FIC: A Mighty Dark Night - Chapter VIII
Title: A Mighty Dark Night
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: R
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 VIII
He believed in a God that could raise the dead
"So why's Chuck at his mom's?" Dean asked, slowing for EZPass to charge him a ridiculous amount for such a short distance but, well, Raphael.
"Becky got cross with him," Cas answered from the passenger seat. He was absorbed with setting up the disposable cell phone Bobby had insisted they take with them. It was a good idea, Dean had to admit, especially as he had Big Plans to force Cas to stay in the car while he checked the house for Chuck.
"Women," Dean muttered under his breath. Cas gave him a look.
"I have found that men are no more reliable in their relationships," he said. "Give me your phone."
"I'm a little busy right now, Cas. You know, with driving." He was probably proving Cas's point, too. His knuckles grew white around the steering wheel. Cas reached over, slipped his hand into Dean's jacket pocket, and drew out the phone. "Don't program any 900 numbers in there, Cas. I call someone for free for that shit."
He grinned across the seat at Cas, but the other man was absorbed in the phones, forehead wrinkled in consternation. Dean had never seen anyone so lousy with technology before in his life. Give Cas a gun or a mystery to solve, and he was your man. Hand him a phone and he was lost.
"You have to unlock it first," he said. "Code's 5-2-8-3." He glanced at Cas's fingers out of the corner of his eye. He had elegant damn fingers, except for the gun calluses. "Okay, now hit 'Contacts.' You're number nine, just delete the old number and put that new one in."
He passed a minivan before risking another glance at Cas. "Cas? You still with me buddy?"
"You had me on speed dial?"
"Yeah, well, Sam says I shouldn't bother with that function, since I don't exactly have a lot of numbers in there, but I like speed dial. It's old school."
He could feel Cas's eyes on his face. "I see," he said finally. "I am rather 'Old School' myself."
"Yeah you are."
Cas's lips drew up in a hint of a smile, then down again as he looked at Dean's phone. "Gabriel still has not called me back."
"When'd you call him?"
"This morning while you were avoiding me." Dean hunched his shoulders as Cas continued on, oblivious. "I wanted to update him on what we thought about the plot against Congress. He has always been unreliable with communication devices, but in our current circumstances, I thought he would answer."
"That'd be too helpful, Cas. We're never that lucky."
"I suppose not."
They pulled up outside a small bungalow a few blocks from Dean's favorite diner about fifteen minutes later. Chuck's mother's house was four houses down on the right. Dean squinted at the driveway. A battered station wagon was sticking out of the single-car garage. If Raphael or his goon was there, they'd hidden their transport on another block. Dean sighed. He should have brought Rufus with him, but someone had to maintain a clean record with Homeland Security. Still, he had a very bad feeling about the empty street.
Dean thrust a finger in Cas's face. "You. Stay in the car. You're supposed to be on bedrest, for fuck's sake."
"I will not stand by and let you take all the risk for my informant," Cas snapped back, mulish expression firmly entrenched on his face.
"My informant too, or did you forget? And you're not going to stand by, you're going to sit." Dean held up his hand to forestall any arguments. God save him from foolishly brave men with an overblown sense of nobility. "You have to have the car ready for our getaway. I'm entrusting you with my baby here, Cas. I don't even let Sam drive her." He ran a loving hand over the steering wheel. Hopefully she'd forgive him for handing the keys to Cas. Cas's expression softened a miniscule amount, but he nodded his head curtly.
"Be very careful, Dean. Raphael is not to be trifled with."
"Yeah, I got that with the whole framing-you-for-bad-shit… shit," Dean grumbled, climbing out of the Impala. Cas slid across the seat and rested his hands on the steering wheel, his face turned to the window. The sight filled Dean with the wild notion that he should lean his head into the car and kiss him good bye. His fingers trembled slightly until the urge passed. Still, he couldn't resist laying a hand on Cas's shoulder and squeezing it before taking off for the bushes on the side of the bungalow.
Déjà vu all over again. His gun was a cool, reassuring weight in his hand as he approached at a crouch. The first window revealed an empty interior, probably the living room, as there was a fireplace in one wall, and damn, Dean could see where Chuck had inherited his housekeeping skills. He crept along to the second window and peered into the next room.
A great roaring sounded in his ears and he stumbled over his own feet, his eyes bugging at what could only be an impossible vision. He blinked rapidly and stared some more.
Crowley - alive, whole - stood - standing, not slumped over in death - in the middle of the kitchen. Crowley threw his head back and laughed. Crowley leaned on the kitchen table and stuck his face into the face of the man sitting in a chair there, still laughing. Fuck, Chuck.
Dean fumbled for his phone and Cas's speed dial.
"I can see you from here, Dean." Cas's voice sounded sharp, worried. "What is the matter?"
"Crowley," Dean spat out. "Bastard is alive!"
"What? No, you must be mistaken!"
"Yeah? Look!" Dean snapped a few pictures in quick succession on his phone, then froze. Crowley was walking towards the window.
"Detective Winchester?" he called, his voice muffled by warped glass. "Dear Chuck and I have been awaiting you. Please tell me you brought Agent James with you."
Dean raised his gun and Crowley's arms shot up into the air.
"I assure you, Detective, we are quite alone, excepting your odious little friend at the table. I just want to parley with you. You don't need that thing. You won't get anything out of me if I'm dead, after all."
"You were dead, asswipe." Dean shifted his feet, trying to look past Crowley. He couldn't see anyone else in the house except for Chuck, but that was no guarantee. Fuck it. "I'm coming in there. You have a shitload of explaining to do."
He hurried around to the back door. "Did you catch all that, Cas?" he muttered. "You stay put."
"I do not take orders from you, Dean!" Cas's voice was absurdly loud in his ear. He must have been pissed.
"It's not an order! It's just…" he fumbled for something to say. "Backup. I need backup, in case anything goes wrong. It works better if you're not right there front and center, you know?"
And he wanted to keep Cas safe, this was so obviously a trap, only he couldn't see how to spring it without walking right into it, but Cas, Cas with his bruised ribs and bottomless eyes and tender mouth, Cas didn't have to walk into it. There was blood on Chuck's forehead. Dean was determined there would be none on Cas's. He burst into the little house without waiting for a response.
Crowley raised his hands. "Easy, cowboy. I'm unarmed."
"How the fuck are you alive? And what the hell happened to you, Chuck? You okay, man?"
"Yeah, hi, um, Detective Winchester." Chuck winced through his greeting and raised a cold compress Dean hadn't noticed from outside up to his forehead.
Dean debated a moment - find out why Chuck was sporting a golf ball-sized lump on his head, or how the dead could rise. "Okay, Crowley," he said decisively, keeping his gun trained on the formerly dead
Crowley arched a brow. "What, we're not waiting for your charming boyfriend?"
"You want to stand around here, waiting? Really?"
"Why not? We have time, now that I've sent the redoubtable Agent Raphael Finnerman off on a wild goose chase." Crowley's eyes gleamed. "That's right, Detective. I saved your little friend here from the cooking pot. I think that earns me one lowered gun."
Dean glanced at Chuck. Chuck grimaced.
"Well, see," he began. "I heard from… reliable sources this morning that this Finnerman dude knew I was connected to Castiel, so I called you guys. I mean, everything I've done, I've done for love of this country!" He gave Dean a pleading look. "But Castiel had said this Raphael-"
"Yes, yes, fascinating. Skip ahead to the part where I saved you," Crowley interrupted him. Chuck shot him a dirty look.
"I'm getting there. It's important to set the scene when you're telling a story." He turned back to Dean, noted the muscle twitching in his jaw, and hurriedly babbled out the rest of his tale. "There was a guy right outside the door, Dean, and I heard his radio - it said I'd been spotted lurking outside a bar in Georgetown, and the guy took off. Crowley said he was the one to call in the tip."
"How'd you get that goose egg on your head, then?" Dean asked, nodding to it. He kept his gun trained on Crowley. His assistance didn't sound very special at all.
"Oh, I, uh, walked into the door. Um. Twice." Chuck gave a sheepish shrug. "What can I say? I'm a klutz."
"There, you see! I pulled his nuts out of the fire, and through his own gross incompetence only, he has an unsightly bruise." Crowley sat in one of the other chairs and rapped his knuckles on the table. "Now if you're not going to call Agent James to join us, how about we get this show on the road, hmmm?"
Dean hesitated. "You sure you're okay, Chuck?"
At Chuck's nod, he reluctantly joined them at the table. From his seat, he could see out the window. There was no sign of Cas, but Dean didn't for a minute trust that the other man had actually stayed in the car.
"To answer your question, Detective - I am alive because I willed myself to be."
Dean met Crowley's eyes. Same smirking mouth, same smug tone, but there was something about his eyes. Alive he might be, but Crowley was also worried - and trying hard to disguise the flop sweat.
"There was a knife in your chest. How 'bout you explain that?"
Crowley waved his hand in the air. "A cheap party trick. No the real magic was in getting out of the house alive."
"You didn't just pay off Uriel." It wasn't Cas. Dean had his trust issues, but Cas had earned more than the bare benefit of the doubt.
"A magician never reveals his secrets. But who said I paid off Uriel at all?" Crowley leaned forward, a predatory glint in his eye. "Dean, Dean, Dean. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"
"What the fuck are you talking about, asswipe?"
"Uriel didn't need money. He needed to keep up the façade that what he was doing was the right thing. You law enforcement types are all the same. Always looking for fucking assurance." Crowley snorted and sat back in his chair. "Well I patted him on the head and told him what he wanted to hear, and he made his deal with the devil."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who did you offer him?"
"Lilith, naturally."
"That wouldn't have been enough for him."
"Oh, very good, Winchester! You're right, of course. Lilith may be your Big Bad, but Uriel had his eye on a higher prize. Capturing Lilith would certainly help."
Dean quickly ran through the conversation he'd had with Cas yesterday morning. "You gave him Lilith," he said slowly, "and offered to take her place. Pretend to be in his pocket." He waited for Crowley's nod. "So I guess my question to you is this: why'd you stop Lilith's plan? You just biding your time, Crowley?" His finger itched to pull the trigger. Chuck's eyes went from him to Crowley, back and forth like watching a tennis match. It was Crowley's turn to serve.
"Why would I do that? There's living in terror, Dean, and there's terror. You think I want a terrorist attack on American soil, handing over all that power to Homeland Security on a fucking silver platter?" Crowley sneered. "Uriel and his goons with the mandate from on high to poke his nose into my business, everybody's business, no thanks, I'll pass."
"Lilith thought it was worth it."
"Lilith's a fool, looking for approval from an absent father. Oh, well done, she's got druglords and pimps breaking bread together. But what good does it do her to unite the criminal underbelly if Uriel's going to kick over all the rocks and expose her?"
"So Lilith thought Uriel would blame the scapegoat she chose." Absent father figure, hmmm? Did he mean to say that? Should look into that in all my free time. "But without realizing he was in your pocket, not hers. Why'd she try to kill you, then?"
"She didn't trust me! As well she shouldn't. But she didn't try to kill me." Crowley's lips twitched in a smile.
Dean raised a brow. "Your knifing was staged for their benefit, too?"
"Right in one, Winchester. I knew they were coming - to chat. Alistair chats with his knuckles, they're very talkative. And those girls - no, it was best for me to disappear for a bit."
"So when DHS was interviewing them - they actually were innocent. Of that."
"Ironic, isn't it." Crowley smirked. "Like if it rains on the day you marry Agent James."
"Cute, Crowley." Dean leaned forward. "I just have one more question. Why the hell are you telling me all this?"
"I thought that was obvious." Crowley pointed his finger in Dean's face, and Dean had the near overwhelming urge to bite it off. "You tore up my Uriel-in-the-hole. Now I need a new one. Tag, you and your boyfriend lurking in the bushes outside are it."
"Forget it, asshole. We don't work for you," Dean snapped. He really was going to bite off that finger. He could see Chuck squirming out of the corner of his eye, uncomfortable with confrontation as always. Condensation from the cold compress leaked onto the table.
"It wasn't precisely an offer, kid." Crowley's voice lowered threateningly. "Raphael Finnerman wants to hang Agent James by his balls. Maybe I should work with him, hmmm? I could deliver James's associates," he nodded towards Chuck, who shrank back in his chair, "and the man he's currently fucking."
"Enough with the damn innuendo-"
"That wasn't innuendo. I was blatantly saying it."
"ENOUGH." Dean's chair scraped loudly when he stood up and raised his gun. "I've heard enough from you."
He saw a blurred shape reflected in the water on the table top an instant before Cas was thrown into the room by a couple of nondescript henchmen. He caught himself by reaching for the back of the remaining chair, but Dean could see the effort it cost him. Chuck gasped, Cas groaned and Dean swore under his breath. Crowley sat back in his chair and barked a laugh.
"Well, here we all are! I certainly hope my lackeys weren't too harsh on your ribs, Agent James." Cas just glared at him, and Crowley continued blithely. "As I was just telling your lover here," he waved a hand at Dean, "now really, Dean, put up your gun, I must insist." He didn't wait, however, and Dean still kept the weapon trained on him. "I have a proposal. I give you Lilith. I'll even throw in some juicy evidence you can use against your Agent Finnerman. In exchange, you get something in your eye when you look at me. Understand?"
Dean was the only one with a gun out. He had little doubt that Crowley and his men were also armed. Cas had probably been disarmed, and Chuck… well, he had his cold compress. Dean's eyes flicked to Cas, who gave a miniscule nod, fingers tightening around the back of the chair. They'd had worse odds.
Crowley seemed to figure out his answer a split second before Dean moved. The drug dealer chose defense, throwing himself wide of the bullet Dean'd been aiming at his arm. It hit one of Crowley's cronies instead, even as Cas swung his own chair at the other henchman. It broke with a loud crack on his kneecaps, as Cas still couldn't lift his arms over his head and aim higher. Dean was dimly aware of Chuck yelping in shock and scrambling backwards and then Crowley was up again, gun in hand.
Time froze for just a second when Crowley fired, and then sped up as Cas slammed into Dean, knocking them both to the floor, the bullet lodging itself into the wall. Sirens sounded from outside, and Crowley snarled once before running to the back door. It banged shut behind him.
"You guys have to get out of here!" Chuck said, eyes wide. "The cops'll be here. The other cops, I mean."
Cas was a warm weight across Dean's chest, and he shoved at him gently, despite his growing anger. He'd told Cas to stay in the car, and where was he? Risking his fool life to protect Dean.
"You'll be okay, Chuck?" Dean asked, getting to his feet only to bend over the shot henchman and clunk him over the head with his gun. The man stopped whimpering and passed out. The one Cas had knocked down with his chair had hit his head on the way down and was still out cold. Cas was divesting him of his firearm.
"Yeah, yeah, go on, I'll call you after the cops leave, okay?"
Dean already had his hand on the door knob when Cas yanked him back. "Crowley could be lying in wait."
Good point. "Cas, the cops are arriving out front."
Cas nodded. "I go first." He shoved Dean aside and slipped out the back before Dean could even open his mouth to respond.
"Fuck, Cas!" he hissed, a useless retort, and followed.
Crowley wasn't waiting for them, and they ran quickly back to the Impala, flashing lights casting brilliant blue and red against the dark gray of the storm-threatening sky in the rear view as Dean drove away, hands clenched around the steering wheel.
"What part of 'stay in the car' didn't you understand?" Dean asked through his teeth.
"Crowley's presence negated any 'Mother Hen' directives on your part," Cas answered.
Dean stared at him incredulously. "Did you just air quote at me?"
Cas frowned. "We should be focusing on Crowley's return and what it portends."
"Instead of your social ineptitude?" Dean huffed. "Yeah, okay, here goes - Crowley's back. We're fucked. Again. I think that about sums it up."
"No, it does not. Dean, why would he reveal himself to you? What did he hope to gain from it?"
Dean frowned. They were good questions and unfortunately, he didn't think he had the whole picture. "He said he wanted protection," he said slowly, "but that can't be the whole story. If he wanted to deal with someone in DHS, wouldn't he have approached Raphael? Why you?" He left the and me unsaid.
"It's possible he thought Raphael would hold him partially responsible for Uriel's death."
Dean glanced over at Cas. He was getting better at reading him, and Cas was not anywhere near as blasé about discussing his brother's betrayal as he let on.
"Or it's possible," Cas continued, "that he genuinely was not in favor of Lilith's plan to attack Congress, knew that Uriel and Raphael wished to use such an attack to their advantage, and therefore had no desire to approach them."
Dean grunted. That gave Crowley too much credit. "We're not going to figure it out by talking circles around it. We're just going to have to find the fucker again." His eyes swept the side of the road. The leaves of the trees blew upwards, getting ready for a storm. Crowley was not hiding behind any of them, not that Dean actually expected to see him there. "And when we do, try not to jump in front of his gun again, can you manage that?"
A muscle in Cas's jaw twitched. "I know you're going to complain about my actions, Dean, and there's really no point," Cas started.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, it'd be like banging my head against a brick wall." It was a good thing he had such a hard head.
"Back up was best served by moving closer to the house," Cas said stubbornly.
"Shut up. Just… shut up, Cas," Dean said. His knuckles tightened white around the steering wheel.
"You need to stop taking responsibility for my actions," Cas continued in a clipped voice. "Why must I continually remind you of this?"
"That's not the fucking point," Dean hissed. "You could have died. You shouldn't risk yourself for me!"
Cas laughed, a hollow thing, and Dean almost swerved the car over the line. "Dean, that's part of the job description. 'Protect and Serve'; I'm sure you are familiar with it."
"Other people. We protect other people, Cas. Innocents."
The clouds that'd been threatening to overflow all day opened with a tear of thunder and rain spackled the windshield. Dean cursed under his breath and turned the wipers on. His cheek twitched, but he refused to look over at Cas, well aware that the other man was staring at him again, like he was a bug under a microscope.
"You… don't think you're worth saving," Cas said. It was a statement, not a question.
Dean glanced in his rearview mirror and pulled the car over to the side of the road. Rain pounded loudly on the roof and windows, a rat-a-tat reminiscent of gunfire, broken only by the slick sweep-sweep of the wiper blades. Cas watched him expectantly, his body tense and on guard. Defending what? My self-worth?
"Cas," he started. "I don't know how to talk to you." Cas's eyes narrowed, and Dean plowed on. "I don't know what you want, okay!"
"I thought it was quite obvious what I want. I want you."
"Well, that doesn't work for me! Jesus, Cas." He leaned his head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath.
"Everything with you is sexual," Cas muttered under his breath, and Dean flushed. "Yes, I want that aspect of you, but you have made clear your reservations on that matter. I mean I want you. I want you to trust me. I want you to know I am on your side. That our side is the same side. I want you to realize that you are worth the regard I have for you."
Cas's jaw jutted forward and his hands were clasped tightly together.
"And if I let you down?" Dean asked, quiet enough that the rain almost drowned him out.
"Then you ask for my forgiveness and we try again," Cas growled. "You are human. You're not supposed to be perfect."
The wind battered at the car, attempting to fit rain through the cracks. Dean was oblivious to the storm. Cas sat beside him, strong and dependable and… really weird, true, but kind of exactly what he wanted, if he'd take it. He licked his lips and leaned across the seat, pressing them to Cas's closed mouth. He was not expecting Cas to push him away.
"Dean. I did not say those things to get in your pants," he said, eyebrows in an angry vee.
"What if I really want you there?" Dean asked, licking his lips again. "Honestly, Cas, you kind of drive me nuts."
Cas's lips quirked up in a slight smile. "And that is in my favor?"
"Works for me," Dean murmured. He leaned close again. This time Cas met him halfway, his lips parting and his hand coming up to stroke the nape of Dean's neck. Dean wanted to get closer, in Cas's lap, in his arms, a position he'd only ever been on the other side of before. The angle was great for thrusting his tongue in Cas's mouth, for grinding down, groin to groin. Cas's arms tightened on him, and sweat broke out on his forehead. It was getting really warm in the car, the windows fogging with steam. The moans and grunts from the front seat drowned out the rain outside and covered up the sound of wheels crunching in gravel beside them. Wait, wheels?
They fell backwards into the rain and mud when Cas's door was suddenly yanked open. Dean instinctively reached for his gun, and his wrist exploded in pain as someone slammed it hard against the side of the Impala. Beneath him, Cas echoed his grunt of pain. Dean thrashed, trying not to kick Cas, as he was hauled bodily out of the car and thrown into the muddy gravel of the road's shoulder. He immediately got his feet under him and, blinking rain from his eyes, rose to a crouch.
"Not so fast, Loverboy," a familiar voice slurred. Lightning cracked, illuminating Alistair and several henchmen, one of whom had his huge meaty paws wrapped around Cas's throat. Cas's feet dangled in the air and his hands scrabbled uselessly at his opponent. He can't even lift his arms that high because of his fucking ribs.
Dean just lowered his head and ran at the man. He let go of Cas with a curse to meet Dean's charge. The scuffle was over incredibly quickly. Alistair had four huge, uninjured and well-armed henchmen with him. Dean and Cas had lost their guns and sustained injuries to their wrists, as well as Cas's previously bruised ribs. Still, they hadn't done too badly, Dean thought as his face was pressed into a puddle by Alistair. He could see to his left the lifeless eyes of Henchman #3, and the blood that was getting washed down the road by the rain belonged to Henchman #2.
Alistair pulled him up, and he gasped for breath. If only they hadn't been beaten to within an inch of their lives, maybe they'd have a chance. Dean glanced around wildly for Cas. Henchman #4 was still kicking him, a bit half-heartedly now. Dean growled low in his throat. Cas was curled into a ball, trying to protect his bruised ribs, and the rain wasn't washing away the long scar on the side of his face.
"Come along," Alistair lisped to #4, shaking Dean like a ragdoll. "We got what we came for."
"What you want me to do with this thing?" #4 grunted, kicking Cas once more.
Every single muscle in Dean's body screamed in pain, but it was nothing compared to the panic that seized his throat. What they came for, meaning him, not Cas. His outraged protest came out as more of a gargling whine, and Alistair cut his eyes at him, a cruel twist to his lips.
"Romeo over there killed one of my men," Alistair said, almost conversation-like. "He's not going to survive the night." He turned to Henchman #1. "Cut the brakes on the car and stuff him in the back. You," he said, gesturing to #4, "get our dead into the SUV."
Dean flailed in Alistair's grip, searching for purchase, anything to throw him off and get to Cas. He cried out, an inarticulate grunt, when #1 maimed the Impala, his proud, beautiful girl. He managed to slip free, for just a moment, when #1 hoisted an unmoving Cas over his shoulders and stuffed him in the backseat. Alistair tackled him to the ground before he had taken two steps and shoved his face into the mud. He got a mouthful of dirt and rain and blood as he screamed soundlessly and the rain pounded into his body. Cas looked so limp and lifeless already. Dean could feel the vise closing around his heart, choking off his breath more effectively even than Alistair, as #4 returned from his gruesome task and turned the key in the ignition. The Impala purred to life, and #4 stepped out, slamming the door and pushing the vehicle back onto the road.
Tears streamed down Dean's cheeks, mixing with the rain, and the last thought he had as Alistair choked him into unconsciousness was a half-formed prayer that his beloved Impala could somehow keep Cas safe. He loved the man, and what a time to realize it. The world went dark.
***
He was dreaming. He sat at the end of a dock, holding a fishing pole and contemplating the calm surface of the mountain lake before him. He took a deep breath of the crisp air and leaned back in his chair, turning his face to smile at the man next to him. But Cas was not smiling.
"You must wake up, Dean," he said, deadly serious and intense, Cas's Original Flavor. "You must fight him."
"Honestly, Cas? I'd rather just stay here with you."
The sun hadn't yet breached the tops of the mountain, and there was a chill in the air. No one else was around, just the two of them. It was absolutely perfect.
"I'm sorry, Dean," and he really did sound contrite, "but I insist. You have to wake up."
"Why? Tell my why, Cas. What's so damn important out there?"
"I am out there," Cas said, and as was the nature of dreams, the fishing pole vanished and Cas was in front of him, bending slightly to grasp Dean's hands in his own. "You have to wake up for me. You have to be my ears and my eyes. Dean, Alistair is here. You have to determine how. You have to wake up, and live."
Dean's heart beat faster. "You will, too, right? You'll wake up?"
Cas gave him a sad smile. "I want to. Believe me. But first you must get free."
It was difficult. He wanted to stay beside Cas, beside that lake, breathe in the cool, crisp air, and when the sun came up, they would spread their clothes on the dock and lie down, soaking in the warmth of the sun's rays, before one or the other of them grew jealous of the sun's attention and covered the other's body with his own. They would come back here, he silently vowed to Cas, even as the surroundings slowly faded around him. Spray from the lake reached his lips, and then he was blinking his eyes open.
A lone light bulb swayed on a rope, illuminating Alistair in fits and starts as the former prisoner lowered the bottle of water.
"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." Alistair smirked at him. Dean blinked back. As acts of defiance went, it left much to be desired.
He couldn't turn his head. He wondered for a moment if that was due to injury or due to his bonds, clinical steel bindings lashing him to his seat at the ankles, wrists and waist. Cool metal dug into his neck when he tried to follow Alistair's pacing form, and he had his answer.
They were in a warehouse of some sort, and his brain strived to pick up identifying clues from his limited viewpoint, but all he got was "dark" and "dirty." His nostrils were filled with the scent of his own blood and when he pricked his ears, all he could hear was Alistair's shuffling steps and panting breaths. He was excited about something. Probably getting me in this position. With a sinking feeling, he remembered that Alistair and Meg shared the same last name. Had shared, before he'd killed Meg.
A patch of light opened behind him, a door, bringing with it the competing scents of fresh baked bread and stale urine, then it was shut and a set of women's high heels clicked across the floor, drawing closer.
"Send one of your men to confirm they've found the other one," she said, shoes tap-tap-tapping until she stopped in the circle of light. "Whatever possessed you to leave him behind? I will not have my plans derailed because of your flair for the dramatic."
Though her words addressed Alistair, it was Dean she stared at. Everything about her expression was subtly off - as if she had studied human interaction in a book but had never practiced it herself. It reminded Dean of Cas a bit, but Cas had an inner warmth in his eyes that helped take the sting out of being examined like a bug beneath a microscope. This woman - Lilith finally, at last - had none of that. And though at first glance she was pretty, her eyebrows were too arched, her hair shone brassily in an unnatural golden shade, her dress emphasized her angular body, leaving her as one long, harsh line.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Alistair jerk his head at someone outside the ring of light, and boots tromped off, slipping through a door on the opposite side of the building from where Lilith had come in. Dean hoped he fell and broke his neck before reaching Cas. Cas who surely, SURELY, was still alive, who'd been rescued, please God.
Lilith must have seen something change on his face. "They were copulating when you found them?" she asked.
No, you bitch, your goons interrupted us before we could get that far.
Alistair muttered something in another language, and Lilith frowned.
"Crude. Why was I not informed of this earlier?" She didn't wait for Alistair's response, but took a step closer to Dean and ran a lacquered nail beneath his lower lip. He wondered what she would do if he bit it off. "Are you worried about your lover, Detective Winchester? There's no need for that. He is already dead. I could get you a replacement boy. For a price, of course."
He bit her then, watching in satisfaction as her eyes widened in surprise and she snatched her hand away. He'd managed to draw a bit of blood, metallic on his tongue. He'd go for her throat if only he could launch himself out of his chair.
Alistair moved into view then and backhanded him so hard his vision darkened. His chair rocked back with the force of the blow, and more blood filled his mouth, but he was happy to note his chair wasn't bolted to the ground. It was something, at least. He spat out a wad of blood and phlegm, narrowly missing Lilith's pointy-toed shoes. It landed with a splat on the concrete floor, the noise coming into sharper focus than the sound of Lilith and Alistair arguing.
Dean blinked again, slowly, like he was underwater, when Alistair grabbed him by the hair and forced his head back. He must have been in some kind of dentist chair, the kind he'd never seen at an actual dentist office but were in every horror movie ever made. Alistair's thumbs dug into his scalp as the metal brace on the chair dug into his jaw.
"Let me kill him now," he hissed.
"Don't be foolish," Lilith snapped back. "I did not tell you to bring him here just so you might kill him." She closed her hand into a fist around her bitten finger. "Detective Winchester will cooperate now." She sidled closer and peered at his face. "He doesn't believe me. Alistair."
Alistair balled up his fist and punched him in the side. All the breath left Dean in a whoosh as he involuntarily jerked in his bonds.
"Now. You have been looking for me. I was expecting you to be happier to see me, truth be told." Lilith's voice was flat and measured and seriously creeping Dean out, especially when she said, "My finger throbs. Alistair."
Alistair bent back Dean's left little finger and snapped it. "Fuck!" Dean swore and glared his rage at Alistair.
"I don't think you would enjoy that," Lilith mused. She gave him a reptilian smile, gone as quickly as it flashed across her face. "This is what you will enjoy: telling me what you know of Crowley's plans. Where is he? Why are you sheltering him?" She watched his face carefully as his thoughts leaped and jumped over each other in his brain. "Yes. I know he's alive. It was a clever ruse on his part, to be sure. But I will succeed."
Dean opened his mouth but Lilith forestalled him.
"You're going to lie to me," she said, and shook her head. "And for what? Crowley? A two-bit drug dealer with delusions of grandeur? I am the Queen of the Underworld, Detective Winchester. Me. Alistair."
Alistair punched him in the side again. That was getting old.
"This is my birthright, Detective. Crowley cannot take it from me. Now-" She stopped as the door to the outside opened again. "One moment."
Dean could hear her shoes as she left his range of vision and walked to the new pool of light. Alistair flexed his knuckles and came to stand directly in front of Dean, slapping him almost lazily across the face. Dean bit back a groan.
"How'd you get out of your cage, freak?" he mumbled around another mouthful of blood.
"You think a man like me doesn't have friends?" Alistair said in a crooning voice. "I've got lots of friends, and they all missed me."
"More like they wanted to kill you themselves," Dean muttered. He thought back to Cas in the car that morning, saying Gabriel hadn't returned his call. If something had happened to him…
Alistair sneered at him. "That's going to drive you mad, isn't it? Wondering just who it was that sided with me over you. Dean, Dean, Dean - you are not that special." His arm shot out again, and Dean was going to have his own set of cracked ribs if this continued for much longer. Not that he was expecting Alistair to release him alive to appreciate his cracked ribs. But he had to get out, he had to, he needed to get to Cas and get him safe and find Crowley. Alistair punched him again, and a moan escaped Dean's lips. "You're on the wrong side, Dean-o. There is nothing you could offer anyone that I couldn't top."
"Enough." Dean hadn't heard Lilith join them again, too busy fighting for breath. "Your idiot patsy in Hyattsville just radio-ed finding Detective Dean Winchester's Impala and a half-dead man inside. Half-dead, Alistair."
Dean's heart leapt and his mind whirled. Cas alive, and found by a cop, someone unwittingly working for Lilith, sure, but Cas was alive!
"He won't survive his wounds," Alistair blustered.
"Really? You have a guarantee of that? You've seen the future, Alistair?" For the first time, Dean could detect emotion in Lilith's voice - annoyance, sarcasm and condescension. A winning combo.
"I'll go now and finish him off," Alistair said, but Lilith waved a dismissive hand.
"You're supposed to be in federal custody. You and Raphael left Gabriel Smecher alive, too, lest you forget. No doubt by this time he's alerted his allies to your escape. Messy, Alistair." Her eyes lit on Dean's face. "Stop hitting him above the neck, and get him ready for transport."
"Five more minutes, Lilith, and I can have him spilling everything he's ever known about Crowley," Alistair protested.
Lilith pursed her lips. "No," she decided. "I don't think it would take just five minutes. We'll use him as bait and see what comes nibbling. His DHS lover, Crowley, or someone else. Perhaps his little brother."
Dean's stomach flipped. Lilith narrowed her eyes at him in a pleased smirk. "Oh, I know much and more about you, Detective Dean Winchester. I almost hope it's your brother who comes looking for you. I could use an ADA for my collection."
He tried to get loose when Alistair called a couple of goons over to help him wrestle Dean onto a stretcher, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest and he felt as weak as a newborn kitten. Lilith watched impassively as her men forced him into new bonds and he mumbled incoherent curses at them. He got off a couple of punches, ineffectual things that were more a nuisance than anything else, but they made him feel better. Alistair shoved a gag into his mouth, silencing him.
It was late afternoon, he guessed from the tiny patch of sky he saw when they wheeled him into a white van. The bread and urine smells he'd noted earlier were stronger then. They were probably in an alley behind a Subway shop or bakery. Which meant there were people nearby, real people unconnected to Lilith or Crowley or any of it. Not that he could reach them.
His feet were still hanging out of the back of the van when it came under attack. It was surreal, lying partly in a van, unable to see anything except the top of the vehicle as gunfire sounded around him. All he could do was hope he wasn't hit by a stray bullet.
Lilith's men were firing back, but they were bottled into the little alley. The van rocked as a body fell against it. Another goon tried to crawl into the back with him and fell out when his head exploded. As least, Dean presumed that was brain matter splatting his legs and making a mess of the inside of the van; he couldn't see down there. No doubt Lilith would accuse Alistair of shoddy planning, if they both survived the gun battle.
He was laughing a bit hysterically by the time Anna reached him and loosened his gag.
"Careful, Dean, you'll choke," she scolded him. He laughed harder. Anna turned to another FBI agent and shook her head. "Tell the medic we need a sedative."
"No, no," Dean managed. His mouth felt like he'd swallowed a couple of dirty socks. Hell, Alistair could've totally used dirty socks as a gag. "Cas. I need to know. Cas."
Fuck, his brain wasn't stringing the words into proper sentences, and he'd forgotten Anna didn't like Cas, and what was Anna doing there? And…
"Sam!" he gasped as his brother's huge head poked itself into the van.
"I didn't give you the all-clear yet, Sam!" Anna snapped at him. "Civilians behind the line, you promised."
Sam didn't even glance at her, or the man missing his head, but climbed right into the van.
"Dean, oh my god, what did they do to you? Are you okay? Tell me you're okay!"
"I'm fine, fine," he mumbled. Damn, he couldn't even speak right. Fucking gag. "How are you here? Wait, tell me later. Where's Cas? The Impala?"
Sam helped him sit up as Anna tutted and tried to push him back down. "Cas is in the hospital. Rufus found the Impala, he was on his way back to the station when that Chuck guy called his cell. Said he couldn't get a hold of you or Cas, so Rufus activated the police radio tracker in the Impala and when he found it, he called Henriksen directly."
"There's a dupe in the department," Dean said.
"Yeah, Henriksen was convinced of that, too, so he had Rufus wait to report it until Cas was in the hospital and Henriksen could follow who rebroadcasted it. And don't worry about the Impala, Bobby's already towed it back to his farm." Sam helped him to the edge of the van and they both paused. Dean stared in numb silence at the carnage in front of him. FBI agents knelt by several corpses. Dean recognized the two survivors of the assault on the Impala, no longer survivors. Good riddance. Alistair was slumped against the alley wall. There was no sign of Lilith anywhere. Alistair's eyelids fluttered open as if he could feel the weight of Dean's stare.
"You haven't stopped anything, Winchester," he rasped.
"I know one thing that's stopping," Anna declared, and jumped gracefully from the van to the asphalt. "Your life, Alistair Drac."
He glared up at her, but Dean could see it was true. Alistair had lost too much blood, and as Sam helped Dean down to the ground, his nose was assaulted by the stench of Alistair's guts, spilling out of his body, leaking around fingers that could hold him together no longer.
"You'll get yours, Red," Alistair said in a voice like sandpaper. "So will you, Winchester, you fucking cocksucker."
Dean took a couple of unsteady steps forward, paused, and spat a wad of blood and phlegm in Alistair's face. Alistair made a noise like a chuckle and the light left his eyes.
"Well," Anna said, "when I 'get mine' please remind me that I don't want my last word to be 'cocksucker.'" She ducked beneath Dean's arm. "Sam?"
Sam was staring at Alistair's death grimace, eyes a little wild.
"Sammy," Dean mumbled. "Come on, man."
His brother jerked himself out of his reverie and moved to his other side to help Anna lead him out of the alley. Sam's nose wrinkled as they passed Alistair, the terrorist's bowels releasing in death and sending a noxious puddle to spill onto the ground.
"A shithead even in death," Dean remarked. His ribs ached with each breath, and he took vicious glee in Alistair's undignified final repose. "Did any of you see Lilith?"
"Lilith?" Anna asked sharply. "Dean, are you sure? We haven't seen any women."
Dean's insides twisted as they made their way down the alley. "She was here, Anna! You have to find her!"
"Don't get worked up, you'll just hurt yourself more," she said firmly. "Calm down, we'll find her."
Dean wanted to punch something at the thought of Lilith getting away, she had threatened Sammy and Cas and America, dammit, but each step was agony. Henriksen was at the alley mouth, bossing around several men in the black gear of a PG County SWAT team.
"Agent Milton," he said, inclining his head in a respectful nod, and Dean's eyebrow quirked of its own accord. "I can take him off your hands now."
"Are you sure you want him back?" she asked dryly, but stepped away and let him take her place. "We'll debrief back at the station?"
"After I take Detective Winchester to the hospital," he agreed.
Dean waited until they were in the ambulance, his head spinning from the climb into the back he had insisted on making himself, before asking his questions. Maybe he was learning tact in his old age, though really it was probably because his brain felt like someone had poked a stick inside and scrambled everything up.
"Okay, so, we're working with the FBI? And are we going to the same hospital as Cas?"
"Lie down, Dean." Henriksen pushed him back onto the stretcher. Sam gave him as much of a sympathetic look as he could muster, half-folded in on himself and squashed into a corner.
"It's the closest hospital," Sam said. Dean let out a sigh of relief. He'd be able to see Cas with his own two eyes and confirm his survival himself. Not that he didn't trust Rufus, Anna and Henriksen; hell, they were a few of the only people he did trust. But he needed to see him, touch him. And tell him about Lilith.
"Rufus suggested we get in touch with Agent Milton," Henriksen continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "But put that on hold. Why did Lilith grab you?"
Crowley. He'd forgotten about Crowley. His brains really were scrambled.
"Crowley's alive," he blurted out. "She was after Crowley!"
"Crowley the dead drug dealer who brought DHS down on our asses?"
"Not so dead." He glanced at the paramedic sharing the ambulance with them. It wasn't paranoid to think that she could be a spy, it was prudent. Henriksen followed his gaze.
"And you don't know where Crowley is?" he asked softly.
Dean shook his head. "None. And until this morning, I had no idea he was in the land of the living." Henriksen's face wobbled and Dean blinked to bring it back into focus. Except it wasn't Henriksen any more, just the paramedic and Sam, and they were wheeling him down a long hall. "Wha-aat?"
"You passed out, Dean," Sam said tersely. "Henriksen went back to the station; we're at the hospital."
"I can see the hospital," Dean said. Or at least he tried to. But his tongue felt funny in his mouth, kind of disconnected and heavy. "Cas?" He thought he got that out okay. He must have, as Sam nodded at him.
"When you wake up, Dean," he promised.
"Sir, you'll have to wait outside," a doctor was telling Sam, and then Dean was going through the big double doors, and his brother's face grew smaller and smaller in the little circular window. As darkness closed around Dean once more he realized he hadn't heard how his brother had managed to be at a crime scene in PG County to come to his rescue. It was another thing that would have to wait for him to wake up.
It takes a powerful man to carry that load
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: R
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 VIII
He believed in a God that could raise the dead
"So why's Chuck at his mom's?" Dean asked, slowing for EZPass to charge him a ridiculous amount for such a short distance but, well, Raphael.
"Becky got cross with him," Cas answered from the passenger seat. He was absorbed with setting up the disposable cell phone Bobby had insisted they take with them. It was a good idea, Dean had to admit, especially as he had Big Plans to force Cas to stay in the car while he checked the house for Chuck.
"Women," Dean muttered under his breath. Cas gave him a look.
"I have found that men are no more reliable in their relationships," he said. "Give me your phone."
"I'm a little busy right now, Cas. You know, with driving." He was probably proving Cas's point, too. His knuckles grew white around the steering wheel. Cas reached over, slipped his hand into Dean's jacket pocket, and drew out the phone. "Don't program any 900 numbers in there, Cas. I call someone for free for that shit."
He grinned across the seat at Cas, but the other man was absorbed in the phones, forehead wrinkled in consternation. Dean had never seen anyone so lousy with technology before in his life. Give Cas a gun or a mystery to solve, and he was your man. Hand him a phone and he was lost.
"You have to unlock it first," he said. "Code's 5-2-8-3." He glanced at Cas's fingers out of the corner of his eye. He had elegant damn fingers, except for the gun calluses. "Okay, now hit 'Contacts.' You're number nine, just delete the old number and put that new one in."
He passed a minivan before risking another glance at Cas. "Cas? You still with me buddy?"
"You had me on speed dial?"
"Yeah, well, Sam says I shouldn't bother with that function, since I don't exactly have a lot of numbers in there, but I like speed dial. It's old school."
He could feel Cas's eyes on his face. "I see," he said finally. "I am rather 'Old School' myself."
"Yeah you are."
Cas's lips drew up in a hint of a smile, then down again as he looked at Dean's phone. "Gabriel still has not called me back."
"When'd you call him?"
"This morning while you were avoiding me." Dean hunched his shoulders as Cas continued on, oblivious. "I wanted to update him on what we thought about the plot against Congress. He has always been unreliable with communication devices, but in our current circumstances, I thought he would answer."
"That'd be too helpful, Cas. We're never that lucky."
"I suppose not."
They pulled up outside a small bungalow a few blocks from Dean's favorite diner about fifteen minutes later. Chuck's mother's house was four houses down on the right. Dean squinted at the driveway. A battered station wagon was sticking out of the single-car garage. If Raphael or his goon was there, they'd hidden their transport on another block. Dean sighed. He should have brought Rufus with him, but someone had to maintain a clean record with Homeland Security. Still, he had a very bad feeling about the empty street.
Dean thrust a finger in Cas's face. "You. Stay in the car. You're supposed to be on bedrest, for fuck's sake."
"I will not stand by and let you take all the risk for my informant," Cas snapped back, mulish expression firmly entrenched on his face.
"My informant too, or did you forget? And you're not going to stand by, you're going to sit." Dean held up his hand to forestall any arguments. God save him from foolishly brave men with an overblown sense of nobility. "You have to have the car ready for our getaway. I'm entrusting you with my baby here, Cas. I don't even let Sam drive her." He ran a loving hand over the steering wheel. Hopefully she'd forgive him for handing the keys to Cas. Cas's expression softened a miniscule amount, but he nodded his head curtly.
"Be very careful, Dean. Raphael is not to be trifled with."
"Yeah, I got that with the whole framing-you-for-bad-shit… shit," Dean grumbled, climbing out of the Impala. Cas slid across the seat and rested his hands on the steering wheel, his face turned to the window. The sight filled Dean with the wild notion that he should lean his head into the car and kiss him good bye. His fingers trembled slightly until the urge passed. Still, he couldn't resist laying a hand on Cas's shoulder and squeezing it before taking off for the bushes on the side of the bungalow.
Déjà vu all over again. His gun was a cool, reassuring weight in his hand as he approached at a crouch. The first window revealed an empty interior, probably the living room, as there was a fireplace in one wall, and damn, Dean could see where Chuck had inherited his housekeeping skills. He crept along to the second window and peered into the next room.
A great roaring sounded in his ears and he stumbled over his own feet, his eyes bugging at what could only be an impossible vision. He blinked rapidly and stared some more.
Crowley - alive, whole - stood - standing, not slumped over in death - in the middle of the kitchen. Crowley threw his head back and laughed. Crowley leaned on the kitchen table and stuck his face into the face of the man sitting in a chair there, still laughing. Fuck, Chuck.
Dean fumbled for his phone and Cas's speed dial.
"I can see you from here, Dean." Cas's voice sounded sharp, worried. "What is the matter?"
"Crowley," Dean spat out. "Bastard is alive!"
"What? No, you must be mistaken!"
"Yeah? Look!" Dean snapped a few pictures in quick succession on his phone, then froze. Crowley was walking towards the window.
"Detective Winchester?" he called, his voice muffled by warped glass. "Dear Chuck and I have been awaiting you. Please tell me you brought Agent James with you."
Dean raised his gun and Crowley's arms shot up into the air.
"I assure you, Detective, we are quite alone, excepting your odious little friend at the table. I just want to parley with you. You don't need that thing. You won't get anything out of me if I'm dead, after all."
"You were dead, asswipe." Dean shifted his feet, trying to look past Crowley. He couldn't see anyone else in the house except for Chuck, but that was no guarantee. Fuck it. "I'm coming in there. You have a shitload of explaining to do."
He hurried around to the back door. "Did you catch all that, Cas?" he muttered. "You stay put."
"I do not take orders from you, Dean!" Cas's voice was absurdly loud in his ear. He must have been pissed.
"It's not an order! It's just…" he fumbled for something to say. "Backup. I need backup, in case anything goes wrong. It works better if you're not right there front and center, you know?"
And he wanted to keep Cas safe, this was so obviously a trap, only he couldn't see how to spring it without walking right into it, but Cas, Cas with his bruised ribs and bottomless eyes and tender mouth, Cas didn't have to walk into it. There was blood on Chuck's forehead. Dean was determined there would be none on Cas's. He burst into the little house without waiting for a response.
Crowley raised his hands. "Easy, cowboy. I'm unarmed."
"How the fuck are you alive? And what the hell happened to you, Chuck? You okay, man?"
"Yeah, hi, um, Detective Winchester." Chuck winced through his greeting and raised a cold compress Dean hadn't noticed from outside up to his forehead.
Dean debated a moment - find out why Chuck was sporting a golf ball-sized lump on his head, or how the dead could rise. "Okay, Crowley," he said decisively, keeping his gun trained on the formerly dead
Crowley arched a brow. "What, we're not waiting for your charming boyfriend?"
"You want to stand around here, waiting? Really?"
"Why not? We have time, now that I've sent the redoubtable Agent Raphael Finnerman off on a wild goose chase." Crowley's eyes gleamed. "That's right, Detective. I saved your little friend here from the cooking pot. I think that earns me one lowered gun."
Dean glanced at Chuck. Chuck grimaced.
"Well, see," he began. "I heard from… reliable sources this morning that this Finnerman dude knew I was connected to Castiel, so I called you guys. I mean, everything I've done, I've done for love of this country!" He gave Dean a pleading look. "But Castiel had said this Raphael-"
"Yes, yes, fascinating. Skip ahead to the part where I saved you," Crowley interrupted him. Chuck shot him a dirty look.
"I'm getting there. It's important to set the scene when you're telling a story." He turned back to Dean, noted the muscle twitching in his jaw, and hurriedly babbled out the rest of his tale. "There was a guy right outside the door, Dean, and I heard his radio - it said I'd been spotted lurking outside a bar in Georgetown, and the guy took off. Crowley said he was the one to call in the tip."
"How'd you get that goose egg on your head, then?" Dean asked, nodding to it. He kept his gun trained on Crowley. His assistance didn't sound very special at all.
"Oh, I, uh, walked into the door. Um. Twice." Chuck gave a sheepish shrug. "What can I say? I'm a klutz."
"There, you see! I pulled his nuts out of the fire, and through his own gross incompetence only, he has an unsightly bruise." Crowley sat in one of the other chairs and rapped his knuckles on the table. "Now if you're not going to call Agent James to join us, how about we get this show on the road, hmmm?"
Dean hesitated. "You sure you're okay, Chuck?"
At Chuck's nod, he reluctantly joined them at the table. From his seat, he could see out the window. There was no sign of Cas, but Dean didn't for a minute trust that the other man had actually stayed in the car.
"To answer your question, Detective - I am alive because I willed myself to be."
Dean met Crowley's eyes. Same smirking mouth, same smug tone, but there was something about his eyes. Alive he might be, but Crowley was also worried - and trying hard to disguise the flop sweat.
"There was a knife in your chest. How 'bout you explain that?"
Crowley waved his hand in the air. "A cheap party trick. No the real magic was in getting out of the house alive."
"You didn't just pay off Uriel." It wasn't Cas. Dean had his trust issues, but Cas had earned more than the bare benefit of the doubt.
"A magician never reveals his secrets. But who said I paid off Uriel at all?" Crowley leaned forward, a predatory glint in his eye. "Dean, Dean, Dean. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"
"What the fuck are you talking about, asswipe?"
"Uriel didn't need money. He needed to keep up the façade that what he was doing was the right thing. You law enforcement types are all the same. Always looking for fucking assurance." Crowley snorted and sat back in his chair. "Well I patted him on the head and told him what he wanted to hear, and he made his deal with the devil."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who did you offer him?"
"Lilith, naturally."
"That wouldn't have been enough for him."
"Oh, very good, Winchester! You're right, of course. Lilith may be your Big Bad, but Uriel had his eye on a higher prize. Capturing Lilith would certainly help."
Dean quickly ran through the conversation he'd had with Cas yesterday morning. "You gave him Lilith," he said slowly, "and offered to take her place. Pretend to be in his pocket." He waited for Crowley's nod. "So I guess my question to you is this: why'd you stop Lilith's plan? You just biding your time, Crowley?" His finger itched to pull the trigger. Chuck's eyes went from him to Crowley, back and forth like watching a tennis match. It was Crowley's turn to serve.
"Why would I do that? There's living in terror, Dean, and there's terror. You think I want a terrorist attack on American soil, handing over all that power to Homeland Security on a fucking silver platter?" Crowley sneered. "Uriel and his goons with the mandate from on high to poke his nose into my business, everybody's business, no thanks, I'll pass."
"Lilith thought it was worth it."
"Lilith's a fool, looking for approval from an absent father. Oh, well done, she's got druglords and pimps breaking bread together. But what good does it do her to unite the criminal underbelly if Uriel's going to kick over all the rocks and expose her?"
"So Lilith thought Uriel would blame the scapegoat she chose." Absent father figure, hmmm? Did he mean to say that? Should look into that in all my free time. "But without realizing he was in your pocket, not hers. Why'd she try to kill you, then?"
"She didn't trust me! As well she shouldn't. But she didn't try to kill me." Crowley's lips twitched in a smile.
Dean raised a brow. "Your knifing was staged for their benefit, too?"
"Right in one, Winchester. I knew they were coming - to chat. Alistair chats with his knuckles, they're very talkative. And those girls - no, it was best for me to disappear for a bit."
"So when DHS was interviewing them - they actually were innocent. Of that."
"Ironic, isn't it." Crowley smirked. "Like if it rains on the day you marry Agent James."
"Cute, Crowley." Dean leaned forward. "I just have one more question. Why the hell are you telling me all this?"
"I thought that was obvious." Crowley pointed his finger in Dean's face, and Dean had the near overwhelming urge to bite it off. "You tore up my Uriel-in-the-hole. Now I need a new one. Tag, you and your boyfriend lurking in the bushes outside are it."
"Forget it, asshole. We don't work for you," Dean snapped. He really was going to bite off that finger. He could see Chuck squirming out of the corner of his eye, uncomfortable with confrontation as always. Condensation from the cold compress leaked onto the table.
"It wasn't precisely an offer, kid." Crowley's voice lowered threateningly. "Raphael Finnerman wants to hang Agent James by his balls. Maybe I should work with him, hmmm? I could deliver James's associates," he nodded towards Chuck, who shrank back in his chair, "and the man he's currently fucking."
"Enough with the damn innuendo-"
"That wasn't innuendo. I was blatantly saying it."
"ENOUGH." Dean's chair scraped loudly when he stood up and raised his gun. "I've heard enough from you."
He saw a blurred shape reflected in the water on the table top an instant before Cas was thrown into the room by a couple of nondescript henchmen. He caught himself by reaching for the back of the remaining chair, but Dean could see the effort it cost him. Chuck gasped, Cas groaned and Dean swore under his breath. Crowley sat back in his chair and barked a laugh.
"Well, here we all are! I certainly hope my lackeys weren't too harsh on your ribs, Agent James." Cas just glared at him, and Crowley continued blithely. "As I was just telling your lover here," he waved a hand at Dean, "now really, Dean, put up your gun, I must insist." He didn't wait, however, and Dean still kept the weapon trained on him. "I have a proposal. I give you Lilith. I'll even throw in some juicy evidence you can use against your Agent Finnerman. In exchange, you get something in your eye when you look at me. Understand?"
Dean was the only one with a gun out. He had little doubt that Crowley and his men were also armed. Cas had probably been disarmed, and Chuck… well, he had his cold compress. Dean's eyes flicked to Cas, who gave a miniscule nod, fingers tightening around the back of the chair. They'd had worse odds.
Crowley seemed to figure out his answer a split second before Dean moved. The drug dealer chose defense, throwing himself wide of the bullet Dean'd been aiming at his arm. It hit one of Crowley's cronies instead, even as Cas swung his own chair at the other henchman. It broke with a loud crack on his kneecaps, as Cas still couldn't lift his arms over his head and aim higher. Dean was dimly aware of Chuck yelping in shock and scrambling backwards and then Crowley was up again, gun in hand.
Time froze for just a second when Crowley fired, and then sped up as Cas slammed into Dean, knocking them both to the floor, the bullet lodging itself into the wall. Sirens sounded from outside, and Crowley snarled once before running to the back door. It banged shut behind him.
"You guys have to get out of here!" Chuck said, eyes wide. "The cops'll be here. The other cops, I mean."
Cas was a warm weight across Dean's chest, and he shoved at him gently, despite his growing anger. He'd told Cas to stay in the car, and where was he? Risking his fool life to protect Dean.
"You'll be okay, Chuck?" Dean asked, getting to his feet only to bend over the shot henchman and clunk him over the head with his gun. The man stopped whimpering and passed out. The one Cas had knocked down with his chair had hit his head on the way down and was still out cold. Cas was divesting him of his firearm.
"Yeah, yeah, go on, I'll call you after the cops leave, okay?"
Dean already had his hand on the door knob when Cas yanked him back. "Crowley could be lying in wait."
Good point. "Cas, the cops are arriving out front."
Cas nodded. "I go first." He shoved Dean aside and slipped out the back before Dean could even open his mouth to respond.
"Fuck, Cas!" he hissed, a useless retort, and followed.
Crowley wasn't waiting for them, and they ran quickly back to the Impala, flashing lights casting brilliant blue and red against the dark gray of the storm-threatening sky in the rear view as Dean drove away, hands clenched around the steering wheel.
"What part of 'stay in the car' didn't you understand?" Dean asked through his teeth.
"Crowley's presence negated any 'Mother Hen' directives on your part," Cas answered.
Dean stared at him incredulously. "Did you just air quote at me?"
Cas frowned. "We should be focusing on Crowley's return and what it portends."
"Instead of your social ineptitude?" Dean huffed. "Yeah, okay, here goes - Crowley's back. We're fucked. Again. I think that about sums it up."
"No, it does not. Dean, why would he reveal himself to you? What did he hope to gain from it?"
Dean frowned. They were good questions and unfortunately, he didn't think he had the whole picture. "He said he wanted protection," he said slowly, "but that can't be the whole story. If he wanted to deal with someone in DHS, wouldn't he have approached Raphael? Why you?" He left the and me unsaid.
"It's possible he thought Raphael would hold him partially responsible for Uriel's death."
Dean glanced over at Cas. He was getting better at reading him, and Cas was not anywhere near as blasé about discussing his brother's betrayal as he let on.
"Or it's possible," Cas continued, "that he genuinely was not in favor of Lilith's plan to attack Congress, knew that Uriel and Raphael wished to use such an attack to their advantage, and therefore had no desire to approach them."
Dean grunted. That gave Crowley too much credit. "We're not going to figure it out by talking circles around it. We're just going to have to find the fucker again." His eyes swept the side of the road. The leaves of the trees blew upwards, getting ready for a storm. Crowley was not hiding behind any of them, not that Dean actually expected to see him there. "And when we do, try not to jump in front of his gun again, can you manage that?"
A muscle in Cas's jaw twitched. "I know you're going to complain about my actions, Dean, and there's really no point," Cas started.
Dean snorted. "Yeah, it'd be like banging my head against a brick wall." It was a good thing he had such a hard head.
"Back up was best served by moving closer to the house," Cas said stubbornly.
"Shut up. Just… shut up, Cas," Dean said. His knuckles tightened white around the steering wheel.
"You need to stop taking responsibility for my actions," Cas continued in a clipped voice. "Why must I continually remind you of this?"
"That's not the fucking point," Dean hissed. "You could have died. You shouldn't risk yourself for me!"
Cas laughed, a hollow thing, and Dean almost swerved the car over the line. "Dean, that's part of the job description. 'Protect and Serve'; I'm sure you are familiar with it."
"Other people. We protect other people, Cas. Innocents."
The clouds that'd been threatening to overflow all day opened with a tear of thunder and rain spackled the windshield. Dean cursed under his breath and turned the wipers on. His cheek twitched, but he refused to look over at Cas, well aware that the other man was staring at him again, like he was a bug under a microscope.
"You… don't think you're worth saving," Cas said. It was a statement, not a question.
Dean glanced in his rearview mirror and pulled the car over to the side of the road. Rain pounded loudly on the roof and windows, a rat-a-tat reminiscent of gunfire, broken only by the slick sweep-sweep of the wiper blades. Cas watched him expectantly, his body tense and on guard. Defending what? My self-worth?
"Cas," he started. "I don't know how to talk to you." Cas's eyes narrowed, and Dean plowed on. "I don't know what you want, okay!"
"I thought it was quite obvious what I want. I want you."
"Well, that doesn't work for me! Jesus, Cas." He leaned his head against the steering wheel and took a deep breath.
"Everything with you is sexual," Cas muttered under his breath, and Dean flushed. "Yes, I want that aspect of you, but you have made clear your reservations on that matter. I mean I want you. I want you to trust me. I want you to know I am on your side. That our side is the same side. I want you to realize that you are worth the regard I have for you."
Cas's jaw jutted forward and his hands were clasped tightly together.
"And if I let you down?" Dean asked, quiet enough that the rain almost drowned him out.
"Then you ask for my forgiveness and we try again," Cas growled. "You are human. You're not supposed to be perfect."
The wind battered at the car, attempting to fit rain through the cracks. Dean was oblivious to the storm. Cas sat beside him, strong and dependable and… really weird, true, but kind of exactly what he wanted, if he'd take it. He licked his lips and leaned across the seat, pressing them to Cas's closed mouth. He was not expecting Cas to push him away.
"Dean. I did not say those things to get in your pants," he said, eyebrows in an angry vee.
"What if I really want you there?" Dean asked, licking his lips again. "Honestly, Cas, you kind of drive me nuts."
Cas's lips quirked up in a slight smile. "And that is in my favor?"
"Works for me," Dean murmured. He leaned close again. This time Cas met him halfway, his lips parting and his hand coming up to stroke the nape of Dean's neck. Dean wanted to get closer, in Cas's lap, in his arms, a position he'd only ever been on the other side of before. The angle was great for thrusting his tongue in Cas's mouth, for grinding down, groin to groin. Cas's arms tightened on him, and sweat broke out on his forehead. It was getting really warm in the car, the windows fogging with steam. The moans and grunts from the front seat drowned out the rain outside and covered up the sound of wheels crunching in gravel beside them. Wait, wheels?
They fell backwards into the rain and mud when Cas's door was suddenly yanked open. Dean instinctively reached for his gun, and his wrist exploded in pain as someone slammed it hard against the side of the Impala. Beneath him, Cas echoed his grunt of pain. Dean thrashed, trying not to kick Cas, as he was hauled bodily out of the car and thrown into the muddy gravel of the road's shoulder. He immediately got his feet under him and, blinking rain from his eyes, rose to a crouch.
"Not so fast, Loverboy," a familiar voice slurred. Lightning cracked, illuminating Alistair and several henchmen, one of whom had his huge meaty paws wrapped around Cas's throat. Cas's feet dangled in the air and his hands scrabbled uselessly at his opponent. He can't even lift his arms that high because of his fucking ribs.
Dean just lowered his head and ran at the man. He let go of Cas with a curse to meet Dean's charge. The scuffle was over incredibly quickly. Alistair had four huge, uninjured and well-armed henchmen with him. Dean and Cas had lost their guns and sustained injuries to their wrists, as well as Cas's previously bruised ribs. Still, they hadn't done too badly, Dean thought as his face was pressed into a puddle by Alistair. He could see to his left the lifeless eyes of Henchman #3, and the blood that was getting washed down the road by the rain belonged to Henchman #2.
Alistair pulled him up, and he gasped for breath. If only they hadn't been beaten to within an inch of their lives, maybe they'd have a chance. Dean glanced around wildly for Cas. Henchman #4 was still kicking him, a bit half-heartedly now. Dean growled low in his throat. Cas was curled into a ball, trying to protect his bruised ribs, and the rain wasn't washing away the long scar on the side of his face.
"Come along," Alistair lisped to #4, shaking Dean like a ragdoll. "We got what we came for."
"What you want me to do with this thing?" #4 grunted, kicking Cas once more.
Every single muscle in Dean's body screamed in pain, but it was nothing compared to the panic that seized his throat. What they came for, meaning him, not Cas. His outraged protest came out as more of a gargling whine, and Alistair cut his eyes at him, a cruel twist to his lips.
"Romeo over there killed one of my men," Alistair said, almost conversation-like. "He's not going to survive the night." He turned to Henchman #1. "Cut the brakes on the car and stuff him in the back. You," he said, gesturing to #4, "get our dead into the SUV."
Dean flailed in Alistair's grip, searching for purchase, anything to throw him off and get to Cas. He cried out, an inarticulate grunt, when #1 maimed the Impala, his proud, beautiful girl. He managed to slip free, for just a moment, when #1 hoisted an unmoving Cas over his shoulders and stuffed him in the backseat. Alistair tackled him to the ground before he had taken two steps and shoved his face into the mud. He got a mouthful of dirt and rain and blood as he screamed soundlessly and the rain pounded into his body. Cas looked so limp and lifeless already. Dean could feel the vise closing around his heart, choking off his breath more effectively even than Alistair, as #4 returned from his gruesome task and turned the key in the ignition. The Impala purred to life, and #4 stepped out, slamming the door and pushing the vehicle back onto the road.
Tears streamed down Dean's cheeks, mixing with the rain, and the last thought he had as Alistair choked him into unconsciousness was a half-formed prayer that his beloved Impala could somehow keep Cas safe. He loved the man, and what a time to realize it. The world went dark.
***
He was dreaming. He sat at the end of a dock, holding a fishing pole and contemplating the calm surface of the mountain lake before him. He took a deep breath of the crisp air and leaned back in his chair, turning his face to smile at the man next to him. But Cas was not smiling.
"You must wake up, Dean," he said, deadly serious and intense, Cas's Original Flavor. "You must fight him."
"Honestly, Cas? I'd rather just stay here with you."
The sun hadn't yet breached the tops of the mountain, and there was a chill in the air. No one else was around, just the two of them. It was absolutely perfect.
"I'm sorry, Dean," and he really did sound contrite, "but I insist. You have to wake up."
"Why? Tell my why, Cas. What's so damn important out there?"
"I am out there," Cas said, and as was the nature of dreams, the fishing pole vanished and Cas was in front of him, bending slightly to grasp Dean's hands in his own. "You have to wake up for me. You have to be my ears and my eyes. Dean, Alistair is here. You have to determine how. You have to wake up, and live."
Dean's heart beat faster. "You will, too, right? You'll wake up?"
Cas gave him a sad smile. "I want to. Believe me. But first you must get free."
It was difficult. He wanted to stay beside Cas, beside that lake, breathe in the cool, crisp air, and when the sun came up, they would spread their clothes on the dock and lie down, soaking in the warmth of the sun's rays, before one or the other of them grew jealous of the sun's attention and covered the other's body with his own. They would come back here, he silently vowed to Cas, even as the surroundings slowly faded around him. Spray from the lake reached his lips, and then he was blinking his eyes open.
A lone light bulb swayed on a rope, illuminating Alistair in fits and starts as the former prisoner lowered the bottle of water.
"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." Alistair smirked at him. Dean blinked back. As acts of defiance went, it left much to be desired.
He couldn't turn his head. He wondered for a moment if that was due to injury or due to his bonds, clinical steel bindings lashing him to his seat at the ankles, wrists and waist. Cool metal dug into his neck when he tried to follow Alistair's pacing form, and he had his answer.
They were in a warehouse of some sort, and his brain strived to pick up identifying clues from his limited viewpoint, but all he got was "dark" and "dirty." His nostrils were filled with the scent of his own blood and when he pricked his ears, all he could hear was Alistair's shuffling steps and panting breaths. He was excited about something. Probably getting me in this position. With a sinking feeling, he remembered that Alistair and Meg shared the same last name. Had shared, before he'd killed Meg.
A patch of light opened behind him, a door, bringing with it the competing scents of fresh baked bread and stale urine, then it was shut and a set of women's high heels clicked across the floor, drawing closer.
"Send one of your men to confirm they've found the other one," she said, shoes tap-tap-tapping until she stopped in the circle of light. "Whatever possessed you to leave him behind? I will not have my plans derailed because of your flair for the dramatic."
Though her words addressed Alistair, it was Dean she stared at. Everything about her expression was subtly off - as if she had studied human interaction in a book but had never practiced it herself. It reminded Dean of Cas a bit, but Cas had an inner warmth in his eyes that helped take the sting out of being examined like a bug beneath a microscope. This woman - Lilith finally, at last - had none of that. And though at first glance she was pretty, her eyebrows were too arched, her hair shone brassily in an unnatural golden shade, her dress emphasized her angular body, leaving her as one long, harsh line.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Alistair jerk his head at someone outside the ring of light, and boots tromped off, slipping through a door on the opposite side of the building from where Lilith had come in. Dean hoped he fell and broke his neck before reaching Cas. Cas who surely, SURELY, was still alive, who'd been rescued, please God.
Lilith must have seen something change on his face. "They were copulating when you found them?" she asked.
No, you bitch, your goons interrupted us before we could get that far.
Alistair muttered something in another language, and Lilith frowned.
"Crude. Why was I not informed of this earlier?" She didn't wait for Alistair's response, but took a step closer to Dean and ran a lacquered nail beneath his lower lip. He wondered what she would do if he bit it off. "Are you worried about your lover, Detective Winchester? There's no need for that. He is already dead. I could get you a replacement boy. For a price, of course."
He bit her then, watching in satisfaction as her eyes widened in surprise and she snatched her hand away. He'd managed to draw a bit of blood, metallic on his tongue. He'd go for her throat if only he could launch himself out of his chair.
Alistair moved into view then and backhanded him so hard his vision darkened. His chair rocked back with the force of the blow, and more blood filled his mouth, but he was happy to note his chair wasn't bolted to the ground. It was something, at least. He spat out a wad of blood and phlegm, narrowly missing Lilith's pointy-toed shoes. It landed with a splat on the concrete floor, the noise coming into sharper focus than the sound of Lilith and Alistair arguing.
Dean blinked again, slowly, like he was underwater, when Alistair grabbed him by the hair and forced his head back. He must have been in some kind of dentist chair, the kind he'd never seen at an actual dentist office but were in every horror movie ever made. Alistair's thumbs dug into his scalp as the metal brace on the chair dug into his jaw.
"Let me kill him now," he hissed.
"Don't be foolish," Lilith snapped back. "I did not tell you to bring him here just so you might kill him." She closed her hand into a fist around her bitten finger. "Detective Winchester will cooperate now." She sidled closer and peered at his face. "He doesn't believe me. Alistair."
Alistair balled up his fist and punched him in the side. All the breath left Dean in a whoosh as he involuntarily jerked in his bonds.
"Now. You have been looking for me. I was expecting you to be happier to see me, truth be told." Lilith's voice was flat and measured and seriously creeping Dean out, especially when she said, "My finger throbs. Alistair."
Alistair bent back Dean's left little finger and snapped it. "Fuck!" Dean swore and glared his rage at Alistair.
"I don't think you would enjoy that," Lilith mused. She gave him a reptilian smile, gone as quickly as it flashed across her face. "This is what you will enjoy: telling me what you know of Crowley's plans. Where is he? Why are you sheltering him?" She watched his face carefully as his thoughts leaped and jumped over each other in his brain. "Yes. I know he's alive. It was a clever ruse on his part, to be sure. But I will succeed."
Dean opened his mouth but Lilith forestalled him.
"You're going to lie to me," she said, and shook her head. "And for what? Crowley? A two-bit drug dealer with delusions of grandeur? I am the Queen of the Underworld, Detective Winchester. Me. Alistair."
Alistair punched him in the side again. That was getting old.
"This is my birthright, Detective. Crowley cannot take it from me. Now-" She stopped as the door to the outside opened again. "One moment."
Dean could hear her shoes as she left his range of vision and walked to the new pool of light. Alistair flexed his knuckles and came to stand directly in front of Dean, slapping him almost lazily across the face. Dean bit back a groan.
"How'd you get out of your cage, freak?" he mumbled around another mouthful of blood.
"You think a man like me doesn't have friends?" Alistair said in a crooning voice. "I've got lots of friends, and they all missed me."
"More like they wanted to kill you themselves," Dean muttered. He thought back to Cas in the car that morning, saying Gabriel hadn't returned his call. If something had happened to him…
Alistair sneered at him. "That's going to drive you mad, isn't it? Wondering just who it was that sided with me over you. Dean, Dean, Dean - you are not that special." His arm shot out again, and Dean was going to have his own set of cracked ribs if this continued for much longer. Not that he was expecting Alistair to release him alive to appreciate his cracked ribs. But he had to get out, he had to, he needed to get to Cas and get him safe and find Crowley. Alistair punched him again, and a moan escaped Dean's lips. "You're on the wrong side, Dean-o. There is nothing you could offer anyone that I couldn't top."
"Enough." Dean hadn't heard Lilith join them again, too busy fighting for breath. "Your idiot patsy in Hyattsville just radio-ed finding Detective Dean Winchester's Impala and a half-dead man inside. Half-dead, Alistair."
Dean's heart leapt and his mind whirled. Cas alive, and found by a cop, someone unwittingly working for Lilith, sure, but Cas was alive!
"He won't survive his wounds," Alistair blustered.
"Really? You have a guarantee of that? You've seen the future, Alistair?" For the first time, Dean could detect emotion in Lilith's voice - annoyance, sarcasm and condescension. A winning combo.
"I'll go now and finish him off," Alistair said, but Lilith waved a dismissive hand.
"You're supposed to be in federal custody. You and Raphael left Gabriel Smecher alive, too, lest you forget. No doubt by this time he's alerted his allies to your escape. Messy, Alistair." Her eyes lit on Dean's face. "Stop hitting him above the neck, and get him ready for transport."
"Five more minutes, Lilith, and I can have him spilling everything he's ever known about Crowley," Alistair protested.
Lilith pursed her lips. "No," she decided. "I don't think it would take just five minutes. We'll use him as bait and see what comes nibbling. His DHS lover, Crowley, or someone else. Perhaps his little brother."
Dean's stomach flipped. Lilith narrowed her eyes at him in a pleased smirk. "Oh, I know much and more about you, Detective Dean Winchester. I almost hope it's your brother who comes looking for you. I could use an ADA for my collection."
He tried to get loose when Alistair called a couple of goons over to help him wrestle Dean onto a stretcher, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest and he felt as weak as a newborn kitten. Lilith watched impassively as her men forced him into new bonds and he mumbled incoherent curses at them. He got off a couple of punches, ineffectual things that were more a nuisance than anything else, but they made him feel better. Alistair shoved a gag into his mouth, silencing him.
It was late afternoon, he guessed from the tiny patch of sky he saw when they wheeled him into a white van. The bread and urine smells he'd noted earlier were stronger then. They were probably in an alley behind a Subway shop or bakery. Which meant there were people nearby, real people unconnected to Lilith or Crowley or any of it. Not that he could reach them.
His feet were still hanging out of the back of the van when it came under attack. It was surreal, lying partly in a van, unable to see anything except the top of the vehicle as gunfire sounded around him. All he could do was hope he wasn't hit by a stray bullet.
Lilith's men were firing back, but they were bottled into the little alley. The van rocked as a body fell against it. Another goon tried to crawl into the back with him and fell out when his head exploded. As least, Dean presumed that was brain matter splatting his legs and making a mess of the inside of the van; he couldn't see down there. No doubt Lilith would accuse Alistair of shoddy planning, if they both survived the gun battle.
He was laughing a bit hysterically by the time Anna reached him and loosened his gag.
"Careful, Dean, you'll choke," she scolded him. He laughed harder. Anna turned to another FBI agent and shook her head. "Tell the medic we need a sedative."
"No, no," Dean managed. His mouth felt like he'd swallowed a couple of dirty socks. Hell, Alistair could've totally used dirty socks as a gag. "Cas. I need to know. Cas."
Fuck, his brain wasn't stringing the words into proper sentences, and he'd forgotten Anna didn't like Cas, and what was Anna doing there? And…
"Sam!" he gasped as his brother's huge head poked itself into the van.
"I didn't give you the all-clear yet, Sam!" Anna snapped at him. "Civilians behind the line, you promised."
Sam didn't even glance at her, or the man missing his head, but climbed right into the van.
"Dean, oh my god, what did they do to you? Are you okay? Tell me you're okay!"
"I'm fine, fine," he mumbled. Damn, he couldn't even speak right. Fucking gag. "How are you here? Wait, tell me later. Where's Cas? The Impala?"
Sam helped him sit up as Anna tutted and tried to push him back down. "Cas is in the hospital. Rufus found the Impala, he was on his way back to the station when that Chuck guy called his cell. Said he couldn't get a hold of you or Cas, so Rufus activated the police radio tracker in the Impala and when he found it, he called Henriksen directly."
"There's a dupe in the department," Dean said.
"Yeah, Henriksen was convinced of that, too, so he had Rufus wait to report it until Cas was in the hospital and Henriksen could follow who rebroadcasted it. And don't worry about the Impala, Bobby's already towed it back to his farm." Sam helped him to the edge of the van and they both paused. Dean stared in numb silence at the carnage in front of him. FBI agents knelt by several corpses. Dean recognized the two survivors of the assault on the Impala, no longer survivors. Good riddance. Alistair was slumped against the alley wall. There was no sign of Lilith anywhere. Alistair's eyelids fluttered open as if he could feel the weight of Dean's stare.
"You haven't stopped anything, Winchester," he rasped.
"I know one thing that's stopping," Anna declared, and jumped gracefully from the van to the asphalt. "Your life, Alistair Drac."
He glared up at her, but Dean could see it was true. Alistair had lost too much blood, and as Sam helped Dean down to the ground, his nose was assaulted by the stench of Alistair's guts, spilling out of his body, leaking around fingers that could hold him together no longer.
"You'll get yours, Red," Alistair said in a voice like sandpaper. "So will you, Winchester, you fucking cocksucker."
Dean took a couple of unsteady steps forward, paused, and spat a wad of blood and phlegm in Alistair's face. Alistair made a noise like a chuckle and the light left his eyes.
"Well," Anna said, "when I 'get mine' please remind me that I don't want my last word to be 'cocksucker.'" She ducked beneath Dean's arm. "Sam?"
Sam was staring at Alistair's death grimace, eyes a little wild.
"Sammy," Dean mumbled. "Come on, man."
His brother jerked himself out of his reverie and moved to his other side to help Anna lead him out of the alley. Sam's nose wrinkled as they passed Alistair, the terrorist's bowels releasing in death and sending a noxious puddle to spill onto the ground.
"A shithead even in death," Dean remarked. His ribs ached with each breath, and he took vicious glee in Alistair's undignified final repose. "Did any of you see Lilith?"
"Lilith?" Anna asked sharply. "Dean, are you sure? We haven't seen any women."
Dean's insides twisted as they made their way down the alley. "She was here, Anna! You have to find her!"
"Don't get worked up, you'll just hurt yourself more," she said firmly. "Calm down, we'll find her."
Dean wanted to punch something at the thought of Lilith getting away, she had threatened Sammy and Cas and America, dammit, but each step was agony. Henriksen was at the alley mouth, bossing around several men in the black gear of a PG County SWAT team.
"Agent Milton," he said, inclining his head in a respectful nod, and Dean's eyebrow quirked of its own accord. "I can take him off your hands now."
"Are you sure you want him back?" she asked dryly, but stepped away and let him take her place. "We'll debrief back at the station?"
"After I take Detective Winchester to the hospital," he agreed.
Dean waited until they were in the ambulance, his head spinning from the climb into the back he had insisted on making himself, before asking his questions. Maybe he was learning tact in his old age, though really it was probably because his brain felt like someone had poked a stick inside and scrambled everything up.
"Okay, so, we're working with the FBI? And are we going to the same hospital as Cas?"
"Lie down, Dean." Henriksen pushed him back onto the stretcher. Sam gave him as much of a sympathetic look as he could muster, half-folded in on himself and squashed into a corner.
"It's the closest hospital," Sam said. Dean let out a sigh of relief. He'd be able to see Cas with his own two eyes and confirm his survival himself. Not that he didn't trust Rufus, Anna and Henriksen; hell, they were a few of the only people he did trust. But he needed to see him, touch him. And tell him about Lilith.
"Rufus suggested we get in touch with Agent Milton," Henriksen continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "But put that on hold. Why did Lilith grab you?"
Crowley. He'd forgotten about Crowley. His brains really were scrambled.
"Crowley's alive," he blurted out. "She was after Crowley!"
"Crowley the dead drug dealer who brought DHS down on our asses?"
"Not so dead." He glanced at the paramedic sharing the ambulance with them. It wasn't paranoid to think that she could be a spy, it was prudent. Henriksen followed his gaze.
"And you don't know where Crowley is?" he asked softly.
Dean shook his head. "None. And until this morning, I had no idea he was in the land of the living." Henriksen's face wobbled and Dean blinked to bring it back into focus. Except it wasn't Henriksen any more, just the paramedic and Sam, and they were wheeling him down a long hall. "Wha-aat?"
"You passed out, Dean," Sam said tersely. "Henriksen went back to the station; we're at the hospital."
"I can see the hospital," Dean said. Or at least he tried to. But his tongue felt funny in his mouth, kind of disconnected and heavy. "Cas?" He thought he got that out okay. He must have, as Sam nodded at him.
"When you wake up, Dean," he promised.
"Sir, you'll have to wait outside," a doctor was telling Sam, and then Dean was going through the big double doors, and his brother's face grew smaller and smaller in the little circular window. As darkness closed around Dean once more he realized he hadn't heard how his brother had managed to be at a crime scene in PG County to come to his rescue. It was another thing that would have to wait for him to wake up.
It takes a powerful man to carry that load