding the water to his mouth, which he drank greedily.

‘Did you just quote an Ashton Kutcher movie to me?’ he asked incredulously once he finished the water, feeling significantly more human. He still coughed a little at the end, but when he instinctively went to cover his mouth with his elbow, he was forcibly reminded of the restraints. He raised his eyebrows at Pamela, nodding to the cuffs. ‘Doc, if ya wanted to get kinky, all ya had to do was ask. My safe word’s Impala, by the way.’

‘There’s a joke in there somewhere about you calling your car your baby and also using it as your safe word, but we won’t go there just yet,’ Pamela retorted, but she was grinning. ‘Glad to see those gorgeous green eyes of yours finally open, kiddo. You’ve been out for over two days. After the first day, you started thrashing around in your sleep, but we couldn’t wake you, so we had to tie ya down so you didn’t keep reopening your wound. You calmed down right away after that… there’s a joke somewhere in there, too.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Dean muttered, cheeks heating up. Pamela laughed and unclipped the cuffs. Dean groaned as he lifted his arms, bending them at the elbows, stretching them in front of himself. Everything felt stiff and achy, but he figured if he was out for as long as Pamela said he was, it made sense. He groaned again. ‘Was I really out for two days?’

‘Sure were, sweet cheeks,’ she confirmed, walking over to a cabinet and pulling out a kit with a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff and some other things he couldn’t quite make out. ‘Figured your body must have really needed the rest, which makes sense after all those monsters you’ve been killing lately. Somehow I doubt you were getting your recommended eight hours of sleep.’

‘Uh, yeah…’ Dean’s hand instinctively went to rub his neck, but his shoulders screamed in protest, so he lowered his arm again. ‘But for real — where is my car?’

‘Safe and sound in the Bunker garage,’ Pamela said, gesturing for him to lean forward so she could listen to his heart. ‘The boss even washed and waxed her for ya.’

‘You’re shittin’ me.’ Dean breathed deep at Pamela’s command. Once he exhaled, he continued, ‘I thought if he did anything to her, it’d be cut the brake lines.’

‘You’d be surprised.’ Pamela shrugged, then slipped a blood pressure cuff onto his arm. ‘He’s been hovering over you like a mother hen. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Castiel so worried.’

‘Worried? About me? What, was he afraid I was gonna sue or something?’ Dean asked in disbelief. ‘I might be an asshole, but I’m not some litigious dick.’

Pamela laughed. ‘I’d like to see you try to sue the Men of Letters. They’d either pay you off on the DL, or bury you under the courthouse… depends on the day. But, yes, Castiel keeps coming in here to ‘check the status of our visitor’s health’, which is surly killjoy robot-speak for being scared to death that something’s actually wrong.’

As though on cue, Castiel strode into the room and said, ‘Hello, Pamela. I’m just here to-’

‘Check the status of when I’ll be getting the fuck outta your hair?’ Dean interjected with a smirk.

Castiel stopped dead in his tracks, his face going from worried to surprised to pleased to embarrassed to blank in a matter of seconds. ‘Dean,’ he said after several awkward beats of silence. ‘You’re awake.’

‘I noticed,’ Dean replied wryly. ‘I’m touched that you were worried about me.’ He winked, trying to maintain as much dignity as he could manage while sporting a friggin’ hospital gown, bundled up like an old man.

Castiel flushed. ‘I was merely concerned that you may have had an adverse reaction to the painkiller sedative Pamela administered. It’s unusual for the effects to last longer than twenty-four hours.’

Dean nodded. ‘Pam said it’s probably cos I’ve been hunting like a lunatic the last few weeks and my body just crapped out. Guess that’s what a dozen hunts on four hours of sleep a night’ll do to ya,’ he admitted sheepishly.

‘And you wonder why I call you reckless and foolhardy,’ Castiel said sternly. He edged closer to Dean’s bed, but still hovered several feet away, as though afraid to come too near. ‘You seem to think of yourself as indestructible, Dean.’

‘I think I’m adorable,’ Dean corrected, but then it was his turn to blush when Castiel raised an eyebrow and he realised maybe it wasn’t the best idea to use his usual quippy go-to lines on a guy who seemed to have no sense of humour. ‘And anyway — obviously I don’t think I’m that invincible, considering I’m wavin’ the white flag and headin’ back home once, you know, I can manage to get the hell outta this bed.’

‘About that…’ Castiel trailed off hesitantly, looking as unsure as Dean had ever seen him. ‘I’ve been thinking at length about your request, and in light of recent events, I believe you’re owed something of a stipend.’

Dean couldn’t help the way these words made his heart sink a little. ‘I already told the doc I ain’t like that,’ he said bitterly. ‘You don’t gotta worry ’bout me tryna sue y’all for emotional damages or whatever, just cos the British douchecanoe tried to do me in.’

‘You misunderstand me,’ Castiel replied stiffly, the ever-present simmering frustration returning to his tone. ‘Rather than monetary recompense, I was referring to your issue with whatever it was that attacked your brother. Given all that has transpired — and yes, that does include Ketch attempting to murder you, in addition to all the work you have been doing in our area — I believe it would be only fair to offer you our assistance.’

‘You’re shittin’ me,’ Dean said for the second time that day, almost unwilling to believe this turn of events. ‘For real? All I had to do to get you to help Sammy was get my ass shot? Fuck, dude, ya shoulda said something and I woulda done that a week ago.’

‘I- what? No, of course not,’ Castiel stuttered, head cocking to the side as he studied Dean, making him feel like an insect pinned to a foam board. He was now close enough that he could reach out and touch the end of Dean’s bed if he’d wanted to. ‘I would have never made it a requirement for you to be wounded in order to- Not to mention, I- I thought- I was under the impression that the injury was to your abdomen, not your backside.’

He was blushing again by the end of this nonsensical, embarrassed tirade, and his eyes lingered for just a moment too long on the lower half of Dean’s body that was thankfully covered by one of the infirmary’s blankets that he’d just noticed was embroidered with the Men of Letters’ sigil. (Did these people slap their logo on every damn thing?)

‘Was just a joke, man,’ Dean offered, deciding to throw the guy a bone. ‘But for real — thanks for agreeing to take this on… you guys really were my last hope.’

‘Yes, well,’ Castiel said briskly, apparently recovered from his momentary contemplations of Dean’s ass, ‘understand that this is a one time offer — one that we have never extended to a hunter before — and that once the threat is eliminated, you are to never contact the Men of Letters again. You are not to share information about our organisation or whereabouts. You are not to reveal anything you witness or experience during your association with us. Should you choose to ignore these warnings, action will be taken against you and any other associated hunter who may pose an additional threat to our anonymity. Is that understood?’

Instinctively the words ‘yes, sir,’ flew out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop them, and then it was his turn again to flush with embarrassment, like he and Castiel were playing the world’s worst game of humiliation ping pong. Leave it to Castiel to kick him right in his unfortunate issues with authority figures — Dean was pretty sure if he hadn’t been confined to his bed, he would’ve been standing at attention like an asshole, thank you, John Winchester.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean’s uncharacteristic subservience, but thankfully didn’t comment, instead taking a step backwards and clearing his throat. ‘Yes, well. Very good, then. I’ll leave you in Dr Barnes’s extremely capable hands. Pamela, if you wouldn’t mind, please send Dean to Charlie for an overview of how we operate once he’s on his feet again. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.’

‘No problem, boss,’ Pamela said cheerfully, an obvious note of amusement in her voice. Castiel nodded curtly, then turned on his heel and exited the infirmary without another word. Pamela burst out laughing. ‘God, I’ve known Castiel for more than half a decade, and I’ve never seen anyone get him all flustered like you do.’

‘I was gonna say it’s cos no one else makes him wanna, y’know-’ Dean mimed shooting a gun, realising too late how insensitive that probably was. He winced and hastily added, ‘But, uh- then I remembered… I mean- I’m, uh, real sorry about that, for the record. I never wanted anyone to get hurt cos of me.’

‘Oh, honey, that can of worms was popped open long before you came into the picture,’ Pamela assured him, though she still looked troubled. ‘Not to speak ill of the dead, but Ketch was- he was heading down a dark path. It’s unfortunate, how everything played out, but at the end of the day, I think Castiel made the right call.’

She might not look happy about it, but Dean could tell she meant what she’d said, at least, so that was something. He fixed his gaze on the blankets covering his legs to give himself a moment to get it together before plastering the smirk back on his face and saying, ‘Well, Dr Barnes, what do you and your capable hands think about me gettin’ my ass outta this bed? I believe I was promised the grand tour of this joint.’

Pamela snorted, uneasiness being replaced with her usual snark, and said, ‘Let me run a few more tests just to make sure everything’s in working order, then maybe we’ll see about taking the catheter outta you first, huh?’

Dean covered his face with his hands. Tube up the dick trumps cocky grin and lame innuendos any day of the week. ‘Yeah, let’s do that, then,’ he said, his words muffled by his palms hiding his flaming cheeks, ‘and then we never speak of this ever again.’

‘Hate to break it to ya,’ Pamela actually bit her lip in an absolutely useless attempt at hiding her amusement, ‘but I’ve had the MD after my name long enough that not much makes an impression on me anymore.’

‘Not helping,’ Dean ground out, but not even the prospect of an embarrassing medical exam and having to have all the tubes and wires removed from his body (catheter included), could dim the pulse of hope low in his stomach that he might finally be one step closer to bringing his brother back.

Finally, finally, finally, Dean was allowed to get out of the damn bed, but not until he’d gone through the humiliation of having one of the most gorgeous women he’d ever ever seen pull a catheter out of his dick and dispose of his piss bag. He’d thrown the blankets off of himself only to realise he had no friggin’ pants on. Pamela laughed as he yanked the covers back over his bare legs with an extremely undignified yelp.

‘For fuck’s sake-’ he complained, grateful that he at least still had his boxers on and that the stupid hospital gown came down to his knees. ‘Where’re my clothes?’

‘Oh, you mean the dirt-caked, blood-stained rags I peeled off of you when you got here?’ Pamela asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘The boss ran ’em through the laundry. He claimed he had a load to wash if I ‘had any additional garments I would like for him to launder’.’ She looked far more amused than Dean could understand.

‘That was… nice of him, I guess?’ he said tentatively, but Pamela seemed to find that even funnier.

‘Castiel has never,’ she said, stressing the word dramatically, ‘done laundry in all the years I’ve known him. He has all his clothing sent to the cleaners, and the Men of Letters picks up the bill. I’m talking professionally washed socks and underwear — the works.’ She flashed him what could only be called an evil grin.

Dean had a sinking feeling in his gut. ‘So… I’ll ask again — where exactly are my clothes?’

‘Well… let’s just say that his valiant attempt at being helpful involved bleach, the highest temperature settings, and a small flood of the downstairs corridor.’ Pamela pressed her lips together, like she was trying not to laugh again. ‘So, the bad news is that your clothes are, unfortunately, no longer clothes, but the good news is that the Bunker now has a brand new washer and dryer, because the old ones that managed to survive World War II couldn’t survive Castiel, and you have a brand new wardrobe.’

‘He managed all that… during the two days I’ve been out cold?’ Dean asked incredulously, but now he understood Pamela’s obvious glee at Cas’s… whatever it was that made him… like this. ‘Damn. That’s some commitment to the cause right there… I remember one time when we were growin’ up, Sammy-’ His voice caught in his throat as his brain caught up with his mouth, and the fact that his brother had been half dead for almost four months now hit him square in the chest all over again. He cleared his throat. ‘Well, never mind that. But, uh- you said he replaced my shit?’

‘Sure did!’ Pamela confirmed, taking the hint not to press Dean for whatever he’d been about to say. Instead, she respectfully turned her back and walked back to her desk to give Dean a moment to gather what little dignity he had remaining. He watched as she pulled a large shopping bag out from under her desk, his eyes widening when he saw that the words Nieman fucking Marcus on the front.

‘Are you shitting me?’ Dean blurted out, feeling like that was the hundredth time he said those words that day. Pamela grinned, passing him the bag, and he pulled out half a dozen plaid flannel shirts that weren’t all that different from the ones he was used to wearing, only there were several more zeroes on the price tags, and the labels read shit like BURBERRY and YVES SAINT LAURENT and HUGO BOSS. There were four or five pairs of jeans that had DIESEL and RALPH LAUREN embroidered on the ass, and Dean’s face flushed when he realised there were also several packages of designer boxer briefs and socks at the bottom of the bag. There had to be at least three grand’s worth of clothes on the bed in front of him. ‘What the fuck, man?’

‘He lives in his own little world where this kind of thing makes sense,’ Pamela answered, shaking her head fondly. ‘Needless to say, this kinda shopping is well above my tax bracket, but there’s no denying the guy has good taste.’ She grabbed her phone from her desk and headed towards the door. ‘Go ahead and throw on some of your fancy new duds. I’ll be just outside the door if you need me to do up any zippers, then we can get the show on the road.’

She winked and slipped out of the infirmary, closing the door quietly behind her, so Dean tossed the blanket off of his legs again and rooted around in the pile of ridiculously bougie clothes that Castiel had evidently gone out to buy for him. The whole thing seemed surreal — from waking up cuffed to a bed without a night of tequila shooters before to blame, all the way up to being gifted a giant bag of designer clothes cos some awkward dude who apparently had more money than sense had ruined his Walmart jeans.

Dean dressed quickly, and there was no denying that holy shit, these were nice clothes. Everything was light and soft, like butter against his skin, and for one stupid wild moment, Dean almost wished he wasn’t putting his old logger boots on with all this Richie Rich shit. (Then, of course, he wanted to punch himself in the face, because what the actual fuck, Winchester, who gives a goddamn what you’re wearing… but also, there was no denying that they just didn’t go with his new Abercrombie & Bitch look.)

Once he was finally dressed and had settled the fuck down enough to be around other people without making a complete ass of himself (again), he crossed the room to the door and stepped into what appeared to be a long hallway. Pamela was leaning against the wall, scrolling on her phone, and she let out a low whistle when she saw him.

‘Well don’t you clean up all nice and pretty,’ she remarked, giving him a comically lewd once-over. ‘I’m not convinced that the boss didn’t play personal shopper just to throw some eye candy into the mix.’

‘I feel like a Ken doll,’ Dean groused, but he couldn’t help preening a little under her praise. Pamela laughed and rolled her eyes, gesturing for him to follow her down the hall.

The halls were concrete and tile, well-lit by yellow overhead lights, but still gave off a creepy dungeon-y vibe. Dean’s skin was crawling with overwhelming One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest vibes by the time they reached an intersection of hallways and turned down yet another eerily empty corridor. Their footsteps echoed disconcertingly, making Dean feel like he was living the part in the horror movie where everyone was yelling at the idiot on the screen to turn back, but Pamela seemed completely at ease, so Dean wasn’t about to be the one to punk out.

They approached the end of the hallway, then rounded another corner, and all thoughts of the place being desolate immediately left Dean’s head. They were standing at the entrance of what honest to fuck looked like some rich old dude’s country club. The floor was a mahogany hardwood, so polished that the light from the Gatsby-esque hanging fixtures reflected in its gleaming surface. The walls were exposed brick, but with several alcoves for built-in, fully stocked bookshelves. There were sturdy marble columns, tufted leather armchairs, and several long tables in the same dark wood as the floors.

‘Dude,’ Dean uttered, unable to say much more, just continuing to gaze around in awe like a friggin’ kid. Pamela grinned.

‘I might have taken us the long way ’round just because I love seeing everyone’s first reaction to the library,’ she admitted cheerfully. ‘Pretty sweet digs, huh? The old boys sure knew how to class the place up.’

‘I’ll say,’ Dean agreed, still trying to wrap his mind around how fucking fancy the room was. He was used to Bobby’s homey dining room, the table stacked high with haphazard piles of old books and relics, empty whiskey bottles, and pages and pages of Bobby’s chicken scratch notes. He’d been picturing a slightly grander version of that, not the friggin’ Batcave.

There was a rustling sound off to the side, and Dean turned to see what looked like the inside of the Starship friggin’ Enterprise. In the corner, there was a gigantic L-shaped desk that held several huge monitors and keyboards sandwiched between two computer tower thingies that were taller than Dean stood at six foot one. And sitting in the middle of it all on a black and pink gaming chair, Dean recognised the redhead, Charlie, who he’d met at that ice cream place he’d chased Madison to a few weeks ago.

(He still burned with embarrassment at the memory of Castiel’s reaction when he heard Dean had fucked a werewolf, like Dean had admitted to some taboo fetish for monsterfucking or something. It wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose; he just had a penchant for appealing to the worst possible romantic partners, apparently. He supposed at least it made for one heck of a ‘let me tell you about my crazy ex’ story, which really was a pretty poor consolation.)

Charlie was typing furiously at one of the computers while something seemed to be scrolling by at an insane speed on an adjacent monitor. She had on bulky headphones that were plugged into a hot pink iPod that looked like some kind of relic from 2007, and was nodding her head along to whatever song she was listening to. He watched in amusement as she paused her typing for an air drums solo, then resumed shuffling through the pile of papers next to one of the keyboards. She held one of the sheets of paper up next to the scrolling screen as though she was cross-referencing the information or something.

‘And there’s the queen,’ Pamela said, leading Dean over to Charlie’s mission control centre. She waved a hand in front of Charlie to get her attention, making her jump and pull off her headphones.

‘What the heck, dude, I was in the zone,’ Charlie complained, picking up her iPod and hitting the pause button. ‘I think I’ve just about cracked the code for the cypher for the Codex.’

‘You need a cypher to decipher a cypher?’ Dean asked, not actually sure if he was trying to make a joke, or was genuinely just that confused. Charlie nodded seriously, though, so apparently he wasn’t that far off the mark.

‘Totally Looney Tunes, isn’t it?’ she answered cheerfully. ‘I had to create a decoder program that could run through all these totally weird old symbols, then cross-reference that against another database Kevin and I built that recognises all written languages from human history — including some that have, as our fearless leader says, ‘suffered lamentable linguistic extinction’.’

‘Huh. Cas is good with languages?’ Dean asked offhandedly, definitely not pondering what Castiel’s deep, gravelly voice would sound like speaking other languages. He noticed Charlie watching him, a knowing, mischievous look in her eye, so he quickly shook his head, embarrassed to have been caught simping over a dude who — despite his stuttered assurances to the contrary — Dean was pretty sure wouldn’t hesitate to shove him into the path of an oncoming vamp nest. ‘Never mind. Who the hell decides to encrypt an encryption? That seems like a shit-ton of work.’

‘Witches, man,’ Charlie offered with a shrug, apparently letting Dean off the hook. ‘But anyway, what’s up, buttercup? Did the boss finally listen to reason and add you to the payroll like I told him to two weeks ago?! Are you about to become my new work bestie?’

‘I’m going to try very hard not to be offended by that,’ Pamela interjected, eyebrows raised, but Charlie just gave her a look, completely unfazed.

‘You can’t be my work bestie because you’re my work wife, Pam,’ she said indifferently, then turned her attention back to Dean. ‘Well?’ The look on her face could only be called hopeful.

‘Uh-’ Dean said, not quite understanding what she was talking about in regards to Castiel. ‘I’m not- I don’t work here or anything, but Cas said you guys would help with the whole Sammy thing on account of me gettin’, well- you know.’

He gestured vaguely towards his side where gauze was covering his still healing wound under his new shirt. Charlie’s expression darkened.

‘Right,’ she said sourly. This was only the second time Dean’s talked to her, but even he could tell that pissed off is not her default setting. ‘Well, if you ask me-’ She broke off, as though trying to rein herself in. ‘On second thought, don’t ask me. But anyway, what’s the deal with this ‘Sammy’? Mystery girlfriend? Boyfriend?’

Dean laughed out loud at that, and it felt really good to do so. ‘Gross,’ he said, wrinkling his nose. ‘Mystery brother, maybe, though I suppose the real mystery is how the hell I share any DNA with that hippie dippy kale eating giant.’

‘That’s quite a picture you paint there,’ Pamela said wryly. ‘Well then, work wife, I guess I’ll leave this problem child with you, and go check in with the boss to see who pissed in his Cheerios this morning, but let me know if you need anything.’

Charlie saluted while Dean said, ‘See ya, doc,’ and Pamela swiftly departed, leaving Dean in the fanciest fucking room he’d ever been in, with a chick that was apparently some sort of computer genius. He found himself trying very hard not to feel intimidated.

‘Well,’ Charlie said after a beat or two of awkward silence. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s up with your mysterious kale-loving brother, then? Maybe I can start pulling references or something while we wait for Castiel to let us know what the plan is.’

‘Right,’ Dean said, the familiar weight of his anxiety and fear settling back over him now that he had to think of what dire straits his brother was currently in. ‘So… about three or four months ago, we were in Wyoming at this old movie theatre — you know, the red velvet curtains, the fancy footlights, the whole nine. We’d gotten an anonymous tip that there was a vengeful spirit in the area, so we went to check it out, thinking it was a usual salt ’n burn milk run. Sammy went into the actual theatre to look around while I checked the upstairs projector room, ’n by the time I got downstairs, he was fuckin’-’ Dean swallowed hard, the image of his limp, half-dead brother coming to the forefront of his mind, and he forced himself to choke back his emotions. ‘He was unconscious, but- but his eyes were open, he was just… gone. His mouth was all, like… dry, the skin around it all cracked ’n shit, ’n he’s been like that ever since. My, uh- uncle and I have been tracking down every faith healer and shaman, even some hoodoo witches that we know who aren’t, you know, all fuckin’ frog spawn and baby spleens, but no one knows anything. It took finding a friend of a friend of a friend to even learn about you guys, and I’ve spent the last… I don’t know, month, maybe, trying to find y’all and convince your dick of a boss to help me out.’

Charlie had grown very still while Dean had been explaining (okay, possibly overexplaining) what had gone sideways with his last hunt with his brother, and when he glanced over at her, she had an unreadable expression on her face. She recovered quickly when she noticed him staring, a tight-lipped smile sliding into place, but it was a poor imitation of her earlier effervescence.

‘So. He’s all… dehydrated? Like a dried up sponge and all the water’s been sucked from his body?’ she asked, sounding strained and rough and raw, like her throat was the mortar and her mouth the pestle, doing their best to grind her words into dust. Dean frowned.

‘Yes…’ he said cautiously, eyeing her suspiciously now. ‘Why? You guys’ve heard of this before?’ Charlie very pointedly did not look at him, just pushed her glasses up her nose, grabbed a computer mouse that was in the shape of Herbie the Love Bug, and began clicking around on one of the monitors.

The translator program thing that had been running through all those symbols minimised with a faint whoosh noise, and was then replaced with another program that flashed — unsurprisingly — a rotating Men of Letters logo. Once the thing fully loaded, Charlie began typing again at an almost incomprehensible speed, her fingers pounding the keys as though they’d personally offended her.

‘There have been a few other instances…’ she muttered, almost to herself, as she typed some sort of code into what appeared to be a search bar.

A moment later, windows started automatically popping up on the screen, one after another after another, each one an image of news articles or police crime scene photos or even excerpts from medical journals. Dean watched the screen in awe as Charlie’s eyes scanned each new image, her mouth becoming a thinner and thinner line with each new development.

After what seemed like forever, the program stopped regurgitating results, and Charlie typed a few more commands that made everything minimise into near little rows across the screen of small icons — there had to have been at least a hundred results.

‘This program searches news, medical, political, and legal databases worldwide,’ Charlie explained, still sounding strange and impenetrable. ‘I just set it to filter results from newest to oldest. Most recent is from a few months ago in Casper, Wyoming, but the earliest is from…’ She clicked on the last file in the list and her eyes widened. ‘Dude. The first recorded related event was from the freaking 1800s. Look.’

She zoomed in on what appeared to be a scanned copy of a newspaper article from March 1866. The headline screamed:

THE BOSTON DAILY GLOBE: MURDERS IN THE NORTH END! ENTIRE WILKINS FAMILY MEETS GHASTLY DEMISE!

and then the next article:

THE BOSTON POST: TERROR STALKS BOSTON STREETS! MYSTERIOUS ATTACKS CONTINUE!

and the next:

BOSTON GAZETTE: DEATH TOLL MOUNTS IN SUFFOLK COUNTY! DOCTORS AND POLICE BAFFLED! CITIZENS ASK: WHO WILL KEEP US SAFE?

and the next:

THE BOSTON EVENING TRANSCRIPT: MAYOR FREDERICK WALKER LINCOLN JR INSTATES CURFEW FOLLOWING EIGHTH REPORTED FAMILIAL ANNIHILATION!

Each article was paired with one or several uncomfortably realistic sketches of dead or dying people. It shook Dean to his core to realise that this had apparently been going on since before the inclusion of friggin’ photography in news articles. He tried to ignore how uncomfortably similar the state of these victims were to Sam’s condition. The only difference was that these showed entire families laid out, frozen and shrivelled, and it appeared that most of them had died within the first day or two of being found. Dean said about a hundred silent prayers of thanks to modern medicine and Bobby friggin’ Singer for keeping his brother alive.

‘Jesus,’ he breathed, feeling sick, the words familial annihilation seared to the inside of his eyelids.

‘Yeah, that,’ Charlie answered, distracted, clicking on the next file.

Over the next hour and a half, she and Dean meticulously went through almost the entire queue of the surreal horror show Dean found himself trapped in. He thought he’d seen it all, but as time — and technology — progressed, the reports slowly transitioned from detailing deaths to describing some new, unknown illness or ailment that left the victim alive, but unconscious, all with reports of the same strange dehydration that Sam had suffered. Medicine had advanced enough to keep the people alive, but not enough to cure them. The few stories that had conclusions ended with the victim succumbing to another illness they contracted while in the hospital or the financial burden of continued care ended up being too demanding.

(How wild it was, though, to witness medical files go from reporting cholera to scarlet fever to polio to measles all the way up to the friggin’ swine flu. To read reports incorporating offhand details from what it was like to live during World War I or the Great Depression or World War II or Vietnam and beyond. It felt like watching history in fast forward from behind a curtain, something he was never supposed to witness, not like this.)

The further they fell down the research rabbit hole, the more disconsolate Charlie became. She wordlessly opened file after file, taking notes in what appeared to be some sort of shorthand in a Lisa Frank notebook with a pen shaped like the Tenth Doctor’s Sonic Screwdriver from Doctor Who. It was so not the time for these kinds of musings, but somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, he found himself thinking that under different circumstances, he and Charlie could have probably been really good friends.

Castiel appeared as they were approaching the final dozen or so files, and Dean was reminded that he or Pamela was supposed to ask Charlie to give him the first day of school orientation, but they’d gotten immediately distracted by diving right into research.

Dean braced himself for more of the man’s ire, but all he said when he approached was, ‘Hello, Charlie. Have you found anything regarding Dean’s, ah… problem?’ as though he was trying to refer to some sort of embarrassing malady as delicately as possible. His eyes darted down to Charlie’s notes. Dean wondered if he could decipher them, and if so, if that was because he knew shorthand — or her shorthand, anyway — or if it was thanks to his apparent penchant for languages.

Yeah, so not the time for that thought either, Winchester, for fuck’s sake.

Charlie nodded, expression stony, as she minimised the most recent window. ‘You could say that,’ she said tersely, showing Castiel the list of results from her search. ‘It looks like this is a way bigger issue than we could have ever imagined.’

‘Shit,’ Castiel cursed quietly, looking grim, eyes roaming over the screen.

‘Yeah,’ Charlie said again, jaw set and eyes flaming. ‘That.’

Chapter Text

Bobby Singer’s home was not at all what Castiel had been picturing when Dean had mentioned his ‘almost-uncle, surrogate father’ who was ‘no longer a spring chicken’, but ‘knew his shit’ and ran an unofficial information hub for hunters out of his house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. To be fair, he wasn’t quite sure what he had been picturing, but a behatted roughneck shoving a sawed off shotgun in his face had not been how he’d anticipated being greeted when he’d walked into the hunter’s home.

Truthfully, he hadn’t been planning on visiting Bobby Singer at all, but as it turned out, that was where Dean’s brother, Sam, was being treated — though ‘treated’ might have been a bit of a stretch for the care he’d been receiving.

‘… you have a werewolf dentist overseeing his care?’ Castiel couldn’t help but ask skeptically when he’d heard this, privately wondering why Dean seemed to have such a penchant for lycanthropes. He exited Sam Winchester’s makeshift hospital room and headed back down the stairs.

‘I have my good and trusted friend, Garth — who also happens to be a werewolf, a dentist, and a damn fine hunter — looking after my brother, yeah,’ Dean replied tersely, following Castiel into Bobby’s living room. ‘S’not like I was gonna trust the damn hospital to keep an eye on him the way Bobby and Garth can, plus we try to keep a low profile. Oh, and, uh… me ’n Sammy might be on the FBI’s Most Wanted list — total misunderstanding, though, I promise — but either way, it’s better if we stay outta the system as much as possible, even under aliases.’

‘Who are you?’ Castiel asked before he could stop himself. What was it about this man that made him let his guard down in a way he’d never experienced before? He shook his head. ‘Never mind. Dr Barnes can give him a full examination once she’s, ah- extracted herself from your uncle’s garage.’

(Pamela had made the mistake of commenting on Bobby Singer’s Chevelle that was parked in front of the house, which inadvertently set the man off on a lengthy discussion about classic cars within the first five minutes of their arrival. He’d been far more receptive of Pamela than he was of Castiel, and before anyone knew what the hell was happening, he and Pamela had gone out to the massive, ramshackle garage that seemed to be comprised primarily from pallet wood, shipping containers, and sheer audacity. Castiel could not fathom what the appeal of the structure was, nor was he very interested in finding out, but he did have a growing sense of impatience and the desire to leave this place.)

‘You make it sound like she’s stuck in friggin’ Guantanamo Bay or something,’ Dean remarked, and Castiel couldn’t tell if the look on his face was offended or amused. ‘Trust me, Pam can handle Bobby. He’s all bark and no bite.’

‘Hm,’ Castiel hummed neutrally, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. He was personally of the opinion that Bobby Singer had more than enough ‘bite’ from the little he’d interacted with him.

(The first thing the man had done was throw holy water in Castiel’s face, and had it not been for Charlie and Kevin shrieking with laughter behind him, he might have had a significantly more incensed response. Once satisfied that Castiel was not possessed, Bobby made him slice his hand open with a silver blade to prove he wasn’t a shapeshifter. These were archaic and barbaric rituals — Castiel had tried explaining that they had technology that could scan for demons and shapeshifters with no more than the push of a button, but Bobby had merely scoffed at the idea.

Even though holy water and silver tested for the presence of shifters and demons, they did not prove a person’s humanity. Castiel hadn’t bothered to explain this, however, as he doubted it would raise him in Bobby’s esteem, not to mention did he had no desire to draw attention to himself regarding this matter. As far as he knew, even after all this time, no one on his team suspected he was not human, so there was no reason to needlessly raise the alarm.)

Kevin entered the living room, a look of awe on his face. ‘Guys! This place is just-’ he made a gesture with both hands extended, palms facing the ceiling, as though words could not describe the magnificence of Bobby Singer’s musty, cluttered house, ‘-awesome,’ he finished, slightly breathless.

That wasn’t the word Castiel would have used, a fact he was sure came across in his raised eyebrow and pursed lips, but he refrained from openly contradicting Kevin. Dean, on the other hand, seemed shyly thrilled at Kevin’s assessment.

‘Isn’t it, though?!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Dude, Bobby’s got it all — the guy’s like a walking supernatural bestiary. Get it; bestiary?’ He nudged Castiel in the ribs, his face falling slightly when Castiel didn’t laugh at his joke, but he recovered quickly enough and returned his attention back to Kevin. ‘Didja see the collection of cursed boxes he has in the pantry? We think one of ’em is so old, it might’ve been the prototype for Pandora’s Box…’ He jerked his head towards the kitchen, a clear indication for Kevin to follow him.

Castiel wasn’t sure which part of that statement irked him the most — that Bobby Singer had such a large collection of artefacts in his shabby old house in the first place, that he had items that were obviously priceless and belonged somewhere secure where they would be catalogued and respected, or that he was keeping Pandora’s Box in his pantry. He let out a disgusted sigh.

‘Somethin’ got your panties in a twist, princess?’ a gruff, unimpressed voice asked from behind him.

After closing his eyes for a moment and taking a deep, unnecessary breath to give himself space to rein in his impatience and temper, Castiel turned to see that Pamela and Bobby had reentered the house. Pamela seemed entirely at ease, with her hands on her hips and an amused expression on her face when she saw how uncomfortable and disgruntled Castiel was.

Bobby Singer, on the other hand, did not seem amused in the slightest. In fact, he was scowling in a way that reminded Castiel strongly of a belligerent child who’d been told to clean their room. The urge to tell the man to clean his room — or at the very least, his damn pantry — was incredibly hard to resist.

‘Of course not,’ Castiel replied stiffly, shifting in place. ‘I was merely waiting for Dr Barnes to return inside so she can examine Sam Winchester, and then we will depart. We don’t intend to impose on your hospitality for longer than is necessary, Mr Singer.’

‘You know, this ain’t a house where we take kindly to folks standin’ on ceremony like they think they’re the Queen of friggin’ Sheba,’ Bobby snapped, scoffing. ‘Mr Singer was my father, and I don’t much appreciate the reminder.’

Castiel very much wanted to point out the many ridiculous components of these statements, but he also had no desire to get involved in any type of interaction that would force them to continue to linger in this place. He shot a look over to Pamela, who winced, mouthed the words sorry, boss, then furtively slipped away to head upstairs.

‘In some circles, a certain level of respect is expected and appreciated,’ was what he said instead, but apparently this was also an incendiary statement, because Bobby seemed to rear up like a viper about to strike. Castiel might have had a good few inches of height on the man, but in that moment, Bobby may as well have been a giant.

‘In some circles,’ Bobby said, his every word dripping with derision, ‘a fella who thinks he’s too important to help your dyin’ kin’d be shot on sight. So maybe someone oughta get off his high friggin’ horse and make himself useful or get the hell outta my house.’

By the time he’d finished speaking, he was nearly shouting. Before Castiel could reply, Dean reappeared from the kitchen, looking supremely uncomfortable, Kevin at his heels.

‘Heya, guys,’ he said, voice cracking slightly, making his cheeks flush. He ran a hand through his hair, letting it linger at the nape of his neck for a moment in his signature self-soothing gesture. ‘How we doin’?’

Bobby’s thunderous expression softened the slightest bit when he glanced at Dean, but he still snapped, ‘Doin’ fine ’n dandy, what d’ya think, ya idjit? ’m pleased as a pig in shit to have this pig up in my shit. The things I do for you, boy…’

‘Aw, Bobby, come on,’ Dean complained, and Castiel could see an echo of the parent-child dynamic between them in just these four words. ‘Cas ’n his people are here doin’ us a favour, man. The quicker you let ’em do their thing, the quicker we’ll be outta your hair.’

This was essentially the same thing Castiel had said that had aggravated the man so much, but apparently the message was less offensive coming from Dean. Bobby let out an annoyed harumph and some more muttered curses, then stomped up the stairs, presumably to check on Sam with Pamela, whose company he clearly preferred most out of all his unwelcome guests.

‘Sorry ’bout him,’ Dean said once Bobby was out of earshot, clearly embarrassed. ‘He, uh- he’s just… protective, I guess, of me ’n Sammy since- well- never mind. But, yeah. Sorry ’bout all that.’

‘Please don’t trouble yourself on my account,’ Castiel replied, shifting uncomfortably again. (What was it about these hunters that suddenly made him feel so off-kilter? He was not a fidgeter or someone easily intimidated, but something about being here made him feel oddly exposed.) ‘His reaction is reasonable; he felt as though the wellbeing of his family was being dismissed, and is understandably offended.’

It occurred to Castiel that perhaps he should have made more clear to Dean at some point before coming here. He frowned, trying to find the best words to convey his meaning while Dean watched apprehensively.

‘I would like you to know-’ Castiel started, then frowned again. ‘That is to say — it is important to me that you understand that my reluctance to aid you and your brother was not- it was not a slight against you personally. It has always been our tradition and code to not become entrenched in matters regarding hunters; in fact, in all the time I’ve been with the Men of Letters, we have never partnered in this fashion with anyone outside of the organisation or our liaisons. The, ah- the home office does not look kindly on vigilantes.’

And that really was the truth. Castiel fought the urge to cringe as he remembered the excruciating call he’d had with Dr Hess following Ketch’s death. He hadn’t been afraid, per se, but he, of all people, knew what the Men of Letters were truly capable of, and avoiding their wrath was always the wisest move.

(Surprisingly, however, Dr Hess hadn’t been terribly angry over Ketch’s untimely demise, which really went to show the true level of consideration the organisation had for their members as individuals, rather than parts of the whole. She’d admitted that there had already been discussion of how to ‘eradicate the ever-growing dilemma’ in their chapter house.

‘In fact, Castiel,’ she’d said coolly, as though she wasn’t openly admitting to having been part of a conspiracy to have one of his team members killed, ‘the plan was for you to neutralise him yourself, though certainly with nowhere near this level of publicity. I take it that Dr Barnes understands how the situation is to be documented?’

‘Yes,’ Castiel had replied through gritted teeth, glad they were merely on an audio call, rather than a video conference so she couldn’t see the look of absolute loathing on his face. ‘His official death certificate says he was killed in a training accident.’

‘And so he was,’ Dr Hess had agreed blandly. Castiel had heard papers being shuffled at the end of the other line, which hopefully signified the call was near its end, but then Dr Hess continued, ‘Now, there is the concern of you taking unauthorised action that resulted in the death of a Men of Letters operative, of course. The council has been in deliberation for days trying to decide what is to be done about you and your little team.’

Castiel had felt the way his lips had pulled back from his teeth in a reaction so primal it was nearly feral. ‘My team had nothing to do with this,’ he’d spat, voice shaking with fury. ‘Not to mention you have literally just informed me that you’d intended for me to take care of Ketch to begin with.’

‘Castiel,’ Dr Hess had said with an infuriatingly patronising sigh, ‘the problem is not the action, it’s the unsanctioned action. Imagine if we lived in a world where everyone simply did whatever they liked, consequences be damned.’

He had very much wanted to point out that that was essentially the way the entire world outside the gilded cage of the Men of Letters, but he’d refrained, though it was certainly a struggle. ‘Ah, I see,’ he had said instead, his words cold and cutting. ‘Murder only with permission — my mistake.’

‘Mind who you’re speaking to, boy,’ Dr Hess had replied sharply. ‘Remember what happened to Mick Davies when he thought he’d exercise his ‘free will’.’ The last two words were dripping with derision.

The savage sneer on Castiel’s face had given way to a wolfish grin, and he’d let out a bark of laughter. ‘I believe you’ll find me quite a bit harder to kill, Gillian,’ he’d said pleasantly.

There’d been just the faintest static of a sharp intake of breath, but then Dr Hess had recovered and managed to say, ‘Yes, well. The recalibration chamber can always be reformed, Castiel, and you’d do well to remember that,’ but her voice was shaking ever so slightly.

‘Yes ma’am.’ Castiel had over-enunciated the short A sound, making the pronunciation as American as possible, feeling a childish sense of vindication knowing how much it grated her nerves.

The call had, thankfully, ended very shortly after that.)

But Dean Winchester knew, and would know, none of this. It wasn’t information he was entitled to, after all, seeing as he was not — and would never be — a Man of Letters. What he was entitled to, Castiel reasoned, was at least some semblance of peace of mind.

‘Aw, man, it don’t matter,’ Dean said, shrugging. ‘Like- dude, I knew I was bein’ a pain in the ass and lowkey hated myself for it, but- like I said. It’s my brother, ya know? There ain’t a single thing in this life that I wouldn’t do to keep him safe.’ An unhappy look crossed his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, and he forced a grin.

‘It would appear so,’ Castiel agreed mildly. He was trying to think of something more to say, when they were interrupted by Charlie flinging open the basement door. She bounded back into the kitchen, Kevin at her heels, clearly having sought refuge down there with her when Castiel and Bobby had had their little tiff.

‘Oh. Em. Gee!’ she said enthusiastically, making a beeline for Castiel. ‘Bobby’s got a whole freakin’ fully warded supernatural panic room down there! It’s, like, the dungeon at the Bunker on friggin’ steroids, man, you gotta see this!’ She tugged on Castiel’s sleeve like an excited child, pulling him towards the still open basement door.

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Castiel countered, gently extricating his sleeve from her grasp and pulling back slightly. ‘I have a sneaking suspicion that if I were to explore the basement, I might find myself a permanent resident.’

‘Ah, so Bobby’s experienced the Castiel effect, then. I should have guessed as much.’ Charlie nodded to herself, as though that made everything magically fall into place.

‘And what is ‘the Castiel effect’?’ Castiel asked, not sure if he should feel insulted. Charlie snorted.

‘Air quotes, dude,’ she said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. ‘And you know what I mean. That whole I could incinerate you on the spot with my Mr Potato Head Angry Eyes, even though I’m actually a kitten in a trench coat vibe you have going on. Not to mention the Castiel and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day face you get when you have to call the mothership. You know, the whole reason Kevin was too scared to speak for the first month he worked with us.’

‘I was not scared to speak!’ Kevin retorted, outraged, though he had definitely been significantly more quiet during the beginning of his employment than he was now. ‘Maybe it was just that you never piped down enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise, did you ever think of that, Ms Let Me Tell You Every Move I Made Last Night in DnD For the Next Eight Hours?’

Castiel never thought he’d be glad to see Bobby Singer, but when he entered the kitchen with Pamela, interrupting what was shaping up to be a spectacular argument between Charlie and Kevin, he found he was actually incredibly grateful for the distraction.

‘Kids,’ Pamela scolded with an amused look on her face. ‘Do I need to put you both in the Get Along Shirt?’

Charlie, Kevin, and Castiel all turned to stare at her. Castiel made a mental note to use that threat in the future, because even though he didn’t understand the reference she’d made, he very much enjoyed the look of silent outrage on both their faces.

‘You know I’m twenty-two, right?!’ Kevin grumbled after a beat of silence, which did nothing to help convince anyone he was an adult, in Castiel’s considered opinion.

‘Alrighty then,’ Dean said loudly, attempting to ease the tension in that not-very-subtle-at-all way of his that Castiel was beginning to appreciate. ‘So, doc, what d’ya think ’bout Sammy up there? Is there any hope?’

The tone he used when he asked the last question implied he was making some sort of well-known humorous reference, but the look in his eyes betrayed how worried he really was.

Pamela seemed to sense this about him, so rather than her usual flippant sarcasm, she smiled reassuringly. ‘There’s always hope, kiddo,’ she said easily, and even though her response was not specific or scientific in the slightest, Dean’s shoulder ratcheted down a notch, and Castiel could see him visibly exhale. ‘I’ve got exactly no clue as to what’s going on, but we were expecting that. Plus, your brother is in excellent health, which is a huge advantage in a situation like this.’

‘Probably cos he’s so damn huge,’ Dean joked weakly, but he let out another slow breath, very obviously drawing comfort from her words. ‘It’s weird, though, right? Just like I said… never seen a ghost do that to a person before.’

‘Hm. Might not be a ghost,’ Pamela mused aloud, then gave Dean another gentle smile and patted his arm reassuringly. ‘We’ll figure it out, though, don’t you worry, and then you can think of all the ways to say thank you. Hint: I’m a sucker for a good bottle of scotch.’

She turned to Castiel and said, ‘I think we’re all set here, boss. Unless you have something else you wanted to check out, I think we’re good to go.’ When Castiel shook his head, she nodded and turned to Bobby. ‘Well, Bobby, it’s been real. I appreciate the tour of the garage, and remember — if ya ever need a second set of hands when you’re ready to restore that Barracuda, you know where to find me. It’s been far too long since I’ve gotten under the hood of a good, classic Mopar.’

Bizarrely, she leaned over and gave the grizzled old man a hug and chaste kiss on the cheek, then sauntered out the door, leaving a somewhat starstruck-looking Bobby behind.

‘She’s one hell of a woman, ain’t she?’ Bobby remarked to the room at large, making Dean cringe and Charlie giggle.

‘That she is,’ Castiel agreed, because it felt rude to Pamela to not do so.

This seemed to shake Bobby from his daze, and when he seemed to realise he and Castiel had just come uncomfortably close to an accord, he let out a huff of annoyance and cleared his throat.

‘Well, if that’s all you paper-pushers need, then I’ll show ya to the door,’ he said gruffly, jerking his head towards the door Pamela had just exited.

‘I believe we are all set,’ Castiel replied, working very hard to control exactly how eager he was to vacate the man’s house. ‘Charlie, Kevin, please gather any equipment you’ve brought in. Mr Singer-’ He winced as he realised they’d come full circle back to formalities and etiquette that was sure to not earn him any merit in Bobby’s eyes, but he pushed through anyway, ignoring the man’s sour expression, ‘-thank you for your hospitality. I can assure you we will see this through.’

Bobby grunted by way of response and gave a curt nod, but no further communication. Castiel sighed and turned to Dean, who was back to looking as though he were about to be waterboarded.

‘Dean,’ Castiel said evenly, raising his eyes to meet the other man’s. ‘We’ll be in touch once we have more intel to go on.’

‘Oh no,’ Dean said quickly, and his entire demeanour changed in a heartbeat, making him look less like a nervous host and more like the gigantic pain in the ass who’d relentlessly pestered Castiel and his team into taking his case. ‘You’re not goin’ anywhere without me. I’m not givin’ you the chance to ghost me again — pun intended.’ He glanced between Castiel and Bobby expectantly, clearly waiting for them to get the joke, but they both gave him a slightly bewildered look instead. Dean’s face fell in an almost endearingly childlike way. ‘Aw, come on,’ he complained, looking thoroughly put out. ‘Kevin ’n Charlie woulda loved that one.’

‘Well, s’pose you can go tell it to ’em, seein’ as you’re goin’ back to the mole cave or whatever the hell you were callin’ it,’ Bobby replied, grouchy, but nonplussed by Dean’s whining. He shot a glance past Dean to Castiel, as though daring Castiel to contradict him. Dean turned to face Castiel as well, looking more uncertain than his declaration from a few moments prior would imply.

Castiel sighed again. ‘Of course you are welcome to return with us if you must,’ he allowed, though there was no disguising the reluctance in his voice. Dean’s face fell slightly, but he recovered a second later, which made it all the more difficult to add, ‘As long as you remember that once this case is complete-’

‘Yeah, yeah, you’ll have my guts for garters if ya see me again,’ Dean interrupted impatiently, but it was something of an echo of his usual hubris that Castiel had come to expect. He crossed his arms and nodded at Bobby. ‘You gonna be okay without me, old man?’

‘I’ll be better than I’d be with ya, ya idjit,’ Bobby answered, but then he extended his arms slightly and Dean leaned in to give him a hug. Castiel turned his eyes away out of respect for this private family moment.

‘You keep an eye on Sammy, alright?’ Dean ordered, sounding choked. ‘’n you tell him from me that we’re workin’ on it ’n we won’t quit til he’s fixed. Tell ’im he’s gonna be just fine, ’n that- that if he don’t keep fightin’, I’m gonna put Nair in his shampoo again.’

Dean’s voice cracked slightly as he made this strange threat that Castiel didn’t quite understand. He tried and failed to figure out why shampoo would matter to a dead man, but it must have meant something to Dean and Bobby because Bobby gave Dean a fatherly clap on the back and held him tight for a moment more before releasing him with a brusque, ‘Well, go on now — git. You got gas money?’

‘Got a credit card that’ll get me gas money,’ Dean replied cheekily, though Castiel could detect the slightest waver in his bravado. When Bobby went to reach for his wallet in his back pocket, Dean caught his arm and shook his head. ‘Kidding, old man. I’m alright. Got everything I need, just- watch out for Sammy ’n stay by the phone… I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.’

‘You keep your shit together out there, ya hear?’ Bobby lowered his arm and stepped back. ‘Don’t be stupid, don’t get dead.’

Dean gave a jerky nod and mumbled, ‘yes, sir,’ staring hard at the floor for a moment before he visibly swallowed, gave Bobby a pat on the arm in farewell, then turned sharply and strode out the door, leaving Castiel and Bobby uncomfortably alone.

‘I’ll leave you to your own devices, then,’ Castiel said awkwardly, turning to exit as well, but Bobby’s hand snapped out and grabbed his arm. Castiel managed to resist the urge to break the man’s wrist for his imprudence, but only just.

‘If anything happens to that boy,’ Bobby said, voice quiet and low as he looked Castiel straight in the eye, ‘there ain’t a single place in all’a Heaven ’n Earth where you’ll be able to hide from me, capisce?’

Something about the look in the man’s eyes and his choice of words made Castiel pause. For a moment, he found himself wondering that perhaps he hadn’t gone quite as undetected as a non-human as he’d originally thought. He tilted his head to the side, observing the man carefully, before responding, ‘I capisce.’

Chapter Text

Dean was clearly unaccustomed to gathering intel and preparing for field work in the calculated, orderly fashion that the Men of Letters practiced. When they’d gone back to the Bunker after leaving Bobby Singer’s, Charlie had made a beeline for her computer super station. She pulled up the program she’d built for researching pertinent information for potential missions, that apparently also had information for government agencies on a community, state, and national level.

‘Man.’ Dean let out a low whistle as he watched her type furiously, fingers flying over the keys as she mumbled to herself. Huffing a laugh, Dean pulled a small wooden box from the duffle bag he’d brought from Bobby Singer’s and popped open the lid, a faint, rueful smile on his face. ‘I brought my fake IDs in case we needed to go undercover or somethin’, but this is next level.’ He gestured to the screen where Charlie had simultaneously hacked her way into the US Department of Health and the FBI.

‘May I see?’ Castiel inquired, interested in hearing how a hunter would manage to ‘go undercover’ without access to the same resources the Men of Letters possessed.

Looking a little embarrassed now, Dean handed the box to Castiel, who accepted it carefully. Taped to the underside of the lid was a faded photograph of a blonde woman with an arm wrapped around a grinning, floppy-haired child. His eyes flicked over to Dean, who was very pointedly avoiding his gaze, so Castiel returned his attention to the box.

Inside was a surprisingly diverse collection of identification cards, from local police precincts across the country, to both the FBI and CIA, to Verizon cable installation, to the US Fish and Wildlife Service. Castiel couldn’t help but smile at the last card — Dean looked like he was about nineteen or so in the photo, chin tilted up slightly, as though daring the camera to try him.

‘Some of these are quite good,’ Castiel mused, returning the pile of cards to the box and handing it back to Dean. ‘Who’s your supplier?’

Dean frowned. ‘Kinkos?’ he answered, sounding unsure. ‘I dunno what you mean, ‘supplier’… I made most of these on a public copy machine… S’not like I got access to a super computer and friggin’ Felicity Smoak over there.’

Charlie’s head popped up when she heard that and she wrinkled her nose and grinned, flashing a hand gesture at Dean, which he apparently recognised and returned, palm out, fingers forming a V between his ring and middle finger. Castiel assumed it was yet another pop culture reference that escaped him.

‘Hm.’ He made a noncommittal sound, returning his attention to the issue at hand. He’d meant it when he said some of the fake cards were a very good attempt. ‘What safety precautions do you enact in case someone were to try to verify your employment?’

Dean actually laughed at this. ‘Didn’t ya notice the Great Wall of Phones at Bobby’s?’ he asked. Castiel shook his head — he’d tried to ignore as much of the man’s house as he could, feeling overwhelmed by the seemingly unorganised clutter and the man’s surly attitude. Dean nodded in understanding and elaborated. ‘Well, Bobby and Sam set up a whole, like- satellite phone thingy-whatsit so that any time one of the contact numbers gets called, it patches through to Bobby. He’s got every phone labelled so he knows who to pretend to be. Agent Tom Willis of the FBI is his usual go-to, but every now and then he gets to do a fun one, like once he had to pretend to be my agent when Sammy and I were posing as rock stars. That was a good time, lemme tell ya. Chicks dig a rock god — they couldn’t keep their hands off me.’ He winked cockily, and Castiel felt his face heating up.

‘Well, I suppose that’s an improvement on having relations with a lycanthrope,’ Castiel allowed dryly, trying to hide his discomfort. ‘We’re a bit less… improvisational at the Men of Letters. Charlie actually adds us to the roster of whichever institution we are claiming to represent, and we do actually have contacts inside most of the big ones. The Men of Letters actually helped found the FBI — back when it was called the National Bureau of Criminal Identification, before the turn of the century.’ Castiel chose not to mention the role he’d played in assisting the organisation following the assassination of President William McKinley in Buffalo, New York, a few years after it was founded.

‘Man-’ Dean started, sounding incredibly put out. ‘I toldja I didn’t know Maddy was a friggin’ werewolf when we- y’know, did the deed. You’re never gonna let me live that one down, are ya?’

‘It is highly unlikely, yes,’ Castiel agreed, deadpan, surprised to realise he was actually teasing the man. Generally speaking, the only times he was considered humorous were entirely unintentional.

Dean laughed, and it was a rather nice sound. ‘Well… that’s fair, I guess. Just wait ’til I dig up some dirt on you, though.’ He nudged Castiel jovially, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Castiel was not amused, however. The very last thing he needed was for someone — a hunter, no less — to start poking around in his history. He sincerely doubted Dean would be able to find anything, as the Men of Letters were incredibly thorough in protecting their data, but it was certainly not worth the risk to test that theory.

‘Yes, well. On to the matter at hand,’ he said brusquely, trying to ignore the twinge of- of something he felt in his chest when he saw Dean’s face fall. ‘It appears that there have been several more attacks that align with what we’ve seen previously with this vengeful entity, the most recent being in Des Moines, Iowa. Charlie has managed to locate the most recent victims — the last of whom have been brought to the hospital just this morning. I’d like to leave here no later than two hours from now. It’s not a terribly long journey, but the sooner we arrive on scene, the less likely it will be that this thing will claim further victims.’

‘Oh damn.’ Dean ran a hand through his hair, looking a little nervous. ‘Yeah, man, I can be ready to go in twenty if ya need me to be. All my shit’s right here, ’cept for what’s in the trunk of my car, but, uh-’ he shot Castiel that same wry smile, ‘I’m sure what y’all got for gear far outweighs the friggin’ EMF detector I built outta my old Walkman.’

‘That… is a music playing device, is it not?’ Castiel asked curiously. Dean gave a sheepish nod, his self-deprecating grin looking a bit more strained now. ‘And you were able to alter it into functioning as an electromagnetic frequency meter?’

‘I… guess so?’ Dean answered, rubbing the back of his neck in that way that betrayed how uncomfortable he really was. ‘Like I said, definitely not top of the line like the shit you guys got, but… it hasn’t steered me wrong yet. Well,’ he grimaced, ‘other than that time it got all fucked up by some downed power lines, but in my defence, the ghost was travelling through the friggin’ internet, so that mighta been part of it.’

‘Yes, I would say that is likely a fair assessment,’ Castiel agreed, trying not to sound too impressed. ‘You must be quite clever to have managed that.’

‘Nah,’ Dean mumbled, looking even more self-conscious. ‘But, uh- anyway. I’ll be ready to roll out whenever, just- just give a shout.’ He scooped up his bag and scurried off in the direction of the room he would occupy until completing the mission and leaving the Bunker once and for all.

Castiel stared after him, amused that Dean could so brazenly discuss his sexual encounters, but at the first mention of his intelligence, he chose to retreat. It caused an unprecedented, but not unpleasant feeling of warmth somewhere behind his navel that he found he didn’t quite mind.

All traces of amusement vanished, however, at the other unfamiliar feeling in his lower abdomen that appeared when his thoughts turned to Dean leaving Ca- leaving the Men of Letters at the end of the mission.

It took a minute, but eventually, Castiel realised that that one… was something uncomfortably close to disappointment.

Castiel decided that the situation warranted the entire team heading to Des Moines for the mission. With more than enough ground to cover, it really was an all hands on deck situation.

(There was a little voice in his head that kept reminding him that the sooner they completed the mission and eliminated the threat, the sooner it would be time to say goodbye to Dean. He firmly ignored it, as well as the terrible reverse truth that longer the mission took, the more time he would have with Dean. Not treating this mission with the same dedication and care as every other mission for something so superficial would be abhorrent.)

Dean had refused to join the team in the SUV for the drive (the man turned out to be even more attached to his vehicle than even his semi-coherent, drug-induced rant back at the farmhouse had indicated.) He’d treated the team to a short, but vehement lecture about the many enviable attributes of ‘his baby’, as well as the superiority of Chevrolets in general.

Castiel, who remembered when the moving assembly line had been created for Ford Motor Company’s Model T, and the impact it had had on the American middle class, had chosen to, again, bite his tongue, though it was becoming more and more of a struggle to do so.

(It was odd — he’d never felt the need to share, or even really consider, the historical events he’d witnessed or been a part of during his exceptionally long existence. Even when his superiors from the Men of Letters’ home office had all but demanded his firsthand account of certain occurrences, he’d complied only halfheartedly.

Yet, somehow, he’d felt the compulsion to share these little anecdotes more often in the short time since Dean Winchester had appeared and upended Castiel’s entire world, than he had during his entire tenure with the Men of Letters. He knew doing so would almost certainly set off a chain reaction that he was in no way interested in having to curtail, so he would simply need to keep a better eye on himself going forward — that’s all there was to it.)

Charlie, having been the one to bond most quickly with Dean, due to their shared love of pop culture references that Castiel couldn’t even begin to comprehend, decided to make the drive with him, and had bullied Kevin into accompanying her. Castiel suppressed a smile as he imagined Dean being stuck in his beloved car for almost six hours with the two of them and their relentless sibling-like bickering.

‘What’s got you so uncharacteristically smiley over there, grumpy?’ Pamela asked, watching him from the passenger seat with a knowing smile of her own.

‘Hm, just thinking about the mission.’ Castiel did his best to sound nonchalant and pointedly did not look at Pam, but out of everyone on the team, she was the one who knew him best, so she just snorted at his pitifully obvious lie.

‘Unless your mission is to find a way to lure a certain brooding, muscle car driving, green-eyed hottie into the sack, I’m gonna call bullshit,’ Pamela replied unapologetically. ‘Can’t say I blame ya, though — the kid’s definitely a looker.’

‘I have no desire to get Dean ‘in the sack’,’ Castiel retorted with a scowl. ‘Fine, if you must know, I was thinking how amusing it is that Dean is trapped inside his car with Kevin and Charlie for the entirety of the journey. When we went into town the other day for supplies and ice cream, they were arguing before we’d even left the garage.’

‘Kids,’ Pamela remarked with a laugh. ‘They both have big only-child energy, don’t they?’ Castiel shrugged, not knowing what she meant by that, which she seemed to realise because she huffed a laugh again. ‘I’m sure Dean’ll be able to handle their crap, though. He’s probably used to it; he and that brother of his used to practically live in that car when they were little and their dad dragged them on hunts all over the country.’

‘Really?’ Castiel chanced a glance in her direction, intrigued despite himself. ‘His father brought his children hunting? That seems…’ he paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way to phrase the unkind thoughts that had popped into his head at this new information, ‘… irresponsible,’ he finished lamely.

‘Mhm.’ Pamela hummed in agreement. ‘From what I gathered from talking to Dean and Bobby, his old man was- how shall we say… dedicated to the hunter lifestyle. The boys didn’t even have a permanent address til Bobby took ’em in, but by then, well-’ She broke off with an awkward chuckle and shook back her hair, pulling it into a ponytail before continuing, ‘I suppose that’s not my story to tell. But my point was- it sounds like Dean knows how to keep small children entertained on a road trip.’

Castiel huffed a laugh of his own at the comparison of Charlie and Kevin to children in need of entertainment in the car; it really wasn’t that inaccurate of a description.

The next few miles passed in silence, Pamela having pulled out her reading glasses and Sudoku book that she liked to occupy herself with on longer drives. Castiel watched the road in front of them with somewhat unseeing eyes. He was imagining Dean as a small child, transported across the country on hunts by some faceless, negligent father, while trying to entertain a younger brother when their entire world was reduced to what they could glimpse from the car windows. He was surprised at the feeling of protectiveness these mental images inspired, seeing as the children were now full-grown, and the father deceased.

They needed to stop for gas about an hour outside of Des Moines, so he had Pamela text Charlie to let her know. At the next exit, Castiel watched Dean’s car follow them off the interstate in the rearview mirror. They pulled into the first gas station they came across, and had no more than put the vehicles into park when both passenger side doors of Dean’s car were flung open. Kevin and Charlie jumped out, slamming the doors closed behind them, and seemed to race each other inside. Castiel watched, smirking, as Dean winced at the harsh treatment of his precious car.

Castiel walked inside with Pamela, considerably more reserved than the other half of their team. Pamela excused herself to use the facilities and find coffee while Castiel made his way to the register. He handed over his credit card and informed the attendant that he would be paying for fuel for both his and Dean’s vehicles.

The man behind the counter raised an eyebrow at this and repeatedly glanced through the window at Dean, then back to Castiel, as though trying to figure out the relationship between them, very obviously assuming there was some sort of lascivious intent. Castiel couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes — it was tiring, honestly, humans’ need to define these sorts of things so everything fit into neat little boxes and descriptions, especially when it was quite literally none of their concern.

He returned outside to find Dean frowning as he swiped a card repeatedly through the slot at the gas pump. Dean was cursing quietly under his breath and examining the front of the card, brows knit together in apparent worry.

‘Oh, heya, Cas,’ Dean said, distracted, when he noticed Castiel approach. He tried swiping the card again, then growled in frustration when the screen did not change. ‘I dunno what’s wrong with this fucking card!’ he exploded, sounding more concerned than what Castiel felt was appropriate. ‘Fuck, there’s supposed to be- well- sure as fuck enough on it to cover forty bucks of fucking gas. Man, I’m gonna be screwed if this one’s been cut off.’ He froze for a moment, like he hadn’t meant to say all that out loud. Castiel watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed a few times, clearly trying to regain his composure.

‘I prepaid inside for your fuel,’ Castiel explained, hoping this would waylay some of Dean’s upset. ‘The attendant spent some time trying to figure out if we are intimately involved.’

‘I- what- why?’ Dean stuttered, ears going slightly pink. ‘I mean- why about the, y’know, gas, not the, uh- other thing. I mean- I can pay for my own gas, man.’

‘I figure since this is technically a Men of Letters’ mission, it’s only right that we allow the home office to cover our expenses,’ Castiel answered easily, though he likely would have still opted to cover their travel costs even if he had been the one footing the bill.

(The Men of Letters did legitimately have him on their payroll, and after his incredibly lengthy tenure, complete with merit and cost of living increases, he made an almost obscenely comfortable wage, considering how very few expenses he had. He’d had several trusts and portfolios set up over the years at various financial institutions, but they’d never been an especially high priority for him. In fact, at this point, he wasn’t actually quite sure of the details for the majority of the accounts, especially because he kept having to create new identities to maintain them. It wasn’t as though he could inform the banks that he was the sole custodian of them for several centuries, and sometimes it just didn’t feel like it was worth the effort.)

‘I guess.’ Dean shrugged and returned his card to his wallet, but it was fairly evident that he was not pleased with that answer. He sighed. ‘I just- I can pay my own way, y’know. S’not like I came here lookin’ for charity or whatever.’

He sounded uncomfortable, almost embarrassed, which Castiel didn’t understand, so he tried to change the subject. ‘How was the drive with Kevin and Charlie?’ he asked, glancing back towards the shop, where he could see them standing in the checkout line, both laden down with several brightly coloured packages. Dean snorted.

‘I made ’em play The Quiet Game for the first fifty miles,’ Dean replied, sounding both exasperated and fond. ‘Then the Alphabet Game for the next fifty. By then, Charlie fell asleep, and Kevin started reading his book, so really, it was like The Quiet Game, part two.’

‘I… don’t know what either of these games are, but it sounds like I could benefit from your tutelage,’ Castiel said, impressed. ‘This, in addition to Pamela’s ‘Cooperation Garment’ might just be the key to getting those two to behave.’

Dean returned the nozzle to the pump and replaced the gas cap on his vehicle before returning his attention to Castiel, and when he did, the look of fondness he’d had when discussing Charlie and Kevin’s antics did not change. ‘You really are an odd duck, aren’t ya?’

‘I… am not a waterfowl,’ Castiel informed him, head tilting slightly to the side, ‘though I have certainly been accused of being ‘odd’ more than a few times. I generally don’t mind being regarded as unusual, though.’

‘Well, good,’ Dean said, lips twitching as though he were trying not to laugh again. ‘Sure as hell ain’t anything wrong with bein’ a weird, dorky little dude, ’long as that dude is you.’

This sounded as though it was meant to be a compliment, despite the vaguely insulting nature of the description, so Castiel nodded, but before he had a chance to say anything else, the rest of the team exited the store.

‘Snack time, bitches!’ Charlie called as she approached, holding the plastic bag with the store’s logo above her head in triumph.

She tossed a package of what appeared to be dried meat to Dean, who caught it easily, but the next second, Castiel found himself getting smacked in the face with a flying banana. It bounced painfully off his forehead and thudded against the side of Dean’s car before coming to rest pitifully on the ground at their feet.

‘Aw, c’mon, Red,’ Dean complained, licking his thumb and leaning over to rub the spot where the banana had made contact at the same time Charlie squeaked, ‘Sorry, boss! My bad!’ before bursting into a fit of laughter with Kevin and Pamela.

‘What the hell, Charlie?’ Castiel growled, rubbing his forehead in much the same fashion as Dean was rubbing his car.

Glaring at Charlie, Kevin, and Pamela, Dean stood back up and handed Castiel the fallen banana, which Castiel stared at for a long moment, before slipping it into his shirt pocket, which only made his traitorous team laugh harder.

‘You always complain that processed food tastes like molecules, but that one time, you said fresh fruits and vegetables don’t taste quite so bad,’ Charlie explained innocently, catching her breath. ‘And, let’s be real, dude, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have been able to catch a banana thrown by little old me. You’ve got those, like, Spidey-sense reflexes, so, really, Freud would say that you wanted to get beaned in the face by a banana, and I’m sure he’d have a field day with that one.’

‘What the hell,’ Castiel grumbled again, her logic absolutely astounding. ‘I didn’t catch the damn thing because I wasn’t expecting you to have purchased food for me, seeing as I don’t eat-’ He realised what he’d said a second too late, so quickly added, ‘… in the SUV.’

Judging by the strange looks he was getting from the rest of the team, it hadn’t really been a good save, but before things got any more awkward, Pamela, bless her, spoke up and said, ‘So, boss, I know we’ve only got about an hour to go, but how’s about ya let me take the wheel for awhile? Give you a chance to recover from your grievous produce injury?’

Castiel stared at her for a moment, surprised at the request. Of the three remaining members of his team, she was the least likely to ask to drive, as she declared that the front seat passenger — or rather, the ‘shotgun’ — was the one who held the real power, similar to the point Charlie had attempted to make when she and Kevin had last argued over who sat up front.

A second later, though, her motivation became clear when Kevin huffed indignantly and said, ‘Well, if we’re talking about taking turns driving, I’d just like to point out that it’s been literal months since the last time you guys let me drive, and I’m not even the one who does ‘car dancing’.’

Pamela and Castiel winced at the reference, while Dean asked, ‘What’s car dancing?’

Charlie lifted her chin regally, as though she hadn’t just been the one to lob a piece of fruit at Castiel’s face, and said, ‘Sometimes the urge to boogie cannot be contained by a mere automobile.’

‘Wait, so you actually make the car dance?’ Dean asked, horrified. ‘Like… on the road?! Dude, do you have any idea how bad that is for the suspension?! Not to mention, that bitch is top heavy,’ he gestured to the team’s SUV, ‘so you’re lucky you haven’t made the damn thing spin out already.’

‘See?!’ Kevin gestured jerkily between Charlie and the SUV. ‘So there you have it — it should be my turn to drive so Charlie doesn’t kill us all.’

‘I don’t believe I actually agreed to let anyone drive-’ Castiel started, feeling as though he was very rapidly losing control of the situation, not to mention they were definitely drawing the attention of both the gas station attendant and even a few other customers.

‘Hand over the keys, sweet cheeks,’ Pamela ordered impatiently, holding out an expectant hand, then snatching the keys from Castiel’s front pocket when he didn’t immediately supply them, prompting him to let out an undignified yelp. ‘Why, thank you for your cooperation. Tell ya what — I’ll take the kiddos to give Dean a break and let Kevin drive to get him to stop whining, while my dear work wife sits her cute little tush in the backseat where she can’t hurt anyone, and supplies us all with snacks.’

‘Wow, so y’all are abandoning me?’ Dean complained halfheartedly, though upon closer inspection, he didn’t exactly seem as though he was heartbroken at the prospect of not having to drive another hour with Charlie and Kevin. ‘Well, remember, I know where the Batcave is, so if ya try and ditch me, I’ma move in and redecorate while you’re gone.

‘Oh, of course not, darlin’,’ she drawled, winking at Castiel. ‘We’re trading. Frick and Frack over there for the boss.’

Castiel felt his face heating up as she confirmed his suspicion that this was a blatant attempt to force him and Dean to spend time together for whatever reason. He stole a peek at Dean and found the man was also blushing and looking as though he would like to disappear into the Earth.

‘You don’t have to let me ride with you,’ he told Dean awkwardly. ‘I can sit in the back of the SUV with Charlie… as long as she doesn’t have any more fruit to throw at me.’

It was an incredibly poor attempt at a joke, but Dean forced a laugh anyway. ‘Naw, man,’ he said after an uncomfortable beat of silence. ‘I wouldn’t subject ya to that after you paid for my gas… not to mention your, uh- head injury there. I don’t mind ya riding shotgun, ’long as ya don’t mess with the presets.’

‘I don’t know what that means,’ Castiel replied solemnly. ‘But I have been reliably informed that it is the front seat passenger’s responsibility to ‘pick the tunes’.’

The comically disbelieving look on Dean’s face rivalled the one he’d had when he’d learned about Charlie’s car dancing. ‘Dude,’ he uttered, which seemed to be his go-to phrase when he was taken aback. ‘I don’t know what’s more fucked up — those friggin’ air quotes, or what the fuck just came outta your mouth.’ He pointed an accusatory finger in Castiel’s direction. ‘Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole.’

‘That sounds grotesque.’ Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean, who just stared right back, jaw set and arms crossed.

Pamela, who appeared to have conscripted Kevin into pumping the gas (because, yes, apparently in all the upheaval, Castiel had managed to forget why they’d stopped in the first place), sauntered over and said, ‘Zip ’em up and put the rulers away, boys, you’re both the fairest one of all. Now, I have taken Thing One and Thing Two off your hands because I figure you could both use a break, so enjoy the quiet while you can. Just go and get into that beautiful specimen of mechanical perfection, snuggle up on the bench seat, and meet us in Des Moines.’

She gave a mischievous little wave as she climbed back into the SUV and said something Castiel couldn’t hear to Kevin who was looking a little too excited to be in the driver’s seat, in Castiel’s opinion.

He stared after her for a moment longer, then sighed and turned to get into Dean’s car, Dean following suit a moment later. Dean put his key into the ignition and turned it, making the engine roar to life and loud rock music blare from the car’s crackly speakers. Castiel’s hand twitched in his lap with the urge to turn the noise down to a level that wouldn’t shatter the windows, but he recalled Dean’s strange declaration about the driver having the privilege of choosing the music, so he refrained.

Castiel noticed Dean watching him from the corner of his eye, and saw the man’s lip twitch upwards for just a second when Castiel relaxed his hand and did not adjust the radio. Dean reached over himself and lowered the volume by half, for which Castiel was mightily grateful.

He stared out the windshield as Dean eased the car into drive. They didn’t talk, but rather than the stony silence or unpleasant awkwardness Castiel had been expecting, he found it was an easy quiet like what he’d had with Pamela on the first leg of the journey. He relaxed in his seat after only a few miles, and by the end of the fourth or fifth song, realised he was actually quite comfortable.

And when, ten minutes after that, Dean started subconsciously singing along with the wailing rock song crackling out from the car’s speakers, well- Castiel realised that maybe letting the driver pick the music was a much better way to go after all.

Castiel had booked them a suite at the Des Lux Hotel in town, and it was almost worth the exorbitant price just to see the look on Dean’s face when they entered the room.

‘Damn.’ Dean let out a low whistle and tilted his head back to look up at the room’s skylights. ‘What, was the presidential suite not available or somethin’? You really want us to rough it in a dump like this? What kinda leader are ya?’

Disappointed, Castiel shrugged, trying not to let it show. ‘I did inquire about it, but the front desk lady, Beverly, informed me that there was only one bed, and I assumed that would be considered problematic, so I requested she reserve the largest space with multiple beds, which is apparently this ‘Gateway’ suite. I can certainly see if it is available if you would prefer to stay on your ow-’

‘Dude,’ Dean said, though definitely in a more gentle tone than Castiel was accustomed to hearing the imploration. ‘I was fucking with you. This room’s bigger’n my apartment back home, not to mention a single night’s stay is probably worth more’n me ’n everything I own. So- ya did good, man.’

‘I don’t know,’ Charlie singsonged, nudging Pamela in the ribs. ‘‘There was only one bed’? Sounds like the start of a very steamy fanfic.’

Kevin stifled a laugh with his hand when he caught sight of Castiel’s baffled expression. ‘Don’t ask, man, or she’ll start coming up with a ship name for you two.’

‘Oh, don’t you worry — she already has one!’ Pamela interjected, not at all helpfully. ‘‘Destiel’, she calls them.’

Kevin nodded approvingly. ‘Destiel… I like it.’ He shot Castiel and Dean one more amused glance, then said, ‘I’m calling dibs on the pull-out couch in the den so I can set my computers up. I figure the work wives will take that room,’ he pointed to one of the two large bedrooms off the main living areas, ‘so that means you two get the room with the view.’ He gave everyone a little wave, slung his bag back over his shoulder, and headed off towards the small, private working area off of the main room.

‘Room with a view… romantic.’ Charlie sighed dreamily. ‘And there literally is only one bed. God what a great enemies-to-lovers story arc. No major archive warnings apply.’ Pamela laughed and shook her head, bodily guiding Charlie into the room Kevin had assigned to them.

‘What is happening?’ Castiel asked, watching them go. ‘I swear — I don’t understand at least fifty percent of the things they say.’

‘I think you’re better off not knowin’, to be honest there, buddy,’ Dean replied, and Castiel was incredibly surprised to notice that the other man was blushing again.

He watched, interested, as Dean ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair; he really was exceptionally fidgety, especially for an adult. For a moment, Castiel found himself wondering again what Dean’s childhood must have been like, and if he’d had the same inability to stay still back then. It must have been quite difficult, to be so eager to move, but remain stuck inside a moving vehicle.

‘So, uh- I don’t expect ya to- uhm, well- I figure ya won’t wanna share a bed, so I’m good with sleepin’ on that fancy-pants lounge chair thing in the other room. I don’t sleep much,’ Dean admitted uncomfortably, pulling Castiel from his internal musings. Castiel shook his head.

‘I don’t sleep at all,’ he replied, distracted, then froze. ‘I meant to say- I don’t sleep at all… well. When I’m on a mission. So- please, help yourself to the bed, and I am more than happy to rest on the ‘fancy-pants lounge chair’, should I become weary. There’s no sense in both of us subjecting ourselves to poor sleep.’

Looking thoughtful, Dean jerked his head towards their appointed room, turning abruptly and heading towards it. Castiel interpreted this as a cue to follow him, picking up a few more bags on the way. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw the room he and Dean would be sharing.

It was quite large, certainly proportional to the main living and dining areas in the rest of the suite. The floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the city of Des Moines were elegantly framed by antique-gold curtains. There was a large, plush-looking king size bed centred along the far wall, and an oversized leather chaise lounge in the corner — Castiel assumed that was what Dean had meant when he’d said ‘fancy-pants lounge chair’. Across from the bed was an intricately carved faux fireplace, and in the corner opposite the chaise, two tall wingback chairs on either side of a small glass-top table.

It truly was a beautiful space. Dean seemed to agree, judging by the way his mouth had fallen slightly open. He looked almost intimidated, running his fingers over the wood of the fireplace mantle before he went and dropped his bags against one of the walls, as far away from any of the furniture in the room as it was possible to get. Castiel frowned slightly.

‘Is something wrong with the room?’ he asked, studying the hunter cautiously. ‘I did genuinely mean it when I said I didn’t mind booking you a private room. It should have occurred to me that it might be uncomfortable sharing such an intimate space with someone who is virtually a stranger.’

‘Aw, no, man, it ain’t- it ain’t that,’ Dean replied, distracted, but waving a hand dismissively, nonetheless. ‘S’just that this is probably the fanciest fuckin’ joint I’ve ever been in, ’n it feels wrong to kinda- well, to kinda enjoy it when my brother-’ He stopped speaking and shut his mouth so quickly that his teeth made an unsettling clacking noise from the force of the moment. Castiel saw the jump of Dean’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed a few times, then cleared his throat and said gruffly, ‘Anyway- ain’t no hardship for me to sleep on the shrink couch over there. I’ve spent more’n enough nights sleepin’ in the backseat of my Baby, so compared to that, it’s like bein’ at the fuckin’ Ritz.’ He laughed, a little self-deprecatingly. ‘Actually, this might be nicer than the fuckin’ Ritz. I wouldn’t know.’

‘Please take the bed, Dean,’ Castiel insisted firmly. ‘I will likely not spend a great deal of time in the room during the nighttime hours due to my, ah- insomnia. I would truly prefer you sleep well. It will benefit the entire team if we are all well-rested when we begin the legwork for the mission tomorrow morning.’

Dean eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but then he shot Castiel a very obviously forced grin. ‘Well, I mean- you’re the boss-man, man,’ he said cheekily, though he still sounded just a little off. ‘But no funny business. I don’t put out ’til the third date, just so ya know, so don’t go thinkin’ you’re gonna be crawlin’ under the covers to get to this fine ass if ya have a few drinks down at the hotel bar while the rest of us mere mortals are passed out.’

It was such an unexpected turn of phrase that Castiel paused again, head cocked to the side as he tried to figure out if Dean was implying he’d figured out about Castiel’s immortality, but before he went too far down that train of thought, the rest of what Dean had said caught up with him and an embarrassing noise escaped his throat.

‘I- I was not intending to pressure you into intercourse!’ he spluttered, feeling his own cheeks becoming warm. ‘That would be- I am not- I’m flattered by your in-’

‘I swear to God, if you quote fucking Sherlock right now, I’m leaving,’ Dean interrupted, as though Castiel was the one keeping him there, but he was laughing again and looked considerably more at ease. ‘I was just fuckin’ with you again, man. Sorry, I, uh- I guess sometimes you might not-’ He shook his head and looked at Castiel like he’d only just seen him for the first time with a strange, soft expression on his face. ‘If you really don’t care, I guess I’ll take the bed, then. Thanks, Cas.’

Castiel nodded, still unsure of what was happening, but he was suddenly feeling like he’d had just about enough of humanity for the time being, and he needed a respite, at least for a little while.

‘I’ll leave you to your own devices,’ he said brusquely. ‘I am going to go see if I can locate sustenance for the team and, ah- get the ‘lay of the land’. Please contact me on my cell phone if you discover something you require.’

He turned to leave before waiting for a reaction from Dean, but as he exited their room, he was fairly certain he heard Dean grumbling something about ‘those fucking air quotes’.

He did not allow himself to acknowledge the glow of warmth he felt low in his stomach at the curious note of fondness in the other man’s voice.

Chapter Text

Being on a case with the Men of Letters was weird as hell. It was less like being on a hunt, and more like being back in friggin’ school or something. Dean supposed it kind of made sense — after all, this was an actual occupation for those guys, the kind that meant W-4 tax forms and all the other kinds of crap that the working stiffs dealt with, but on the other hand… yeah, weird as hell.

Castiel had ‘acquired identification to corroborate their subterfuge’ as he’d said, which Dean still couldn’t help but smile to himself at. The dude was ridiculously strait-laced for a guy who ran a grown-up version of the Scooby Doo gang, and it was kind of adorable — there really was no other word for it. He’d seen Castiel go full BAMF when he’d thrown his knife at the British prick who’d been about to put another hole in Dean’s head, which made sense for the leader of the super-secret team of monster-killers, but as it turned out, in his downtime, Castiel was a friggin’ dork.

At the asscrack of dawn, Castiel called a team meeting in the lounge of their bougie as fuck suite. He was already fully dressed in ass hugging dress pants, a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a pair of freaking suspenders, which Dean had never realised was a thing for him until that very moment. His suit coat was slung casually over the back of one of the armchairs, but even from across the room, Dean could tell it was one of those pieces of clothing that would take Castiel’s hot as hell outfit from a 10/10 to a- well, whatever some stupid-high number was.

(It was stupid o’clock, and Dean hadn’t had his coffee — the brain was not firing on all cylinders yet. He made it to an armchair and sat, elbows on knees, trying to will himself awake.)

‘It is too early for this shit. Why don’t the creepy crawlies ever decide to wreak havoc at, like, noon?’ Charlie groaned, stumbling from the room she was sharing with Pamela, echoing Dean’s foggy thoughts. ‘Need caffeine. Must have. Gonna dieeeee.’ She flopped down onto the sofa and threw an arm over her eyes like a tragic Regency heroine suffering through a fainting spell.

‘There’s a full pot on the counter,’ Castiel replied, impervious to Charlie’s dramatics. ‘I also stopped and got-’

‘Donuts! Sweet!’ Kevin interrupted, bounding from the small office he’d claimed as his own. He handed off a stack of manilla file folders to Castiel, then grabbed a honey cruller and took a hearty bite. ‘Thanks, boss! So, I was up pretty late last night putting together profiles for the most current victims and cross referencing with our affiliates — turns out there’s three solid leads right now, and it looks like we shouldn’t have any issues gaining access.’

‘Excellent work; thank you, Kevin,’ Castiel replied, thumbing through the first folder. ‘Charlie, do you know if Pamela is awake yet?’

‘Present, accounted for, and bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, darlin’,’ Pamela said as she entered the lounge, heading straight for the coffee and donuts. She noticed Dean hanging back awkwardly and shook the carafe in his direction. ‘What d’ya say, hot lips? Magical bean juice? Cream? Sugar? Pick your poison.’

‘Sweet ’n black, please ’n thank you,’ Dean answered, gratefully accepting a mug a few moments later when Pamela came over and lowered herself into the armchair next to his. She dropped a paper plate with two apple fritters on the small table between them, nudging it in his direction.

‘Trust me, kiddo, you’re gonna need to keep up your strength,’ she informed him, picking up one of the donuts and taking a bite. She hummed approvingly. ‘I don’t know how he does it, but Castiel always manages to find the best food when we’re on a mission. Me, I’d go for hot wings and cheap beer every time, but this guy,’ she jerked a thumb in Castiel’s direction and lowered her voice conspiratorially, ‘if he was anyone else, I’d say he was playing the long con and tryin’ to get in our pants, because this is what folks mean when they say ya gotta buy ’em dinner before they’ll put out.’

‘Why do you people keep implying I would like to have sexual relations with you?’ Castiel complained with an indignant huff while Dean laughed along with the rest of the team.

‘Maybe it the sexy suspenders with the belt, Cas,’ Dean answered, smirking. ‘Makes it seem like ya need double duty help keepin’ your pants on.’

Pamela let out a loud laugh and reached over to high-five him, but hilariously, Castiel just looked down at his outfit with something close to alarm, brows knitting together. ‘Is there… some sort of cultural implication I was not aware of?’ he asked, hand twitching towards his belt buckle, which did absolutely nothing at all to dispel the totally inappropriate road Dean’s dirty, dirty mind kept trying to go down.

It was definitely time to drink that coffee.

‘Don’t worry ’bout it, man. You look… dapper and dandy.’ Dean flashed Castiel his best cheesy grin, which softened into something more genuine when he saw the other man flush slightly.

‘Ah, yes, well…’ Castiel cleared his throat and began passing out the folders Kevin had put together. ‘Anyway, if we’re done discussing my pants, we can move onto the issue at hand.’

Charlie muttered something to Kevin, and they both snickered like a pair of kids up to no good. Kevin had plopped himself down onto the end of the sofa Charlie was laying on, pushing her legs out of the way, only to have Charlie stretch back out and lay them across his lap. Dean couldn’t help but get a kick out of the two of them — two scary-smart grown ass adults whose dynamic was pretty much exactly the same as his and Sam’s had been back when they were kids. Charlie had mentioned being an only child, so it sure as hell seemed like she was making up for lost time now.

Castiel looked like he very much wished he could toss them all out the window. ‘Do I need to- to make everyone participate in a Silence Tournament?’ he snapped moodily, handing the final folder to Dean and returning to the centre of the room.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at him in confusion, which seemed to satisfy him for a split second before something in Dean’s brain clicked into place.

‘Dude, do you mean ‘the Quiet Game’?’ he asked, biting back another chuckle, but at the look of mounting frustration on Castiel’s face, he decided to throw the poor guy a bone. ‘Sorry, Cas. I’m a little squirrelly before the coffee kicks in..’ He gave his mug a little shake, like Cas might not know what a friggin’ cup of coffee was, inevitably sloshing some over the rim and burning his hand like the awkward idiot he was.

Castiel nodded, looking relieved, like this was the first thing anyone had said all morning that made sense to him. He cleared his throat again, and started over. ‘As I was saying — here are your briefing notes that Kevin so thoughtfully compiled. There are three reported victims in the area, so Charlie and Pamela will take the first, Kevin will take the second, and Dean and I will take the third. Kevin, would you like to present the facts for the rest of the team?’

‘Sure thing.’ Kevin stood, shoving Charlie’s legs out of the way, and went to stand beside Castiel. ‘Okay, first report is really sad, guys — the Fremont family. Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and little Sierra, age eight, were coming back from Sierra’s dance recital when they crashed their minivan into a telephone pole. Grandpa was DOA, Mom and Dad survived, but have been comatose since. If you look at images 4A and 4B on page six, you’ll notice the same signs of dehydration around their mouths and eyes as we’ve seen on other vics.’

Dean flipped through his packet and swallowed hard when he saw the pictures of the site of the accident, and then turned his attention to the picture Kevin had mentioned. A middle aged couple were each laid out in a hospital bed, faces slack in unconsciousness, the skin around their mouths cracked and brittle-looking, just like Sam’s had been, not to mention all the other poor slobs who’d come before him had been.

‘You said there was a kid?’ he heard himself ask gruffly, not wanting to think too hard about some little girl who’d basically lost her whole friggin’ family to some supernatural asshole. He didn’t want to think how horribly, painfully close he was to being in that same boat.

Kevin nodded. ‘The daughter, Sierra, survived the crash, and was thankfully not attacked. She’s pretty fucked up mentally, which is understandable. The hospital is trying to get in touch with next of kin, but she’s gone non-verbal, plus she’s a little banged up physically, so it looks like they’re just going to keep her at the hospital until they have more information on what to do next.’ He turned to Pamela and said, ‘That’s where you step in. You’re going in as a visiting paediatrician from John Hopkins — I’ve been in contact with the chief of surgery, Dr Cameron, so he’s totally on board to back us up if need be, but I don’t think it’ll come to that.’

‘And what about me?’ Charlie piped up, after chugging the rest of her coffee with the enthusiasm of a frat boy doing a kegstand. ‘Can I be, like- a brain surgeon or something?’

‘You can be the plucky young girl who helps me out,’ Pamela offered. Charlie lifted her head off the sofa a few inches so she could make eye contact with Pamela, and stuck her tongue out. Kevin rolled his eyes.

‘You’re going in from the tech angle again,’ he informed her, shrugging. ‘I figured if it’s not broken, don’t fix it, plus this way, you can make copies of the security footage since you’ll have easy access.’

Charlie shot Kevin a double thumbs up, prompting him to roll his eyes again, then turn to the next page in his folder. ‘Okay, so Castiel, Dean. You guys will be heading over to the Des Moines Police Department. There was another attack on some guy who goes by Virgil, but I don’t think that’s his real name. It kind of sounds like he’s involved in some pretty heavy shit involving arms trafficking or something — calls himself the Keeper of Heaven’s Weapons — but anyway, he was attacked during some sort of meet-up with another person who took off right when it started. I wasn’t able to find any information on a second victim, so it sounds like they got away.’

‘If this ‘Virgil’ has been attacked and is presumably unconscious, and the other party escaped, then who is this person in police custody?’ Castiel inquired, sounding somewhat distracted while he sifted through his file. He paused, then seemed to relax slightly, returning his gaze to Kevin. ‘It appears that this man has simply adopted the moniker of the ‘Keeper of Heaven’s Weapons’, but is, in actuality, dispensing firearms.’

‘Uh, yeah-’ Kevin agreed, looking slightly confused as to why Castiel felt the need to clarify this point. ‘But, uh- anyway. The person in the holding cell at the DMPD is a John Doe — he either doesn’t have any ID or doesn’t want to give the police his personal info, but he was the one to witness the attack. He says he’s been living on the streets and was about to fall asleep in an alleyway when he saw the ‘scary man get attacked by the scarier man and angry nightgown lady’, whatever that means. The police aren’t taking him seriously because they think he was drunk at the time, but either way, he’s the first eyewitness who’s been able to provide a physical description of what we’re up against. Honestly, it sounds like the cops are biased against him because he’s homeless, and it’s making them overlook some pretty important facts.’

‘Shocking.’ It was almost impressive, how Castiel managed to pack a whole boatload of sarcasm and exasperation into just that one word. He flipped through a few more pages before transferring his attention to Dean. ‘You and I will enter the precinct under the guise of being Federal Agents. Before we left the Bunker, I had Charlie add you to the list of personnel for several associations I anticipated we might need to impersonate.’

He pulled a leather ID case from his pocket and handed it to Dean. When he flipped it open, he saw there was a badge and ID card inside. It looked incredibly close to the ones Dean was accustomed to making for him and Sam, but it was plainly obvious that this shit was the real McCoy — with the exception of ‘his’ signature to the left of an authentic photo of himself. It was his handwriting, but he sure as hell had never signed that name anywhere.

‘‘Agent Swift’?’ he asked, running his fingers over the eerily accurate scrawl of his fake signature. ‘Really?’

Castiel nodded. ‘I noticed that many of your aliases seemed to have some sort of musical connotation, so I asked Kevin to bear that in mind while creating your profiles.’

He looked so friggin’ bashful about it that Dean forced himself to refrain from giving him any further shit, though he did shoot Kevin a death glare, but the damn kid only beamed back at him, clearly trying not to laugh.

‘Thanks, man. It looks great,’ Dean told Castiel, solely for his benefit. When Castiel nodded, looking pleased, and glanced down at his folder again, Dean took the opportunity to flip Kevin off, which just made the other man snort.

‘Alrighty, well,’ Kevin said, sounding way too pleased with himself, ‘last, but not least — the Miller family: dad, step-mom, and adult son, Max. It sounds like the parents were cleaning out the late uncle’s house when they were attacked, but unfortunately the dad passed away en route to the hospital — he had a preexisting heart condition, and ended up going into cardiac arrest in the ambulance. The step-mom is stable, but from the sounds of it, the Miller family was not in the best financial situation, so long-term care doesn’t sound like an option. The son, Max, is in the process of having to decide whether or not to pull the plug.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘It’s a damn shame, really. The parents had just put their entire life savings into buying a movie theatre they were in the process of renovating — any earlier and Max could have paid for the step-mom’s care that way, or any later, they would have had time to turn a profit. Poor guy; I don’t envy him having to make that decision on his own.’

Dean felt his stomach clench in sympathy for the guy… if it wasn’t for Bobby and Garth, he would have almost certainly been in the same spot with Sam, and the idea of it made him nauseous. He set the rest of his apple fritter back down on the plate and brushed the crumbs off his hand, suddenly no longer hungry. From across the room, he noticed Charlie doing the same.

‘I’m going to be taking the Miller investigation — I already e-mailed Max saying I was a student reporter from Drake University and asked if he would be willing to sit for an interview about the theatre his family bought because it was part of historical Des Moines. Figured it was probably a long shot, but surprisingly he agreed, and we’re meeting for coffee this afternoon.’ Kevin ran a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping the room. ‘Does anyone have any questions?’

For once, everyone answered in the negative — Dean had really been expecting some sort of teasing from Charlie, but she remained quiet and focussed as she flipped through her folder again. Dean sidled up to her when Castiel dismissed them to go get changed for the day.

‘Everything alright, Red?’ he asked, shoving the last bite of his discarded apple fritter in his mouth in an attempt to make the inquiry seem more casual.

‘Just waiting for the coffee to kick in,’ she answered, forcing a smile, but it was a pale imitation of her usual vivacious grin. ‘We’ve got a long day ahead of us, so I have a feeling today is going to be fuelled by Red Bull.’

‘Whelp- it gives ya wings,’ Dean offered, giving her an out, which she took when she gave a weak laugh, saluted, and disappeared into her and Pamela’s room.

‘Did you just say you know of a substance that results in the development of wings?’

Dean turned to find Castiel staring at him from across the room, the look on his face perplexed, bordering on concerned.

‘Yeah, remember those cartoon commercials where there’s always a dorky little guy who cracks open a Red Bull, then sprouts wings and flies away?’ Dean snorted, trying to ease the unexpected tension. ‘Hey — think that’ll happen to you if we make you get your caffeine on? You’ll just turn into some kinda angel or somethin’ and leave us normal folks in the dust?’ He finished that stupid statement with an exaggerated wink, but his cheesy antics didn’t seem to be doing anything at all to get Castiel to relax.

‘I bought you a suit,’ Castiel announced suddenly, stalking off in the direction of their room, not bothering to turn back to see if Dean was following. ‘I hope it’s to your liking.’

He wrenched open the closet door and extracted a garment bag with NEIMAN MARCUS printed on the front. Dean stared for a moment too long before accepting it, wondering both when Castiel would have had time to go friggin’ shopping, and also how he could just casually hand out designer clothes like friggin’ candy on Halloween.

‘Dude,’ he couldn’t help but gasp when he pulled the zipper down and revealed the second sharpest suit he’d ever seen in his life. (The first being the one Castiel was currently sporting, of course.) ‘Man, this beats my usual Fed threads by a friggin’ mile.’

‘Your what?’ Castiel asked, head cocked to the side, making him look adorably similar to a confused puppy. ‘Actually, never mind. Please dress — and quickly — so we can leave. I’m going to go finalise some details with Kevin.’

He turned and exited the room just as abruptly as he’d stormed into it, leaving Dean confused as fuck, but eager to change into his fancy new duds, and pointedly ignoring the little voice in his head that said it would be so easy to get used to this high rollin’ lifestyle.

He was here for a good time, not a long time, and he’d do well to remember it.

The new suit fit like a goddamn dream, which, after a few days of wearing the clothes Castiel had gotten him when he’d fried Dean’s old ones, came as no surprise. It felt like he’d slipped into a second skin, the fabric hugging every curve and angle of his body in a way that even Dean was aware that he looked like one suave motherfucker.

Less comfortable, however, was dealing with the Des Moines Police Department. Dean and Cas had rolled in with their fancy suits and genuine fake FBI IDs, and been halted in their tracks by some desk jockey with a badge and a shitty attitude.

‘I don’t care who you say you are, I’m not about to let some yahoos traipse all over the precinct just because they flash a badge that you could have gotten from Kinkos for all I know,’ Officer Dickweed argued, crossing his arms over his chest and standing up straight in an obvious and pathetic attempt to intimidate Castiel.

Well, dude clearly didn’t know who the fuck he was up against, because Castiel merely raised a single eyebrow and leaned in close. Dean knew enough by now that Castiel didn't have to strut his stuff to make it clear he was a total badass. The difference in Castiel’s cool indifference and the cop’s posturing was almost comical.

‘Listen, Officer-’ he paused for a moment, eyes flicking down the the other man’s name badge, ‘-Kontos,’ he said, looking every bit the cold and distant asshole he’d been in the woods that first night, ‘Our presence here is a matter of national security, and any attempt to hinder our investigation will be treated as obstruction of justice. You may call to verify our credentials — or don’t, I don’t give a damn what you do, truth be told — but be aware that every second I spend dealing with your obtuse inquiries, American citizens are dying. May that rest heavy on your conscience.’

Officer Kontos paled slightly at Castiel’s blatant show of authority, but did, in fact, call the phone number Castiel provided. Dean watched as the man’s shoulders sagged further and further until he got off the phone and slumped back over to where Dean and Castiel were waiting by the front desk.

‘Your, ah- your boss gave the go-ahead to let you boys do your thing,’ he relayed, pulling at the collar of his shirt, his discomfort plainly evident. ‘We’ll, uh- get you all set up in one of the interrogation rooms, then bring our John Doe in.’

‘See that you do.’ Castiel’s tone was curt, as though the man before him was not worth wasting any more words on.

Dean brought up the rear as Officer Kontos led them behind the desk and down a few hallways until he stopped and fumbled with his keys, eventually opening the door to reveal a nondescript interview room. Castiel walked in, unbuttoned his suit coat with a haughty flick of his wrist, and sat down on one side of the lone table in the room, not even bothering to look up when the officer nervously announced he was going to get the John Doe. Dean caught his eye on the way out and gave him a sympathetic nod before taking the seat next to Castiel.

‘Well, damn, dude, you went all friggin’ Edward Norton on the guy like it was nothin’,’ Dean remarked, settling back in his uncomfortable chair. ‘It was like watchin’ someone flip a switch.’

‘I don’t know who that is, but I assure you, it was more like a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent than ‘flipping a switch’,’ Castiel grumbled, rolling his shoulders for a moment, then leaning forward to shrug his suit coat off and hang it neatly on the back of his chair..

‘Yeah, okay, Shakespeare.’ Dean took the opportunity of Castiel’s momentary distraction to give himself a good mental kick in the ass. He was distantly aware that he was totally mooning over the dude in a way he hadn’t since he’d been sixteen and discovered Gunner Lawless. Now wasn’t the time for him to be distracted by a pair of (gorgeous) baby blues.

Castiel sat back again and sighed. ‘Versions of that quote are all too often misattributed to the likes of William Shakespeare or Winston Churchill when, in fact, it originated with a woman called Abby.’ The look on his face implied that he found this personally offensive.

‘Well, uh- that’s the patriarchy for ya, I guess,’ Dean offered, feeling his cheeks heat up when Castiel cracked a small smile at his lame joke. ‘But seriously — I can see how you got to be the big cheese with the Men of Letters. Off the charts badassery.’

‘Hm. It appears that I only understand a fraction of the things you say as well. I can see why you and Charlie get along.’ Castiel sounded almost forlorn at this, but before Dean could press him for more clues as to what his deal was, the door swung open, and a man wearing what appeared to be grey scrubs was led into the room and directed to the chair opposite Dean and Castiel with no small amount of reluctance.

‘He’s all yours.’ Officer Kontos wasted no time beating a hasty retreat the moment the man sat down.

‘Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Mr…?’ Castiel tried, but the other man just shook his head and sat back, crossing his arms. It occurred to Dean that this was the same gesture Officer Kontos had made back at the front desk, but rather than trying to make himself appear intimidating, it seemed like this man was trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.

‘Didn’t have a choice,’ the man mumbled, though rather than belligerent, he just sounded tired. ‘Cops won’t lemme go until the shrink lady convinces ’em I’m not crazy, so in the meantime, I gotta comply.’ He looked up for the first time, meeting Dean’s eyes, and said, ‘I know you guys won’t believe me either, but I’m not nuts and I’m not drunk. I know it might look that way, but I also know what I saw.’

‘We believe you, man.’ Dean held the man’s gaze for a steady moment, then added, ‘So why don’t you go ahead and break it down for me, just two guys in a room, talkin’. Not to go all Mean Girls on ya, but- I ain’t like other cops.’

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see Castiel frowning thoughtfully at the pop culture reference, and he had to bite back his grin at how easily bemused the man became at even the most obvious references.

‘S’like I told the other cops — I was just about to fall asleep when I heard someone yelling.’ The man still looked uncomfortable, but there was an urgency to his tone that wasn’t there before. Dean wondered if it was the prospect of being believed that had lit a fire in his belly. Whatever it was, he was glad for it.

‘I try to stay outta people’s way ’n mind my own business as much as I can, but they were so loud that there was no way I was getting to sleep with them still around,’ the man continued. ‘I looked over to try to see if it seemed like they were gonna leave any time soon, and that’s when I saw it.’

He paused then, reluctant, like he knew that he was coming to the part of his story where he was used to losing people, but Dean shot the man what he hoped was an encouraging look.

‘What did you see?’ Castiel asked after a few more moments passed in silence. The man’s eyes darted over to Castiel, and he wet his lips, clearly less comfortable interacting with Castiel than he was with Dean. Castiel seemed to notice this as well, because he very subtly leaned back in his seat and slouched a little, subconsciously mimicking the man’s earlier attempt at appearing less conspicuous.

‘I- I saw the man — the scary man — being held up by the scarier man. It was really somethin’ else, because the scary man had to’ve been at least six feet tall and the scarier man was almost half a foot shorter, but he was holding the other guy in place like it was nothing.’ The man visibly shivered at the memory. ‘Meanwhile, there was this angry nightgown lady who kept walking around them, looking like she was having the time of her life. I think maybe she and the scarier man are a couple or something, because at one point she leaned in real close and said something right in his ear and had this huge smile on her face. Next thing you know, the scarier man pulled something from his pocket and held it up to the scary man, and a second later, he and the lady were gone.’

‘Did ya happen to get a look at whatever it was that the, uh- scarier man pulled outta his pocket?’ Dean asked, not at all surprised when the man shook his head.

‘No, sorry,’ he said, and he did actually sound like he meant it. ‘I was pretty far back in the alley, and they were near the street. Plus I was just trying to stay outta sight, cos- well, cos I was worried that someone’d see me around there and think it had somethin’ to do with me.’ He gave a small, wry smile. ‘Didn’t want to end up in jail.’

‘Valid, dude,’ Dean said, then turned to Castiel. ‘You got any further questions, Cas?’ When Castiel shook his head, Dean reached across the table and extended a hand to the man. ‘Well, my partner and I really appreciate you takin’ the time to talk to us today — you gave us some real good information. Your, uh- your country thanks you.’

‘The country could thank me by getting the VA to fix the damn mess they made of my benefits,’ the man replied, a little bitterly, but he shook Dean’s hand anyway. ‘Hope some of this helped, anyway.’

He started to rise from his seat, but Castiel leaned forward and gave him one of those intense-as-hell looks of his, and the man froze.

‘You were in the military?’ Castiel asked evenly. Dean frowned, unsure of where Castiel was going with this, but the man just nodded.

‘Ten years of my life I gave to the damn Army. Two tours in Iraq, one in Afghanistan, then I come home, and that’s when everything goes to hell.’ The man snorted, then shrugged. ‘So goes the song, I guess.’

‘What song?’ Castiel asked, glancing at Dean, who just shook his head, making Castiel huff in annoyance. ‘Well, regardless- take this.’ He reached down into one of the inner pockets of his suit coat from where it was still hanging on his chair, and extracted a pen and what looked like an ordinary business card. He wrote something on the back of the card, then offered it to the man. ‘When you are able, call that number and tell the person who answers that you were instructed to contact them by Agent Franklin. They’ll ask you for the access code, which is 0-6-1-1-2-1 — I’ve written it on the back — and once you’re through, explain your needs. They will accommodate any reasonable request you make.’

The man looked stunned and slightly dubious, but he still pocketed the card with a quiet thanks, then ambled over to the door and knocked to be let out.

Once they were alone again, Dean turned to Castiel and said, ‘Since when did the Wizard give you a heart, Tin Man?’

‘I actually understand that reference,’ Castiel remarked, the faintest hint of pride in his words. ‘But in answer to your question — I have personally always found it appalling, how this country treats its veterans in need.’

‘I ain’t arguin’ with that, Cas, I’m just sayin’ — ‘here, take my card and drop my name’ is a pretty far cry from ‘fuck off, your dyin’ brother ain’t my problem’.’ Dean’s words came out far more harshly than he’d intended. He didn’t know why he was being so confrontational about what had truly been a very kind gesture, but before he could backtrack his way outta that mess, Castiel had already pushed his chair back and stood up in sharp, jerky movements.

‘I am not required to explain myself or my actions to anyone, least of all you.’ Castiel’s words were clipped, and he didn’t so much as glance in Dean’s direction as he shrugged his suit coat back on and stalked towards the door. He rapped his knuckles against it, and when someone outside opened it, he strode purposefully out, not bothering to wait and see if Dean would follow.

Feeling both chagrined and a bit bewildered at how quickly he’d managed to piss Castiel off, Dean hurried after him, finally catching up back at the front desk.

‘Hey, man, I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean anything by it. I know it ain’t my place to- whatever, I just meant- it was a real nice thing to do. I hope whoever you put the guy in touch with can help him.’ Dean’s explanation came rushing out in a rapid, stumbling stream of nonsense, so he could at least try to get it all out before Castiel could cut him off.

His inelegant apology appeared to have the desired effect, however, because Castiel appeared to soften at his words.

‘I hope so as well,’ was all he said, but the tension between them eased, and by the time they were walking out of the precinct, it seemed as though they were back to their usual dynamic of Dean being far too entertained by Castiel, and Castiel appearing both exasperated and intrigued by Dean.

‘So, whaddya think, then, boss?’ Dean asked as they climbed into the Impala and buckled up. ‘I mean- our John Doe didn’t give us anything too specific, but I think we still got some good info, regardless. The thing about the chick in the nightgown and whatever the heck it was the guy had in his pocket — that’s gotta help, right?’

‘Well, it’s certainly more information than we had before interviewing him,’ Castiel allowed, but he didn’t seem too enthused. ‘There are still far more questions than answers, though.’

‘This is true.’ Dean sighed and sat back in his seat for a moment before turning the key and shifting the car into reverse.

They drove for a few moments in silence, Castiel stiff and still as a statue beside him, sitting with perfect book-balanced-on-your-head posture that would have made Eliza Doolittle jealous. Dean, who usually couldn’t sit still to save his life, wasn’t accustomed to having a passenger who was so… refined. Dad sure as hell wouldn’t’ve hog-tied his ass from Omaha to Topeka for fucking with the windows.

The memory sobered him instantly. Dean glared out the windshield, trying to settle himself down and ignore the feel of Castiel’s gaze on him. Thankfully they arrived back at the hotel just a short while later.

A quick glance around the parking lot showed that the Men of Letters’ SUV was still gone. After winning a coin toss that morning, Pamela and Charlie had taken the Range Rover to the hospital, and Kevin had taken an Uber to meet with Max Miller (with no small amount of pouting), so hopefully that meant Dean and Castiel could take a little bit of a breather before everyone else returned. Dean didn’t want to seem ungrateful — he really did appreciate their presence, because as many folks working on saving Sammy as possible couldn’t be viewed as anything other than a win — but he could admit that he was more than a little overwhelmed at working with a whole team of people for an extended period of time. He was used to hunting with just his brother — and occasionally Bobby or Garth — but he’d never really been one for group projects.

(Not to mention, the Men of Letters were intense in every capacity. Everything was a policy or procedure or organised into neat little file folders and entered into Charlie’s gigantic computer thing… it was just a lot, and he kind of needed a minute to just breathe and reset.)

It seemed that maybe Castiel was able to sense this, because once they stepped back inside the hotel lobby, he hesitated for a moment, rather than turning immediately towards the elevators.

‘Do you… require food?’ Castiel asked, blunt as ever. At Dean’s blank look from the non-sequitur, he elaborated, ‘The front desk lady made a point to inform me that the restaurant on the premises has a number of stars that is apparently considered impressive. If you are hungry now, I would not be opposed to treating you to lunch.’

He said all this in his usual unusual way of sounding like an alien lifeform imitating what it thought a human would sound like, and Dean had to try very hard to suppress the fond smile threatening to break free.

It really was ridiculous, this silly little protective streak that this side of Castiel brought out in him, considering the guy was a professional BAMF (like, literally — dude ran a team of some of the most badass folks Dean had ever encountered), and could absolutely kick his ass in a matter of seconds. Still, it was those little moments — the awkward, soft, quiet moments when it was painfully  obvious that Castiel was trying so hard, and yet still just didn’t get how social interactions worked — that made something inside Dean rear up like a pit viper, ready to strike down anyone who might not appreciate the effort.

Dean realised then that he’d been mutely staring at Castiel with a look on his face that likely implied he had gas, rather than answering the simple question asked of him. He let out a weak chuckle, then said, ‘Yeah, man, I could eat, if you’re up for it. I mean- the rest of the team ain’t back yet, so we might as well — unless you wanna take advantage of the alone time in the honeymoon suite, of course.’ He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, hoping his dumbass antics would be enough to save face for the sappy as hell moment he’d just been caught in.

They did. Castiel rolled his eyes and shot Dean another unimpressed look. ‘If you continue to proposition me, I’m going to begin to believe you mean it,’ he warned, though his expression morphed into something more like he was trying to contain a smile of his own. ‘Especially considering how persistent you’ve proven yourself to be.’ Dean laughed out loud and let himself be led over to the hotel’s restaurant.

He could see why it had earned its ‘impressive number of stars’ from the moment they sat down. The place had the same ‘old money’ feel as the rest of the hotel, and a quick glance at the menu showed it was one of those joints that didn’t list the prices, which meant big bucks and small portions. Not to mention, the damn thing was in French.

‘Guess I shoulda friggin’ guessed, considering the damn place is called Des Lux,’ he grumbled in a terrible, overly-exaggerated French accent.

Castiel gave him that soft look again and opened his own menu. ‘I’d be happy to translate anything that is unclear, should you need it,’ he murmured, eyes scanning the menu. ‘This appears to be mostly standard fare, but I suppose giving it a French name makes it seem worth the undoubtedly ostentatious price.’

‘Oh, do you speak French?’ Dean asked innocently, as though he hadn’t been imagining Castiel speaking all the languages after Charlie had made the comment about him knowing every language known to man, or whatever. ‘But, seriously, dude, if this place is too pricey, I’m just as cool with hitting a drive thru. I’ve never met a one dollar burrito I didn’t like.’

‘Tu devrais te laisser gâter de temps en temps, Dean. Croyez-le ou non, vous méritez de bonnes choses,’ Castiel replied, without missing a beat. He paused and then added, ‘Même si tu êtes l'un des hommes les plus exaspérants et les plus intrigants que j'ai jamais rencontrés,’ as an afterthought.

‘Huh,’ Dean managed, while he waited for the rest of his brain to come back online after that unexpected blue screen moment. ‘I understood ‘Dean’, and I think you said ‘meme’ or something. I feel like you’re totally the one of the kid in the carseat with the ‘what the fuck’ look on her face.’

‘And I understood ‘kid’ and ‘carseat’,’ Castiel retorted dryly. ‘It appears that we do speak different languages.’

‘Apparently.’ Dean didn’t bother to keep himself from grinning at that, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile from Castiel in return. ‘Well, since you’re the man of culture here, how’s about you order for me, then? Something with bacon, preferably. No rabbit food.’

Castiel did just that when the server returned. Dean just watched in awe at the conversation the two of them had in rapid, flowing French, shifting slightly in his seat because yep, that was a new kink unlocked, apparently. He froze, feeling like a kid caught sneaking into the house after curfew, when Castiel handed their menus to the waiter and returned his attention to Dean. Castiel smirked.

‘I told them you would like an entirely plant-based meal,’ he informed Dean, expression serious. ‘They have an excellent tofurkey dish with a side of lentils and broccolini.’

Dean glared. ’You’re not funny. Didn’t your momma ever tell you not to get between a man and his meat?’

‘Is that an innuendo?’ Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow, which did exactly nothing to get Dean’s heart rate to settle down.

‘Now whose mind’s in the gutter?’ he grumbled, shifting in place again, mind racing for a distraction. ‘When do you think the rest of the team’ll get back?’

As if on cue, Castiel’s phone lit up from where he’d placed it on the table. Dean couldn’t see the message preview, just that it was Charlie who’d texted. Castiel unlocked his phone, reading whatever Charlie had said with another eye roll, then typing out a quick reply.

‘Charlie and Pamela should be back momentarily and she is ‘a hangry bish’ and would like us to ‘put food in her belly’ before her ‘stomach gnaws through her spine’,’ he informed Dean, not a single trace of irony in his air quotes as he relayed her message. ‘To prevent any unfortunate medical mysteries, I told them to meet us here.’

‘Sounds good, man,’ Dean replied honestly. Even just this short break in the action had done wonders to rejuvenate him, and now that he was feeling a bit less overwhelmed, he found he was eager to hear what the others had discovered.

Pamela and Charlie showed up at the same time as the food (Castiel had managed to summon the waiter back and order… something for them in that hot as hell French of his). Charlie plopped down at the table with an appreciative groan when she saw what had sounded fancy when ordered in French, but looked like good old fashioned burgers as far as Dean was concerned — no lentils or tofu in sight.

‘You’re the most beautiful man in the entire world,’ she informed Castiel, popping a fry into her mouth. ‘Don’t tell my wife.’ Pamela took the seat next to her, shaking her head.

The shocked and completely bewildered look on Castiel’s face made Dean, Pamela, and Charlie laugh for longer than was probably warranted, given that it wasn’t even that funny of a joke, but every time the laughter started to die down, he’d manage to look even more helplessly, hopelessly, lost. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a good time on a hunt.

That thought took the wind right out of his sails. How messed up was it for him to be yukking it up in a fucking five star restaurant, while his brother’s life was still hanging in the balance? He fell silent and took a bite of his burger while the two women caught their breath.

‘Yes, well- onto business, then.’ Castiel cleared his throat and turned his expectant gaze to Charlie and Pamela, now that they were no longer cackling like hyenas.

Pamela began relaying the information she’d managed to glean from the kid, Sierra, and the hospital staff, but it wasn’t really anything different than what the man at the police station had said. Sierra had answered a few of Pamela’s questions verbally, but mostly she’d written or drawn her answers, which Pamela shared with Dean and Castiel.

It turned out that Sierra had also mentioned a ‘pretty lady in a white dress’ who appeared in the middle of the road, which is what had caused the car crash in the first place. Dean looked down at the surprisingly well-drawn picture of a woman with dark brown hair and light brown eyes in what appeared to be a long, white nightgown. For a moment, he wondered if she might be a Woman in White, but the man at the police station had said that she had been with a man, which didn’t fit the Woman in White lore, so he dismissed it.

Sierra had been unbuckling her seatbelt to retrieve a fallen toy at the time of the crash, so she’d been knocked from her seat by the impact and gotten stuck between the minivan’s seats, and that was likely what had saved her from meeting the same fate as her parents. From that vantage point, she hadn’t been able to move or see anything after the crash, and had been too dazed to speak, but she said she had heard two voices — one male and one female, which also tracked with the other man’s story — but unlike their first witness, she’d been able to hear what they’d said.

I want too drink there tears, Sierra had printed inside a speech bubble at the edge of the drawing of herself lodged between the second and third row seating of her parents’ minivan. In the middle row of seats was a man, presumably her grandfather, with X’s for eyes — Dean remembered Kevin saying that he’d died immediately — and in the front were a man and a woman that he assumed were her parents.

Unlike the grandfather, these people had straight horizontal lines for eyes and big O’s for mouths. Even just based off Sierra’s drawing, Dean could tell that the parents’ condition very closely resembled Sammy’s, right down to the spider-like lines Sierra had drawn extending from their mouths, which Dean figured was meant to represent the cracked, dehydrated skin typical for the victims of these attacks.

Frustratingly, but unsurprisingly, Pamela said that the first responders and doctors hadn’t taken Sierra’s claims of seeing or hearing anyone seriously, chalking it up  to trauma and the concussion she’d suffered during the crash. The hospital had been working with social services to locate her next of kin, and had managed to find an aunt in Chicago who was flying in that evening. Remembering how maddening it had been when his own mother had died and Dean’s words had felt like they were being held captive by his shattered heart, he was glad that at least the kid wasn’t going to be alone.

Charlie relayed that she’d reviewed and copied the hospital’s security footage from the time the Fremont family had been admitted until present, but there was nothing of any use. It had been a long shot to begin with, but there was no denying it was still a disappointment when it turned up a dead end. She’d set up some sort of bug to stream the footage back to her computer in the Bunker, but that was about the extent of what they were able to do as far as that avenue of inquiry went.

By now, Dean, Charlie, and Pamela had pretty much finished eating. Castiel left the table to go settle their bill while Dean caught Charlie and Pamela up to speed about what they’d learned from the man at the police station.

(He noticed that Castiel had ordered a salad for himself, but appeared to have done little more than strategically move it around his plate to make it look as though he’d eaten. He debated saying something about it, but then decided that if Castiel was going to those lengths to disguise his lack of an appetite, calling him out in front of everyone was probably the wrong move. He vowed to bring it up later if the situation allowed.)

‘Wait, so you’re saying Castiel gave away one of his precious Golden Tickets to that guy?!’ Charlie asked, stealing one of the few remaining fries from Pamela’s plate and dragging it through the small ketchup pond on her own plate. ‘Dude! When did the Tin Man grow a heart?!’

‘That’s exactly what I said!’ Dean replied, though he felt a pang of unease when remembered how pissed Castiel had gotten after that, so he quickly added, ‘But, I mean, that’s his prerogative, I guess, right? S’up to him who he gives the Men of Letters hookup to?’

‘Oh, that’s not a Men of Letters perk, that one’s a Castiel Special.’ Pamela looked thoughtful, possibly even troubled as she said this. ‘Though I can’t remember the last time he gave one out… The kid in Cleveland, maybe? Last July? His mom got killed by that ghoul and he wasn’t going to be able to afford to go to college?’ She turned to Charlie for confirmation.

‘No, I think he just put that kid in touch with some people he knew at Ohio State,’ Charlie answered, frowning in concentration. ‘I think it was… two Christmases ago, that woman who got kidnapped by the homicidal gods disguised as Ward and June Cleaver?’

‘Right, I forgot about her,’ Pamela agreed, nodding. She returned her attention to Dean. ‘Well, either way — definitely not typical of our fearless leader. I wonder if he was trying to show off or something…’

Her tone implied she didn’t believe this to be the case, but before anyone could say anything else, Castiel came back into view and a hush fell over the table when he reached them. Castiel blinked, obviously and understandably perturbed by the sudden, awkward quiet.

‘Kevin called,’ he said, shoving his hands into his pants pockets and rocking slightly back on his heels after a few more beats of silence. ‘He’s heading over to the movie theatre that Max Miller’s parents bought, because apparently Max called him shortly after Kevin left his house because he remembered something at the theatre that we might find pertinent to the investigation and asked Kevin to meet him there.’

‘Wait, I thought Kevin was pretending to be all Lois Lane, or whatever,’ Dean asked, feeling like he was missing a fairly important part of the story. He glanced at Pamela and Charlie, but they looked as surprised as he felt.

‘Apparently Max is a psychic,’ Castiel said with a shrug, like psychics were something he came across every day. ‘The second Kevin rang his doorbell, Max knew why he was really there, so Kevin just went with it, which I think actually went far to gain Max’s trust. They discussed the case a little, but it sounds like Kevin didn’t learn anything we didn’t already know. He was heading back to the hotel when he received a frantic phone call from Max telling him he’d just remembered something important, and asking him to meet him at the theatre.’

‘Does Kevin have any idea what that might be?’ Pamela still had the contemplative look on her face from earlier, though Dean wasn’t sure if this was because she was still thinking about Castiel’s Get Out of Jail Free card, or the immediate failure of Kevin’s cover story, or the possibility of new evidence.

‘It doesn’t sound like it, no.’ Castiel almost sounded apologetic as he picked his suit coat up from the back of his chair and slipped it back on. ‘The theatre is about half an hour from here, so we should get going. We’ll all go in the SUV — no whining.’  He levelled Dean with a look, as though daring him to complain. Dean fought the urge to stick his tongue out at him like a bratty kid.

‘It’s my turn to drive!’ Charlie announced, snatching the keys from where Pamela had set them on the table. ‘Plus we have to introduce Dean to the phenomenon of car dancing!’

Car dancing was every bit as terrible as Dean had imagined it to be. In fact, it was possibly even worse, since now he was stuffed full of rich, fatty food. He wasn’t sure what he felt worse for — the SUV’s suspension, or his stomach.

‘Until today, I had never been carsick a day in my life,’ he informed Charlie, eyes closed. ‘I didn’t think anyone in the entire world could be a worse driver than my brother, but- you win.’

Another wave of nausea washed over him. He made an absolutely pitiful noise and pressed the window down button, but nothing happened.

‘I believe Pamela enacted some sort of child safety procedure so only the driver can open the windows,’ Castiel commented, pressing his own window button, which also did absolutely nothing.

‘You mean you’re tellin’ me that the big, bad Men of Letters team has to have friggin’ child locks on their windows?’ Dean snorted, but something about that fact did tickle him.

Luckily, it appeared that they had arrived at their destination before the inability to roll down the window became a more pressing concern. Charlie put the SUV into park and Dean climbed out of the vehicle, then leaned against its side and gratefully breathed in the fresh air.

‘Hey, guys!’ Kevin called, climbing out of a blue Toyota Camry. He waved to the driver, then jogged over to where they were all standing. ‘Thanks for meeting me… I don’t know what Max remembered, but it sounded like it was something important.’

‘Do you know if he’s here yet?’ Castiel asked, glancing around the parking lot. There was only one other car, but it was parked near the front, so there was a good chance that it belonged to Max.

‘I haven’t heard anything yet, but he might be inside already,’ Kevin said, leading them towards the front doors of the two-story old-fashioned theatre. He pulled one, then the other, but they were both locked. ‘Huh, maybe I should-’

He was interrupted by a sudden whooshing roar followed by the sound of breaking glass. Dean jumped back as pieces of glass rained down around them, looking up to see what might have caused the commotion once they’d all scrambled out of the danger zone.

Black smoke was billowing out of the shattered second story windows, and a second later they heard a horrible, gut-wrenching, howling scream. Before Dean’s brain could give him any sort of direction, however, twin bursts of flame blasted through the broken windows.

Dean was distantly aware of someone calling his name, felt them tugging him back, away from the building, but it was like it was happening to someone else, because Dean had eyes only for the flames licking upward towards the sky.