FIC: A Mighty Dark Night - Chapter III
Title: A Mighty Dark Night
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word length: ~74,000
Warnings: violence, language and sex
Summary: Detective Dean Winchester meets Homeland Security Agent Castiel James over a corpse.
Chapter III
I've done the down and out in every dark end dive
Dean met Special Agent Anna Milton at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Georgetown a block or two from her place. She had already ordered the first round by the time he found a place to park his Impala for what, he assumed, would be the night.
"Dean," Anna said brusquely when he slid into the booth across from her. She had, of course, chosen the side that gave her a view of the entire bar, leaving Dean with an obscured view of the back hallway.
"Anna," he returned the greeting, and took a long drink from the beer she'd bought him. Amusement danced briefly in her dark blue eyes.
"To what do I owe this honor?" she asked lightly.
"Honor. Yeah right," he mumbled. He placed his glass on the table. The low lighting in the bar couldn't permeate the dark depths of the beer, and the glass sat there between them with all the grace of a brick. "Look, Anna, I want to ask you about somebody, but I don't…"
She let his voice trail off. After a moment she huffed a sigh. "Sometimes I really like it when you dispense with the foreplay, Dean, but sometimes… well. You want to ask me a favor and you don't want to give me one in return. Is that right?"
"Ahhhhh." He ran his finger around the lip of his glass. When Anna chose, they went to places that served beer in glasses. When he chose, it was bottles. Or a can from his fridge before fucking on his couch.
"It's lucky you're such a good lay, Dean, or I'd leave you here," Anna said finally. Dean looked at her then. She met his gaze head-on. Anna had changed since switching government agencies. She was harder now, her brittleness more apparent. But maybe that was just to him. After all, he'd known her when she was still starry-eyed and breathless with the prospect of serving her country. Sometimes, he missed that Anna. He took another draught of his beer.
"Back when you were with Homeland Security," he began. He was watching for it, or he wouldn't have caught the quick flicker of regret in her eyes. "Did you ever work with an agent by the name of Castiel James?"
Anna sat back in her booth. "Castiel. Really? How'd you meet him?"
"Over a corpse."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And what do you want to know about him?"
Dean took a deep breath. "Can I trust him?"
Anna tapped her finger against her glass as she stared at him. Dean met her gaze and waited. "Come on," she said, rising abruptly to her feet and pulling some cash out of her wallet. "Come on," she repeated. "My place. Then we'll talk."
Dean took a final swig of his beer and followed her out into the street.
***
Anna used the minimalist approach to decorating. From his position in the middle of her king-size bed, he could see all the walls of the loft apartment. Two pencil drawings of birds' wings, and one very long painting of an albatross, wings outstretched, were the only decorations. She didn't even have a TV. The bed pretty much made up for that, though.
Anna padded back over to the bed, carrying a glass of water. Dean took a moment to admire the sheen of sweat on her bare skin before she flicked the comforter aside and sat down, leaning against the headboard. Her mussed red hair was virtually the only color in the apartment, and he couldn't look away.
"Castiel," she said, and sighed. "We went through much together, he and I. We worked in the same department, yes, but for you to truly understand, I will have to go back further." She took a sip of her water. "Castiel and I were classmates at Georgetown," she began. "Although at the time, he was studying accounting and I was going to do social work. We met - don't laugh, Dean - at Chess Club." She smiled against the lip of her glass, and he deemed it allowable for him to smile, too. Chess Club?
"He was never a big talker. But we used to plot different strategies, re-enact famous games… I can tell you want to laugh."
Dean leaned further back into the pillows and looked up at her. "Hey, I have Sam for a brother. I have no problem with geeks."
"Hmph." She smiled at him. It was dark in the apartment, the bedside reading lamp providing the only light, and shadows played across her face. Anna had delicate skin and was frequently mistaken for being ten years younger, but as Dean watched her smile slowly fade, he was reminded that she was actually a few years older than him. She looked away from him, focusing on the albatross painting, and the shadows looked like bruises around her eyes. "We kept in touch after graduation, and through grad school. We both got our Masters' in May, and then. 9/11." She paused and Dean debated being supportive by placing a hand on her knee, but then she continued.
"We both joined Homeland Security the moment it was formed. Castiel was working for the government already, something in allocating money for various committees, and I was with the Red Cross before DHS. And then…" her voice trailed off again. Dean waited expectantly and tried not to let his impatience show.
"We were looking into this group based in northern Virginia. We thought they were funding a terrorist cell in Arlington - they were, by the way, and we caught them - but during our investigation, strange things kept happening."
"What sort of things?" Dean asked, raising a brow.
"Information that was securely stored in an encrypted database one night wouldn't be there the next morning. Informants changed their stories. Someone was getting to them. A meeting of the Oversight Committee was called, and we were all investigated. The case was eventually dropped because we caught the cell, and the inconsistencies were written off as DHS growing pains."
"And… what? You think Castiel was sabotaging the case? Because I don't see what you have against him, Anna." Dean scowled at her, then tried to smooth his features when she looked at him.
"He didn't stand by me, Dean." She set her glass of water on the nightstand with a hard thunk. "The investigation was centered on me, because I didn't have the same training as everyone else, I looked at things differently, I wasn't part of the Boys' Club. And Castiel just let them pick me apart. Always did what he was told, the good little soldier. I was his friend. I should have come first!"
Dean laid a soothing hand on her thigh. "Hey. That sucks, Anna, and I'm sorry you had to go through that, okay?" He used his elbow to leverage himself up into a sitting position. "Did you ever suspect him, though?"
She shook off his hand and slid out of the bed. Moonlight and shadows striped her skin as she paced the length of the bed and back. Dean felt a little twinge of desire. Anna had never been shy about nakedness and she moved with an unselfconscious grace. "Castiel lacks the imagination for such a deception," she said. "No, if anyone was actually interfering in the investigation it would have been one of the others. Uriel, Gabe, Raphael. Even Zachariah. Or Mr. Joshua, he was directing the goons from the Oversight Committee."
"Huh. Uriel and Gabe were at… the crime scene where I met Cas." Dean frowned. "Who are the others?"
"Raphael Finnerman. He started at the same level as the rest of us, but he has this combination of charisma and spinning worthless info into dire pronouncements that always made him look good to upper management. He now supervises the others and much of the DC office. Zachariah Adler had that position back then - now he's Number Two for all of DHS." Anna stopped pacing and sat back on the bed, tucking her feet beneath her. She fixed him with a look that Dean remembered from years ago, all wide open eyes and stubborn set of her mouth. "Dean. You can't count on Castiel to watch your back. If you're mixed up in something that goes as high as Zachariah? You'll need my help."
Dean reached out and cupped her cheek. "I don't know anything yet." Except that you have a bone to pick with DHS and it's more personal than I thought. "Thanks for the offer." And if someone with authority told Cas to retrieve a tape from a crime scene, he would do it. For the fucking greater good. "I'll keep you abreast of the situation." He slid his other hand around her small right breast and gave it a slight squeeze. Anna's lips quirked in a tiny smile. Yeah I'm proud of that pun, what of it?
Anna pushed him back into the mattress and straddled his hips. He watched her through heavy lids as her thighs flexed and her back arched. The albatross painting on the far wall gave her wings and the moonlight touched her coppery hair in a halo, but no angel ever made noises like that. Anna was a grunter, not a gasper. No soft mewling sounds, no breathless whispers of his name. And when he reached up to twist a nipple - "You fucking bastard!" she grunted, and leaned down as he shoved up. Her fingernails clawed at his shoulders as she came, and after two more thrusts, he followed after.
Her thumb dug into his neck as he came down from his orgasm. That was the other thing about Anna. She'd watch him very closely at strange moments, a slight wrinkle on her brow as if he was a puzzle she was trying to figure out. It was unnerving. Her eyes watched him now, not with lust, not with love, and he had no idea what to tell her. They weren't lovers, not in the sense that they loved each other; she wouldn't appreciate a casual "I love you" and he wouldn't lie to her. If only she didn't look so damn expectant. He ran his hands over her shoulders, flipping her hair off them to fall down her back, and continued down her arms and hands before dropping them and settling at her waist. He gently lifted her off him. Anna wasn't a cuddler, and Dean could feel her crawling off the bed before he heard the light slap-slap of her feet heading to the bathroom. He was asleep before she got back.
He dreamed of Cas.
It was very hot in the dream. Cas's dark hair was soaked with sweat and a rivulet glistened down his outstretched neck to drop with a sizzle onto the floor. They were in a warehouse, empty but for the two of them, and Dean noticed with a start that he wasn't reacting to the heat at all. Cas's plain white button-down clung to his chest and his dark pants sculpted themselves to his legs. Dean stood there, gaping at him, as he fell to his knees. "Dean!" Cas rasped, and Dean looked around wildly.
"Hold on, Cas, I'll get ice or something!" But the warehouse was completely empty. The walls began to close in, the air grew more stifling, and Cas moaned.
"Dean!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't know how to fix it!" Dean babbled, and then literally wrung his hands. Cas looked up at him through long dark lashes.
"It's your dream. You can fix anything."
"No! I can't!" The ceiling began to fall, too, and Dean crouched on the floor.
"Dean, please," Cas mumbled, and Dean reached out a hand. Cas's skin was slick with sweat and burned the palm of his hand, but Dean brought his other hand up to cup his cheek.
"Is that better?" Dean whispered. Heat radiated from Cas's body, up through his hands, aiming right for his heart. Cas stared up at him, blue eyes wide and unblinking. Dean couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he shifted on the floor anyhow, sitting now, and Cas moved closer until he was practically in Dean's lap.
"Thank you," Cas said softly. His body spasmed suddenly, and Dean moved his arms down to wrap around the other man. "I don't know why it was so hot. I don't know how you weren't affected."
"This is my dream, remember?" Dean smiled. "I can fix anything."
Cas smiled back up at him. Dean could feel Cas's breath on his own face. Their mouths were so close together.
Dean woke with a start. Oh my God, what the fuck was that?! He was rather forcibly reminded of an uncomfortable week fifteen some odd years ago, after his only, very male, friend at the time had tried to kiss him and sent him into a tailspin of sexual identity crisis. He'd worked that out rather spectacularly with the Van Allen sisters, twin blondes prone to fits of giggles. But now his rather unexpected erection was begging for attention. He stubbornly ignored it. Anna was curled into a ball on the far side of the bed. Dean rolled gingerly to the end of the mattress and reached for his phone to check the time. 5:34, and five unread messages from Castiel James. He ignored them, as well. It wasn't too early for a shower. An ice-cold shower.
Dean attempted to rationalize his erotic dream while in a frigid shower, but his body had other ideas. He finally decided he'd have to attend to matters and tried picturing Anna's red hair and pale skin, but Cas's blue eyes kept intruding. He could still feel the heat from the other man's dream body, and it was with the mental images of Cas's lips and hands and eyes that he came with a groan. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
He wanted to slide right down the drain, but a knock roused him. It was from Anna's front door. He'd left his gun on the nightstand. He hastily wrapped a towel around his waist and glanced around the bathroom, looking for a spray can or something. Anna's hair products were all these environmentally-friendly, wouldn't harm a fly shit. He grabbed the plunger instead and yanked open the bathroom door.
Anna and Homeland Security Agent Castiel James, fully dressed complete with that accursed tan trench coat and quizzical expression, turned to stare at him.
"Something you want to tell me about my bathroom, Dean?" Anna asked finally, eyeing the plunger.
"Uh." Dean flushed. His skin tingled from the force of Cas's stare, and he devoutly hoped that the other two would chalk up his red face to being caught near-naked while holding a plunger and not to the fact that he'd just jerked off to a mental image of Cas, while trying to think of Anna. "This is a little awkward. I didn't know who'd be at the door, if you'd need… wait, what are you doing here?" He couldn't look Cas in the eye, but he managed to turn his face towards him.
"I was looking for you," Cas replied. Anna made a noise, and Dean looked back over at her, for the first time noticing that she was wearing his discarded t-shirt from the night before. He wanted to hide her behind him to prevent Cas from picking up on what had happened between them, an utterly ridiculous notion.
"You were looking for Dean? At my apartment? How'd you know he'd be here?" Anna scowled. The t-shirt hung like a muumuu from her slight frame. She left the "You didn't come to see me?" unsaid.
Cas shifted uneasily from foot to foot, but lacked the social graces to blush as he answered. "Technology can be too easily broken or commandeered. I had an informant I use sometimes follow you instead when you didn't return my calls."
Dean scowled. He could feel Anna stiffen beside him. Neither of them had noticed a tail last night. We're the fucking Keystone Kops.
"Well, now that you're here, what was so damn important you had to march up here at the butt crack of dawn?" His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears, and he scowled harder.
"Some information has come to my attention, and I believe you should know it," Cas said calmly. His eyes never left Dean's, and Dean realized with a start that Cas hadn't looked at Anna once since Dean came charging out of the bathroom.
"Then let's hear it." Dean really wanted to cross his arms, but that would look ridiculous with the plunger (and why was he worried that Cas would think he looked ridiculous?). He settled for gripping the plunger at either end, like an axe, avoiding touching the rubber head.
For the first time that morning, Cas looked a little discomfited. "Dean," he said, and stopped. The meaning was clear to all involved: Cas didn't want to say anything in front of Anna. The silence dragged out until it was broken by a tinny version of Ode to Joy.
"My phone," Anna announced. She gave Cas a dark look and deliberately reached out to grab Dean's head and kiss him before hunting for her phone. Dean looked back at the other man. He couldn't quite place the expression on Cas's face - not embarrassment, but maybe jealousy, only Dean couldn't tell who he was jealous of - and Cas quickly smoothed his features. Anna's voice sounded low from the other end of the apartment.
"Looks like you win, Cas," Dean said. "What did you need to tell me?"
Cas took a step closer to him, frowning. "I take no pleasure in interrupting you and Anna. She and I may no longer see eye to eye-"
"Yeah, that's great, Cas, but I don't want to discuss my sex life with you." Especially since I just jerked off to the idea of your hands on my dick and your mouth on my neck, which, believe me, was weirder than a six-headed cow.
"Fair enough," Cas said, inclining his head in a slight nod. "We've heard rumors from… sources… and I believe that Lilith's people are going to try to affect an escape for our three prisoners."
"How?" Dean asked quickly. "Where are you keeping them?"
Cas visibly hesitated and Dean ground his teeth. Loudly. "Dammit, Cas, how do you expect me to do anything about it if I can't reach them?" he hissed.
"You know I can't tell you that!" Cas whispered back.
"Then why tell me at all?! Why drag me into this in the first place if you only give me enough to interest me and then pull the rug out from under me?" He dropped the plunger and crowded Cas back against the door, bringing his arms up on either side of the other man, and he had to take a moment to focus. He was talking about the case here, not Cas himself. He wasn't starring in a fucking soap opera. "And while we're on the subject of trust, you mind telling me about your involvement in the murder of Ronald Reznick?"
Oh, crap. He hadn't meant to let that slip. At least not in this situation, when he was naked and knew so little.
Cas pulled away from him. "You said you stopped trying to hack into those secure files."
"Dude, you covered up a murder."
"And you lied, Detective Winchester." Castiel was staring at him like he was seeing him for the first time, and he didn't like what he saw. Dean shivered. "And that situation was not what it looked like. Why do you think I didn't want you to see it?"
"You should have just told me, Cas," Dean said softly, looking down.
"Why would you believe me?" Cas flicked his eyes over Dean's partially naked body, over the rumpled bed, over Anna in Dean's t-shirt, still muttering into her phone against the back wall. "You've made up your mind. I'm sorry to have bothered you with this." He turned to leave.
Dean's arm shot out to stop him, fingers twisting in the coat. "Cas, wait. You can't just-"
"Yes, Dean, I can." Cas's fingers were cool and dry as he plucked his coat from Dean's grasp. This time, Dean let him go.
He closed the door quietly behind him and looked over at Anna. She raised her eyebrow, but continued her conversation. Dean leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. He had no idea how to help stop the possible prisoner escape and to top it off, he'd let Cas get away without a good explanation, and he was the one feeling guilty.
***
Dean parked his Impala in the Hyattsville Police Department lot two hours later and leaned forward to rest his head against the steering wheel. Tuesday morning. How could it only be Tuesday? He slammed the door when he got out, then paused and laid a hand on the hood of the Impala. "Sorry, sweetheart," he whispered.
Missouri was waiting at his desk when he got in. She was wearing her jacket and an exasperated expression.
"Dean, we need to talk," she said before he could even open his mouth. "You're buying me breakfast," she continued, herding him towards the door, "so chop-chop."
Dean just shrugged and went along with it. There was no arguing with Missouri. It helped that she was always right.
Missouri marched him right past the parking lot and a couple blocks along to the brewery. It didn't open for a few more hours to anyone except Missouri. The owner let them in and disappeared back into the kitchen. Missouri grabbed Dean by the elbow and steered him over to a booth.
"Okay, Dean, first thing you need to know," Missouri started with no preamble, "is Gordon's got himself a fresh homicide on his hands. If you ask me-" she stopped abruptly. "You had sex last night, didn't you?" She sniffed the air over the table. "I can smell her fancy body wash on you."
Dean grimaced. "Uh, can we get back to the dead body?"
"Dean. Was it that Anna girl again?" She gave him a disapproving little glare. "She's an odd one, you know." He raised his brow at her and she pursed her lips. "Don't you give me that look, young man. Fine, you want to know about the homicide?"
"That'd be awesome, yeah." One look at her face had him adding a hurried, "Ma'am."
The owner of the brewery shuffled out of the kitchen carrying two full plates of scrambled eggs, home fries, bacon, toast and syrupy peaches and placed them wordlessly on the table.
"Thank you, Joseph." Missouri gave him her sunniest smile, but he just nodded and slouched away, moving out of earshot behind the bar to restock baskets of pretzels. Dean tucked into his breakfast, suddenly ravenously hungry, as Missouri resumed talking.
"A call came in a little after 1:00 in the morning from a woman on a cell. She said she was outside the West Hyattsville Metro and heard some gunshots." Dean looked up from his plate, and she shook her head. "No, she couldn't recall clearly the number of gunshots, and she also fled the scene. Didn't wait around for a patrol to get there. Anyhow," she paused, licking her lips, and peered into her empty coffee cup. "I don't suppose," she muttered, and Joseph returned to their table as if conjured there by Missouri's desire for coffee that didn't taste like Andy's socks. "Ah, thank you, you dear man," she cooed up at him, flashing her dimple.
"So," she started up when Joseph left them again. "You know that little AME Church across from the metro? When the squad car pulled up - it was Max and Scott-"
Dean snorted, spraying bits of home fries, and Missouri frowned at him and took a sip from her coffee.
"Dean Winchester, you give those boys a chance! Just because they're… different-"
"Is that what we're calling it?" Dean interrupted, swallowing his bite of potato. "Max is a control freak who can't take an order, and Scott's got that whole thing with cats that I don't even want to know about, but hey, everyone's got their quirks."
"Hmph," Missouri sniffed and fiddled with her fork, a tell that Dean recognized. He hid his smile in a bite of fluffy scrambled eggs. Missouri agreed with him. "Anyhow, when they arrived on the scene, the victim was crawling towards the church. She'd been shot three times. Scott tried to help her while Max secured the scene, but the poor girl died right there. And here's the thing, Dean." She leaned across the table and pitched her voice low. "The vic? Was a Homeland Security Agent."
Dean's heart stopped in his chest before flip-flopping and taking up a fast pace as he realized it couldn't possibly be Cas; he wasn't a she and besides, Dean had seen him just a couple hours ago, alive and disappointed in Dean. But still not telling me everything. He cleared his throat harshly.
"Which agent?" he asked.
"An Agent Rachel Steele," Missouri answered. "Was she-?"
"No connection to the Crowley case," Dean said, leaning back in relief and then sitting up straight. "At least as far as I know." He scowled down at the tabletop. "And how does Gordon get jurisdiction in this?"
"Because that Agent Smecher who stole the Crowley homicide from Gordon arrived at the scene and called him straightaway. You need to rethink her connection to the Crowley case, because Smecher certainly seems to think they're related."
"I thought he didn't want any police interference with their precious DHS investigation," he murmured. Oh, his headache was definitely growing. Expanding, taking over the state of Maryland, encroaching on the Capitol right about now. "And wouldn't DHS want to look into the death of their own agent?"
"That's just it, Dean. They found shell casings at the scene. And those shell casings? Were from a DHS-issued gun."
***
Dean dropped Missouri off at her house after picking up the Impala, then sat in her driveway for a moment, his mind reeling. There was too much going on in his head.
Okay, Dean. Start with the facts. His father's voice was deep and calm in his ear. He smiled to himself and pulled a notebook out of his glove compartment, flipped to a blank page and started in on a diagram.
Ronald Reznick ---------- Meg & Ruby --------- Cas
(conspiracy theorist, choked) ----- 1st Death
Crowley ------- Meg, Ruby & Alistair -------- Cas, Gabriel, Uriel
(drug dealer, stabbed) -------- 2nd Death
Rachel --------- unknown ----------- Gabriel - handed off to Gordon
(DHS Agent, shot) -------- 3rd Death
Dean paused and tapped his pencil against his mouth, then started in again.
Circumstantial Evidence
Crowley w/ Lilith @ charity
(Lilith uniting criminal elements ----- re: Cas)
(Lilith = Madam w/ Congressional ties ------- re: Ava Sam friend)
Financial records
(payouts from unknown accounts to Crowley lieutenants ---- supplied by Cas)
DHS
(extra encryption on 3 suspects in Crowley murder - supplied by former DHS???)
(3 suspects to attempt escape TODAY ------- re: Cas ------ WHO TO HELP? TO WHERE?)
(Dead Agent ------- shot w/ DHS gun - stolen? WHY IN PG COUNTY?)
(MOLE --------- Who? How much do they know? Who do they report to? Why?)
He needed more information on the dead DHS Agent. The murdered DHS Agent, on his home turf. He clenched his fingers around his pencil. There was a reason why he preferred Narcotics to Homicide. There was no way he could save a dead woman. Crowley, Ronald, Rachel - they were beyond him now. He should cash in his chips and just focus on stopping the tide of drugs into his jurisdiction. That was his damn job, after all. But what about the mole? his conscience chided him. Would you leave Cas unprotected?
"Cas left and doesn't want my help anymore," he muttered out loud, then winced. And now I'm talking to myself. Awesome.
His radio crackled and hissed, and then Gordon's slow drawl filled the car.
"Winchester."
Dean made a face and picked up the radio. "Gordon."
"Do you have anything to report to me on Crowley?" Static fizzed and screeched for a long minute before Dean could bring himself to answer.
"Report. To you," he said through gritted teeth. "Last I checked, I don't report to you."
"That's right; I doubt no one has bothered with telling you," Gordon said, and Dean could hear his chest puff out over the radio. "I am taking the lead in an investigation into the death of a Homeland Security Agent."
"Good for you, Gordon. Making a tasty meal out of the crumbs Gabriel Smecher gives you, eh?"
Dean could hear the sound of fists slammed onto a desk and files falling to the floor. "You mark my words, Winchester. You keep up this attitude and you'll end the same way as your old man."
Dean's blood boiled in his veins and he gripped the radio tight enough to imprint it on his palm. "I'll take that as a compliment," he hissed. "Now get the fuck off my radio."
Gordon growled at him, but the static went dead. Dean turned the key in the ignition and put the Impala into reverse, his pulse still racing. There was just something about Gordon's smug voice. He peeled out of Missouri's driveway and headed toward the West Hyattsville metro.
The metro station was only a five minute drive from Missouri's, two minutes at the speed he was going, and he parked the Impala in the long-term parking instead of closer to the crime scene. It was still getting worked over, a couple of uniforms standing guard, including Scott Carey.
Officer Carey frowned at him as he walked over from the lot. Dean gave him a version of his charming, I'm-really-only-here-to-help-you-and-eat-pie smile and glanced at the chalk outline. The agent had been shot in the back, falling forward to crawl towards the church, it appeared.
"Morning, Carey! Busy one for you, huh?"
"Um, Detective Winchester…" Carey's voice trailed off. Dean almost felt bad for him, as the desire to be helpful to a detective warred against what were surely Gordon's directives to keep everyone else out. Dean took in the dead woman's blood stains still splashed across Carey's uniform, and had no need to fake the sympathy in his voice.
"I heard you put in a heroic effort here, Officer. You're an honor to our precinct."
Carey stood up a little straighter. "Thank you, sir."
Dean nodded to him, then looked back over at the chalk outline. "Such a shame," he murmured. "Cut down in the line of duty."
"She wasn't on duty," Carey said, then looked stricken.
"Returning to her family, then," Dean supplied smoothly, and Carey couldn't help himself.
"She lived in Alexandria. Old Town."
"Ah." Dean let the silence stretch a moment. No getting to Alexandria from the Green Line. What were you doing here, Rachel?
"Um. Detective Winchester?" Carey finally asked. "How come you're interested? I mean, how come Narcotics is here?"
Dean gave him the look he reserved for addicts considering a plea bargain. "Things aren't always what they seem, Officer."
"Yes, sir." Carey nodded vigorously. "It's just, she was supposed to be transporting prisoners, and I didn't think…"
"Rachel spoke to you?" Dean interrupted. Holy shit! She's hip-deep in the Crowley case. Fuck.
"No, it was that other agent." Gabriel Smecher. Carey looked down and scuffed his feet in the gravel. "Rachel just… she was already… and I couldn't… Jesus, a woman, my girlfriend'd kick my ass for saying it, but somehow her being a woman makes it worse…"
Dean gingerly laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. If Sam were here, Carey'd be sobbing into his shirt and laying out his life story. Still, he hadn't done too badly. "It's part of the job, Carey," Dean said. "It sucks, but now you and Gordon are going to find who did it and bring them to justice. And you'd do that if she was a dude, too." Or something like that.
Carey took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. Dean's eyes wandered over the crime scene. The killer could have easily stayed hidden in the clump of trees across the street from the church, if he knew Rachel was going to come this way, or he could have followed her along the road from the metro. It was impossible to tell if she was being chased. Dean would have to check out the station and, as it looked like Gordon's car pulling up behind Carey, now would be a good time to leave.
"Anyhow, just wanted to drop in and offer my support," Dean lied smoothly. "Keep up the good work." He patted Carey's shoulder once more, a bit awkwardly, and walked quickly away before Gordon could join them.
Dean ignored the sound of Gordon's voice yelling indistinctly behind him as he moved swiftly down the road towards the station. His eyes roamed either side of the street, picking up nothing unusual, as his mind processed the information he'd gleaned from Carey. Rachel was helping with the transport - to who, where? Another agency? And why were they moving them in the first place? Were the prisoners in league with Lilith, or was Crowley?
The whole thing was utterly ridiculous, he decided as he swiped his metro card and headed for the escalator to the train platform. He wasn't Ronald Reznick, to see conspiracy around every corner. But what reason would Rachel have to be all the way out here? He glanced down at his phone out of habit, just in case Ash (or maybe even Cas?) had called. Nothing. His eyes widened. That was exactly it. She was going to a meeting, he'd just been too caught up in Cas's tip about the transfer to focus on the who of the situation instead of the what.
Gordon or Gabriel Smecher would have already grabbed the footage from the West Hyattsville cameras, but Dean doubted they would have checked out the ones from Fort Totten yet, the stop before and a transfer point to the Red Line. There was an off chance Rachel would have transferred there. Dean boarded the next train in the direction of Branch Ave and tried to think of who she would be meeting in PG County. His ears popped as the train dipped deep underground. He gazed unseeing at an ad for the University of Phoenix as a possible, very unwelcome, idea occurred to him.
Crowley had done all of his business out of PG County. It wasn't such a leap to think that one of his lieutenants would do the same. And if Rachel was corrupt, and going to meet this person…
The train rose up out of the tunnel and clattered to a stop at the lower platform of Fort Totten. Dean stepped off the train and pulled out his cell, hitting the speed dial for Cas. It blipped and went to voicemail. Cas's message was stilted and long and endearingly awkward. Dean rolled his eyes and tapped his foot, waiting for it to end.
"Cas! Listen, call me back, okay? Your Agent Rachel Steele - I have some thoughts on her murder. Just call me." He stashed his phone back in his pocket with a growl. Cas better not be blocking his calls just because he was pissed at Dean. This was way too important.
Dean glanced around the platform, packed with commuters running just a little bit late, and noted the camera angles. He ran up the stone steps to the next level, the ground floor. The station manager looked up as he approached the booth, and Dean flashed his charming smile and his badge. Technically, he had no jurisdiction in Fort Totten, as it was directly over the border, but lines could get easily blurred.
"Good morning, ma'am," he greeted her. He peered at her nametag. "Ruby." Damn, another one? Ruby gave him a flat look. He probably shouldn't have gone with the 'ma'am'. "That's a beautiful name." Her overly-made-up eyes narrowed slightly and he hurried to continue. "I'm Detective Dean Winchester, from just over the border. I bet you've heard all about the incident outside West Hyattsville Metro," he said, lowering his voice and leaning in, and she inclined her head, a spark of florescent lighting masquerading as interest in her eyes.
"Terrible tragedy," she said in an inflectionless voice, and made to leave her booth, her bottle-blonde hair whipping behind her. Dean stepped in her path.
"Exactly so. And my colleagues are working with your colleagues, checking out footage from the security cameras, interviewing people, that sort of thing. I was just wondering if you'd let me take a quick look at your footage, just to check a hunch. They'll be by later today with the warrant."
He held his breath, and tried not to look like he was holding his breath.
"Maybe you're not all incompetent buffoons," she said, eyeing him up and down. Dean had to struggle to resist reaching for his gun, but thankfully she turned on her heel and led him through the 'Employees Only' door before he could formulate a scathing retort.
"I already talked to Duane, he was doing the night-shift there last night, and he said the dead woman must have got off the last train, so that got me thinking." She unlocked one more door, revealing a closet-like room and out-of-date security equipment. "I already gathered up the tapes. This one here," and she laid one lacquered nail on the top tape, "shows the platform for the last train in the direction of Greenbelt. Even you should be able to see something."
"How extremely kind of you, Ruby. With helpful citizens like you, it's amazing there's any crime at all." He picked up the tape and glanced around. "Where can I watch this?"
She snatched the tape out of his hands, muttering under her breath, and shoved it into a machine underneath the only blank monitor in the little room. They both leaned towards the screen.
Nothing happened for the first two minutes, except for a low grinding sound, which Dean eventually realized were his teeth. Two girls wearing University of Maryland sweatshirts over their clubbing clothes tripped off the escalator and staggered down the platform, arms linked and mouths open in wide, drunken grins. A little old lady followed thirty seconds later. A group of five boys in their late teens, jeans falling halfway down their asses and boxer shorts spilling out, paused in a clump at the foot of the escalator, yelling up it to a group of three teen girls, their huge earrings registering as sparkles on the security footage. And then-
"There's your damsel in distress," Ruby pointed out. "Duane sent me a pic."
Dean grunted. So much for a secure crime scene. On the screen, Rachel hesitated after walking slowly down the stone steps, eschewing the escalator. Dean frowned. The escalator blocked the view of the steps from two-thirds of the platform. The camera only showed one angle. Rachel's face ducked back out of camera view. Dean swore under his breath.
"The train shows up in twenty seconds," Ruby whispered. Dean watched as it arrived at the station and slowed, the doors snapping open. Dean's eyeballs were practically glued to the screen. At the last second, Rachel ran forward and climbed aboard. And ducking into the metro car behind Rachel's was a tall, bulky figure in a sport coat.
Dean's sense of relief was palpable. He hadn't even realized he'd been so afraid - No, anxious. Or, better yet, annoyed. - that he'd see a long trench coat following Rachel. The figure on the screen could very easily have belonged to Uriel Inger, but no way could it be Castiel James. Or Gabriel Smecher, for that matter.
Ruby was staring at his face. "Well, Kojak?"
"Thank you very much for your assistance," he said in his best official voice. "A detective Gordon should be calling you for those tapes - best to let him think he was the first to contact you. Make him feel competent."
She nodded, a slight smirk on her lips, and moved aside to let him slip past her. He hurried out through the back office and out into the station, pulling out his phone.
"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath as he waited for it to connect. It blipped once, then Cas's voicemail came on again. "Dammit!" he swore. A harried-looking mom pulling her kids behind her gave him a nasty look, and he scowled back. She picked up her pace, hustling her kids away from the crazy angry dude.
Dean reached into his coat pocket, fumbling until he found Cas's business card. He stared at the card for a long moment. There was no help for it; he'd have to call his office number. And try for subtlety. He grimaced, and punched in the number.
"Detective Dean Winchester," Uriel's rumbling bass sounded in his ear, and he temporarily froze. "What is your business calling this number?"
"Agent Uriel Inger," he replied. "Just hoping to hear your melodious voice."
"On Castiel's phone?" Uriel chuckled. "I don't think so, Winchester."
"Oh, is this Castiel's number? I thought you all shared one line over there. You know, DHS, one big happy family, friendship bracelets and all that jazz." God, he really needed to learn how to censor himself.
"I have no idea why he likes you so much," Uriel grumbled into the phone, and Dean's pulse quickened, much to his annoyance. "You'll have to find another way to talk to your dear Castiel."
"He's not there?" Dean interjected.
"No, Winchester, I'm looking right at him, but he wrote me a note saying he didn't want to talk to his boyfriend anymore, and could I cover for him," Uriel snapped. "Of course he's not here. He's out doing his job. As you should be."
The line went dead before Dean could retort with a clever comeback. "Yeah, well, you're a murdering, double-crossing mole and I'm on to you, freak," he muttered anyhow. It felt good.
His phone vibrated in his hand, and his heart lightened to see 'CAS' in the display. "Where the hell have you been?" he greeted him.
"What?" There was a lot of background noise coming from Cas's phone, competing with the overhead rumble of a train on Dean's end.
"Never mind. Look I found out some stuff about Rachel-" Dean started at the same time Cas said, "You shouldn't be calling me; they'll be able to find you."
"Who's looking for me?" Dean asked.
"Lilith's people, I think. Wait, how much do you know about Rachel?" Cas asked.
"Lilith's people? I'm getting nowhere with that case! It's your mole I've found!" Dean protested. There was a pause from the other end.
"Dean. Keep your voice down," Cas whispered and Dean's knees stiffened.
"It's a fucking phone, Cas. I'm not yelling it to you across the city."
"You may as well be." There was a lot of ruffling on the other end, and Dean frowned. Where the hell was he? "I was supposed to meet an informant this morning, and she never showed. I believe I've been compromised."
"Jesus, Cas! Where are you? I'll come get you." Dean started pacing. Should he go back to the West Hyattsville Metro and get his car, risking a run-in with Gordon, or hop on a train, placing his bets on the questionable efficiency of the public transportation system?
"No! They probably already know where you are." Static crackled and ate some words. "-it's just a mole on my side anymore." Fuzzzzz. "-trust your fellow cops? Rachel's death - there are too many inconsistencies."
"Well, fuck, Cas, that's a cheery thought." His eyes roamed the station. He didn't recognize anyone. But if there was a mole in his department, too, his money was on Gordon, the fucking prick. Or Walt and Roy, now they were a couple of douches. At any rate, they weren't there. There were a handful of people at SmartCard stations, adding money to their metro cards, and a couple of tourists gazing slack-jawed at the metro map, but the bulk of the commuters had moved on. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. "Where are you? Look, man, I don't even care about the Reznick thing anymore." Well, mostly. Partly. You can explain it later, "I just want to get you safe-"
There was a muffled thump, followed by a slapping sound, then Cas's breathless voice came back on the line, "No time, Dean! They've found me, and they'll be after you!"
"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Dean hissed loudly, panic rising. Static wreaked havoc with the connection. Dean thought he heard a moan. That does it. Fuck caution. "Cas! Cas, stay away from Uriel! Don't trust Uriel!"
Dean heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting hard-packed earth, and then Cas's rasp, intercut with static, "Dean…button…pond…"
The line went dead.
Well dying young I have survived
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word length: ~74,000
Warnings: violence, language and sex
Summary: Detective Dean Winchester meets Homeland Security Agent Castiel James over a corpse.
Chapter III
I've done the down and out in every dark end dive
Dean met Special Agent Anna Milton at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Georgetown a block or two from her place. She had already ordered the first round by the time he found a place to park his Impala for what, he assumed, would be the night.
"Dean," Anna said brusquely when he slid into the booth across from her. She had, of course, chosen the side that gave her a view of the entire bar, leaving Dean with an obscured view of the back hallway.
"Anna," he returned the greeting, and took a long drink from the beer she'd bought him. Amusement danced briefly in her dark blue eyes.
"To what do I owe this honor?" she asked lightly.
"Honor. Yeah right," he mumbled. He placed his glass on the table. The low lighting in the bar couldn't permeate the dark depths of the beer, and the glass sat there between them with all the grace of a brick. "Look, Anna, I want to ask you about somebody, but I don't…"
She let his voice trail off. After a moment she huffed a sigh. "Sometimes I really like it when you dispense with the foreplay, Dean, but sometimes… well. You want to ask me a favor and you don't want to give me one in return. Is that right?"
"Ahhhhh." He ran his finger around the lip of his glass. When Anna chose, they went to places that served beer in glasses. When he chose, it was bottles. Or a can from his fridge before fucking on his couch.
"It's lucky you're such a good lay, Dean, or I'd leave you here," Anna said finally. Dean looked at her then. She met his gaze head-on. Anna had changed since switching government agencies. She was harder now, her brittleness more apparent. But maybe that was just to him. After all, he'd known her when she was still starry-eyed and breathless with the prospect of serving her country. Sometimes, he missed that Anna. He took another draught of his beer.
"Back when you were with Homeland Security," he began. He was watching for it, or he wouldn't have caught the quick flicker of regret in her eyes. "Did you ever work with an agent by the name of Castiel James?"
Anna sat back in her booth. "Castiel. Really? How'd you meet him?"
"Over a corpse."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And what do you want to know about him?"
Dean took a deep breath. "Can I trust him?"
Anna tapped her finger against her glass as she stared at him. Dean met her gaze and waited. "Come on," she said, rising abruptly to her feet and pulling some cash out of her wallet. "Come on," she repeated. "My place. Then we'll talk."
Dean took a final swig of his beer and followed her out into the street.
***
Anna used the minimalist approach to decorating. From his position in the middle of her king-size bed, he could see all the walls of the loft apartment. Two pencil drawings of birds' wings, and one very long painting of an albatross, wings outstretched, were the only decorations. She didn't even have a TV. The bed pretty much made up for that, though.
Anna padded back over to the bed, carrying a glass of water. Dean took a moment to admire the sheen of sweat on her bare skin before she flicked the comforter aside and sat down, leaning against the headboard. Her mussed red hair was virtually the only color in the apartment, and he couldn't look away.
"Castiel," she said, and sighed. "We went through much together, he and I. We worked in the same department, yes, but for you to truly understand, I will have to go back further." She took a sip of her water. "Castiel and I were classmates at Georgetown," she began. "Although at the time, he was studying accounting and I was going to do social work. We met - don't laugh, Dean - at Chess Club." She smiled against the lip of her glass, and he deemed it allowable for him to smile, too. Chess Club?
"He was never a big talker. But we used to plot different strategies, re-enact famous games… I can tell you want to laugh."
Dean leaned further back into the pillows and looked up at her. "Hey, I have Sam for a brother. I have no problem with geeks."
"Hmph." She smiled at him. It was dark in the apartment, the bedside reading lamp providing the only light, and shadows played across her face. Anna had delicate skin and was frequently mistaken for being ten years younger, but as Dean watched her smile slowly fade, he was reminded that she was actually a few years older than him. She looked away from him, focusing on the albatross painting, and the shadows looked like bruises around her eyes. "We kept in touch after graduation, and through grad school. We both got our Masters' in May, and then. 9/11." She paused and Dean debated being supportive by placing a hand on her knee, but then she continued.
"We both joined Homeland Security the moment it was formed. Castiel was working for the government already, something in allocating money for various committees, and I was with the Red Cross before DHS. And then…" her voice trailed off again. Dean waited expectantly and tried not to let his impatience show.
"We were looking into this group based in northern Virginia. We thought they were funding a terrorist cell in Arlington - they were, by the way, and we caught them - but during our investigation, strange things kept happening."
"What sort of things?" Dean asked, raising a brow.
"Information that was securely stored in an encrypted database one night wouldn't be there the next morning. Informants changed their stories. Someone was getting to them. A meeting of the Oversight Committee was called, and we were all investigated. The case was eventually dropped because we caught the cell, and the inconsistencies were written off as DHS growing pains."
"And… what? You think Castiel was sabotaging the case? Because I don't see what you have against him, Anna." Dean scowled at her, then tried to smooth his features when she looked at him.
"He didn't stand by me, Dean." She set her glass of water on the nightstand with a hard thunk. "The investigation was centered on me, because I didn't have the same training as everyone else, I looked at things differently, I wasn't part of the Boys' Club. And Castiel just let them pick me apart. Always did what he was told, the good little soldier. I was his friend. I should have come first!"
Dean laid a soothing hand on her thigh. "Hey. That sucks, Anna, and I'm sorry you had to go through that, okay?" He used his elbow to leverage himself up into a sitting position. "Did you ever suspect him, though?"
She shook off his hand and slid out of the bed. Moonlight and shadows striped her skin as she paced the length of the bed and back. Dean felt a little twinge of desire. Anna had never been shy about nakedness and she moved with an unselfconscious grace. "Castiel lacks the imagination for such a deception," she said. "No, if anyone was actually interfering in the investigation it would have been one of the others. Uriel, Gabe, Raphael. Even Zachariah. Or Mr. Joshua, he was directing the goons from the Oversight Committee."
"Huh. Uriel and Gabe were at… the crime scene where I met Cas." Dean frowned. "Who are the others?"
"Raphael Finnerman. He started at the same level as the rest of us, but he has this combination of charisma and spinning worthless info into dire pronouncements that always made him look good to upper management. He now supervises the others and much of the DC office. Zachariah Adler had that position back then - now he's Number Two for all of DHS." Anna stopped pacing and sat back on the bed, tucking her feet beneath her. She fixed him with a look that Dean remembered from years ago, all wide open eyes and stubborn set of her mouth. "Dean. You can't count on Castiel to watch your back. If you're mixed up in something that goes as high as Zachariah? You'll need my help."
Dean reached out and cupped her cheek. "I don't know anything yet." Except that you have a bone to pick with DHS and it's more personal than I thought. "Thanks for the offer." And if someone with authority told Cas to retrieve a tape from a crime scene, he would do it. For the fucking greater good. "I'll keep you abreast of the situation." He slid his other hand around her small right breast and gave it a slight squeeze. Anna's lips quirked in a tiny smile. Yeah I'm proud of that pun, what of it?
Anna pushed him back into the mattress and straddled his hips. He watched her through heavy lids as her thighs flexed and her back arched. The albatross painting on the far wall gave her wings and the moonlight touched her coppery hair in a halo, but no angel ever made noises like that. Anna was a grunter, not a gasper. No soft mewling sounds, no breathless whispers of his name. And when he reached up to twist a nipple - "You fucking bastard!" she grunted, and leaned down as he shoved up. Her fingernails clawed at his shoulders as she came, and after two more thrusts, he followed after.
Her thumb dug into his neck as he came down from his orgasm. That was the other thing about Anna. She'd watch him very closely at strange moments, a slight wrinkle on her brow as if he was a puzzle she was trying to figure out. It was unnerving. Her eyes watched him now, not with lust, not with love, and he had no idea what to tell her. They weren't lovers, not in the sense that they loved each other; she wouldn't appreciate a casual "I love you" and he wouldn't lie to her. If only she didn't look so damn expectant. He ran his hands over her shoulders, flipping her hair off them to fall down her back, and continued down her arms and hands before dropping them and settling at her waist. He gently lifted her off him. Anna wasn't a cuddler, and Dean could feel her crawling off the bed before he heard the light slap-slap of her feet heading to the bathroom. He was asleep before she got back.
He dreamed of Cas.
It was very hot in the dream. Cas's dark hair was soaked with sweat and a rivulet glistened down his outstretched neck to drop with a sizzle onto the floor. They were in a warehouse, empty but for the two of them, and Dean noticed with a start that he wasn't reacting to the heat at all. Cas's plain white button-down clung to his chest and his dark pants sculpted themselves to his legs. Dean stood there, gaping at him, as he fell to his knees. "Dean!" Cas rasped, and Dean looked around wildly.
"Hold on, Cas, I'll get ice or something!" But the warehouse was completely empty. The walls began to close in, the air grew more stifling, and Cas moaned.
"Dean!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I don't know how to fix it!" Dean babbled, and then literally wrung his hands. Cas looked up at him through long dark lashes.
"It's your dream. You can fix anything."
"No! I can't!" The ceiling began to fall, too, and Dean crouched on the floor.
"Dean, please," Cas mumbled, and Dean reached out a hand. Cas's skin was slick with sweat and burned the palm of his hand, but Dean brought his other hand up to cup his cheek.
"Is that better?" Dean whispered. Heat radiated from Cas's body, up through his hands, aiming right for his heart. Cas stared up at him, blue eyes wide and unblinking. Dean couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he shifted on the floor anyhow, sitting now, and Cas moved closer until he was practically in Dean's lap.
"Thank you," Cas said softly. His body spasmed suddenly, and Dean moved his arms down to wrap around the other man. "I don't know why it was so hot. I don't know how you weren't affected."
"This is my dream, remember?" Dean smiled. "I can fix anything."
Cas smiled back up at him. Dean could feel Cas's breath on his own face. Their mouths were so close together.
Dean woke with a start. Oh my God, what the fuck was that?! He was rather forcibly reminded of an uncomfortable week fifteen some odd years ago, after his only, very male, friend at the time had tried to kiss him and sent him into a tailspin of sexual identity crisis. He'd worked that out rather spectacularly with the Van Allen sisters, twin blondes prone to fits of giggles. But now his rather unexpected erection was begging for attention. He stubbornly ignored it. Anna was curled into a ball on the far side of the bed. Dean rolled gingerly to the end of the mattress and reached for his phone to check the time. 5:34, and five unread messages from Castiel James. He ignored them, as well. It wasn't too early for a shower. An ice-cold shower.
Dean attempted to rationalize his erotic dream while in a frigid shower, but his body had other ideas. He finally decided he'd have to attend to matters and tried picturing Anna's red hair and pale skin, but Cas's blue eyes kept intruding. He could still feel the heat from the other man's dream body, and it was with the mental images of Cas's lips and hands and eyes that he came with a groan. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
He wanted to slide right down the drain, but a knock roused him. It was from Anna's front door. He'd left his gun on the nightstand. He hastily wrapped a towel around his waist and glanced around the bathroom, looking for a spray can or something. Anna's hair products were all these environmentally-friendly, wouldn't harm a fly shit. He grabbed the plunger instead and yanked open the bathroom door.
Anna and Homeland Security Agent Castiel James, fully dressed complete with that accursed tan trench coat and quizzical expression, turned to stare at him.
"Something you want to tell me about my bathroom, Dean?" Anna asked finally, eyeing the plunger.
"Uh." Dean flushed. His skin tingled from the force of Cas's stare, and he devoutly hoped that the other two would chalk up his red face to being caught near-naked while holding a plunger and not to the fact that he'd just jerked off to a mental image of Cas, while trying to think of Anna. "This is a little awkward. I didn't know who'd be at the door, if you'd need… wait, what are you doing here?" He couldn't look Cas in the eye, but he managed to turn his face towards him.
"I was looking for you," Cas replied. Anna made a noise, and Dean looked back over at her, for the first time noticing that she was wearing his discarded t-shirt from the night before. He wanted to hide her behind him to prevent Cas from picking up on what had happened between them, an utterly ridiculous notion.
"You were looking for Dean? At my apartment? How'd you know he'd be here?" Anna scowled. The t-shirt hung like a muumuu from her slight frame. She left the "You didn't come to see me?" unsaid.
Cas shifted uneasily from foot to foot, but lacked the social graces to blush as he answered. "Technology can be too easily broken or commandeered. I had an informant I use sometimes follow you instead when you didn't return my calls."
Dean scowled. He could feel Anna stiffen beside him. Neither of them had noticed a tail last night. We're the fucking Keystone Kops.
"Well, now that you're here, what was so damn important you had to march up here at the butt crack of dawn?" His voice sounded harsh even to his own ears, and he scowled harder.
"Some information has come to my attention, and I believe you should know it," Cas said calmly. His eyes never left Dean's, and Dean realized with a start that Cas hadn't looked at Anna once since Dean came charging out of the bathroom.
"Then let's hear it." Dean really wanted to cross his arms, but that would look ridiculous with the plunger (and why was he worried that Cas would think he looked ridiculous?). He settled for gripping the plunger at either end, like an axe, avoiding touching the rubber head.
For the first time that morning, Cas looked a little discomfited. "Dean," he said, and stopped. The meaning was clear to all involved: Cas didn't want to say anything in front of Anna. The silence dragged out until it was broken by a tinny version of Ode to Joy.
"My phone," Anna announced. She gave Cas a dark look and deliberately reached out to grab Dean's head and kiss him before hunting for her phone. Dean looked back at the other man. He couldn't quite place the expression on Cas's face - not embarrassment, but maybe jealousy, only Dean couldn't tell who he was jealous of - and Cas quickly smoothed his features. Anna's voice sounded low from the other end of the apartment.
"Looks like you win, Cas," Dean said. "What did you need to tell me?"
Cas took a step closer to him, frowning. "I take no pleasure in interrupting you and Anna. She and I may no longer see eye to eye-"
"Yeah, that's great, Cas, but I don't want to discuss my sex life with you." Especially since I just jerked off to the idea of your hands on my dick and your mouth on my neck, which, believe me, was weirder than a six-headed cow.
"Fair enough," Cas said, inclining his head in a slight nod. "We've heard rumors from… sources… and I believe that Lilith's people are going to try to affect an escape for our three prisoners."
"How?" Dean asked quickly. "Where are you keeping them?"
Cas visibly hesitated and Dean ground his teeth. Loudly. "Dammit, Cas, how do you expect me to do anything about it if I can't reach them?" he hissed.
"You know I can't tell you that!" Cas whispered back.
"Then why tell me at all?! Why drag me into this in the first place if you only give me enough to interest me and then pull the rug out from under me?" He dropped the plunger and crowded Cas back against the door, bringing his arms up on either side of the other man, and he had to take a moment to focus. He was talking about the case here, not Cas himself. He wasn't starring in a fucking soap opera. "And while we're on the subject of trust, you mind telling me about your involvement in the murder of Ronald Reznick?"
Oh, crap. He hadn't meant to let that slip. At least not in this situation, when he was naked and knew so little.
Cas pulled away from him. "You said you stopped trying to hack into those secure files."
"Dude, you covered up a murder."
"And you lied, Detective Winchester." Castiel was staring at him like he was seeing him for the first time, and he didn't like what he saw. Dean shivered. "And that situation was not what it looked like. Why do you think I didn't want you to see it?"
"You should have just told me, Cas," Dean said softly, looking down.
"Why would you believe me?" Cas flicked his eyes over Dean's partially naked body, over the rumpled bed, over Anna in Dean's t-shirt, still muttering into her phone against the back wall. "You've made up your mind. I'm sorry to have bothered you with this." He turned to leave.
Dean's arm shot out to stop him, fingers twisting in the coat. "Cas, wait. You can't just-"
"Yes, Dean, I can." Cas's fingers were cool and dry as he plucked his coat from Dean's grasp. This time, Dean let him go.
He closed the door quietly behind him and looked over at Anna. She raised her eyebrow, but continued her conversation. Dean leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. He had no idea how to help stop the possible prisoner escape and to top it off, he'd let Cas get away without a good explanation, and he was the one feeling guilty.
***
Dean parked his Impala in the Hyattsville Police Department lot two hours later and leaned forward to rest his head against the steering wheel. Tuesday morning. How could it only be Tuesday? He slammed the door when he got out, then paused and laid a hand on the hood of the Impala. "Sorry, sweetheart," he whispered.
Missouri was waiting at his desk when he got in. She was wearing her jacket and an exasperated expression.
"Dean, we need to talk," she said before he could even open his mouth. "You're buying me breakfast," she continued, herding him towards the door, "so chop-chop."
Dean just shrugged and went along with it. There was no arguing with Missouri. It helped that she was always right.
Missouri marched him right past the parking lot and a couple blocks along to the brewery. It didn't open for a few more hours to anyone except Missouri. The owner let them in and disappeared back into the kitchen. Missouri grabbed Dean by the elbow and steered him over to a booth.
"Okay, Dean, first thing you need to know," Missouri started with no preamble, "is Gordon's got himself a fresh homicide on his hands. If you ask me-" she stopped abruptly. "You had sex last night, didn't you?" She sniffed the air over the table. "I can smell her fancy body wash on you."
Dean grimaced. "Uh, can we get back to the dead body?"
"Dean. Was it that Anna girl again?" She gave him a disapproving little glare. "She's an odd one, you know." He raised his brow at her and she pursed her lips. "Don't you give me that look, young man. Fine, you want to know about the homicide?"
"That'd be awesome, yeah." One look at her face had him adding a hurried, "Ma'am."
The owner of the brewery shuffled out of the kitchen carrying two full plates of scrambled eggs, home fries, bacon, toast and syrupy peaches and placed them wordlessly on the table.
"Thank you, Joseph." Missouri gave him her sunniest smile, but he just nodded and slouched away, moving out of earshot behind the bar to restock baskets of pretzels. Dean tucked into his breakfast, suddenly ravenously hungry, as Missouri resumed talking.
"A call came in a little after 1:00 in the morning from a woman on a cell. She said she was outside the West Hyattsville Metro and heard some gunshots." Dean looked up from his plate, and she shook her head. "No, she couldn't recall clearly the number of gunshots, and she also fled the scene. Didn't wait around for a patrol to get there. Anyhow," she paused, licking her lips, and peered into her empty coffee cup. "I don't suppose," she muttered, and Joseph returned to their table as if conjured there by Missouri's desire for coffee that didn't taste like Andy's socks. "Ah, thank you, you dear man," she cooed up at him, flashing her dimple.
"So," she started up when Joseph left them again. "You know that little AME Church across from the metro? When the squad car pulled up - it was Max and Scott-"
Dean snorted, spraying bits of home fries, and Missouri frowned at him and took a sip from her coffee.
"Dean Winchester, you give those boys a chance! Just because they're… different-"
"Is that what we're calling it?" Dean interrupted, swallowing his bite of potato. "Max is a control freak who can't take an order, and Scott's got that whole thing with cats that I don't even want to know about, but hey, everyone's got their quirks."
"Hmph," Missouri sniffed and fiddled with her fork, a tell that Dean recognized. He hid his smile in a bite of fluffy scrambled eggs. Missouri agreed with him. "Anyhow, when they arrived on the scene, the victim was crawling towards the church. She'd been shot three times. Scott tried to help her while Max secured the scene, but the poor girl died right there. And here's the thing, Dean." She leaned across the table and pitched her voice low. "The vic? Was a Homeland Security Agent."
Dean's heart stopped in his chest before flip-flopping and taking up a fast pace as he realized it couldn't possibly be Cas; he wasn't a she and besides, Dean had seen him just a couple hours ago, alive and disappointed in Dean. But still not telling me everything. He cleared his throat harshly.
"Which agent?" he asked.
"An Agent Rachel Steele," Missouri answered. "Was she-?"
"No connection to the Crowley case," Dean said, leaning back in relief and then sitting up straight. "At least as far as I know." He scowled down at the tabletop. "And how does Gordon get jurisdiction in this?"
"Because that Agent Smecher who stole the Crowley homicide from Gordon arrived at the scene and called him straightaway. You need to rethink her connection to the Crowley case, because Smecher certainly seems to think they're related."
"I thought he didn't want any police interference with their precious DHS investigation," he murmured. Oh, his headache was definitely growing. Expanding, taking over the state of Maryland, encroaching on the Capitol right about now. "And wouldn't DHS want to look into the death of their own agent?"
"That's just it, Dean. They found shell casings at the scene. And those shell casings? Were from a DHS-issued gun."
***
Dean dropped Missouri off at her house after picking up the Impala, then sat in her driveway for a moment, his mind reeling. There was too much going on in his head.
Okay, Dean. Start with the facts. His father's voice was deep and calm in his ear. He smiled to himself and pulled a notebook out of his glove compartment, flipped to a blank page and started in on a diagram.
Ronald Reznick ---------- Meg & Ruby --------- Cas
(conspiracy theorist, choked) ----- 1st Death
Crowley ------- Meg, Ruby & Alistair -------- Cas, Gabriel, Uriel
(drug dealer, stabbed) -------- 2nd Death
Rachel --------- unknown ----------- Gabriel - handed off to Gordon
(DHS Agent, shot) -------- 3rd Death
Dean paused and tapped his pencil against his mouth, then started in again.
Circumstantial Evidence
Crowley w/ Lilith @ charity
(Lilith uniting criminal elements ----- re: Cas)
(Lilith = Madam w/ Congressional ties ------- re: Ava Sam friend)
Financial records
(payouts from unknown accounts to Crowley lieutenants ---- supplied by Cas)
DHS
(extra encryption on 3 suspects in Crowley murder - supplied by former DHS???)
(3 suspects to attempt escape TODAY ------- re: Cas ------ WHO TO HELP? TO WHERE?)
(Dead Agent ------- shot w/ DHS gun - stolen? WHY IN PG COUNTY?)
(MOLE --------- Who? How much do they know? Who do they report to? Why?)
He needed more information on the dead DHS Agent. The murdered DHS Agent, on his home turf. He clenched his fingers around his pencil. There was a reason why he preferred Narcotics to Homicide. There was no way he could save a dead woman. Crowley, Ronald, Rachel - they were beyond him now. He should cash in his chips and just focus on stopping the tide of drugs into his jurisdiction. That was his damn job, after all. But what about the mole? his conscience chided him. Would you leave Cas unprotected?
"Cas left and doesn't want my help anymore," he muttered out loud, then winced. And now I'm talking to myself. Awesome.
His radio crackled and hissed, and then Gordon's slow drawl filled the car.
"Winchester."
Dean made a face and picked up the radio. "Gordon."
"Do you have anything to report to me on Crowley?" Static fizzed and screeched for a long minute before Dean could bring himself to answer.
"Report. To you," he said through gritted teeth. "Last I checked, I don't report to you."
"That's right; I doubt no one has bothered with telling you," Gordon said, and Dean could hear his chest puff out over the radio. "I am taking the lead in an investigation into the death of a Homeland Security Agent."
"Good for you, Gordon. Making a tasty meal out of the crumbs Gabriel Smecher gives you, eh?"
Dean could hear the sound of fists slammed onto a desk and files falling to the floor. "You mark my words, Winchester. You keep up this attitude and you'll end the same way as your old man."
Dean's blood boiled in his veins and he gripped the radio tight enough to imprint it on his palm. "I'll take that as a compliment," he hissed. "Now get the fuck off my radio."
Gordon growled at him, but the static went dead. Dean turned the key in the ignition and put the Impala into reverse, his pulse still racing. There was just something about Gordon's smug voice. He peeled out of Missouri's driveway and headed toward the West Hyattsville metro.
The metro station was only a five minute drive from Missouri's, two minutes at the speed he was going, and he parked the Impala in the long-term parking instead of closer to the crime scene. It was still getting worked over, a couple of uniforms standing guard, including Scott Carey.
Officer Carey frowned at him as he walked over from the lot. Dean gave him a version of his charming, I'm-really-only-here-to-help-you-and-eat-pie smile and glanced at the chalk outline. The agent had been shot in the back, falling forward to crawl towards the church, it appeared.
"Morning, Carey! Busy one for you, huh?"
"Um, Detective Winchester…" Carey's voice trailed off. Dean almost felt bad for him, as the desire to be helpful to a detective warred against what were surely Gordon's directives to keep everyone else out. Dean took in the dead woman's blood stains still splashed across Carey's uniform, and had no need to fake the sympathy in his voice.
"I heard you put in a heroic effort here, Officer. You're an honor to our precinct."
Carey stood up a little straighter. "Thank you, sir."
Dean nodded to him, then looked back over at the chalk outline. "Such a shame," he murmured. "Cut down in the line of duty."
"She wasn't on duty," Carey said, then looked stricken.
"Returning to her family, then," Dean supplied smoothly, and Carey couldn't help himself.
"She lived in Alexandria. Old Town."
"Ah." Dean let the silence stretch a moment. No getting to Alexandria from the Green Line. What were you doing here, Rachel?
"Um. Detective Winchester?" Carey finally asked. "How come you're interested? I mean, how come Narcotics is here?"
Dean gave him the look he reserved for addicts considering a plea bargain. "Things aren't always what they seem, Officer."
"Yes, sir." Carey nodded vigorously. "It's just, she was supposed to be transporting prisoners, and I didn't think…"
"Rachel spoke to you?" Dean interrupted. Holy shit! She's hip-deep in the Crowley case. Fuck.
"No, it was that other agent." Gabriel Smecher. Carey looked down and scuffed his feet in the gravel. "Rachel just… she was already… and I couldn't… Jesus, a woman, my girlfriend'd kick my ass for saying it, but somehow her being a woman makes it worse…"
Dean gingerly laid a hand on the other man's shoulder. If Sam were here, Carey'd be sobbing into his shirt and laying out his life story. Still, he hadn't done too badly. "It's part of the job, Carey," Dean said. "It sucks, but now you and Gordon are going to find who did it and bring them to justice. And you'd do that if she was a dude, too." Or something like that.
Carey took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. Dean's eyes wandered over the crime scene. The killer could have easily stayed hidden in the clump of trees across the street from the church, if he knew Rachel was going to come this way, or he could have followed her along the road from the metro. It was impossible to tell if she was being chased. Dean would have to check out the station and, as it looked like Gordon's car pulling up behind Carey, now would be a good time to leave.
"Anyhow, just wanted to drop in and offer my support," Dean lied smoothly. "Keep up the good work." He patted Carey's shoulder once more, a bit awkwardly, and walked quickly away before Gordon could join them.
Dean ignored the sound of Gordon's voice yelling indistinctly behind him as he moved swiftly down the road towards the station. His eyes roamed either side of the street, picking up nothing unusual, as his mind processed the information he'd gleaned from Carey. Rachel was helping with the transport - to who, where? Another agency? And why were they moving them in the first place? Were the prisoners in league with Lilith, or was Crowley?
The whole thing was utterly ridiculous, he decided as he swiped his metro card and headed for the escalator to the train platform. He wasn't Ronald Reznick, to see conspiracy around every corner. But what reason would Rachel have to be all the way out here? He glanced down at his phone out of habit, just in case Ash (or maybe even Cas?) had called. Nothing. His eyes widened. That was exactly it. She was going to a meeting, he'd just been too caught up in Cas's tip about the transfer to focus on the who of the situation instead of the what.
Gordon or Gabriel Smecher would have already grabbed the footage from the West Hyattsville cameras, but Dean doubted they would have checked out the ones from Fort Totten yet, the stop before and a transfer point to the Red Line. There was an off chance Rachel would have transferred there. Dean boarded the next train in the direction of Branch Ave and tried to think of who she would be meeting in PG County. His ears popped as the train dipped deep underground. He gazed unseeing at an ad for the University of Phoenix as a possible, very unwelcome, idea occurred to him.
Crowley had done all of his business out of PG County. It wasn't such a leap to think that one of his lieutenants would do the same. And if Rachel was corrupt, and going to meet this person…
The train rose up out of the tunnel and clattered to a stop at the lower platform of Fort Totten. Dean stepped off the train and pulled out his cell, hitting the speed dial for Cas. It blipped and went to voicemail. Cas's message was stilted and long and endearingly awkward. Dean rolled his eyes and tapped his foot, waiting for it to end.
"Cas! Listen, call me back, okay? Your Agent Rachel Steele - I have some thoughts on her murder. Just call me." He stashed his phone back in his pocket with a growl. Cas better not be blocking his calls just because he was pissed at Dean. This was way too important.
Dean glanced around the platform, packed with commuters running just a little bit late, and noted the camera angles. He ran up the stone steps to the next level, the ground floor. The station manager looked up as he approached the booth, and Dean flashed his charming smile and his badge. Technically, he had no jurisdiction in Fort Totten, as it was directly over the border, but lines could get easily blurred.
"Good morning, ma'am," he greeted her. He peered at her nametag. "Ruby." Damn, another one? Ruby gave him a flat look. He probably shouldn't have gone with the 'ma'am'. "That's a beautiful name." Her overly-made-up eyes narrowed slightly and he hurried to continue. "I'm Detective Dean Winchester, from just over the border. I bet you've heard all about the incident outside West Hyattsville Metro," he said, lowering his voice and leaning in, and she inclined her head, a spark of florescent lighting masquerading as interest in her eyes.
"Terrible tragedy," she said in an inflectionless voice, and made to leave her booth, her bottle-blonde hair whipping behind her. Dean stepped in her path.
"Exactly so. And my colleagues are working with your colleagues, checking out footage from the security cameras, interviewing people, that sort of thing. I was just wondering if you'd let me take a quick look at your footage, just to check a hunch. They'll be by later today with the warrant."
He held his breath, and tried not to look like he was holding his breath.
"Maybe you're not all incompetent buffoons," she said, eyeing him up and down. Dean had to struggle to resist reaching for his gun, but thankfully she turned on her heel and led him through the 'Employees Only' door before he could formulate a scathing retort.
"I already talked to Duane, he was doing the night-shift there last night, and he said the dead woman must have got off the last train, so that got me thinking." She unlocked one more door, revealing a closet-like room and out-of-date security equipment. "I already gathered up the tapes. This one here," and she laid one lacquered nail on the top tape, "shows the platform for the last train in the direction of Greenbelt. Even you should be able to see something."
"How extremely kind of you, Ruby. With helpful citizens like you, it's amazing there's any crime at all." He picked up the tape and glanced around. "Where can I watch this?"
She snatched the tape out of his hands, muttering under her breath, and shoved it into a machine underneath the only blank monitor in the little room. They both leaned towards the screen.
Nothing happened for the first two minutes, except for a low grinding sound, which Dean eventually realized were his teeth. Two girls wearing University of Maryland sweatshirts over their clubbing clothes tripped off the escalator and staggered down the platform, arms linked and mouths open in wide, drunken grins. A little old lady followed thirty seconds later. A group of five boys in their late teens, jeans falling halfway down their asses and boxer shorts spilling out, paused in a clump at the foot of the escalator, yelling up it to a group of three teen girls, their huge earrings registering as sparkles on the security footage. And then-
"There's your damsel in distress," Ruby pointed out. "Duane sent me a pic."
Dean grunted. So much for a secure crime scene. On the screen, Rachel hesitated after walking slowly down the stone steps, eschewing the escalator. Dean frowned. The escalator blocked the view of the steps from two-thirds of the platform. The camera only showed one angle. Rachel's face ducked back out of camera view. Dean swore under his breath.
"The train shows up in twenty seconds," Ruby whispered. Dean watched as it arrived at the station and slowed, the doors snapping open. Dean's eyeballs were practically glued to the screen. At the last second, Rachel ran forward and climbed aboard. And ducking into the metro car behind Rachel's was a tall, bulky figure in a sport coat.
Dean's sense of relief was palpable. He hadn't even realized he'd been so afraid - No, anxious. Or, better yet, annoyed. - that he'd see a long trench coat following Rachel. The figure on the screen could very easily have belonged to Uriel Inger, but no way could it be Castiel James. Or Gabriel Smecher, for that matter.
Ruby was staring at his face. "Well, Kojak?"
"Thank you very much for your assistance," he said in his best official voice. "A detective Gordon should be calling you for those tapes - best to let him think he was the first to contact you. Make him feel competent."
She nodded, a slight smirk on her lips, and moved aside to let him slip past her. He hurried out through the back office and out into the station, pulling out his phone.
"C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath as he waited for it to connect. It blipped once, then Cas's voicemail came on again. "Dammit!" he swore. A harried-looking mom pulling her kids behind her gave him a nasty look, and he scowled back. She picked up her pace, hustling her kids away from the crazy angry dude.
Dean reached into his coat pocket, fumbling until he found Cas's business card. He stared at the card for a long moment. There was no help for it; he'd have to call his office number. And try for subtlety. He grimaced, and punched in the number.
"Detective Dean Winchester," Uriel's rumbling bass sounded in his ear, and he temporarily froze. "What is your business calling this number?"
"Agent Uriel Inger," he replied. "Just hoping to hear your melodious voice."
"On Castiel's phone?" Uriel chuckled. "I don't think so, Winchester."
"Oh, is this Castiel's number? I thought you all shared one line over there. You know, DHS, one big happy family, friendship bracelets and all that jazz." God, he really needed to learn how to censor himself.
"I have no idea why he likes you so much," Uriel grumbled into the phone, and Dean's pulse quickened, much to his annoyance. "You'll have to find another way to talk to your dear Castiel."
"He's not there?" Dean interjected.
"No, Winchester, I'm looking right at him, but he wrote me a note saying he didn't want to talk to his boyfriend anymore, and could I cover for him," Uriel snapped. "Of course he's not here. He's out doing his job. As you should be."
The line went dead before Dean could retort with a clever comeback. "Yeah, well, you're a murdering, double-crossing mole and I'm on to you, freak," he muttered anyhow. It felt good.
His phone vibrated in his hand, and his heart lightened to see 'CAS' in the display. "Where the hell have you been?" he greeted him.
"What?" There was a lot of background noise coming from Cas's phone, competing with the overhead rumble of a train on Dean's end.
"Never mind. Look I found out some stuff about Rachel-" Dean started at the same time Cas said, "You shouldn't be calling me; they'll be able to find you."
"Who's looking for me?" Dean asked.
"Lilith's people, I think. Wait, how much do you know about Rachel?" Cas asked.
"Lilith's people? I'm getting nowhere with that case! It's your mole I've found!" Dean protested. There was a pause from the other end.
"Dean. Keep your voice down," Cas whispered and Dean's knees stiffened.
"It's a fucking phone, Cas. I'm not yelling it to you across the city."
"You may as well be." There was a lot of ruffling on the other end, and Dean frowned. Where the hell was he? "I was supposed to meet an informant this morning, and she never showed. I believe I've been compromised."
"Jesus, Cas! Where are you? I'll come get you." Dean started pacing. Should he go back to the West Hyattsville Metro and get his car, risking a run-in with Gordon, or hop on a train, placing his bets on the questionable efficiency of the public transportation system?
"No! They probably already know where you are." Static crackled and ate some words. "-it's just a mole on my side anymore." Fuzzzzz. "-trust your fellow cops? Rachel's death - there are too many inconsistencies."
"Well, fuck, Cas, that's a cheery thought." His eyes roamed the station. He didn't recognize anyone. But if there was a mole in his department, too, his money was on Gordon, the fucking prick. Or Walt and Roy, now they were a couple of douches. At any rate, they weren't there. There were a handful of people at SmartCard stations, adding money to their metro cards, and a couple of tourists gazing slack-jawed at the metro map, but the bulk of the commuters had moved on. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. "Where are you? Look, man, I don't even care about the Reznick thing anymore." Well, mostly. Partly. You can explain it later, "I just want to get you safe-"
There was a muffled thump, followed by a slapping sound, then Cas's breathless voice came back on the line, "No time, Dean! They've found me, and they'll be after you!"
"WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" Dean hissed loudly, panic rising. Static wreaked havoc with the connection. Dean thought he heard a moan. That does it. Fuck caution. "Cas! Cas, stay away from Uriel! Don't trust Uriel!"
Dean heard the distinct sound of flesh hitting hard-packed earth, and then Cas's rasp, intercut with static, "Dean…button…pond…"
The line went dead.
Well dying young I have survived